Grow Up Tahlia Wilkins! Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2022 by Karina Evans

  Art on cover and here copyright © 2022 by Marta Kissi

  Cover design by Jenny Kimura

  Cover copyright © 2022 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104

  Visit us at LBYR.com

  First Edition: April 2022

  Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Evans, Karina, author.

  Title: Grow up, Tahlia Wilkins! / Karina Evans.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Little, Brown and Company, 2022. | Audience: Ages 8–12. | Summary: “Twelve-year-old Tahlia Wilkins has to deal with getting her first period just before the biggest pool party of the year.”—Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020053392 | ISBN 9780316168755 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780316168922 (ebook) | ISBN 9780316168656 (ebook other)

  Subjects: CYAC: Puberty—Fiction. | Menstruation—Fiction. | Best friends—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Family life—Fiction. | Popularity—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.E8696 Gro 2022 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020053392

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-16875-5 (hardcover), 978-0-316-16892-2 (ebook)

  E3-20220311-JV-NF-ORI

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To those who are going through big changes, learning more about their bodies, and figuring out what defines them

  CHAPTER ONE

  It’s official—my traitorous chin is growing a zit.

  Well, I guess I’m not exactly positive—I could probably count on one hand the number of pimples I’ve had—but I’m pretty sure the throbbing feeling just below my lower lip did not come from some bee that managed to fly into Mrs. Brown’s classroom and sting my face without anyone noticing.

  The timing could not be worse. I do not want to have a pimple right in time for the most important event of my life—Noah Campos’s pool party.

  A.k.a. the event that will make or break my entire summer.

  Since Noah is the most popular kid in the seventh grade, the pool party is all anyone’s been talking about for the last month of school. Anyone who has been invited, that is. Pretty sure Alexa Arnecki, the girl who still brings dolls to school, and Keith Green, the kid who wears pajama pants to class and serenades people on their birthday, won’t be there.

  It’s my chance to prove to everyone that I am not the same girl who wore a one-piece bathing suit with knee-length board shorts and goggles to Noah’s start-of-summer pool party last year. No sirree!

  I cringe at the memory. I’d worn the board shorts so that my legs wouldn’t get burned in the sun, and I’d worn the goggles because I thought we’d be doing flips into the pool and I didn’t want to get water in my eyes. But when I got there, all the other girls were in cute bathing suits. Even Hannah Bean, who’d worn oversized soccer jerseys to school every single day last year, had on a fun two-piece suit for the party.

  How was I the only one to miss the memo? Hadn’t we all just learned in Mr. Richard’s sixth-grade class how important it was to cover up to prevent too much sun exposure?

  Everyone had laughed at me and asked if I was planning on going tide-pooling. I even heard them whispering about my “baby goggles” for the rest of the party.

  I cannot let that happen to me again.

  But now, my throbbing chin threatens to ruin everything. What if a whole zit cluster pops up? A pack of pimples does not scream new and improved. It screams, Look at these planets on my face! And it’s just my luck. Now I have less than twenty-four hours before the party to destroy my soon-to-be pimple solar system. Greeaat.

  I run my finger over the throbbing area before swiping open the front-facing camera on my phone to stare at my chin. The camera angle makes my face look like a thumb.

  Yup, it’s a growing pimple, all right. A biggie too. And it gets redder and redder the more I poke at it, trying to force it to go back down.

  Am I supposed to know how to get rid of this bulging life-ruiner? I’ve never seen Noah Campos poking around on his face. Maybe he knows of some secret anti-acne formula.

  “Ahem. Tahlia?”

  I look up to see my teacher, Mrs. Brown, staring at me from the front of the classroom with her arms crossed.

  I gulp. I’d almost forgotten I was still in class.

  “I know it’s the last day of school, but I still need your attention until the bell rings, yes?” She raises an eyebrow. “No phones.”

  I quickly set my phone screen-down on my desk and give her my best “I’m genuinely sorry” expression.

  Mrs. Brown nods and continues on with whatever she was saying.

  I look over my shoulder to see my best friend, Lily, rolling her eyes. Lily’s dark hair is pulled up into a bun, and her purple braces match her purple-striped shirt. I think the purple-on-purple combo makes her seem even younger than she is. She’s already the youngest in our grade, so the bright colors make her look like a little crayon. Sometimes I wish she’d outgrow all the matchy-matchy, but I’d never tell her that.

  Lily and I met on the very first day of kindergarten, and we’ve been practically sisters ever since, so she knows me well enough to see I’m definitely not sorry for ignoring Mrs. Brown. And why should I be? We took our end-of-the-year tests two weeks ago, and we haven’t learned anything since. My pimple emergency is much more important than listening to Mrs. Brown go on about how much of a “pleasure” it’s been to have us in her class. Teachers have to say stuff like that, even if they don’t mean it—and in this case, Mrs. Brown definitely doesn’t. I personally saw Amir Abdi jam a pencil up his nose and try to take a pop quiz without using his hands. Twice. That was not a “pleasure” to watch.

