The Magnificent Mya Tibbs: Mya in the Middle

Chapter One

There is a huge giggle sitting in the back of my throat, trying to get out, but it needs to stay there for a few more seconds. I swing my legs under the table as Mom grabs the comb and brush. She kisses my forehead and asks the same question she asks me every morning.

How many braids would you like today, Mya?

I know she’s expecting me to say two or three, but I fool her.

Twenty-one.

My giggle escapes when I hear her mumbling, Why on earth would Mya want twenty-one braids?

I give her a hint. Come on, Mom. Think! It happens the same time every year, in the same month, and I always ask for the same number of braids.

I can almost hear the smile spread across her face. Is it March twenty-first already?

She gets two thumbs up. Ding, ding, ding!

I hand her my box of red, yellow, blue, white, and purple hair decorations so she can add one to the end of each braid. When she’s finished, my hair will remind everybody of the first day of spring! Mom parts my hair in three sections.

Okay, I can make twenty-one braids, but a good taradiddle might help me work faster.

I answer in my best country-and-western voice. "Comin’ right up, little lady! Way back, a hundred years ago, in December, the good citizens of Bluebonnet sat on their porches in shorts and T-shirts, drinking sweet tea and eating barbecue as the sun shone down on her favorite town. Suddenly a dust storm whirled across Spring Street, and the gallop of a horse got everybody’s attention. Clickety-dump, clickety-dump, clickety-dump. A villain appeared with icicles in his eyebrows and beard, riding a horse with snow in its mane. He wore a huge white coat, full of cold air. He unzipped his coat and released a brutal freeze on Bluebonnet.

‘Run for your life! It’s Old Man Winter!’ someone shouted.

Mom is already finished braiding my hair in the back. She moves to my left side and fakes a shiver. Now I’m cold. But go ahead, Mya. I want to know what’s going to happen.

I continue. "The sun tried to fight by zapping that villain with her rays, but Old Man Winter was too much for her. Sun ran away, leaving Bluebonnet in a cold tizzy.

Two months later, the sun came back! She beamed fiery darts at Old Man Winter and his horse, melting their icicles until they both got out of town! Somebody wrote about it in the newspaper and called the twenty-first day of March the first day of spring, and dedicated it to the sun coming back. Sometimes it’s celebrated on the twentieth, too.

Mom hugs my shoulders. That was a really good taradiddle, young lady. Once I plait your hair on the right, you’ll have a headful of springtime.

Dad and Nugget sit at the breakfast table reading the Bluebonnet Tribune and eating breakfast. Even though my brother’s real name is Micah, everybody calls him Nugget because his skin is brown and his head is shaped like a chunk of chicken. He thinks he’s named after a piece of gold. Suddenly Dad’s voice gets loud.

This is ridiculous! He turns to Mom. Monica, did you see that the price of corn is up? I’m already paying top dollar for it. How am I supposed to make my special horse and cattle mix with corn prices through the roof?

Mom continues to braid my hair. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.

It’s all about supply and demand, Dad, I say.

Nugget joins the conversation. I’m sure the price increase is due to the flood last year.

I bet the flooding caused a bad crop of corn. So the corn producer raised the price because he lost a lot of money when the corn didn’t grow, I say.

Nugget nods. And in this agricultural region, corn is a huge commodity. He puts down the newspaper and grins at me. You must be studying economics in Mrs. Davis’s class.

Yeah. It’s really interesting, I say, grinning back.

I know. I studied it last year, he says.

Mom finishes my braids. I touch them, and they feel straight and perfect. I give Mom a big hug before ka-clunking over to the table.

Dad puts both hands in the air. Wait a minute, time out, stop for a second.

His eyes ping-pong back and forth from me to my brother. When did you two learn about economics? Mya, you’re in fourth grade, right?

I roll my eyes. Come on, Dad. Don’t you remember a couple of weeks ago when I gave you that note from Mrs. Davis about me needing twenty-five dollars for our economics lessons? You gave it to me, remember? Anyway, let me explain something to you about economics. I take his hand and try to be as gentle as possible with what I’m about to say. Try to stick with me on this, Dad. See, the supply of corn is low, but the demand for it is still high. You’re stuck in the middle because you buy corn from the growers and supply it to your customers. I know it’s tough being a middleman.

