Hello everyone, this is Mr. Wolf, and today I'm going to be reading Secret Samantha by Tim Federle. This is just one of the incredible short stories in Flying Lessons and other stories. It's a compilation of stories by an all-star group of middle-grade authors. You can see their names listed on the screen. If you enjoy this story...
Please go into the description below and purchase your own copy of Flying Lessons, as well as some books by Tim Federley and the rest of the authors who helped make this book possible. And now, Secret Samantha. It's a lot of pressure to pick a good elephant.
name. When I was little, I never stuck my pets with average names like Spot or Rover. It was more like Peanut Brittle or Sir Hopalot. But having to name myself for our Secret Santa week at school is kind of distressing me out, and it's almost my turn in the circle.
I always seem to go last, which is just my luck. Yoo-hoo, Samantha, Miss Lee says. Gah, I hate it when people don't call me Sam, and it throws me off. I open my mouth, but my elf name doesn't come out the way I want it to. I want my elf name to be Flame, because I like the way fire changes from orange to blue to smoke without even warning you.
Um, sparkles. I say, sparkles? Miss Lee asks, probably because my voice is so small.
Yeah, I say, sparkles, the elf. It's no flame, but it seems safe enough. Still, a few of the boys begin telling some kind of sparkles-themed joke.
They'll find anything to make fun of. Like when I said I wanted to be called Sam last year, and they all said, is that because you look like a boy? Maybe I should have expected it. I admit.
really short hair then, which I begged my mom to let me get cut when we moved here. She warned me not to. Kids can be cruel, honey, she said. And she was right. They called me Sam the Man, which doesn't even rhyme that way.
Anyway, I let my hair grow back out and stopped telling people to call me Sam, and here we are. With sparkles in the back, Miss Lee says, picking up a Santa hat and walking into the center of our circle after stepping over Parker's book back. We've got a room full of elves! Miss Lee hops up and down like we're five years old. How fun was that?
That's her signature phrase. Miss Lee taught the second graders last year and all of her lessons feel too babyish for us sixth graders. She parades the hat around so we can pick out the name of the elf who we'll be the secret Santa for. Right when it's my turn, someone notices that there's snow coming down, which isn't that rare of an occurrence in in Pennsylvania.
Still snow is snow, and now Miss Lee has whisked the hat away, and we're all pressing our noses against the freezing window and counting snowflakes. That's when we feel the whoosh, the vacuum sound of room 314's door opening. The principal's here. Never good.
She scrunches her face at all of us and shoots Miss Lee a glare. First snow of the year, Miss Lee says, stepping forward to defend her turf. Her pink heels shriek against the wax linoleum. Miss Lee always wears pink.
She's beautiful. It's just snow, kiddos, the principal says. I hate when grown-ups call us kiddos. But then, well, I think it's awesome, says a new voice coming from behind the principal.
The voice steps into our classroom. The snow, I mean, it is awesome, says this girl. who isn't in a uniform like the rest of us, who's a little shorter than I am, whose fingernails are painted black-white, black-white, every other one.
I'm from California, she says, and offers us a thumbs up. The room is so silent with staring that you can hear the old clock ticking. Five ticks later, the girl says, wow, you people are quiet.
Uh, I didn't speak for an entire week when I first got to school, and I only came from across the state. This is the new girl, the principal announces. And I think she says her name too, but I don't even hear it because I'm off in Sam land, wondering if I could ever stop biting my nails long enough to paint them black. But then I'm back in room 314, right as the principal is saying that we ought to treat the girl just the exact same way you treat each other. Which seems like a funny thing to say.
say because as the principal is saying it, Kyle V is punching Elliot's shoulder. When the door clicked shut behind the principal, we let out a nervous group laugh, like we're bottles of top that have been opened too fast we were just in the middle of playing secret santa miss lee says somehow that gets us all running back into formation to stand on the frayed edges of the worn-out square of gray carpet we are picking names out of a hat And at some point this week, you'll deliver a secret gift that's under five dollars, shouts Mia. She's the class treasurer and is mildly obsessed with money.
Yes, thank you, Miss Santos, Miss Lee says. pausing before continuing her peppy explanation. Peppy would be a good elf name for Miss Lee.
And then, on Friday, we'll all guess who's who and cool, says the new girl. Got it. She's still staring at the snow, and I can't stop staring at her.
