I see something I’ve never seen in her before. I see a rare beauty. I am itching to pull my camera out of my bag and take a picture of her, but I don’t dare. She would never understand. She would think I was making fun of her.
Rue turns herself around and disappears down the hallway.
That’s two people I’ve pissed off today. And it’s only fifth period.
The red work light tempers me. I am messing everything up. Nothing is going right. I want to cry.
The photographs magically appear in the developer. I poke at them with the tongs. Another student comes in through the revolving door of the darkroom. It’s Max Carter.
“We have to talk,” he says. The red light eliminates all the hard features from his face. He looks smooth and unreal. I wonder if I look the same.
“No, we don’t,” I say, because I am afraid of what he’ll say to me. I’m afraid of what I’ll say to him. I’m afraid I’ll say that I am so glad that he’s come to Melrose Prep and that I’m so glad that I have a friend.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking . . .” Max says.
“Shut up,” I say.
“No,” Max says.
But he does shut up, because I turn my face away from him and I don’t say anything, and so the silence is frozen between us.
Max just stands there. I think it’s a relief that maybe he will just go away and I can just be alone, like I was before. Even though truly, I don’t want him to leave.
After what seems like ten lifetimes, Max exits the revolving door back out to the light. Leaving me by myself in the darkroom.
I push open the door to the Science Fiction and Fantasy Club meeting. Everyone stops their chatter when they see that it’s me. Rue looks away from me. She looks at the wall. Martin is shaking his head. I know she’s told everyone that she has had enough of me.
It’s obvious that no one wants me there. Hasan is the only one brave enough to say anything.
“You kept valuable information from us, Egg,” Hasan says. Clearly he’s hurt. “Our club mantra is to share all insider information on the films and television shows that we talk about.”
“I know. I helped make up the rules,” I say.
“Well then, you also know that you are officially suspended for keeping information to yourself,” Hasan informs me.
I can tell he’s embarrassed that he has to spell this out to me, because his slight lisp is more pronounced.
“What are you talking about?” I say.
“We know your mom is playing Hera. It was announced today, and we all figure you’ve known for a while,” Martin says. “Sorry. You know the rules. You’re suspended from the club until you can bring us a worthy piece of insider information.”
“This is bullshit,” I say. “It’s my mom. It’s different.”
“It’s the rules we all agreed on together,” Mr. Padilla says. He’s sorry, too. I can tell. But he’s not going to stand up for me.
“How about a scoop like Saba Greer is dating Lark Austin?”
“Old news. It’s already all over the Web,” Martin says. “Somebody posted it on the Terminal Earth message board.”
“Besides, outing somebody is cheap,” Rue says. “And it doesn’t pertain to film information.”
“Whatever,” I say. “I’m cheap, I’m mean, and I’m a waste.” I push open the door and get the hell off campus.
Still no one is talking to me.
A month ago this would have been preferable. Now it is torture.
The days get measured by the things that don’t happen anymore. Like Max’s head never turns in my direction to say something clever. Rue never pats the empty seat next to her at lunchtime.
There are more alien and monster doodles than notes and homework assignments written in my loose-leaf binder.
I haunt the hallways like a broken spirit.
My mom is not embarrassing me. She’s actually being totally cool. I’ve never seen her as anything but washed up. But tonight, she looks gorgeous. Her hair is in an upsweep, with some glitter in it for a sparkling effect. She’s wearing a fabulous new dress with jewels on loan. How she shines in the light of the paparazzi. How she glows as she walks down the red carpet. How she smiles with genuine happiness and squeezes my hand and says to me in a whisper, “This is it, baby. I’m back on top.”
I guess I never paid attention. It really means that much to her being an actress. She really is a star.
But me, I’m nothing. I’m a black hole.
Hasan is by the stinky cheese table, ignoring me. I look him over — sloping shoulders, large stomach, man breasts. His body language tells me that he wants to talk to me. He widens his eyes at me, like an alien.
“How did you guys get in?” I ask Hasan. I genuinely want to know. I’m glad they’re here. I’m glad for the familiar, if unfriendly, faces.
Hasan looks over to the group of my former acquaintances. Rue slits her eyes at me like a cat. Martin shakes his head. A few others from the Science Fiction and Fantasy Club turn around, physicalizing the cold shoulder they are collectively giving me.
“Well, it was no thanks to you,” Hasan says.
“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry. I mean it. For real.”
“Rue’s dad got us in,” Hasan says, and finishes loading up his plate with a small mountain of bread, cheese, and olives.
I suddenly wish that I had invited them. I wish that I had not been such a tightass with my in at the event. These are the only people I know who can appreciate some of the things that I like, and I miss them.
“I miss talking to you guys. You guys are my friends. What if I said I was sorry, Hasan?” I ask.
“It would help if you really meant it,” he says.
I see an opening here. I can see Hasan wanting to crack. He wants to tell me it will be okay. But then he moves away from me to rejoin the true friends he came here with tonight.
Saba Greer blinks too much. I never noticed that she blinked that often in Terminal Earth.
“Can I try one of those halibut sashimis?” she asks me sweetly.
