“Uh… sure,” I said.
Supposedly, this was a good thing. Even Jared could see that, right? I hadn’t stolen Jeanne’s job, and everything she’d just told him proved it.
Right?
Still, there was something about the way Jared kept looking at me. I’m not going to say he seemed jealous, because, let’s be honest—that would be like a turkey club being jealous of the dribble of mayo on the side of the plate.
But I don’t think he liked me having secret meetings with his girlfriend. Or holding her hand, either. Which I wasn’t doing, even if it looked that way. We were just shaking on it.
“So don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” Jeanne asked him.
Jared gave that weird smile of his again, the kind that looked like the opposite of a smile.
“Sure,” he said. “No problem.”
Except it didn’t sound like “no problem” to me at all.
It sounded a lot more like—BIG problem.
Beans for Breakfast
Sorry, really quick time-out. Nothing to do with the story or all the disasters I had going on, but if you ever want a great breakfast, go to England! Baked beans with your eggs? Delicious (no matter how weird it sounds). Those Brits know how to start the day right.
Just saying—you won’t go home hungry.
Again, sorry for the interruption. This breakfast just really deserved its own chapter—it was that good.
And now I’m hungry again.
Unassigned Seats
By the time we got on the bus that morning, I was ready for Mrs. Stricker.
“You did this?” she asked me.
I’d just handed her a whole sheet of assignments for the day, so everyone would know who was supposed to write about what, who was taking pictures, and that kind of thing. It was all Jeanne’s idea, but I wrote it up, so technically, I did do it.
“Well, this looks acceptable,” Stricker said. “But we’re going to need forty copies, one for each—”
“Right here,” I said, and handed them over, still warm from the hotel copier.
“Oh,” Stricker said. I don’t think she saw that coming. (Thanks again, Jeanne!)
Anyway, the only empty seat on the bus by then was next to Miller. I wasn’t sure what to expect from him after our little roof mission, but he didn’t say a word when I sat down. He didn’t even look up from his phone. Not until Mrs. Stricker got to my name during roll call.
And then, sure enough—
I’ll give him this much. His stupid imitation of me was getting better all the time. Mrs. Stricker just made another check mark and kept going.
Then—PING!—Miller got a new text and went right back to his phone. It was pretty clear something was still up with him. He was thumbing at that screen like he wanted to break through the glass.
Obviously that only made me more curious, but I had to be strategic about this. If I was patient, maybe I could find out what Miller’s problem was and stop being his favorite chew toy for a while.
Emphasis on the maybe.
So I went back to scribbling in my notebook. I’d worry about Miller later. I had a ton of new ideas for videos, and I was getting pretty excited about this project, too. It was like a whole new ball game, now that I had a secret partner and an official new job title.
Or at least, an unofficial one. All thanks to you-know-who.
Not Bad, Just Weird
When we got to the Saatchi Gallery… well, first of all—whoa! I bet Ms. Donatello put that place on the schedule, because she likes weird art the way my dog likes sniffing butts (that’s a lot, if you’ve never met Junior).
And this place was definitely weird with a capital W. I’d never seen art like it.
In one room, it was all just giant sculptures of nuts and bolts.
In another room, the walls and ceiling were covered in clear boxes filled with dirt and rocks, so it felt like you were underground.
Another room had a sound exhibit, where you were supposed to just sit on a bench and listen. There were recordings of waterfalls and leaky faucets, but also people talking about money at the same time.
So like I said—weird, weirder, and weirdest.
But also very cool. I kept my camera going the whole time. And best of all, Jeanne was right there to help out.
There was also a room with an exhibit called “Modern Nudes,” but Mrs. Stricker put the lid on that one faster than a box of hornets. Nobody was allowed anywhere near it.
Meanwhile, everyone else was following their assignment sheets. They were taking pictures and making notes and doing everything like they were supposed to. It was amazing how much better the whole thing went, just from that simple plan Jeanne made up.
And as far as I could tell, Mrs. Stricker didn’t suspect a thing. Or maybe she was too busy policing the naked stuff. Either way, that thin ice I’d been on was starting to feel just a little bit thicker.
So far, so good.
The World’s a Stage
You’re probably going to think this is a strange question, but do you believe in signs?
I don’t mean like STOP and NO TRESPASSING. I mean like when you think someone, somewhere, is trying to tell you something. Because that’s what happened at our next stop, the Old Globe Theatre.
This place is super-famous. The original Globe was where William Shakespeare put on his own plays, back in the 1600s, and they still do his stuff there today.
So after we got a tour, they brought these actors out onstage to perform some scenes for us. The first one was from a play called The Comedy of Errors. After that, they did something from Hamlet.
Then finally, there was a scene from Romeo and Juliet. That was the one Shakespeare play I knew anything about, because Ms. Donatello made us read parts of it in sixth grade.
And here’s where it really got interesting (at least in my head).
