The Bubblegum Babes' Guide to Sixth Grade - EXCERPT
CHAPTER ONE
The summer before sixth grade started, the four of us got together quite regularly at Meg’s house. We’d
have slumber parties, Ouiji board fests, sushi-making sessions, or we’d just plain hang out. Sometimes
everyone would come to my place, but mostly we’d go to Meg’s. Her mom was the coolest of all the moms,
and she wouldn’t come sniffing around to see what we were doing like some of the other moms did. We
could put on a pile of make-up or laugh real loud, or bring Twinkies and juice boxes up to Meg’s room, and
her mom didn’t seem to care. She’d be downstairs on her computer, completely oblivious. So it worked out
well to spend almost every day plus weekend overnights at Meg’s for that little bit of freedom.
The four of us always had fun together. We were like sisters – Meg, Sara, Emily and me; by the end of that
summer, we were completely inseparable. We were The Bubblegum Babes – so named not for obvious
reasons. Sure, we all like to chew Bubblegum. It wasn’t that.
The Bubblegum Babes were named one night when we were hanging out on Meg’s big bed, listening to
CDs, singing and painting our toenails.
Emily asked me, “Kelly, what’s that beautiful shade of pink nail polish called?”
I read the label on the bottle and it said, BUBBLEGUM. Something about that moment made me think about
an old movie from my mom’s generation that I had seen, called Grease. In it, a group of high school girls
wore matching pink jackets and had slumber parties and they had a name for themselves - Pink Ladies.
They were like us, all pink-toed and best friends. We needed a name, too. Since all of us had pink toenails,
I said to everyone that we were “Babes in Pink. Bubblegum Babes.” I guess the name just stuck, and it’s
been our name ever since.
We’re alike in so many ways – living in the same neighborhood and being in the same school and grade,
but we’re different, too.
Sara is the tallest, strongest and most mature of us all. Some people think she’s a tomboy, but I don’t see
her that way. Once Sara let the Babes make her up once – we straightened her light brown frizzy hair with a
ceramic iron, parted her hair on the side, and loaned her a dress. She looked great (for about five minutes,
before she undid all our work). Sara prefers jeans, a tee shirt and sneakers for everyday wear. “I’m no froo-
froo,” is something she says a lot. Her hair is usually pulled back in one ponytail and she wears glasses for
reading.
Emily is a small-framed, blue-eyed china doll-looking girl. She has baby soft skin, straight and thin long
blonde hair, and she’s shy. She’s pretty, but doesn’t think she is. Her family has money problems because
her dad lost his job.
Meg is what my mom calls, “an American beauty” because of her striking and contrasting features – dark,
long full hair and sparkling blue eyes. Meg is the one of us who looks good in all pictures taken of her. She
wears the latest styles. She’s bossy and fresh and fun, but the one who gets on my nerves the most of all
the Babes.
I’m the All-American girl, mousy brown hair with bangs, braces, freckles, and of average height and weight. I
behave, get good grades and most people like me – well, except for maybe my older brother.
The four of us, together, make for interesting and unpredictable times, no matter what the situation is. The
Bubblegum Babes had a lot of work to do those weeks before school started. After all, we were going to be
middle schoolers – no more elementary school babies. With that, come some serious responsibilities. This
required a formal Bubblegum Babe meeting. For that, everyone came to my house. No fooling around time
-- we needed the right atmosphere, and my formal dining room was just the spot. A big bowl of popcorn set
the mood for discussion.
“We need to talk about clothing,” Sara said.
Emily rolled her eyes and threw her head back. “Ugh, Sara. My dad just lost his job. He said I’m allowed to
get only a few new things for school. We’re talking low budget.”
“It’s ok, Em. Let’s really sort through what we need to get the look we want. Focus, Em. We can get
creative,” Sara said.
“My mom said we can go to the mall, and I can get pretty much whatever I want,” said Meg.
Sara flicked a popcorn kernel, hitting Meg on the cheek. “What’s your problem?” she snarled at Meg.
“What, are you trying to make Emily feel bad or something? That’s not very Bubblegum Babe-ish.”
“Really, Meg,” I chimed in.
“I’m just saying, I’m getting a whole new wardrobe for sixth grade. I thought everyone was.”
