Evolution, Me & Other Freaks of Nature

by Robin Brande

Casey spoke up. “Mom sold the last puppy.”

  “So? We were never going to get to keep ‘em all, little man. I love them, too, but buck up. Step back from the ledge.”

  Casey groaned and stood up. “Want anything else?” he asked me.

  I shook my head.

  “Would you tell her?” Kayla demanded.

  “Tell her what?”

  “To write something! Come on, C. Don't you want your little girlfriend to be a hit?”

  Casey's cheeks blazed. “She's not my—”

  “We're not—”

  She waved us both off. “Who cares? Listen, BG, I don't mean to pressure you, but I could really use something fresh right away. Say, tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow? No way!”

  “Your fans await. Don't disappoint.” Kayla escaped inside before I could argue anymore.

  And left Casey and me with that word—girlfriend— and both of our denials hanging in the air.

  Casey sank back into his seat.

  “She's crazy,” I said.

  “From birth,” he agreed.

  Then neither of us could think of anything else to say. We just stared at the puppies, and as relaxing as that normally is, this time it felt like any moment someone was going to sneak up behind me and push me into traffic.

  Because it's bad enough to have Kayla barking at me to get her a new column, without her casually throwing out that whole girlfriend thing and then having Casey act so offended.

  There's only so much abuse a girl can take in one day.

  When it was finally time to go home, I'd made up my mind to be friendly to Kayla but firm. No means no.

  But she's good. For every argument I made, she had three against it. And as hard as it is for me to understand, by the time we reached my house, despite all my efforts, I had actually agreed to give it one more try.

  Which is why I've been sitting here for the past two hours flipping through my Bible, checking out footnotes, frantically trying to think of anything I could possibly say that would be of interest to anyone, including me.

  At least when my mom came in to check on me just now before she went to bed, she saw what I was reading and seemed genuinely impressed. And surprised.

  I hardly ever think fast on my feet, but this time I did. “I've been reading it a lot lately. And I was kind of hoping … could I maybe do this instead of watching those TV shows on Sunday mornings?”

  She thought about it for a moment. But it's hard to deny a child's wish to spend more time reading the Bible.

  “All right, but you still need to write us a report.”

  “Okay.”

  “With citations.”

  “No problem.”

  So now I have my own separate Bible Grrrl thing to do for my parents. What a weird and wacky world.

  But if I can find something tonight and bring it to Kayla tomorrow, then maybe I can relax for a few days. Between her, my teachers, and my parents, I have enough work to last me until college.

  Tomorrow I have to work in my parents’ storeroom, but then they said I can go to Casey's—sorry, KC's—in the afternoon.

  Which is good. I think.

  I need to treasure this time. There's not much of it left.

  Hold that thought until Wednesday.

  Thirty-three

  It's two twenty-five in the morning.

  And I can't believe it.

  I'm very, very tired right now, so I'm not sure I can really trust myself. But if I'm right, oh my gosh.

  I can't be right. Someone else would have discovered this by now, wouldn't they? There are all those Bible scholars out there—grown men and women—and this is their job, and I'm just some stupid freshman reading the Bible on my own.

  So I know I'm probably wrong.

  But still. If what I found is true, then it may turn out to be the hugest thing I've ever thought of.

  But I have to be sure. Because once I say it out loud, I don't know what's going to happen. People are going to be either incredibly angry or incredibly—well, maybe not happy, but at least very, very interested.

  I need some sleep. I have to think this through, down to the last detail, before I ever present it to Kayla. Because knowing her, once it's out of my mouth, it's going to be all over the internet in a matter of minutes.

  And on T-shirts and in the Post and who knows where else.

  And if I'm wrong, then I'll look like an absolute idiot in front of Casey and everyone.

  So I'm going to go to sleep now. And when I wake up, I'll read the parable once more, and then read it another fifty times if I have to.

  I don't know if this is real.

  I almost hope it's not.