Maybe it's because the rest of us look exactly alike. Same clothes, same haircuts, same hair colors almost. Uh, nothing special, Brown.
like peanut brittle. The best ferret ever, may he rest in peace. But this girl's clothes are sun-faded.
This girl's hair is dark, like a good secret. She looks like the kind of person who might get a tattoo someday, like my Aunt Hannah in Ann Arbor. My goodness, I almost forgot, Miss Lee says.
You have to assign yourself a cute elf name. I cringe for the new girl. This would all freak me out.
if it was my first day, but she doesn't even blink. She's from California. For instance, Miss Lee says, Kaylee is Sunshine, and Kyle H is Slugger, and Adia is Mistletoe, so before you can play the game, you all need you to... Blade, says the girl.
I'm sorry? On cue, a few of the boys begin telling Blade-themed jokes, but Blade looks at them like that one blanked face emoji. that doesn't have a mouth, and they stop. Blade is my elf name.
She steps farther into our circle, and I notice Blade's got on amazing military boots that are all scuffed up. Those won't be around past day one. We girls are required to wear Mary Janes.
Well then, Miss Lee says, not sounding peppy anymore. Blade. You can tell Miss Lee is bothered to have an elf called Blade on her watch, but that's not the important part. The important part is that as I'm thinking how fun it will be to sled with my best friend Henry this weekend, and how excited I am to see Dad for Christmas, and mostly how wicked the new girl's boots are, at the very same time I reach into the hat and somehow pull out the name Blade.
The period bell goes off right as she and I lock eyes. tight like matching puzzle pieces, almost like she can tell I picked her. Rumors spread in the lunch line like a common cold.
Blade has a knife collection. Blade has a pet snake. Blade has three pet snakes. Blade feeds her pet snakes live rats, which she personally catches in the attic of her haunted house.
And most shocking rumor of all. Blade called her teachers by their first names at her old school in Berkeley. I'm telling you, Henry says in between bites of chicken fingers, Reagan said J.J.
O'Reilly lives across the street from the new girl. Apparently, her family moved in over the weekend, and they are super weird. Weird can mean anything, Henry.
Everyone calls us weird. I'm glancing around the cafeteria, swirling a table. tater tot and some Italian dressing, and feeling glad that nobody ever sits with me and Henry. I love having a big table to spread out my art notebooks and draw.
I don't even care if Henry spills various sauces on my drawings, which he always does, because then I turn the sauce splotches into cartoon characters. Okay, true, Henry says, but this girl, I think this girl is like genuinely weird. Did you see her boots?
Not only did I see them, I want a pair. I think they're pretty wicked, I say, and I'm proud of myself. I said it loud enough for Henry to hear me the first time.
The monitor whistles. Lunch is almost up. We eat in 22-minute marathon sessions, and I always walk into life science with a bellyache. But today I barely ate anything. Well, whatever, Henry says, gulping his strawberry.
milk away in two chucks. As long as you don't replace me as your number one friend. Ah, Henry, I say, sanding with my tray to gather my notebooks.
I think of you more as a pet than a friend. he acts all offended but then does his famous baboon snort and we both laugh if i'm your pet can i finish your tater tots i hand over my tray and roll my eyes but henry's the best even if I can't quite trust him with the secret that I'm Blade Santa. When Henry's got a secret to keep, he looks like he has to pee.
Frankly, it's a liability. Gosh, he says, smacking his lips, I would marry tater tots if I could. The official bell goes off, and the whole cafeteria shrieks and groans, but nothing can get me down now. I've just got life science, and then band practice, and then mom is taking me last-minute Christmas shopping for Aunt Hannah and and Miss Lee, and also the new girl, who I can't seem to stop thinking about.
The mall is a zoo, if the zoo forgot to build cages. Half the shops are permanently closed, and the food court is a war zone. But after we pick up an Applebee's gift card for Miss Lee, Mom beelines straight for a boutique that's within the price range of our Secret Santa rules.
What about this, Sammy? She says, holding up a mini makeup kit that That's right in front of this quirky pop-up shop. Mom calls me Sammy because she knows I hate Samantha, and she knows I prefer Sam, and so Sammy is kind of in the middle. We are working on being in the middle with one another.