These were the kind of chats that turned into spats and hard feelings. I hated when one of the Babes acted
superior to the rest of us. I always tried to be polite. Meg’s family had a bit more money than any of ours
and sometimes she reminded us of that. When she made Emily feel bad about her dad losing his job, it
wasn’t right. I wanted everyone to leave at that very moment. But we had to get through this. It was far too
important.
“OK, here’s the thing,” said Sara. “No matter what new clothes our parents buy us, we definitely have to
agree that shorts are uncool now that we’re going into sixth grade. Right? Agreed?”
I shrugged my shoulders, not sure I agreed with that, but the other Babes nodded. Majority rules. “I
suppose. But it’s still so hot out and shorts would, well, you know, be good.”
“No, Kelly,” Meg said. “Because of the school’s dress code, shorts have to be long enough that your
fingertips reach the end of them when you stand up and put your arms by your side. A – it’s hard to find
shorts that long. B – we’ll look like dorks with long shorts.”
“Is that true about the dress code?” I asked.
Meg nodded.
Everyone stood up and put their arms to their sides to see just how long shorts had to be. It was ridiculous
how long the school wanted them. We all started laughing. I mean, we cracked up. Emily totally lost it and
was snorting and had her mouth open, exposing chewed up popcorn. As gross as that was, it made it all
that much more funny. We rolled and held our bellies.
That’s what’s so great about being a kid. Kids laugh. You don’t see too many grownups snorting or peeing
their pants because something made them laugh. It makes me want to stay a kid forever for that reason,
alone. Just me and the Bubblegum Babes forever, laughing and getting beyond the little spats people have.
We covered quite a few Babe business items that day. It was time to wear bras, whether any of us needed
them or not (I know I surely didn’t need one yet). But we were sixth graders now, and we needed to step up
to our new roles. Everyone agreed. What we didn’t talk about, however, was exactly how we were going to
bring up the topic to our mothers. It wouldn’t be a comfortable thing asking for a bra. But I guess we’d figure
how to work through that, each in our way.
It was also decided that backpacks on wheels were no longer acceptable. We needed either messenger
bags or the kind of a bag that crossed the shoulders to lay flat on one hip. I knew exactly what Meg meant
when she said it. I had seen them at Wal-mart. I made a mental note to tell mom not to get me a baby
backpack.
Finally, we talked about shaving our legs and wearing make-up. I already knew how my mom felt about both
these issues. She was opposed. But I listened as the Babes talked about the right thing to do in sixth grade.
“Mascara, eyeliner, blush and lipstick or gloss are expected. And, if your mother won’t let you wear it, bring
it in your bag and apply everything when you’re on the bus before school,” Meg said.
That was typical of Meg – dictating the acceptable look for the season. She was pretty, popular, and led all
us Babes in the fashion sense. Well, that’s all good, but I had a sick feeling in the pit of my belly that my
mom wouldn’t let me wear mascara or blush or eyeliner. Lip gloss – I could probably get away with.
Just thinking about all the new expectations – things I hadn’t really thought about before. I can’t do this.
Maybe I belong in fifth grade another year. Maybe… Maybe… Oh – my belly.
Maybe it was too much popcorn. But I knew clearly, it was so much more than that. Everything was
changing, and even though most of time I was excited about it, there were twinges of fear – unexplainable,
belly-churning fear.
****
It didn’t go away. The last week of summer vacation I wasn’t feeling quite like myself. I finally told my mother
that I thought I was sick. Maybe I’m even too sick to start school on Monday. Every time I thought about sixth
grade, my stomach bubbled inside, and I wanted to throw up. One time, I did throw up. Mom said it was just
nerves, and eating salty potato chips washed down with chocolate milk might make anyone hurl. Maybe she’
s right.
I called Meg Sunday before school started, just to go over some last minute details.
“The Babes should have had a sleepover on Saturday,” I told her right off. “We could have gone over
exactly how the first day is going to be.”
“It would have been nice, I know. But don’t forget that Sara had to go to Orlando last weekend for her aunt’s
wedding. You know she’d give us all an evil eye if we had a sleepover without her.”
“Meg, I’m just scared. What if we don’t have any classes together and I get stuck with the geeks over in a
portable while you guys are in the West Wing?”
“Oh, Kelly,” Meg said. “We’re all going to be on the same bus route and then we’ll meet in the commons
area before school, at lunch and afterwards.”