  Thirty-four

  There wasn't enough mochaccino in the world to wake me up this morning, but I worked at my parents’ agency nonetheless. It wasn't too bad—they're actually talking to me a little more lately. I wonder if it's because they're so impressed by my diligence over my science project. If only they knew.

  As I rode the bus to Casey's, I still wasn't sure what, if anything, I was going to tell Kayla. I was still too groggy to know whether what I came up with in the wee hours of this morning makes any sense.

  But luckily, Kayla and some of her friends had decided at the last minute to go to some political rally this afternoon, so it was just Casey, his mom, and me—and the dogs, of course. That was really nice.

  Mrs. Connor fixed us lunch—these huge chicken salads with slices of pear fanned along the edges and blue cheese and walnuts on top—and we ate with her in the kitchen while she told us about the new wing of the art museum she's designing. Then Casey and I went to his room to spend some time graphing out the puppy results.

  I was lying on his floor coloring in the bar graph when I noticed Casey kept looking over at me, then looking away. Then he'd clear his throat, go back to working on some calculations we're going to need, then a few seconds later he'd be back to looking at me.

  Finally he spit it out. “Have you, um, had a chance to look at my dad's book yet?”

  I felt like such a jerk. I hadn't even looked at the first page. “Oh no. I'm really sorry. I've been so busy—”

  “No problem, no problem.” He looked like he wished he hadn't asked me.

  And maybe it's because I felt so guilty that I fell for what he did next.

  I was busy coloring in the green bars for Green (now known as Smoky) when I saw Casey out of the corner of my eye fiddling around near his TV.

  I let it go on for a bit longer before my antennae went up and I understood what he was doing.

  “Oh no.”

  “Come on,” he said. “Just one scene.”

  “No way!”

  “Mena, I promise it won't corrupt you. It's this really cool scene with a horse. You'll like it.” He loaded the DVD and scrolled through the menu. “It's from the second movie, but you don't need to have seen the first one to understand it. I just thought you might like it, since it's about animals.”

  I got up and stood near the door, ready to make my escape. But I admit I was curious.

  Is not saying no to something the same as saying yes?

  The scene started with some old guy with long white hair standing out in a meadow and whistling. I laughed because the whistling sounded so weird, but Casey frowned and I stopped.

  And then the most beautiful thing happened. This gorgeous white horse came galloping across the field—in slow motion, so it looked especially stunning—with its long white mane and white tail flowing out behind it. And it came right to the old man (Gandalf, I now know), who said the horse was called Shadowfax, which is an odd name, but there's no denying the horse was spectacular.

  Casey paused it at the end of the scene. “Want to see another one?”

  I shrugged, which isn't exactly a no.

  He switched to a scene where some guy with a couple days’ growth of beard (Aragorn—HOT—I can see what Ms. Shepherd and Kayla are talking about) is in a stable watching some brown horse go nuts
. And Aragorn steps up and talks softly to the horse in a strange language, and the horse settles down. Then this woman with long blond hair (Éowyn—I'd like to be her) tells Aragorn the horse's name is Brego, and it used to belong to her cousin, who died in battle. And Aragorn says to set Brego free, since the horse has seen enough of war.

  Then Casey skipped ahead to this scene where Aragorn is passed out, floating on his back down a river, and he washes up on the bank. And some ethereal woman with pointy ears (Arwen—don't really want to be her, although she is beautiful, but I still like the other woman better) kisses him (which is, I guess, one reason to be her). But it turns out it's just a dream, and her lips fade away and morph into horse's lips, and it turns out to be Brego, and he's come to save Aragorn. The horse kneels down and Aragorn grabs his mane and struggles to climb on his back, then Brego stands and carries Aragorn back to the castle and his friends.

  And if you're going to watch those scenes, you might as well watch some more, and one thing led to another, and next thing I know, it's a couple of hours later and I'm sitting on the floor next to Casey, propped up against his bed, and Kayla's standing in the doorway yelling, “Mom! Casey's giving Mena drugs!”

