Evolution, Me & Other Freaks of Nature

by Robin Brande

  I wonder if guys can sense things like that.

  “I finished your dad's book,” I was able to tell him, so at least we had that to talk about. His father really is one of the best writers I've ever read, and I don't even like science fiction. Or at least I didn't.

  “Ready for another one?” Casey asked. “I'll bring you a few tomorrow.”

  “Sure.” So I guess we'll at least have that connection.

  I think it might be some weird kind of consolation to read all thirty-nine of Mr. Connor's novels. I'll probably skip the science articles, though. No sense trying to fake my way through those.

  Biology was actually kind of boring today, compared to the past two weeks. Apparently no one feels the need to protest our new unit on classifying organisms by genus and species. It's good the Back Turners know where to draw the line.

  Ms. Shepherd returned our quizzes, and I actually got an A. Casey got an A plus for adding a whole separate page of explanations Ms. Shepherd hadn't even asked for.

  I'm sure the brainy science girlfriend he's going to hook up with any day now will be very proud of him.

  Casey slipped me a note listing the current stats on the Bible Grrrl response. I can't quite believe it. The number of visitors to Kayla's website has gone up to 4,200 as of last night. It can't be just because of me. What I wrote isn't that great.

  “Library?” Casey asked as we headed out.

  “Can't,” I lied. Because one hour of torturing myself with false hopes and fantasies is quite enough for one day, thank you. Besides, it's very cozy here in the second-floor west-wing girls’ bathroom, and so far only one person's come in to smoke, and I can write and think in peace, and Casey can go about his business mapping out the genome or whatever he's going to tackle next for extra credit.

  If only.

  If only they hadn't targeted Denny. If only I had stopped them. If only I had told him in person I was sorry. If only I hadn't written that letter.

  If only Ms. Shepherd had put me with a different lab partner. If only I hadn't fallen in love with the puppies. If only I hadn't fallen in love, period.

  If only I were a Science Brain. If only Casey liked me. If only my parents hadn't grounded me so I can't even spend this last week at Casey's house.

  If only my parents had listened to me and let me go to a different school in the first place.

  It's hard to know how far to go back and what to fix on that day when someone finally gets around to perfecting the time machine.

  I think I want to go back to sitting with Casey on the floor of his bedroom, watching Aragorn fight the Orcs. That might have been my last good day.

  Wonder if the puppies will miss me today.

  Wonder if anyone will.

  Forty-two

  It's Thursday, and I got this last night:

  NEWSJUNKEE1: Operation Free Mena is in place. Is this a secure line?

  MENA@REECEINSURANCE: No!

  NEWSJUNKEE1: Meet me on the jungle gym tomorrow. Lunch.

  By which I assumed she meant the bleachers, since New Advantage doesn't have any outdoor equipment. I'm never sure when Kayla is joking.

  She came alone. She kept her sunglasses on and spoke in a hushed, clipped tone. “Tomorrow. Eighteen hundred—”

  “Huh?”

  “Six o'clock, rookie.”

  “Can't. That's dinnertime.”

  “Affirmative. You'll be having dinner with us.”

  “I can't.”

  “Say ‘I can't’ once more and I'll stuff your head in a trash can. Pay attention. Your cover story: New science mentor, new project—astronomy. Venus visible only tomorrow night. Won't reappear for a thousand years. Last chance.”

  “Is that true?” I asked.

  “Negative. Work with me here.” Kayla glanced behind her to make sure no one was sneaking up. “Agent Steph will be driving a white car. Repeat: white car.”

  “White car,” I said, working hard not to laugh.

  “Affirmative. Agent Steph will enter the domicile, impress the parents, transport the target—you.”

  “Impress them how?”

  “Agent Steph a devout Catholic, wears the cross, talks the talk. Has been fully briefed as to said parents, knows how to charm mother.”

  I blew out a breath. “I don't know. Maybe don't emphasize the Catholic part.”

  “Because?”

