Chapter Text
something is fishy in this here town
(i feel it in my bones)
“I want to know everything, everything,” screeched Harriet suddenly, lying back and bouncing up and down on the bed.
“Everything in the world, everything, everything. I will be a spy and know everything."
- Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh (1964)
Belle hates Mondays. She didn’t used to hate Mondays. It used to be that Mondays meant school, which meant learning and books and art and friends. Mondays held the promise of an entire week to explore something she had never seen or known before. She had loved Mondays. So much so that in grade four, Nicole had taken to calling her Monday Monkey because she jumped and hollered and climbed on the furniture all the while chattering about her day.
And toward the end of grade five, Nicole had smiled and Waverly had smiled and both of them told her how happy they were that she was so happy at school, that they were proud of her for doing so well, and could she please sit down at the table for a minute so they could talk?
“Please, Monday Monkey?”
She wasn’t in trouble, they told her right away. They just wanted to know how she liked her teacher and the new principal, Mrs. Blake. They just wanted to know if she felt like she was being challenged enough.
“Mr. Thomas lets me read whatever I want for book time. And he gave Mateo and me a separate math workbook that has algebra . Mr. Thomas says I’m gifted.”
“Mr. Thomas is right, Belle.” Her moms beamed at her with pride in their eyes and she preened under the attention. They cared and that still amazed her some days. That they wanted to know about her day, her life when they weren’t around to witness it.
“We had a meeting with Mrs. Blake and Mr. Thomas this morning, monkey,” her mom started.
A flash of panic stormed through Belle’s stomach and made her queasy until she recalled that they said she wasn’t in trouble.
“All of us agreed that it might be best for you to start with the grade sevens in the fall instead of the grade sixes. If that’s something you’re open to doing. Only if you want to.”
Belle had to work that through her head for a quick second. It would mean leaving behind Mateo but it also meant that she might have a class with Alice because it was junior high and sometimes they did that. It would mean that she would only be a year behind in school than her best friend instead of two. And maybe it would mean that her subjects would be a little harder and progress a little faster. As Belle worked it through her head, she came to the conclusion that skipping over grade six seemed pretty all right to her.
So she told her moms yes and they said they would talk to Mrs. Blake in the morning.
She spent all summer asking Alice questions. What was it like? Did she have a favorite teacher? Was it easy to move from classroom to classroom without getting lost? Were kids in junior high more interested in learning than in primary school? How easy was it to make friends?
Alice had rolled her eyes at Belle but she still tried to answer them seriously. It was school, she said. She liked her French teacher, and no, she never got lost or was late to class on accident on account of getting turned around. It was school and mileage may vary in dedication and interest—
“Not everybody is a nerdy bookroom like you Belle,” she teased. And Belle knew she said it in jest because Alice walks with her to the library after school every Friday. And Alice always tries to remember something interesting that she learned that week to share with Belle. And Alice always, always shares her books.
“As for friends,” she said with a shrug. “I guess you meet people. Vanessa takes French with me and I met Greg in my social studies class in grade six. You’ve got me, too. Best friends, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
So when Belle wasn’t with Alice during the summer, she was reading and studying and making sure that she would be on the same level as the grade sevens. The content wasn’t hard; she just hadn’t learned it yet. More often than not, she went to work with her mama and Jeremy helped her with math and science and then she retreated to her mom’s office to read.
By the time the first day of school rolled around, Belle was anxious and excited. Because it was Monday and she was starting junior high and—
“All the things I get to learn, mom!”
But now… now, Belle hates Mondays.
And Tuesdays and Wednesdays and any day that she has to go to school. Because her classmates stare at her. They stare and whisper and call her weird and none of them want to be her friend. They call her a baby and ignore her in class. One boy named Ricky Jones steals her pencils.
Suffice to say, Belle no longer looks forward to Mondays or going to school at all, and it’s only the second week.
“If it doesn’t get better, baby, we’ll figure something out,” Waverly promises her one evening. “We’ll talk to your mom and the school and we will figure something out.”
It starts to get better the day after next.
On Wednesday, Alice finds her sitting alone at lunch in the corner of the cafeteria. Greg and Vanessa trail behind her and the three of them sit down at the empty table.
