“That’s this boy?”
“Oh, he’s more than a boy,” she says seriously. “He’s a huge singer. He writes the most awesome songs, and not just pop stuff. Some of them are deep and meaningful and unbelievable.” As she fills me in, she walks into her closet and comes back with a bunch more collages. “He’s on TV all the time and online and in magazines. He’s everywhere!”
I don’t bother explaining that Dad and I don’t have a movie theater screen and a billion cable channels like she does—that we only watch stuff on the Internet, usually Japanese anime or new shows from England or Finland. And Dad listens to boring podcasts and songs from the eighties, not normal radio music.
“He’s what I’m making for the art show,” Madison tells me. “Out on the patio. That’s going to be his head.”
“I love that idea!” I say, but the Friendship Community School Immersive Interactive Art Installation is the farthest thing from my mind as I stare at photo after photo on Madison’s poster board, and Ryder’s eyes melt into mine.
“Let me show you a video!” Madison runs over to her computer, and with the quick click of a button, I’m seeing Ryder Landry onstage. A song is ending, and a huge auditorium full of kids—mostly girls but boys too—is exploding with screams and cheers. I can hear Madison saying words next to me—something about going to a concert once with Lisa Lee and Kylie Mae—but I’m not really paying attention. I can’t take my eyes off Ryder, who’s moving like a panther or a puma, prowling gracefully through the jungle.
“Thank you, everybody,” he says. His voice makes me think of a river of warm honey that, for some reason, I want to swim in. The crowd quiets down when he brings the microphone to his mouth and talks like he knows them personally. “I know what it’s like for all of you out there,” he says, “because I’ve been through it too. I’ve had my problems, my struggles. I’ve moved, I’ve changed schools….”
Me too! I’m still kind of a new kid at Friendship Community, after all.
“I’ve lost people who are important to me….”
Me too! My mom died when I was little, and I grew up with just my dad. Then right when I started to like his girlfriend, Terri, she broke up with him, so I sort of lost her too. I can’t believe how much Ryder and I have in common.
“I’ve known love and I’ve had my heart broken….”
Okay, well, he’s got me there. I mean, I love my dad and Toby and Millie, and I guess my uncle Arnie, but I don’t think that’s what Ryder’s talking about.
“This song goes out to all of you.”
The giant crowd is silent as Ryder sits on a stool and sings from his heart. “Baby, I never knew, not until you, the way I could feel, my soul you unpeel, like an onion, I’m not funnin’…” The lyrics don’t feel like they’re coming through my ears and getting translated by my brain in the normal way; they’re becoming part of me.
He stops in the center of the stage and looks straight out, his eyes dreamy. “I like you, baby. At least I think so, maybe. No matter what they say, I won’t go away, from now on it’s just you and me, we’re free-er…than…freeeeeeee!” He looks into the camera and smiles—not one of his big, gleaming ones; it’s a small, personal smile that feels like it’s for me. The video stops. It’s been two minutes and fifty-three seconds, but it feels like time stood still.
I think Madison says something to me, but I don’t know for sure. I’m too busy staring into those eyes. At that smile.
“Uh-oh,” Madison says, shaking her head. “I think you’ve landed.”
Finally I’m able to look away from the frozen image of him on-screen. “Huh?”
“You’ve landed. You’re a Lander. That’s what Ryder’s fans are called.”
“Too bad we don’t know how the love potion works,” I tell her, only half joking. “We could use it on him.”
“Oh my gosh, that would be unreal!” Madison squeals. Then she stops herself, like she’s realized how far-fetched the idea is. “Yeah, the next time we see him, we’ll have to do that.” She laughs. “But right now, you have to help me papier-mâché his head.”
Yuck. It’s the last thing I want to do, but now that Madison’s shared Ryder Landry with me, I owe her. So into the goop I go.
Blech!
I’m still in a happy state of Landryness when Dad and I take Toby for a walk. Men in T-shirts and women in tank tops are enjoying the almost-summer sunshine, jogging on the dirt path around the lake across from our house. I thought LA would get boring being sunny all the time, but in Ohio I might still be wearing mittens in May. I don’t miss that at all.
An older man walks by quickly, reading a newspaper. Dad says hello and the man nods back. We see him every time we’re out here. He’s got a gray beard and really tan, leathery skin. It doesn’t matter how warm or cold it is; he never wears a shirt and he’s always in red shorts. He’s like a neighborhood celebrity—to me, anyway. I’ve named him “Red Shorts,” because I’m brilliant that way.
Toby sniffs and plays with some of the other dogs that pass by, and his favorite this afternoon is a nicely groomed golden retriever being walked by a lady with long legs in super-short shorts. She and Dad chat about how the dogs seem to like each other, and then she and her shiny pet walk in the other direction.