  There were two girls standing in the hallway behind Kayla, one with rust-colored hair and a ton of freckles, and a kind of stocky girl with short brown hair and glasses. They craned their necks to look into Casey's room. They seemed particularly intrigued by the hanging jackalope.

  “What are you talking about?” Casey demanded. “We're not doing drugs.”

  “Same difference,” Kayla said. “I thought Mena's not supposed to watch Lord of the Rings. Shape up. We need to keep Bible Grrrl pure.”

  “Kayla!” I looked from her to her friends. She had called me Bible Grrrl, right in front of them.

  “Don't worry, they're cool. They already know.”

  “I thought you said I was anonymous.”

  “To the world,” Kayla said as if it were obvious, “not to the inner circle. Listen, we're having girls’ night—pizza and Michael Moore with a Clive Owen chaser. Wanna join us?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Kayla shrugged. “Fine, hang with the geek. But don't lose your innocence over this, Bible Grrrl. You need your standards.”

  Casey stood up and went to the door. “Thanks for stopping by.” He shut it in her face. We heard laughter on the other side. “Sorry,” he said to me.

  But I was already on my feet. “She's right. I should go.” It was like Kayla had just caught us doing something seedy. “Can you … do you think your mom can give me a ride home? I don't think Kayla—”

  “Sure,” Casey said, but then he hesitated. “You can … stay if you want. We can get our own pizza—”

  “No. I should go. I'm still sort of on restriction.” Which was kind of a lie. True, I am still grounded in some ways, but my parents are making a total exception for this project. And since it's not a school night and I told them we still have so much to do, they agreed I didn't have to be home for dinner tonight.

  But I wasn't telling Casey any of that.

  Because I know a sign when I see one. Kayla's reminder about my integrity was more than just a coincidence. It was a message from above telling me to stop sitting on the floor next to Casey and letting my arm brush against his and smelling how nice his hair smells and barely even paying attention to the movie most of the time—which I shouldn't even have been watching in the first place—because I was too busy holding my breath waiting for something to happen that I'm not supposed to be wishing would happen anyway.

  I'd been busted.

  Casey looked disappointed I was leaving, but I'd already gone much further than I should have. We had watched practically all of The Two Towers—which, I have to say, from the parts I paid attention to, is a really good movie that doesn't seem the least satanic. I'm sure if I stayed longer, Casey would have talked me into watching The Fellowship of the Ring to catch up, and then there'd be no going back—I'd have to watch The Return of the King someday to see how it all ends. This is how temptation traps you.

  Casey and I found his mother sitting on the stool in her office, hunched over a set of plans on her drafting table. She seemed happy for the interruption and agreed to give me a ride. “You coming, honey?” she asked Casey.

  “No,” we both said quickly. I had already explained to Casey that my parents are strict and so I was pretending Kayla was him, just so they wouldn't get nervous. He seemed to think that was funny.

  “Okay, well, I'll see you at school,” I said. I felt a little relieved. I definitely need the Sabbath off from Casey. I can't keep hanging around him like this if I'm ever going to get him out of my system. Not that that will be a problem, starting next Saturday. It's just the time in between I need to worry about.

  On the way home Mrs. Connor and I chatted about the dogs and confessed which ones are our favorites. I like Christmas and Bear—Christmas because she's the sweetest thing on earth, and Bear because he's just such a fun-loving brat. Mrs. Connor prefers Lily and Blue, who she can't get used to calling Shadow because Blue already seems like a good name. But we both agreed we'll miss each and every one of them every day.

  As she pulled up in front of my house, Mrs. Connor said she hoped I'd enjoyed my day. “You know you're welcome anytime. My kids really like you.” She elbowed me gently. “Me too.”

  “Thanks.” It felt good to hear that, but it hurt at the same time, knowing I won't be back after next week.