Saba Greer is kissing up to me to get on my mom’s good side. It’s so strange. Once upon a time, this would have been a dream come true. But now that Saba Greer is just a normal person and not a hero who saves humanity from itself at the end of the world, it’s just a bummer.
“Knock yourself out,” I say, and push the tiny plate with the halibut roll over to her side of the table.
“Thanks,” she says. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.
God, it is so annoying. I blink back at her, but she just smiles. She doesn’t realize that I am making fun of her. She’s such an idiot. I suppose they must have digitally erased her eyelids in Terminal Earth in order to make her look less annoying. They can fix just about any imperfection in the movies.
Imperfections. I sum them up.
Saba Greer blinks too much in real life. My mom has a chip in her tooth, and Lark Austin’s hair is thinning.
And me, I’m ground zero for my own personal apocalypse.
“Would you like to try the eel?” I say politely. My mother smiles because I’m making an effort to join in the conversation. But I just really hate eel.
“You know, Saba, the tabloids said I was gay once,” my mom says between bites of squid.
“But you’re not gay,” Saba Greer says. “Besides, they got it wrong. I’m not gay. I’m bi.”
“One of those Eggophiles posted it on the Terminal Earth message board,” Lark Austin says.
“I was going to do a whole spread of coming out in The Advocate,” Saba say. “It was going to be a great publicity thing for me. But now that’s ruined because of the tabloid thing. I hate not having absolute control over what’s said about me.”
“It’s still great publicity. We can spin it any way we want,” Lark says. “It’s giving me great buzz for the Greek Mythology trilogy.”
“Well, it’s just about damage control now,” Saba Greer says. “What pisses me off is that
the tabloids keep outing Zach Cross and it never affects him.”
“Well, you know what they say. When a door is closed, a window opens,” Mom says.
Mental note: Time to rethink my life. Time to look for that window.
It’s been four weeks since Max Carter has spoken to me. He doesn’t answer my instant messages. He’s right in front of me in Global History class every day and he never once turns around to chat with me anymore.
I always thought I was lonely, but now that no one is talking to me, I really know what lonely is.
In English class, Max is still sitting right next to me. I can smell him. I think he smells good. I want to reach over and touch his arm and make him turn to look at me. But no matter how much I jiggle in my seat and make noise, he just keeps looking straight forward.
Today, I swear, I am going to fix it. I am going to say something.
“Can I borrow a pen? Mine is out of ink,” I say.
Max doesn’t answer. He continues working on his essay.
“Max, please talk to me.”
Max doesn’t answer. He’s hesitating, though. I’m wearing him down.
“Max, I’m really sorry,” I say. I really am sorry. I miss Max Carter. I miss my old loner life. The one that was full of people.
He leans back on his chair and dips his hand into his bag and gets me a pen. He still doesn’t say anything. But it feels like progress.
The only way that Jacques will let me continue helping him out with the makeup is if I continue on as an elf extra. My one-day elf stint has stretched into over a month of after-school work. Good for the wallet and good for my makeup training. It’s the only thing that is keeping me sane now that no one is talking to me.
I cut out of the set for Trouble at Santa Land and head toward the commissary for dinner break.
I have to do my homework.
I order a latte from the girl behind the counter and then sit down and look at the math problems I’ve been assigned. They don’t make any sense to me. The numbers blur in front of me. I have coffee rings on my loose-leaf paper. Instead of doing my homework, I begin to trace out dinosaurs and flying saucers with my pencil.
I’m thinking. I’m thinking. I don’t know what the answer is. I need help. I fucked up badly when I lost Rue as my tutor. I’m so stupid. I have no one to turn to and it’s my own fault. I’m all on my own. I’m not as smart as I always think I am.
I sip on my latte. I’m buzzed from all the caffeine. I’m trembling and quivery inside. I want to concentrate on the proof.
All I can think about is how I’m going to fail trigonometry. I’ve definitely lost my spot as valedictorian. At this point, I’ll probably have to go to summer school. I’m not going to get into a good college, and I’m never going to show Max Carter or anyone else that I can be friendly.
I must be crazy. I’m talking to myself.
Too much coffee has made me have to pee. I go to the ladies’ room and relieve myself and then, to torture myself, I order another half-caf latte.
On my way back to the table, I see a tall, dark man leaning over my notebook, scribbling in it.
“Hey!” I yell. “Hey there, what are you doing?”
The man turns around and looks at me. I move toward him in slow motion, in disbelief. My brain is frozen, but my feet know what to do. They keep moving.
It’s Zach Cross. It’s Uno. Zach Cross from Terminal Earth has been scribbling in my math notebook. My feet move me back toward my table and I sit down.
“I just found the mistake you made,” Zach Cross says to me.
“What?” I say.
“You see, you used the wrong table here. That’s why you’re off,” Zach Cross says. He looks at me sideways, suddenly noticing my costume. “What are you?”
“I’m an Awkwardly Tall Elf,” I say. Then I jingle the bell on top of my hat.
“Oh,” he says. “Cool.”
Then, undistracted by my ridiculous costume, probably because he has worn more ridiculous getups than mine, he helps me with my trigonometry homework.