First of all, this was the part I’d assigned myself to do a written report on. I was taking notes instead of video this time and writing stuff down as fast as I could. So instead of writing “Romeo and Juliet” on the page, I just wrote “R+J.”
That’s right. R and J. Did you notice anything crazy awesome there? Like how those initials could stand for some other people?
Like maybe… Rafe and Jeanne?
I definitely noticed. Ms. Donatello says that Shakespeare’s stuff is full of symbolism. So that got me thinking. Maybe this was a symbol for something.
Or a sign.
Like maybe Leo was right. Maybe I really was supposed to tell Jeanne how I felt about her. I mean, this was Romeo and Juliet, supposedly the greatest love story ever written.
Not only that, but the whole scene was about Juliet up on her balcony, saying, “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” while he’s down below, getting up the guts to talk to her.
Sound familiar?
I mean, don’t get me wrong. Honestly, I probably knew it was just a big fat coincidence. But for a second there—a microsecond—it felt like more than a coincidence.
So by the time the scene was over, I decided that Leo was right. I had to say something, even if it was just one tiny little thing. Maybe I’d just mention that “R+J” part, and see what Jeanne said.
I could at least do that, right?
So after the show, when Jared was talking to someone else, I just happened to wind up standing next to Jeanne. Then I just happened to wait around until she noticed me.
“Did you like that?” I asked her.
“Yeah, it was great,” Jeanne said.
“Especially the Romeo and Juliet stuff,” I said. Then I kept going before my heart could start beating loud enough for Jeanne to hear it. “In fact, it was kind of funny, because—”
“Funny?” Jeanne gave me this look. “Did you ever read the whole play?” she asked.
“Just the parts Ms. D assigned,” I said. “Why?”
“Well, spoiler alert, but—they both die at the end,” she said.
“They do?” I said
.
“Yep,” Jeanne said. “It’s one of Shakespeare’s greatest tragedies.”
She could say that again.
“Anyway, you were about to say something was funny?” she asked.
“Oh, uh…,” I said. “Not really. I mean, I was, but not anymore.”
Then Alison started talking to Jeanne, and Mrs. Stricker told us to move toward the exit, and the whole thing just kind of went pffffft.
Oh well. Better luck next tragedy.
Stop and Go
We got to have lunch outside again that day. This time it was on the South Bank, which is basically a giant, long park along the Thames River.
There was a ton of cool stuff to see, like a graffitied-up skateboard park, people painting by the river, and some people who were art, like human statues who only moved if you put money in their box.
There were musicians, too—all kinds of people making money and making art at the same time. Ms. Donatello said they were called buskers. It was super-cool.
Inspiring, even. That’s what my mom would say.
So I decided to put the whole Jeanne tragedy in the backseat and keep moving forward. When we started eating lunch, Jeanne sat next to me.
“What next?” she asked.
“Actually, I have an idea I want to try, and this would be a great spot for it,” I said.
“Come on, Jeanne,” Jared said. “Let’s go buy a T-shirt or something.”
“No, I want to do this with Rafe,” she said.
Jared looked at her, and then evil-eyed me some more. Then he put on that fake smile of his.
“Yeah, okay,” he said. “What are we doing?”
I wanted to tell Jared to jump in the Thames and wait for further instructions, but that wasn’t going to happen. Besides, I needed at least a couple of people for this.
“Why don’t you guys stand over there?” I said as we put down our food.
I got them lined up with the river in the background. Then I took out my phone.
“Now stand really still, but like you’re running,” I said.
My idea was this thing called stop motion. The way you do it is, you turn on the camera and record for maybe half a second. Then you pause it, and the people move, but just a little bit.
Then you unpause, and record for half a second, and repause. Then they move again.
Over and over and over.
It’s like making a human cartoon, and it looks really cool if you do it right.
And here’s another thing. You know what happens when super-popular people start doing whatever you’re doing? Other people get interested.
In fact, we’d barely even started before Sabra and Katrina came over.
“What are you guys doing?” Katrina said.
“Making a video,” Jeanne said.
“Ooh, fun! Can we be in it?” Sabra asked, even though if I’d asked her to do it, she probably would have laughed my face off.
“Sure,” Jeanne said. “Where do you want them, Rafe?”
“Katrina, go stand right there,” I said. “Sabra, stand next to her. Jared and Jeanne, stay right where you are, and look surprised.”
Half a second later, it was like Katrina and Sabra had just popped up into the scene from out of nowhere. And we kept going from there.
Pretty soon, almost everyone in the class was getting into it. Including Jared. I kept popping people in and out, making it up as I went along—and making something pretty cool, if I do say so myself. Even the other tourists were stopping and watching, like we were part of that whole London art scene.
Which I guess we kind of were.
Eye Spy
When we got in line for the London Eye, I was excited… and nervous.
And excited.
But mostly nervous.