  Mrs. Connor glanced toward my house. “I feel like I should come in and introduce myself to your parents.”

  “Oh … um, no, that's okay. They're really shy.”

  The last thing I needed was Mrs. Connor telling my parents, “Oh, my son has been having such a good time with your daughter!”

  Cue my parents choking to death.

  I needed to change the subject. “Um, I meant to tell you, I really, really love your house.”

  “I do, too,” she said. “There's so much of Jack in it.”

  I didn't know what to say to that. So I just told her good night and got out.

  I have got to start reading Red Horizon tonight. I feel like I owe it to all of them.

  Thirty-five

  Even though I've spent enough time reading the Bible lately to write a dozen reports for my parents, I know the one I won't be writing for them this morning is the thing I'm writing for Kayla's website. Because my parents would not understand.

  No, they'd understand. They'd just be very unhappy.

  So when they left for church this morning, I quickly knocked out my report on the prodigal son for them, then went back to working on my Bible Grrrl piece so I can show it to Kayla tomorrow.

  Because I'm sure now about what I read. I've thought it through and I know I'm right.

  Which makes me nervous, but that's not a reason not to do it. In fact, there's an argument to be made that everything that's happened to me and the people I've met in the past few weeks—Casey and Kayla and Ms. Shepherd— have led me to exactly this moment, and that this is my destiny, if you want to call it that. I think God has called me to do this.

  So I'll spend my church time this morning writing the piece as well as I can, and then I'm going to put it out of my mind. What will happen will happen.

  And then I can spend the rest of the day doing homework and reading Red Horizon.

  This might be the best Sunday I've had in weeks.

  Thirty-six

  Well, that didn't take long. The gossips at church work just a little slower than the internet, but they can still get the job done.

  It took me only a fraction of a millisecond to know what was going to happen once I saw my mother standing in my doorway holding a copy of the Post that someone had given to her at church.

  “THIS is that Kayla Connor girl?” she said, slapping the front page.

  I'd forgotten Kayla's name was on it.

  I did the best I could explaining everything—how Kayla's just a r
eporter, she has to write the stories assigned to her (luckily my parents didn't notice she's also editor in chief), blah, blah, blah, but it didn't do any good.

  So.

  I am hereby forbidden to have anything more to do with “that Kayla Connor girl.”

  I am hereby forbidden to do any more work with her on my science project, even though I explained that I have to because the puppies are hers, but my parents say too bad, find another project.

  I am from now on required to associate only with members of our church (as if) or with other people of “similar belief” to ours, and my parents will from now on be calling the parents of such potential, nonexistent friends to interview them and make sure they are the kinds of people with whom I should associate.

  From this day forward my life will irrevocably, irretrievably, monumentally SUCK.

  Thirty-seven

  I didn't have the heart to tell Casey I have to abandon our project. Instead, when I ran into him in the hall outside biology this morning, I put on a fake smile and went with “Hey, your dad's book is amazing.”

  Casey smiled. He almost looked relieved. “You liked it, huh?”

  “I loved it. I still have to finish it tonight, but that whole Catrina and Will thing with the starfire, and the battle with the Weavers—I can't believe your dad could even write all that.”

  My heart wasn't in it—even though it really is a good book. How can you talk about science fiction when your real world has just been hit by an asteroid? But even if I had been ready to spill my guts to Casey just then, I didn't get the chance, since once he opened the door all we could focus on was the Back Turners’ new display.

  There they sat, all in a pod, wearing their own matching T-shirts—neon green, fairly hideous—with their own snappy slogan: JESUS SEZ: HAVE FAITH—EVEN SCIENTISTS CAN BELIEVE.

  What a rip-off.

  Ms. Shepherd sat at her desk drinking her venti Starbucks and ignoring them while she flipped through a science journal.

  But this time when the bell rang and Ms. Shepherd called out in her most bored voice ever, “Evolution,” nothing happened.