“I know, I know. But there’s a lot of time we’ll be in classes, and, well, I just have a feeling I’m going to be on
my own a lot.”
“Welcome to middle school. We’re big now.”
“Geeze, aren’t you the least bit nervous?”
“Of course. But, it’ll all work out…”
The call waiting signaled on the phone. “Hang on, Meg.”
I answered the holding call. “Hello?”
“It’s me, what’s up?”
“Hey, Emily, I’ve got Meg on the other line.”
“Um… could you tell her good-bye? I kind of need to talk to you.”
“Hang on.”
I clicked the phone to Meg. “I gotta go, something’s up with Emily.”
“Will you call me back?”
“If it’s not too late. Mom said I need to go to bed early.”
“Well… try.”
“OK,” I told her.
“I’m back. What’s up?”
“I have a serious situation.” Emily sounded distraught.
“What? My Gosh, is everything all right?”
“No.”
“Em, what is it?”
“My mom wants me to be a car rider for the first day, and she wants to walk me in.”
“Oh, no. No. No. No,” I said.
“Is that so bad? I mean, I’m ok with it, I guess.”
I stopped her before she said anything else. “Emily, no! We all decided to take the bus and make our
entrance to the school as the Bubblegum Babes. We need to team up, get our seats on the bus, you know.
I can just hear Sara now about it.”
Emily sighed. “I know, buuuut..” There was a long pause. “My mom was all excited. I feel bad for her. You
know how she is. She’ll probably have a camera out or something, marking this a big day in my life. She
might even cry.”
“Look, that’s really special and all, but I think it won’t go over so good in middle school. Can’t you tell her to
watch you from the window at the bus stop? I mean, it’s not like she’s not going to get the story about every
detail when you get home from school.”
“I know. I guess I’m just calling you for advice. I don’t want to hurt mom’s feelings, but I kind of want to make
the first day on my own. You know?”
“Yeah, I know. But a part of me wouldn’t mind if my mom held my hand and walked me up to the door, too. I
just know Meg and Sara would never let either of us live something like that down. We have to try to be
cool.”
“Easy for you.”
“Not. I’ve been sick to my stomach for three days.”
“You, too? I wondered if I had the flu.”
“It’s not the flu. It’s jitters for the first day of school.”
Em and I continued to talk until my dad peeked his head in my room. He didn’t interrupt, but he held two
fingers out in front of him and without saying it, mouthed the words, two minutes. Then he left. I only had
time to say a quick goodbye. I never got to call Meg back, and I wasn’t sure if Emily would be riding the bus
with us in the morning.
****
Em rode the bus with us after all. And somehow, we did survive the first day of sixth grade, even though I
thought I was going to bust a gut from an upset stomach that whole day.
The difference between elementary and middle school is huge. I remember last year and all my elementary
school years prior, that all the kids were assigned a different color piece of paper on the first day. If you
had a purple square, you followed the purple signs from the cafeteria to your classroom. Blue followed blue.
It was a great system and no one got lost, except maybe someone in kindergarten or first grade who didn’t
have it all together or understand the color code system.
In middle school, by contrast, everyone barrels into the gymnasium like hogs fighting over a trough of food,
and lines up in single file behind a poster displaying alphabet letters for their last name – A through F, G
through L, and so on. When we would get to the front of the line, we’re handed a schedule, a receipt for a
combination lock that shows the locker number, and a map of the campus. A map! The school is THAT big
it has to have a map.
I was thankful for that map. The corridors were wide with many doors. Every wing looked the same, and the
second day I couldn’t find math class because I was in B instead of C wing. I found I could remember the
differences between the buildings because the first one smelled like disinfectant, being next to the clinic,
and C wing had a little window over the door that B wing didn’t. It made finding classes easier by
remembering some of the little details.
Each day got a little easier, until we successfully completed the first week, all the while developing our
systems and habits – like where we sat on the school bus, and how to make the best of six minutes between
classes by meeting at the lockers. I had one class with Meg and no classes with any of the other Babes. We
did, most fortunately, all have the same lunch time at 11:30, for which we were quite thankful. Now that we
were spread apart so thin, our Bubblegum Babe meets and sleepovers would be even more important than
ever – really, our only chance for getting into deeper conversations about our lives. We’d need that time
together; the lunchroom is no place for deep chats. The lunchroom is for boy watching and eating and
complaining about teachers.