  I hated to say it, but she had to know. So I said it really fast. “Catholics pray to saints, which is like worshipping someone other than God, which is like worshipping idols. So we don't really … you know.”

  Kayla might have rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses. “Affirmative. Lose the cross. Anything else?”

  “No, but … do you really think this will work?”

  “Affirmative. Be ready. Wear something sparkly.”

  And with that, my secret agent was gone.

  I don't know if I should do it. If my parents find out about this one, they'll probably throw me in a closet and nail it shut and only feed me fruit leathers under the door.

  But …

  It would be so worth it if I could just see the puppies one more time and say goodbye to them. Not to mention spend one more day at the Connors’. Not to mention spend time with a certain someone.

  I don't know if this Agent Steph, whoever she is, can pull it off. I have the feeling my parents will be beyond suspicious.

  Have faith. Think positive. Maybe this is meant to be.

  If not, I don't even want to think about what might happen.

  Forty-three

  Friday. Casey must have asked me three different times this morning if I'm coming tonight. I think he's as nervous for me as I am. Who knows if Kayla's plan will really work?

  It's five thirty. I'm wearing jeans, my favorite top— light blue, with a violet border along the neckline—and plain white sneakers. I can't look too dressed up or my mother will be on to me. I looked for something sparkly, but that's never really been my thing. I'll bring some glitter powder to brush on in Agent Steph's car, if I ever get that far.

  I've been planning it all out—what I'll say to Casey tonight. I'm going to thank him for coming up with our project, tell him I'm sorry I couldn't see it through, but say how glad I was to be able to work with him and spend time with him and his family.

  I think that will come out well. I won't sound like too much of a dork.

  Of course, what I really want to say is, “Casey, I've fallen in love with you. You're funny, brilliant, kind, clever, handsome—” I'd probably add a few other things after that, if my mouth was still working. I have the feeling I'd be a quivering, stuttering mess at that point, though, so for all I know I'd only get out the “Casey” part before passing straight to a stupor.

  Five forty. Is Agent Steph already on her way? What's she going to say to my parents? I haven't even told them about the whole fake astronomy project yet, which is probably stupid of me since Agent Steph will be here any minute, but what am I supposed to say? What if they won't let me go? Then what, besides the fact that my life will be ruined?

  Shoot. I can't just let Agent Steph ring the doorbell and come in and kidnap me. I'd better go tell them right now.

  Is it wrong to pray that a deception will go well?

  I do pray it. For the greater good.

  Forty-four

  I want to go backward and write about what happened last, but I should start at the beginning and let it unfold properly.

  Agent Steph is Kayla's friend I met the other night— the short one with the glasses, who went with Kayla to the political rally and apparently ended up spitting in some guy's hair.

  Not that I'm surprised, now that I know her.

  She was five minutes early, and I had just broken it to my parents thirty seconds before that I was meeting my new science mentor and we were going out to look at the stars.

  “No, you're not.”

  “Mom, it's schoolwork.”

  “Mena,” my father said, “you know very well from
now on—”

  And then the doorbell rang.

  Oh my gosh. She really must be a special agent, because she's obviously got the disguise part down.

  She looked nothing like she had the other night, when she was dressed in flare-leg jeans and a peasant blouse and flip-flops and had a row of pierced earrings up each ear. The only thing that was the same about her tonight was her glasses.

  She was dressed like a lawyer, which is what she told me later she plans to be. Plain navy skirt, white button-down shirt, navy jacket, panty hose, high heels. One set of earrings—low-key diamond studs. She even—I'm not kidding—carried a briefcase.

  Not exactly an astronomy mentor's outfit, but impressive nonetheless.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Reece? Hi. I'm Stephanie Lopez.” She strode forward on solid legs and shook my parents’ hands. Unfortunately, they were not in the mood to be impressed.

  “Ready, Mena?” Stephanie asked. “We'll need to stop by my house so I can change. I just came from volunteering at Teen Court.”