Maybe, I say. And Mom goes, speak up, Sammy. And I say, maybe. That right there is a good example of me being in the middle.
Because I wanted to throw the makeup against the wall and shout, Blade doesn't need makeup to be cool! Well, I'll hold on to it, Mom says, making a... apology eyes at the cashier, unless you find something better.
But I don't find something better, is the problem. I go up and down the aisles, and I find things that I could use, like these turquoise dragon earrings that might distract me. people from my giant ears, or this mini-embroidered diva pillow that would be a good bed for my bunny, Sir Hopalot. But none of it seems very blade.
Samantha, I hear from the front. I'm allowed out of my mom's sight for about 10 seconds for every year I've been alive. As I'm shuffling back to her, I'm making note of the silver high heels she's got on that I know make her feet scream.
She's always low. looks so dolled up, but so uncomfortable. She's the very opposite of me. I'd rather be plain and relaxed.
If I could wear sweatpants to church, I would. If I could buzz off my hair, I would. I'm serious. So, mom says, tapping the makeup kit against the counter.
Shall we? But then she gets a call from her boyfriend. I recognize the special ring.
And she hands the cashier both of her credit cards and says, says, oh, one of those should work, and steps away to take Scott's call. When the cashier asks, all ready to check out? That's the very moment I spot these long black shoelaces dotted with gray skulls on sale in a wire basket beneath the register.
These too, I whisper, sliding the shoelaces on top of the makeup kit. The lady swipes mom's first card and hands me back the makeup and the shoelaces in a little. wax paper baggie and winks at me.
I stuff the bag into my pocket before mom even realizes what I've done. Merry Christmas. The next morning, as my bus is driving into the loop outside school, I see a dirty white jeep pull up in front of us, even though parents aren't supposed to use the front drive till after eight.
Blade gets out of the jeep, because of course she'd have the type of family that drives her to school. An amazing thing happens next, which is that Blade stands on the sidewalk and waves and waves and blows a kiss to whoever's driving the jeep. I stopped hugging Mom outside school about a month ago, after Quentin made fun of Taylor for kissing her mom's cheek just before the Autumn Band concert. But Blade is just waving and waving without a care in the world. She catches me catching her.
Maybe because I've stood up in my seat and pulled down the window down and stuck my head out which is crazy It's freezing. People on the bus are yelling at me to shut it. Hi! I mouth to Blade, and she mouths back, Hi! And she's still waving, except now it's at me.
I pull out my Magic 8-Ball keychain as a good luck charm. The whole bus ride over, I asked it if I should give Blade the makeup kit or the shoelaces. every single time it came out hazy like it didn't know the answer which is nuts it knows the answer to everything that's why it's magic later we all enter language arts with the degree of excitement we use usually save for recess.
But Miss Lee seems overcast today. She's not even wearing pink. I have bad news, she says.
It's about Secret Santa. Is it cancelled? says Noelle. She's very serious about Christmas.
Hello, her name. Well, it's not exactly cancelled, says Miss Lee, as we all gather on the rug. But it turns out I've broken some administrative rules by talking about Santa. Santa, who of course isn't even real. I look at Blade.
She's already looking at me. She smirks like she's got something hot in her mouth. This makes me smirk too, even though I'll die if Secret Santa is ruined. Not everybody celebrates Christmas, Miss Lee says.
She's digging a fingernail track up and down her black stockings. So now we're going to call our game Secret Shareers. Everybody is quiet.
Jazz Jasmine's stomach gurgles so loud that Ethan high-fives her, and then it's silent in room 314 for a bit longer. And Blade, of all people, says, So what's the bad news? Whenever Blade speaks up, my chest goes baboom, baboom.
It's the weirdest thing, like an allergic reaction. That was the bad news, says Miss Lee. Her eyes wander to her beloved corkboard, which twinkles with holiday glitter. That we have to be careful. to call the game's secret sharers now.
Kaylee says, as long as we're still giving gifts, I think we're okay, Miss Lee. And Miss Lee looks so relieved, I think she's gonna cry. Forget giving gifts, says Noah.
I can't wait to get mine. Miss Lee stands, and so we all do. And as we head back to our desk, she says, the rules stay the same.
To be clever little ninjas, you'll need to deliver your gifts with secrecy this week. Noelle calls out without even raising her hand, You mean elves, Miss Lee? Clever little elves! Miss Lee twists a ring around her finger.
