Chapter 1

Took a Face Plant in the Second-Grade War

It’s war! The boys and girls of second grade at Traub Elementary have decided to spend recess outwitting members of the opposite sex and taking prisoners, when- ever and however possible, to be released during the next day’s recess, when we will pick up where the action left off.

As a relatively new kid, I do not buy into the conflict. I like the girls in my class well enough and have no beef with the boys. Somehow, I negotiate to be a neutral party— a horse, actually. I work it so that as a horse, I can go to either side with messages from the opposing forces with no threat of capture. This makes perfect sense in second grade.

I find this an excellent arrangement. I trot over to the boys and get their demands. I prance back to the girls, deliver the news, get their reply, and return with the boys’ rebuttal. Then it’s back again with a revised list of issues— all with full diplomatic immunity.

During one of these crossovers, I am stopped in my tracks by Jimmy, the class heartthrob. He has not heard of my special status and thinks I’m making it up on the fly to evade capture. Frozen in a stand of trees by the side of the schoolyard, I plead my case. Jimmy isn’t buying it. He doesn’t know me well and does not want to be tricked by a girl.

Meanwhile, in my head, I am exhilarated. Like the other girls in my class, I have a stone-cold crush on Jimmy. Maybe it’s his bunny-brown eyes, tan skin, and those bangs! Maybe it’s his sense of style. After all, he’s the only boy who wore a cardigan sweater on class picture day—teal blue at that. But here I am, face to face with Mr. Second Grade, together . . . alone . . . in the woods. While arguing my case for passage, I’m secretly hoping this takes a long time and that someone will see us together.

Meanwhile, Jimmy still isn’t buying it, and in loyalty to his gender, gives chase—either to capture me or drive me back deep into Girl Territory.

I think this is great and take off. Little but swift, I give him a literal run for his money. Glancing back to enjoy the view of The Man of My Dreams chasing me, I trip on some vines and fall forward, landing flat on my face in the damp mud.

I must have been knocked out because, the next thing I remember, I’m in the arms of a large schoolyard monitor, someone’s mom in charge of keeping some semblance of law and order during recess. Jimmy is at her elbow, clear- ing the way through a crowd of kids while explaining what just went down.

My hair, forehead, dress, and knees are covered in mud. Blood trails from my nose, across my face, and down my chin and neck to my collar. My parka is coated with a mixture of mud and blood, and I’m not thinking “Ow,” I’m thinking, “Mom is going to be so mad that my parka is such a mess.”

As the three of us make our way up to the school on this cold spring day, I hear Jimmy recounting my fall to kids who have gathered to see who is being carried in from recess. Having no recollection of what happened, I’m listening to his account. He is clearly enjoying the attention of being the sole eyewitness to my face plant and assures everyone it was something to behold, reenacting the impact of my face on the ground with a hinged clap of his two hands.

The look of alarm on my homeroom teacher Miss Brockman’s face as she enters the nurse’s office tells me I took a pretty good fall. Jimmy is there too, being debriefed by the monitor, school nurse, and assistant principal, making some sort of official statement. What I’m also piecing together, because we couldn’t be seen from the main yard, is that Jimmy had to run for help. He came to my rescue, alerted the authorities, and led the search team. This thought helps me get through the stinging delivery of Bactine® on my scrapes, as well as the indignity of the insertion of rolled tissues into both nostrils and another piece of tissue under my upper lip to stay the bleeding.

The nurse cleans my legs, hands, and face and calls my mom.

Jimmy steps over to my cot, and I let out a thin, “Thanks, Jimmy.” He gives me a dignified nod, like the sheriff in a spaghetti Western, and walks back to class with Miss Brockman, confident that all is well.

Next day, war resumes. Not only do I retain my diplomatic status, but I get major street cred with the girls for even speaking with Jimmy, let alone having him chase me. He may have not known me two days ago, but he does now.