  Which, it turns out, was true. Stephanie had been defending some kid for spraying graffiti. The teen jury sentenced him to forty hours of community service, painting over other people's spray jobs. Justice.

  “Mena isn't going anywhere,” my mother told her. “We only just found out about this.”

  Stephanie rounded on me, looking seriously outraged. “Mena! You didn't tell them ahead of time? What did we talk about? One, preparation. Two, responsibility. Three, respect.” Stephanie turned back to my parents. “I am so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Reece. This really was Mena's responsibility. I understand your disappointment in her.”

  I stared at her in dismay. This was going all wrong.

  “Want to try again?” Stephanie asked me. “I believe an apology is in order.”

  “Um … I'm really sorry—”

  “Not to me,” Stephanie said. “To them.”

  “Oh. I'm really sorry,” I told my parents. “I should have told you earlier.”

  “You mean asked,” Stephanie corrected me.

  I quickly agreed. Stephanie was seriously scaring me.

  My mother wasn't buying it. “We've already told Mena no more extracurricular activities.”

  Stephanie nodded. “I understand. This is a hard stage in a teenager's life—for both the parents and the student. It's why one of our goals in the mentoring program is not just to bolster our freshmen's academics, but also to instill responsibility in them. As you can see, we have a lot of work to do with Mena.”

  I couldn't believe it. Whose side was she on?

  And yet I could believe it. In fact, the more Stephanie talked, the more I became convinced there really was a mentoring program, and I was one of their more challenging cases.

  My parents were starting to believe it, too. Stephanie was telling them just what they wanted to hear.

  “Now,” Stephanie said crisply, opening her briefcase. “I just have a few forms for you to sign.”

  “Forms?” my mother asked.

  “I'm sorry Kayla Connor didn't do this before. She's notorious for flouting the rules. This will only take a few minutes.”

  Stephanie pulled out a manila file with my name on the tab. Inside were about twenty papers, clipped together.

  “The school wants me to have these signed before I take her anywhere,” Stephanie explained. “You understand— liability.”

  The papers all bore the New Advantage High School emblem, just as real as if someone had stolen the principal's stationery. I could only guess Josh had done some magic, downloading and replicating the design.

  But the forms, I found out later, were all Stephanie. Her parents are both lawyers, and apparently Stephanie inherited Law Brain, because those forms looked as official and complicated as anything I've ever seen at the insurance agency.

  “If you'll just sign all these …” Stephanie went through them one by one, explaining the purpose of each: emergency contact form, permission form, health information, agreement that their child could participate in the mentoring program.

  The whole process took about ten minutes. Stephanie gathered the forms, promised to mail them copies, then said, “Ready, Mena? We need to be in position before it's dark.”

  “Where are you going?” my mother asked.

  It had worked!

  “There's a spot up on Prospector where a lot of us like to set up our scopes. It's high enough that we can avoid glare from the city lights. Venus should be stunning tonight—a real treat for us amateur astronomers. Right, Mena?”

  I nodded, practically hypnotized by this tale she was spinning.

  “When will you be back?” my mother asked.

  “No later than ten,” Stephanie promised. “I'm an early bird—up at five—so I can't last much past ten anyway.”

  Even though the signs were there, I still wasn't completely sure I was free. But then Stephanie pulled out her final play. She handed them a business card and said, “Here's my cell phone number and e-mail. Feel free to contact me anytime this semester if you have comments or concerns about Mena's progress. That's what we're here for.”

  “All right,” my mother said. “Thank you.”

  It was like Moses finally convincing Pharaoh to let his people go. Without all the plagues or bloodshed.

  “Bye,” I told my parents as I followed Stephanie to the door. I made my escape before they could change their minds. As Stephanie and I walked away from the house, she mumbled out of the side of her mouth, “Keep it up. We don't relax until we're out of sight.”

  She was on my side after all. I sort of wondered back there.

  Stephanie waited until she'd driven to the end of our block before she gave up the act. Then she slumped back in her seat and smiled. “Well, that was fun, wasn't it?”