He shrugs at Mom. When did they start teaching economics in elementary school?

I don’t know, says Mom, shrugging back.

Dad’s voice is still loud as he talks to my brother. Let’s just move on. There’s nothing I can do about it. Nugget, I need that inventory list today.

My brother nods. I’ll have it done by the time you get home from work.

I don’t know what an inventory list is, but I can’t believe how angry Dad is over the price of corn. If he doesn’t stop yelling, he’s going to wake up. . . .

Waaah! Waaaaaah!

Too late. Macey’s awake.

I’ll get her, Darrell, says Mom.

Dad pushes back from the table. No, I woke her up, I’ll go get her, he says, walking toward the playpen near the kitchen.

I shake my head from left to right and feel my braids swing and my hair clips clack together. It sounds perfect! I’m on my way to find a mirror when I hear . . .

Look at my baby girl!

That’s what Dad’s called me since I was Macey’s age. I pose for him with a big smile on my face. But my smile slowly fades when I realize the worst thing ever.

He wasn’t talking to me.

My braids stop swinging. Inside my belly, I can feel my guts bubbling as I watch Dad hold Macey so close that their noses touch. She coos at him. He chuckles. Mom giggles, too.

I sure wish I knew what she was saying when she coos like that, says Dad.

I know what she’s saying. I’ve spent a lot of time studying baby sounds, leg kicks, and face expressions, so I can figure out what she wants. It’s like I graduated from Goo-Goo University or the College of Coo. I understand Macey better than anyone else in the family.

If she pouts before she cries and makes an I stink face, that means she needs her diaper changed. If she cries and kicks her legs like she’s swimming, I know she wants me to pick her up. And when she cries and then sticks her fist in her mouth, I know she’s ready to eat. Even though my little sister has only been here for six months, I already love her, and she loves me. We’re perfect sisters.

She wants her diaper changed, I say.

Mom nods. I’m sure you’re right. She hasn’t been changed since early this morning.

Dad shuffles into the nursery, holding Macey. Mom’s right behind him. Neither one of them says goodbye, or have a good day. And worse, they forget to give me a hug. I don’t remember them ever not hugging me, or not wishing me a good day before. Does this mean I’m going to automatically have a bad day? I look at my brother. He picks up his spoon.

Hey, Mya, watch this.

Nugget opens his mouth, blows air on his spoon—and then he sticks the spoon to his nose! And it stays without him holding it! I can’t help but laugh.

You are so silly, I say.

I’m being nosy, he says.

I laugh again. I can always count on Nugget to make me feel better.

He nods toward the door. Go do a weather test.

Have you done one yet? I ask.

Yes, and you’re going to be really happy.

Since December it’s been freezing cold in the mornings, and I’ve had to run back inside to get my heavy brown coat, gloves, and hat. But today the weather feels like love. It’s as if the sun knows my name. Come let me shine on you today, baby girl!

Yee-haw! I’ve got a happy rhythm running from my braids to my boots as I walk back into the house, grinning. It feels awesome out there!

I know! And it’s going to get warmer. I’m only going to wear a hoodie, says Nugget.

Wear the black one. It makes you look cool. I’m getting my jean jacket, I say.

I chug the last of my orange juice, grab my jacket and my backpack, and hit the sidewalk. I forget about Dad and Macey. All I can think of is what I’m seeing and feeling outside.

Chapter Two

Soon we’re at the front doors of the best school on the planet—Young Elementary. Mr. Winky, our principal, greets us.

Well, good morning, good morning. It’s a beautiful day outside. Spring has sprung, but hurry to class before the bell has rung! We must be on time. Yes, yes, yes we must!

Mr. Winky likes to say yes a lot because it’s our school’s initials—Y.E.S. Usually it’s cool to hear him do his yes, yes, yes, but some days, I wish he’d stop after Good morning.