We're calling you ninjas now, sweetheart. And then she grabs a stack of paper and begins our lesson on adverbs. When I get home from school, it's more bad news. Usually, Mom and Dad are the ones who get the most out of me. has a snack set out for me on the kitchen island, but instead of baby carrots in a granola bar, it's just the skull shoelaces and a post-it note that says, call me at work. She's been going through my drawers again.
I check my cell and see that a text came in, also from Mom. The text says, Call me at work. I wouldn't have minded buying you those shoelaces, Samantha, but you didn't ask, Mom says when I've got her on the phone.
You've been sneaking around so much lately, and you don't even own boots. That reminds me to kick off my Mary Janes, which is the best part of every day. You stepped away to talk to Scott in the store, I say, and I wasn't thinking.
It's a dangerous move to bring up Scott, because Mom knows I actually like this guy. He thinks I'm an ace cartoonist. Well, next time you want something, all you have to do is say so, Mom says in her distracted voice.
I can hear her clicking away on the keyboard at her real estate office. For the record, when I was in sixth grade, I definitely would have preferred eyeshadow over shoelaces. But it's a new generation, I guess. Clickety-click-click.
I'll return whichever gift you don't give her. Okay, I say. And then Mom's cell phone rings at work.
So I go, Take that call! And she says, Hey, love you, Sam. Five minutes later, I've spread my art notebooks all over the kitchen table. When it hits me, that Mom called me Sam. sand, which makes me grin so hard that I snag my lip on my braces, and I don't even care.
Priorities. I take out my freshest green marker and try to draw Blade a good homemade card. to go along with her shoelaces.
But my Christmas trees are lopsided, and my bubble letters are a joke. Typical Tuesday. So I text Henry. Want to come over for a snack?
My mom made cupcakes last night! And both his dads say it's okay. And literally only 20 minutes later, he has provided me with an accidental vanilla frosting smear across a black sheet of construction paper. It's going to make an amazing snowman. I give in and tell Henry that I'm Blade Santa.
Saying her elf name out loud makes her real, which also makes my chest baboom and my left thumb twitch, as if the allergic reaction is spreading. You didn't sign the card, Henry points out. His chin is a cupcake disaster.
I write, to Blade, from guess who? And I fold the card into an origami rabbit, my specialty, which reminds me. that I have to feed Sir Hop a lot. And so I do. Then Henry and I wrap the skull shoelaces in an old Calvin and Hobbes cartoon, which is a big deal.
Calvin and Hobbes is my favorite. The week goes on with barely any more snow, which, boo. But one nice thing is, in homeroom on Wednesday, Abby and Reagan and Parker separately ask me to be their gift deliverer. because I'm so secretive, which I didn't even know about myself. Another funny thing is, Abby got Reagan as an elf, and Reagan got Abby by coincidence.
And Abby bought Reagan this lip gloss that changes color depending on your mood, and Reagan bought Abby this ring that changes color depending on your mood. Crazy, right? Wednesday during lunch, I leave the lip gloss in Reagan's cubby. And she squeals when she finds it. And then, on Wednesday afternoon, I'm alone in the back hallway by the emergency exit, and I see my next chance.
I tape the mood ring to Abby's locker, and when I back away, I hear a raspy California voice say, You are sneaky. It's Blade. I get stupid.
I'm not Abby Santa, I say. Which is a catastrophe. I should be playing it cool.
But I'm useless when caught. I'm just a delivery elf! Uh, don't you mean ninja? Blade says, and I give her a, huh, look, and she goes, elves are outlawed in these parts, Sparkles. Ba-boom, twitch.
Ba-boom, twitch. I can't tell if she's making fun of me, but then she says, I'm kidding, and I giggle and pinch my elbow skin and look at anything but Blade's face. That's when I notice she's got on standard issue Mary Janes now, just like the rest of us.
Aren't those the worst, I say. She looks down and looks up and says, I feel as if I'm wearing a costume. I giggle again, and then silence. The period bell goes off about a million hours later. Blade says, social studies?
I say, band practice. We both make yuck faces before heading in opposite directions. But I turn back around. Is it true you have pet snakes? Snakes echoes in the hallway, which is impressive.
