Monsters and Me

That night, Parker and I sit on the couch together. I love having quiet nights with my older sister. Especially now, when my thoughts are loud enough to fill the entire house.

As Parker scrolls on her phone, I pick up a big ball of pink yarn. My grandma taught me how to crochet this summer. I love the feeling of digging my hands through piles of yarn to select colors and the feeling of pride when I create something new.

I am almost done crocheting my newest monster. She is supercute, with stubby arms and legs and a big eye in the center of her belly. I pause and think about Gracie. Parker looks up.

“What’s wrong?” she asks gently.

I tell her everything.

“The bracelets aren’t even that cool,” I say. “It’s just that ever since I stopped dancing, I feel left out with Gracie and our dance friends.”

“You and Gracie are allowed to like different things,” Parker replies. “Does she know about your creepy-cool crochet hobby?”

I shake my head. There are no crochet teams at schools. I keep my monsters at home. Now that I think of it, Gracie hasn’t stopped by since I quit dance. But I haven’t invited her either.

“You need a way to show people your monsters,” Parker says. Suddenly, her face lights up. “What about the craft fair at the library? People come every weekend and sell things they make.”

I laugh. Parker, however, is serious. Could I really sell my monsters?

That night, we talk to my parents.

“That’s a great idea,” Mom says enthusiastically.

“I’ll help you build a booth and get you signed up,” Dad agrees. “What should we call it?”

“What about Beasts by Bailey?” I say.

“Perfect!” Parker replies with a grin.

That night, I name each of my monsters. A purple monster with green ears I name Eggplant. A yellow one with an extra big smile I call Daisy.

The next day, Ms. Dart asks if there are any announcements. Before I have time to think, my hand shoots up.

“I’m starting a stand at the library craft fair. It’s called Beasts by Bailey,” I say. “I’m selling crochet monsters that I made. If you want to check it out, that would be cool. Or not.”

Whispers of “cool” and “monsters rule” and “she’s going to be rich” echo across the room.

But then Gracie shouts out, “What do you expect people to do with them? Play make-believe?”

Maybe it’s her eye roll, or the laughs that follow, or all the hours Gracie and I spent playing make-believe as kids, but embarrassment burns inside me.

After school, I’m still upset. Then I have an idea. I pick a ball of green yarn for the body, yellow for the arms and legs, and creamy white for the fangs. With every stitch, I hear Gracie’s words.

I work on the monster all week during recess and after school. By Friday, I’m almost done. Abigail and Saleen walk up as I finish the final stitch.

“Wow, that one’s scary!” Abigail says. “Are you going to sell it at your booth?”

I nod.

“What’s it called?” Saleen asks.

“Gracie,” I say with a satisfied smile. The girls give me a horrified look. But before I can take it back, they shoot off across the playground. By the time we’re walking inside, everyone is staring at me.

Mason claps as I walk past him. “Nailed it,” he says.

“Watch out,” says his friend. “If you aren’t nice to Bailey, she’ll turn you into a monster too!”

I spot Gracie’s long hair as she darts past me. I think she’s crying.

My monsters finally got attention. But I’m not known for making monsters. I’m known for being a monster.

I run inside and duck into the nearest bathroom. Tears are threatening to burst. A hiccup from behind a stall door makes it clear that I’m not the only one in this bathroom. I spot Gracie’s sneakers under the door.

“Gracie?” I ask.

“Go away.”

“I’m really sorry,” I say. “I messed up.” I take a deep breath. “Ever since I stopped dance, it feels like you don’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“So? That makes me a monster?”

“No. But it . . . makes me really sad.” The truth leaves me empty, like a crochet monster with no stuffing.

Slowly, the stall door opens. “It makes me sad too,” says Gracie. “You just dropped dance. You never even told me why.”

“It had nothing to do with you,” I explain. “It just wasn’t my thing. I only did it for so long so we could spend more time together.”

Gracie nods. “Yeah, it takes up so much time! If I didn’t love it, I’d probably quit too.”

“I’ll rename that monster,” I say.

“Thanks.” A hint of a smile spreads across her face. “By the way, I think your new hobby sounds pretty cool.”

“If you ever want me to teach you how to make a crochet monster, you could come over sometime.”

“I might be terrible at it.”

“That’s the great thing about crochet,” I say as we walk out of the bathroom arm in arm. “You can always take your stitches out and start again.”