The London Eye was like an enormous Ferris wheel, but instead of benches it had big see-through pod-things. I didn’t know if getting way up there in those glass pods was going to be like standing inside a tall building, which I could deal with. Or maybe it was going to be more like hanging off the edge of a cliff, which I definitely couldn’t.
If you read my story about last summer in the Rockies, then you already know that the whole edge-of-a-cliff thing makes me get dizzy and sweaty and panicky and at least a little bit throw-uppy. It’s not pretty.
But, on the other hand, I knew I could get some amazing shots of London from up there. I didn’t want to miss out. And I definitely didn’t want to look like Rafe Khatchadorian: International Chicken in front of the whole class.
Besides, this was nothing compared to the Rocky Mountains. Right?
So I decided to go for it.
Those pods were big enough for twenty-five people, and we were split into two groups. Jeanne and Jared went one way. I went the other. Jared seemed like he’d had enough of The Rafe & Jeanne Show for one day, and I didn’t want to push my luck with him. I just wanted to focus on getting some great video.
“Welcome to the London Eye,” a recording said. “Please step all the way in and mind the closing doors.”
Okay, I thought, breathing in slowly. Here goes nothing.
And speaking of nothing, that’s what I got when I pulled out my phone. All that stop-motion stuff we’d been doing had run the battery down to zilch.
I turned around fast, but the doors had already closed. Now I was headed up, up, up, and around with a dead camera in my hand, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
Or… was there?
I worked fast. I dug into my backpack and pulled out the assignment sheet. Then I checked to see who was supposed to take pictures of this thing. Of course, with the classic Khatchadorian luck, it was him.
“Hey, Miller?” I said. “Can I use your camera?”
“Yeah, right,” Miller said. “Like I’m going to trust you with a brand-new MyPhone 10 Deluxe.”
“Please?” I said. “I’ll do your photography assignment.”
That actually got him interested. He thought about it for a second, then pulled out his phone and punched in the passcode.
“Just remember,” he said, “you break it—”
“I know, I know—I bought it,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “But I break you, too.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
Then I went to the middle of the pod, sat down on the bench, and tried to get used to the idea that this thing was only going higher before it got any lower.
I took another deep breath. No problem, I thought. I can do this.
And even if I couldn’t, it wasn’t like I had much choice now. I was in it.
It took me a while, but I figured out that if I kept breathing and didn’t look straight down over the edge, it wasn’t quite as bad as it could have been.
Also, that whole huge view of the city (which was AWESOME, by the way) looked way smaller on the phone’s screen. So I stayed laser-focused on that. Everything was just a little better-looking through the camera. And then, just when it seemed like we were getting to the tippy-top of the world and I was sort of, almost getting comfortable—PING! Miller’s phone went off.
I looked over at him, but he was too busy checking the view to notice. Then I looked down and saw there was a text notification on his screen. The text was from “Mom,” but all I could see were the first few words.
If I wanted to know any more, I had to tap on the message. Which was a very tempting thought.
It was also a terrible idea. And the reason I know is because I thought, This is a terrible idea—right before I did it anyway.
Maybe it was the altitude. Maybe my curiosity got the best of me. Maybe I’m just an idiot.
Who knows? But I’ll tell you this much. I sure wasn’t expecting what I found out next.
It was like every molecule in my brain fired at once.
HO.
LY.
SMOKES!
Miller was MOVING? To Phoenix??
Not to mention… Chunkins??? And I thought Dryden was ba
d, but… wow.
This was why Miller had been crying on the first night, wasn’t it? Because he was moving—far, far away.
But not yet. Because when I looked up, Miller was coming right at me.
“Are you using that camera or not?” he asked.
“YES!” I said, kind of weirdly loud. Then I walked over to the pod wall and started filming again before I had to look him in the eye even one more second.
After that, my hands kind of took over for me. They went back to making the video on their own, while my brain flipped, and flopped, and twisted around just trying to have all the thoughts it was having. Because—
This. Changed. Everything.
Pop Quiz Meeting
Once I came back down to earth (in more ways than one), I figured my best option with Miller was to keep doing nothing. I mean, this was huger than huge, for sure. But I wasn’t going to tell “Dryden” that I’d just read his text any more than I was going to tell him that I heard all that crying on the first night. Things between me and Miller had gotten all the way up to not-completely-horrible by now. I wanted it to keep going that way if I could.
Besides, as soon as we pulled up to the hotel that night, Mrs. Stricker dropped another whole pile of uh-oh in my lap.
“Report Committee, we will have a short status meeting in the Learning Center before curfew,” she said.
“Does that mean now?” I asked.
“Yes, now,” Stricker said.
I looked right over at Jeanne. This was like a pop quiz. I hadn’t had any chance to figure out what we were doing next, or what the new assignments were, or any of the stuff Mrs. Stricker thought I knew how to do.
From Hero to Zero - Chris Tebbetts Page 6