If I'm known for anything, it's how hard I am to hear. But my voice echoes three times. Snakes, snakes, snakes.
She stands there looking at me like that one confused emoji, but then Blade smiles. I notice she's got braces too, and goes, If snakes is the worst they're saying about me, that's pretty good. Which isn't a no. Cool, I say. And then, I have a rabbit, and I used to have a ferret.
She gives me the thumbs up before jutting it down the hall. Social studies, she says again, and off she disappears. It dawns on me, 15 minutes later, in the middle of band practice, that Blade must have been wearing color-changing lip gloss.
Because as we were hanging out back there discussing ninjas and Mary Janes and snakes, her smile went from green to purple. On Thursday morning, I wake up in a sweat. And I hate sweating.
Which is why Henry and I always walk the mile in gym class. I didn't sleep well last night because of a nightmare. In it, I realized that if Blade was in fact wearing mood-changing lip gloss, maybe she is a makeup girl after all.
Maybe she'd prefer the makeup to the shoelaces for a present, which I plan to give her at last today. When my alarm goes off, I don't even hit snooze. I run to my book bag and unwrap the skull shoelaces, carefully because, duh, it's a Calvin strip and I don't want to tear through the punchline, and rewrap the paper around the makeup kit. Mom asks if anything is up at breakfast.
You didn't even hit snooze, she says. but I go, nothing's up, I just want to get to school. She looks at me like I'm a llama or a cactus or something, because I guess I've never said that before.
Language arts is my best chance to slip blade her gift if I want to actually win. watch her open it, and I do. But I'm scanning the room, and there isn't a strong ninja candidate among any of these people.
All the boys except Ryan P. are terrible secret keepers, and Ryan P. is out today for personal reasons. The rumor in the halls was lice. And forget the other girls.
They are a giant clique. Frankly, I still feel like the new girl, even with an actual new girl around. So I do. the unthinkable. Right by the aquarium, I pull Miss Lee aside.
Miss Lee, could you, um, please, um, be my ninja? She does an ace job sneaking the makeup kit onto Blade's desk, because at one point during class, Blade goes to the water fountain. When she gets back, I'm wiggling in my seat so much that it makes the chair squeak. Blade then does the cutest thing I've ever seen a non kitten do. She takes my origami rabbit card and makes it hop across her desk just for herself.
And then she opens the card and her forehead goes red. Then Blade picks up my gift and tears right through the Calvin cartoon. And she dangles the makeup kit in the air like it's a snake. Like it's three scary snakes. When Blade seems to realize that the whole class is staring at her, she makes the exact same mistake.
same face I make every year on my birthdays, right after mom gives me a new dress or a perfume set. Miss Lee asks us to take out our notebooks and turn to a blank page, but as I fumble underneath my desk for my book bag, a gift baggie falls from the top of it. I had completely forgotten I was going to receive a present myself this week.
Open it, somebody says. Inside the baggie, I discover a pink purse. purse made of fake leather.
It glimmers like a mermaid's tail. A sparkle bag for sparkles is scribbled on a sheet of crumbly yellow paper. That's when I ask to go to the nurse's office for personal reasons, and I don't mean lice. The nurse isn't sure what to do with me, and neither am I. I feel like I'm going to sneeze, except instead of a sneeze, it's crying.
temperature is fine, so the nurse gives me a lollipop and paces. Mom comes to see me at school at a first. Sammy, why the tears?
Why the tears? We have been working on me not crying so much, but as soon as I see her, I'm a goner. Nobody gets me, I say, and I hold up the pink purse as evidence. I can't stop thinking about Abby and Reagan. and how they just knew that the other person would like mood-changing gifts.
Basically everyone in my class got perfectly picked presents this week. But I didn't. Neither did Blade.
I saw it. I felt it. I know. Mom gives me a big hug. The nurse leaves us alone on the cots.
We've had a tough couple of years, and you are amazing to me, Mom says. And that should make me cry hard. harder.
But it stops my tears, like a bathtub plug. I am? Yes! It's your first Christmas with Daddy and me being divorced, and you're still getting used to the new apartment, and it's been a lot for you.
Frankly, it's been a lot for me, too. For us. Her phone rings, and even though Mom's eyes flicker toward her own purse, which is also pink, she reaches in and silences the call.
which is ten kinds of great. But the important part is that as she reaches into her purse, I see the skull shoelaces inside. Mom, I say, can I have those shoelaces, please?