Nugget hurries down the fifth-grade hall, and I ka-clunk down the fourth. As soon as I enter my classroom, Mrs. Davis greets me.

Good morning, Mya.

I pretend I’ve got on a cowgirl hat and tip the front of it at her. Mornin’, ma’am.

She smiles. Mornin’, Miss Mya! What do you think about this weather?

I love it. Can we have two recesses today instead of one?

I’m sure that won’t happen, but I like how you think, she says, still smiling.

I nod and keep ka-clunking, because the coolest thing about being in fourth grade is the Cave. Mrs. Davis said that years ago, the Cave was actually an extra classroom, but a few years in a row, it wasn’t needed. They gave the extra space to the fourth graders! The other classrooms just have hooks in the back of the room to hang up stuff.

Inside the Cave, each of us has our very own cabinet where we put our backpacks, lunches, and supplies. In front of the cabinets are benches to sit on to tie shoes, take off rain boots, or even just sit and relax! There are speakers wired into the walls. Mrs. Davis lets us listen to DJ Cool Breezy on the radio in the morning before the bell rings. He plays all kinds of good music, and when a popular song comes on, we all dance and sing along.

There’s a lot going on in the Cave when I get there. The twins, Starr and Skye, are playing hand-clapping games with Naomi. Kenyan, David, Lisa, and Johnny talk sports. Everybody’s having a good time. I head to my cabinet to put my backpack and jacket inside.

DJ Cool Breezy is playing some good music, and I can’t help but move my feet. I hear my hair clips clacking as I get my groove on. The twins are the first to greet me.

Hey, Mya, says Skye.

Hi, Mya, says Starr.

I like your braids, says Skye.

Your braids are hot, says Starr.

Thanks. Who won the clapping game?

Naomi, says Skye.

Naomi won, says Starr.

I remember that time when your mom braided our hair, says Skye.

We were hanging out at your house on a Saturday, and your mom braided our hair. It was awesome, says Starr.

We looked fab, says Skye.

Totally fab, says Starr.

Naomi joins us. She’s standing next to Starr because they don’t like people standing between them. That’s how close they are.

Naomi, Mya’s braids are banging, don’t you think? asks Skye.

Don’t you think they bang? asks Starr.

My eyes slowly roll toward Naomi, my number-one biggest enemy on the planet. We haven’t been friends since Spirit Week, seven months ago. I know she’s going to say something horrible about my braids. I’m already thinking of something smart-aleck to say back to her when Naomi shrugs and my words get stuck between my brain and my mouth.

Yeah, they look okay, I guess, she says.

What? I was all ready for Naomi to call me Snake Braids or Mop Head, but she didn’t.

Can I move your hair decorations around? asks Skye.

I know exactly what you’re going to do, Skye, says Starr. I’ll help.

The twins unclip my hair decorations and move them to different braids. After a minute or two, they stop, take a step back, and stare at my hair.

I think we nailed it, don’t you? asks Skye.

Definitely nailed it. Don’t you think we nailed it, Naomi? asks Starr.

I already told you what I think. I’m going into the classroom, she says.

That’s what I expected her to say. Now she sounds like the Naomi I know. I shake my head from side to side to make my braids swing in the air. I don’t know what you two did, but I’m sure I’ll love it.

Hey, we stole an idea from you, says Skye.

But we’re not real thieves, says Starr.

You know how you like to use your braids to count down days? asks Skye.

You know what we’re talking about, right? asks Starr.

I shrug. Yeah, what about it?

We decided to paint our nails to count down the days until our birthday! says Skye.

We’re painting our fingernails and toenails one at a time until the big day, says Starr.

I look at their toes and notice their big toes have red nail polish on them, but all the other nails are bare. I ball up my fist and give both of them bumps. That’s awesome!

Thanks for not thinking we’re thieves, says Skye.

Thanks, Mya, says Starr.

Naomi comes back. "I almost forgot to tell you something. I heard my mom talking to your mom last night. I think your mom is going to hire my mom as a party planner! That makes sense, especially since our