  “And that’s why I know you’ll all do great next year on the eighth-grade side of campus,” finishes Mrs. Brown. “It’s been so nice getting to know you all.”

  From her seat behind Lily, Jackie Berg raises her hand and starts talking before Mrs. Brown has a chance to cal
l on her.

  “When do we get our class schedules for next year?” Jackie asks, flipping her long hair behind her shoulder.

  Jackie used to hang out with Lily and me every weekend in elementary school—in fact, when we started classes this year, she even rode her bike to school with us. But ever since she started straightening her hair and wearing shoes not meant for pedaling, she stopped biking and started having her parents drop her off. Now she spends the weekends with popular kids like Noah Campos.

  I tried asking my parents to drive Lily and me to school, but they laughed me out of the room. So I’m doomed to helmet hair and dirty sneakers.

  “Sometime in August,” Mrs. Brown answers.

  I pick at my chin. I think I read somewhere that yogurt is good to smear on pimples. Or was it mayonnaise? I can’t remember now. Ugh! School just needs to be over so I can figure this out.

  “Anyway”—Mrs. Brown looks up at the clock on the wall—“I know the last bell is about to ring and you’ll go racing out of here, but enjoy your summer and make sure to come visit me and the rest of your seventh-grade teachers next year!” She claps her hands together with a big grin.

  On cue, the last bell finally goes off, and a few kids throw their papers up in the air and let them flutter to the floor. I grab my phone and swipe open the camera again to look at my chin as the rest of the class gathers their things and hustles out of the room.

  “Leave it alone!” Lily whispers as she comes up behind me.

  The very fact that she knows what I’m picking at means that she can see the growing zit, which does not make me want to leave it alone. It makes me want to pick at it until it’s completely gone.

  “Easy for you to say. You’ve never had one.” I frown.

  Lily rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she says, tugging my arm and pulling me out of my desk. “My mom wants me to come straight home after school.”

  I sigh and stand. We really can’t dawdle if Lily’s mom wants her home. Her mom is eight months’ pregnant, so whatever she says goes.

  Yup, that’s right—pregnant. As in, with a real live baby. I nearly choked on a pretzel when Lily told me the news. My best friend being a big sister? It’s just so weird. And unexpected. But I’ve accepted it now.

  Mostly.

  Lily and I march out of the classroom and head toward the bike rack. A group of eighth graders are celebrating finishing middle school by taking pictures in front of our school’s sign. They laugh and pose as they take turns snapping the photos, making sure all their friends have a chance to be in a big group shot. It looks fun.

  If Noah’s party goes well tomorrow, maybe when Lily and I graduate middle school next year, it won’t be just the two of us taking pictures of each other. We might even have our own group. Sigh.

  When we reach our bikes, Jackie is leaning up against the rack and scrolling through her phone.

  “Hey, Jackie!” Lily waves.

  I try not to groan. Lily is always so nice to her. It’s like she doesn’t even care that Jackie used to be our close friend before she ditched us. She used to be part of our little group. One day we were all eating lunch together, and the next Jackie was across the cafeteria, laughing with her new friends. We hadn’t even been in a fight or anything. She just… left.

  Jackie glances up from her phone. “Oh, hey, guys.” She looks back down at the screen and keeps scrolling.

  “Are you going to Noah’s pool party tomorrow?” Lily asks excitedly.

  Tomorrow will be Lily’s first time going to one of Noah’s parties. She had a stomach bug last year, so she wasn’t there to witness my horrible goggles-and-board-shorts incident. She only heard about it later.

  I know I really can’t blame Lily for being sick, but sometimes I can’t help but think that if she had been there, then at least there would have been two of us who didn’t get the cute-suit alert. And I know for a fact that Lily would’ve worn her purple rash-guard, because she doesn’t like when her shoulders peel after being in the sun too long.

  Jackie nods. “Mhmm, are you?”

  “Yup!” Lily beams. “We’re going to ride over to Noah’s from Tahlia’s house.”

  “You’re biking?” Jackie looks at us as if we’ve just told her we step in dog poop for fun.

  “No,” I say quickly, even though we were planning to take our bikes. “Riding—as in a car.” It’s the only thing I can think to say to make her stop looking at us with a raised eyebrow.

  “Okay,” Jackie says, smiling. “Cool. And no board shorts and baby goggles this year, right, Tahlia?” She smirks.

  My stomach sinks.

  Jackie was still our friend last summer. She knows how embarrassing the party was for me, because I specifically told her. She even helped me pick out my first two-piece bathing suit afterward so that it would never happen again. I hate that Jackie has all this secret knowledge about stuff I told her when we could trust her, and now she just uses it to remind me she doesn’t hang out with me anymore.