Mom looks thrown off. Well, you caught me. I was heading to the mall to find you boots.
Boots? To go with the shoelaces. Oh, thank you. But they're not for me! I'm confused.
I have an idea of how to make today better, I say. Because that's something Mom and I used to do when I'd cry. We'd make a list of five ways to make it better.
And usually by the third way, we'd found the way. Okay. But the idea needs shoelaces, I say.
Mom pauses for two seconds that feel like forever. But then she hands me the phone. hands me the shoelaces, and kisses my sweaty bangs, and says, then I guess you better take them. At lunch, I commission Henry to wipe Cheeto crumbs across a crisp white piece of paper that I borrowed from the librarian's printer. Then I draw a tiger tail on Henry's best thumbprint smear, using my trusty orange marker to recreate the torn Calvin comic, and then I wrap my new drawing around the sculpture.
shoelaces. I can't stop thinking about how they'll look in Blade's boots, on Blade's feet, on Blade's legs. Even though she's shorter than me, she has the longest legs, I swear.
Hobbs turned out great, Henry says. One of your best. I agree.
I finish off my tater tots and make a very bold decision just to hand the shoelaces to Blade myself. Bold, because it's illegal to reveal your true identity. identity before tomorrow's secret sharer's ceremony. But I am feeling bold.
I have decided that the ongoing babooms and twitches and itchy feet, new symptom, aren't an allergy, but a sign. Henry wishes me luck, and we have an impromptu burping contest. I let him win.
Jim is awful, but I survive. After Jim, I discover Blade at a drinking fountain, as predicted. She drinks a lot of water.
because California is going through a drought. She thinks it's amazing that water is unlimited in Pennsylvania. I was sort of looking for you, I say. Here, I hand her the shoelace package.
It's my backup gift for you. I look at the ceiling. Ba-boom.
Surprise. I knew you were my secret Santa. I knew it, Blade says. You are such a good artist.
The bunny card was amazing. Wow. I lean over and take a long fake sip of water, and when I surface again, Blade is dangling the unwrapped shoelaces, not like three scary snakes, but like one perfect present. Sick, she says, which sounds wrong, but Blade goes, sick is a compliment where I come from, and I go, oh, good. This seems like the right moment to run away.
But then Blade takes a deep breath. takes one of the black shoelaces, and ties it around her wrist, which you'd think would be impossible to do by yourself, except Blade is very coordinated, athletic practically. Ta-da, she says. Just as she finishes triple-knotting the makeshift bracelet, I reach out to help her.
No, here, she says, and Blade takes my wrist and ties the other shoelace around it. Everything that isn't my wrist itches and twitches and twinkles and and babooms at the same time. I have to force myself to talk. I didn't realize shoelaces could be bracelets, I say.
I feel like an empty mug that's been filled with hot chocolate, like I've been getting warmer all week, and I finally found the hidden prize. Twins, Blade says, holding up, holding her wrist up to mine. They're almost touching.
Yeah, I say, something like that. Blade nods in a special way. A speck of dandruff falls from her head like a snowflake. I make a wish on it. The bell goes off.
It rings and rings, even when it stops ringing. Blade says, social studies. I say, band practice.
And we make the same yuck face before heading in opposite directions. But then she turns back around. He sparkles.
What's your real name? I catch sight of the hall monitor at the end of the hall. the end of the corridor, five seconds away from giving us our first warning. My lips go to say Samantha, but my mouth says, and just barely, flame.
Blade smiles. Her braces shine. Flame. Huh.
They call me weird. This is your first warning, ladies, the hall monitor says. We pivot from one another to head to our classes, but my Mary Janes turn me right around.
round. Squeak. Blade? I whisper. Yeah, Flame?
Second warning, ladies! Now the hall monitor is walking towards us. It's actually Sam, I blurt.
My name is Sam. It's the first time I've corrected somebody in nearly a year. I brace myself to hear a joke about how Sam's a boy's name, to get teased. But Blade shimmies her wrist above her head, and the skull dents.
shoelace dances at the end of her arm. Your secret's safe with me, Sam. And right as the hall monitor arrives at my side, I say, sick.
And this time, I'm not whispering.