“Oh!” I say after about twenty minutes. “I think I get it.”
He smiles. He is more beautiful in person than in the movies. He punches my shoulder, like we’re friends.
“I thought you were in New Zealand,” I say.
“I am. I had to come back and do some looping for my last film,” he says.
“Are you gay?” I say.
“What?” Zach Cross says.
“Everyone says you’re gay,” I say. “I don’t care if you are. It’s no big deal.”
“I’m not gay,” he says.
“Are you stupid?” I say. “’Cause that’s another thing everyone says as well.”
He sets his mouth into a grim line. He furrows his brow. He turns his perfect movie-star eyes on me, and says, “I’m not a man of many words, but I understand math.”
“Saba Greer is dating Lark Austin,” I say.
“You can’t believe what the tabloids say,” Zach Cross says.
“I met them at the Cinematheque with my mom,” I say. “They were holding hands.”
I lean back on my chair and nibble on the piece of cake that Zach Cross has bought me, and something dawns on me.
“Hey, Zach,” I say. “I’ve got a problem that you can help me solve.”
“More math?”
I explain to him what happened with the Science Fiction and Fantasy Club and my holding back on my mom being Hera in the Greek Mythology trilogy. “So, I need some inside dirt on Terminal Earth,” I say.
“Your mom is Ursula Denton?” Zach asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m Victoria.”
I don’t say I’m Egg.
“I had your mom’s poster on my wall when I was a kid. I was in love with her,” he says. “I’ll dish the dirt for you. You can share with your friends, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
Then Zach Cross begins to tell me some gorgeously heavy secrets about the new Terminal Earth movie.
A homeless man sleeps outside of the school every morning. Sometimes I give him change. Or I give him an apple. Or I give him a mean, awful look and say, “Go away.”
But today, something seems different. Normally he is an invisible citizen. But today, his dirty face reminds me of those birds slicked with oil.
I take my camera out of my bag and take his picture as he shuffles off with his blanket. I capture him as he carefully unhooks his dog from the bench that he calls a bed every night. I follow him as he panhandles for some change that might bring some food to his belly or some wine to his surely rotting gut. I focus on his blackened fingernails and yellow teeth. His scarred face. His over-sunburned arms. His gentle eyes. His wild, peppered, dark hair. His missing tooth.
I bring the proof sheet into the Melrose Lion meeting.
Max Carter looks up at me as I enter the meeting. Nelly has her head leaning on his shoulder. I can imagine that this is the way she places herself on him after wrestling with him on the bed.
I push an envelope of photographs that I took that morning toward the center of the table.
“I brought something in,” I say. “I thought we could use it as a social commentary piece.”
“Max and I do commentary,” Nelly says. Nelly has become as frigid toward me as everyone else has. Her nice-girl skills only extend so far.
“I didn’t write a story. I took some pictures,” I say.
I push the envelope into the middle of table. Max starts to reach for it.
“Maybe we should take a look,” Max says.
My chest tightens with a hopeful feeling.
“I’m student editor. I have final word,” Nelly says, turning to me with those smart eyes of hers. “Just hand in what we ask you to.”
Ms. Dicostanzo sweeps into the room.
“Sorry I’m late. The traffic is so horrible since they’ve started widening all the streets in Hollywood,” she says.
Everyone looks at me. They all know I could play the Di
costanzo card. I could force Nelly to look at my proof sheet. I could get her to consider accepting something for the Lion that wasn’t planned. We all know we’re supposed to work as a team.
I pull my manila envelope back and stuff it in my bag.
“Did you share something with the group?” Ms. Dicostanzo asks me.
“Nah, it was nothing,” I say.
Mental note: Always know when to keep big mouth shut.
Out of the corner of my eye I almost notice that Max is about to speak up for me.
But then again, maybe it’s just wishful thinking.
New tactic: Be friendly.
I smile big and I say hello to twelve people today in the hall.
“Hello, Rue.”
“Hello, Martin.”
“Hello, Hasan.”
“Hello, Nelly.”
“Hello, Max.”
“Hello, Katrina.”
“Hello, Damon.”
“Hello, Jessica.”
“Hello, Ignacio.”
“Hello, Tamara.”
“Hello, Sid.”
“Hello, Christina.”
No one says hello back. But I don’t care.
“You’re not welcome,” Rue says.
“Yeah,” Hasan says.
“According to the bylaws of our club, I can return as a member in good standing if I supply a piece of information as good as the one I withheld.”
Martin looks up from his copy of F/X magazine. I have captured his attention.
“Technically, yes. But in this case we won’t accept any inside information from the Greek Mythology trilogy,” he says.
Everyone mutters in agreement. Mr. Padilla wants me back in the club, I can tell. He waves his hands like a conductor for everyone to sit down and come to order. Then he motions for me to enter the room.
“Let’s hear what Egg has to say,” he says. This makes me smile.
“I have insider information on Terminal Earth,” I announce.
“No go, Egg,” Martin says. “We all know that they are shooting parts two and three back to back.”
Boy Proof Page 9