  I know it bothers Lily too, but Lily is always so friendly to her. It’s annoying. I wish she would dislike Jackie like I do, but instead Lily acts extra nice to her, as if she thinks it’ll somehow convince Jackie we’re still fun to hang out with. Yeah, right. Like that’ll ever work.

  There’s a car honk from behind us.

  “That’s my mom,” Jackie says as she slings her backpack over her shoulder. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, sevies!” She gives us a wave before racing over to the pickup loop, where her mom’s car is waiting.

  I frown at her use of sevies. It’s what the eighth graders used to call us seventh graders, and it never felt like a compliment. Besides, her saying it doesn’t even make any sense. She’s in the same grade we are. We’re all technically now eighties.

  Lily doesn’t seem to mind the term, because she turns to me and asks, “What’s wrong with biking?”

  “Nothing,” I say, but it comes out a bit ruder than I mean it, so I add, “I don’t know.” Which is the truth—I honestly don’t. Biking is fun and useful. I have no idea when and why it became uncool.

  Lily shrugs. “Me neither.”

  She clips on her helmet, pulls her bike out from the rack, and swings her leg over it. I follow her lead.

  “Ready?” Lily asks.

  I nod.

  We take off toward our neighborhood, passing the line of parents waiting to pick up their kids from school. I wonder which car is Noah’s. I’ve never seen him bike to school.

  Lily leads us onto the next street and picks up her pace. She loves to go fast. Usually, I do too, but today, even though I know I should be happy that school has ended and summer is starting, I can’t help getting a little bit grumpier with every rotation of my pedals.

  But tomorrow’s party will be my chance to make everything right. I’ll wear my new two-piece bathing suit with no board shorts and no baby goggles. That way, even Jackie won’t have anything to poke fun at me for.

  As long as the pool party goes according to my plan, and I can get rid of the pimple on my chin in time, then everything will be fine. I just can’t spend another summer as some big joke. I’ll show everyone that I am new and improved.

  I let out a deep breath and tighten my grip on the bike.

  Everything will be better after the pool party. It has to be.

  CHAPTER TWO

  When we reach the street where Lily turns left toward her house and I turn right toward mine, Lily bikes up onto the sidewalk and comes to a stop. I pull up beside her.

  “Last ride of the year,” she says and smiles.

  “Just think, next time we’re here, we’ll be eighth graders.” Even though I’m still a little grumpy, the thought of being one of the oldest kids at school sends a bit of giddy excitement through me.

  But Lily doesn’t answer. She looks down and brushes dirt off her pants. I bet she’s picturing starting the new school year with a new baby sibling at home.

  “I’ll text you in the morning about going to Noah’s
together,” I say.

  “Hopefully, that thing on your chin will be gone by then,” she says, chuckling.

  I gasp. “Lily!”

  She laughs and picks her foot off the ground to pedal forward.

  “See you tomorrow!” she calls over her shoulder. “Eighth grader!”

  I stick my tongue out at her but immediately realize it’s not something the new and improved Tahlia would do, so I suck it back in before anyone can see.

  When Lily has biked around the corner, I push off the ground and start home. Three streets later, I walk my bike up my driveway before dropping it in the grass. I know Mom will want me to bring it around to the backyard, but that’s a chore for another time.

  “There’s our seventh-grade graduate!” Mom says when I step through the front door. “How was your last day of school?”

  Mom is wearing one of her professional work outfits and frantically stuffing things into her purse. The tips of her hair are damp from a shower, and they’ve made small wet marks on the shoulders of her blouse. It’s a common look for her. She’s always rushing out of the shower to get places. I must’ve inherited the being-on-time trait from Dad—definitely not from her.

  “Good,” I say, shrugging. I don’t have time to chitchat. I need to get yogurt. Or mayonnaise. Or maybe both. Yeah, both. I’ll smear them both on my chin.

  “Great!” She smiles. Then she motions to a stack of boxes near the door that leads out to the garage. “I know you just got home, but can you help me carry these to the car?”

  “Where are Jamie and Ryan?” I ask. Usually, my twin sixteen-year-old brothers spend their afternoons playing video games while lounging on the couch. How suspiciously convenient that they just so happen to be missing when the chores get dished out.

  “Can you please just help bring these out? I’m running late as it is,” she says as she picks up a box and shuffles into the garage.

  “Whoa, Tahlia, did you hurt your chin?” Dad asks as he walks into the living room from the garage. He points at my face before bending down to pick up a box.

  “Da-ad!” I slap a hand over my zit. If my dad—a man who didn’t even notice when Mom accidentally dyed her hair purple after using one of those do-it-yourself dye kits—can notice my growing chin pimple, I’ve really got a serious problem.