“Guys, you remember my cousin?”
Both of them nod and each offers a hi, Belle and hello, Belle. And Alice bobs her head approvingly and slides something across the table.
“I found this in mom’s things,” she says. “She gave it to me but everybody in the family knows you’re the reader.”
It’s a book, Belle sees. An old hardcover with yellowed pages that doesn’t even have a cracked spine, as if Wynonna had barely read beyond the first few lines. It’s possible and probable, knowing her aunt.
“ Harriet the Spy ,” she reads the title aloud.
“Like that really old movie?” Vanessa asks and she’s leaning forward over her tray of meatloaf and mixed vegetables — because school lunches never change — to get a better look at the cover.
Belle opens it to a random page.
”Harriet headed toward the Dei Santis’ grocery, the first stop on her regular spy route. The grocery was on York Avenue, and there was a little alleyway beside it that provided three vantage points from which Harriet could watch."
She looks up. “I think it might be,” she tells them. She thumbs through it to another page, green eyes quickly skimming over the text with practiced ease. “Yeah. I think it is.”
Greg bites into his peanut butter and banana sandwich and talks around the food in his mouth. “What’s a ‘vantage point’?”
Belle wrinkles her nose at his manners. “You could choke if you talk with your mouth full, you know.”
“Plus,” Vanessa adds on. “It’s kind of gross.”
Greg objects by opening his mouth wide and revealing a mess of half-masticated sandwich. Alice and Vanessa shove him at the same time and he finishes chewing before grinning toothily at them.
“Gross, dude,” Alice grumbles, shoving him once more for good measure.
Belle shakes her head like her mama does when her mom does something silly. Like eat a bowl of Maltesers for dinner. Or start a snowball fight with Wynonna. Or watch Saturday morning cartoons with Belle.
(Sometimes she thinks her mom is really a big kid at heart. At least when she’s with them. With family.)
“What does ‘vantage point’ mean?” Greg tries again, this time without a show of his lunch.
Belle chews on her lower lip for a moment, thinking how she would explain it. “Like a place where you can see things better. Like a good view. The alleyway has three places with a good view for spying,” she answers, bringing it back to the passage she read.
“You should talk to Greg’s little sister,” Vanessa tells her. “She likes to read, too, and she’s in your grade.”
“What’s her name?”
“Michelle,” Alice supplies. “She usually goes to the library during lunch.”
“Cool.”
They continue to pick at their lunches and they talk about some new movie about space that’s supposed to come out soon. It’s nice, Belle thinks, sitting with people at lunch. It feels good and—
“Hey, are you gonna eat your other apple?” Vanessa asks, already reaching for the piece of fruit still sitting on the table in front of Belle. She had added the second apple on her way out the door this morning, grabbing it from her snack basket on the counter. It’s meant for later, for her walk to the station.
(She doesn’t explain that the extra weight in her lunchbox is like a security blanket. She doesn’t know how, not without talking about before.
Before Nicole and Waverly. Before family and love and Maltesers.)
Alice intercepts Vanessa’s hand by rolling her own red delicious across the table. “You can have mine,” she says. And then she kicks her foot out underneath the table, gently prodding at Belle and pairing the nudge with a concerned look.
Belle returns her spare apple to her lunchbox and shakes her head. I’m okay , the motion says even though her stomach had twisted uncomfortably for a second. I’m okay.
When the bell rings and it’s time to return to class, Alice waves her friends away. “I’m gonna walk with Belle. Mr. Butler’s class is close to Mrs. Parker’s anyways.”
It isn’t. Not really. Alice won’t be late if she runs after seeing her cousin to Mrs. Parker’s English class. And Belle wants to push her in the direction of her friends, but then Alice is looping an arm through hers and tugging her in the direction of the language arts wing.
“We’re still on for walking to the cop shop after school today?”
It isn’t the question that Belle expects but it’s a roundabout way to get at the same answer.
“Yeah. I’ll meet you near the flagpole out front.”
Alice nods and opens the door to Mrs.Parker’s room, holding it open for Belle. “Awesome,” she grins. “Now go learn something.”
Belle smiles back and she can hear Alice’s sneakers squeak on the tiled floor, running down the hallway, until the door shuts all the way behind her.