  And that's when it hit me.

  I had just done a terrible, terrible thing. I'd been so caught up in the drama, I hadn't thought about what we were doing.

  Granted, it's wrong of my parents to keep me hostage in the house, to keep me from making any friends at all just because they're not my church friends anymore. But I couldn't help remembering what Ms. Shepherd had said. Lying is for the weak-minded. If you can't think of a truthful way to solve your problems, you're not thinking hard enough.

  But how was I ever going to get to spend the evening with the Connors if I told my parents the truth? And it was just this one night—our last night together—and I figured I could make it up to my parents by not lying ever again. It was just this one time. Can't God forgive me for one time?

  As we drove to the Connors’, I put it out of my mind. I needed tonight to be perfect.

  Forty-five

  As soon as we got to the Connors’, Stephanie changed into sweatpants, flip-flops, and a T-shirt she had stowed in the back of her car. Special agents come prepared.

  It was a small party—just the Connors, Josh, me, Stephanie, and Kayla's red-haired friend, whose name is Jodi.

  We ate out on the back patio and let the puppies run free. Mrs. Connor had baked up some homemade dog biscuits and gave each of them one to gnaw on. Bear finished his and stole Lily's, big surprise, and then Pink came and wrestled him for it, and it was business as usual in Puppy-land.

  Mrs. Connor showed us the twelve baskets she'd prepared for the new owners, complete with shot records, registration papers, a few pigs’ ears, and a stuffed squeaky toy for each of them. It almost made me cry. I wished I were one of her puppies.

  Abbey roamed among the litter, surveying the troops, snapping back when their little teeth snapped at her. I wonder if she realizes they'll all be leaving tomorrow. How awful will that feel?

  We all ate our share of pizza—Hawaiian for Kayla, pepperoni for Josh and Casey, anchovy and bacon for Stephanie (yuck), and plain cheese for Jodi and me. Mrs. Connor sampled some of each. Don't know where she puts it, since she's about as skinny as Kayla.

  And then the party sort of broke up. Kayla and her friends all went to the living room to wat
ch some documentary on the large-screen TV.

  “You … want to go to my room?” Casey asked me.

  My heart did a little jig. “Um … sure.”

  “Fellowship? Or Return of the King?“

  It was my last night. I had lied to get there. All my parents had to do was check with the school next week and they'd know Stephanie was a fake. Ms. Shepherd might get another call, she'd be mad at me, I'd be in even huger trouble at home, which is hard to imagine—really, nothing good could come of this night.

  Since I was already condemned, I might as well go out in style. “King. I'd rather know the end than the beginning.”

  It was almost seven thirty. I had to be home by ten. Casey broke it to me that we wouldn't be able to watch the whole thing.

  “Pick out your favorite scenes,” I told him. “You can tell me the rest later.”

  We settled onto his floor, leaning against the bed, lights out to heighten the movie effect.

  And I can't tell you one thing I saw on the screen, because the whole time my head was buzzing, my heart was racing. I kept realizing I was holding my breath.

  Okay, that's a lie—I do remember a few scenes. Like the elephants attacking, and Éowyn's great line when she stabs the Witch King in the face (“I AM NO MAN!”). And this really uncomfortable part at the end, where Aragorn kisses Arwen and fully uses his tongue.

  We still had half an hour left. “Want to go play with the puppies?”

  I nodded. My heart hurt.

  We went out in the garage and flicked on the light. The clump of puppies stirred, but only a few of them actually woke up.

  “Want to hold one?” Casey asked.

  I nodded. I was too choked up to speak.

  We gently lifted Lily and Christmas from the pen. Christmas was so much bigger than the first time I held her. But she still folded into my chest perfectly, and breathed her soft puppy breath, and now there was nothing I could do about it—a tear rolled down my cheek.

  “I'm going to miss you, girl,” Casey told Lily, and he kissed the top of her soft black head.