Only Girls Allowed by Debra Moffitt

and Kate. If you ask me, Bet is a half-time, half-hearted member. (Which takes its toll on the rest of us, as if she doesn’t realize.) She misses a lot of meetings and has answered only a handful of questions from our readers. She barely says anything, just nods a lot and hangs close to Kate.
    Plus, Bet hasn’t really spoken to me since that day by the buses. I guess she has gotten used to being the new girl, so quiet you hardly know she’s there, always hanging on the outskirts. Even though I see her almost every day, I have to admit I have gotten used to something, too—not being Bet’s friend.

 

    Friday was always my favorite day of the week, but not anymore. Now we’re forced to watch Margaret Simon TV during last period. It was one thing watching Clem parade around during
Clem’s Crib,
saying things like “Here’s my shoe closet; here’s my at-home foot spa for pedicures. . . .” It was sometimes dull, but not the worst way to waste ten minutes of class time. But now that Taylor’s the anchor, everything has changed. Of course, since she’s Forrest’s girlfriend, I didn’t exactly long to watch her on TV. But my mood went from bored to electrified today when Forrest called my name on the way into class. I heard him say, “Jemma,” but by the time I turned around in my seat, Mr. Ford said, “Face front; let’s be courteous during Taylor’s broadcast.” When I looked back again at Forrest,he just laid his head on his folded arms, like he was going to take a nap.
    To prove something to Clem (or maybe all of us), Taylor had dramatically changed her approach to her broadcast. The kittens were definitely gone. Music boomed loudly in the intro to a new show she called
Gotcha!
It began with a scene from a recent football game, with the cheerleaders all posed in a perfect pyramid. Perfect at least until Marina Testarosa wobbled from her perch at the very top and they all came tumbling down. The class laughed a little, and the camera turned again to Taylor, who smiled in a pink turtleneck and said, “Gotcha!”
    From there the report went to a tape of Clem Caritas standing in front of the girls’ bathroom mirror, putting on lipstick and trying different smiles—the first one big and movie-star-like and the next one shy and closed lipped. Then she winked at herself. “Gotcha!” purred Taylor again, this time pointing a jaunty finger at the camera.
    And so it went on for ten uncomfortable minutes, showing people caught on secret videotape. Even though he said nothing, I could tell Mr. Ford was getting annoyed by the way he sighed and shifted in his squeaky desk chair.
    â€œIt’s funny, right? I think it’s really funny,” Taylor explained, live to the class.
    That seemed to give them more permission to laugh, and they did so with increasing volume with each new clip. The one of Mr. Updike, the janitor, chasing a groundhogaround the front lawn drew a real hoot. Hardly anyone laughed, though, when the camera zoomed into the cafeteria, zeroing in on a long lunch table where Bet sat alone, eating delicately from her lunchbox.
    â€œBoo-hoo-hoo and . . . Gotcha!” Taylor said, rubbing her eyes and putting on a fake sad pout.
    Just as I was gathering some sympathy for Bet and despising Taylor that much more, I saw a familiar row of lockers emerge on the screen. Then the camera moved in close to catch me slipping out of my locker and stepping a foot gingerly on the linoleum tiles. My face couldn’t hide my surprise and, with cheeks flushed pink, I hustled by the camera until Tia could do nothing else but record my fast departure down the hall.
    Back to Taylor, who this time said, “Gotcha, Locker Girl!” and narrowed her eyes into a “Could she be any weirder?” kind of look.
    My mom often says that we don’t absorb difficult things all at once, but rather in stages. My first