All the time I look for signs that Dad doesn’t care about Terri anymore, but I never find any proof. Like just now, the lady with the dog was really pretty, but Dad didn’t even notice. He still sometimes calls Terri his girlfriend until he corrects himself and says “ex,” which sounds like the saddest syllable in the world. Dad and Terri weren’t “hanging out” like Lisa Lee and Ronnie Cheseboro or Kylie Mae and Lonnie. Dad and Terri were in the kind of love that Ryder Landry sings about.
Ryder Landry. Those eyes. That smile. I can’t wait to get back to my room and listen to more of his songs.
“Cleo! Why are you standing there? Come on!”
I look up and see Dad and Toby way ahead of me, about to cross the street. I didn’t even realize I was standing in the path with people and dogs passing me as I stared into space thinking about Ryder Landry. Is this love?
No! I’m not in love with Ryder Landry. I think you need to know someone personally to love that person, but if Dad feels half of what I feel about Ryder right now, he needs to get back together with Terri.
“Coming!” I shout, and run to meet Dad.
Dad says it wasn’t my fault he and Terri broke up. I don’t agree, but it doesn’t matter. It’s my responsibility to get them back together. He was happy to see her at my play, but that was over three weeks ago—the night I got the love potion—and no matter what Focus! tries to teach me, sometimes I can’t help being impatient. Dad is an old man—he might even be forty—and I don’t want him to waste too much time. I ask him sometimes if he’s talked to Terri, but he says she needs her “space.” It seems to me like she has plenty of space, though, since she lives by herself at least two miles away from us.
Back home in my bedroom, I let Millie the millipede crawl on my hand as I kneel in front of my dresser. I stare at the little red bottle of love potion. It’s only two or three inches tall, but to me it seems…powerful. Being careful not to knock Millie off my wrist, I pick up the bottle and take out its stopper.
I look inside. I swirl the liquid around, but it’s kind of thick so it doesn’t move much. I put my nose close to the opening and breathe in. If the potion has any smell, I can’t tell, but that could be because Millie’s terrarium is nearby, with some newly rotting fruit inside for him to eat.
I want to tip the bottle over, to feel the potion on my finger, maybe even taste it and see if it’s sweet or sour or salty or nasty, but I stop myself.
Why hasn’t Uncle Arnie told me how it works?
I look at my computer. I could just call him. I have called him before. He gave me advice about my voodoo doll when I needed it, and he congratulated me on the night of my play. Maybe he wants to hear from me. Maybe he’s wondering why his little ni
ece Cleo hasn’t called in so long. All I need to do is push a couple of keys on the keyboard and I can find out everything I need to know.
But no. I promised myself I would wait for his instructions to come, like he said they would. I have willpower. I have focus. I can do it.
And I know one thing for sure: if I don’t know how the love potion works, I definitely shouldn’t play with it. Not as a joke at school, and not for Dad and Terri. Not yet.
But hopefully soon.
—
Having a love potion at home makes it hard to focus on things like storyboards and reading and chores. But it’s equally hard back at school. Sixth grade is going to be over in three weeks (yay!), then it’ll be my first summer in California. I can’t wait to hang out with Madison all the time with no pressure of homework, or tests, or people like Lisa Lee and Kylie Mae around every day. I’m already picturing hot days in Madison’s amazing backyard, sipping lemonade that Yvonne brings us, doing cannonballs into the pool, and listening to Ryder Landry music. Maybe I’ll even learn to dance to it and not look like a dork. Yes, in my summertime fantasy, I’ll dance like a glamorous gazelle, and when it gets dark, Madison’s chef will make us dinner, and we’ll watch Ryder Landry videos in her dad’s movie room and read about Ryder on the Internet and have the best time ever. It’ll be the most fantastic summer of my entire life!
I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Cleo,” says Larry. “It’s time to go to Focus!”
Of course I’m daydreaming when it’s time to go to Focus! Whenever I’m not focusing, it’s time for Focus! class.
Focus! used to have the reputation of being for dummies, but it feels a little different—sometimes even better—now. I think that’s mainly because Larry was so good and funny in the Healthyland play, and he’s a Focus! kid along with me.
“Look at the lovebirds! Aren’t you going to hold hands while you walk to your class?” Ugh. It’s Lisa Lee, chirping in her phony-sweet voice and batting her eyelashes.
“Cleo and Larry, sittin’ in a tree,” Kylie Mae adds, always following Lisa Lee’s lead. I don’t see her face because I’m already leaving the room, but I’m sure her cornflower-blue eyes are as empty and dull as always.
Dad tells me not to “hate” anything, but I can’t help it; I hate when they do things like this. Larry is my friend, but I don’t want anyone thinking I love him. I don’t love anybody like that…except maybe Ryder Landry.
If Larry hears Lisa Lee and Kylie Mae, he pretends not to. “So what life-changing, mind-opening activity do you think Roberta will force on us today?” he asks as we walk across the courtyard.
I decide to forget about the nasty girls. “I think we’ll learn how to build personal flying machines so we can fly ourselves to and from school,” I say…because this is exactly the kind of excellent, useful thing we would never learn in Focus! Usually we play word games or goof around with toys that are supposed to teach us some kind of life lessons, but we’re never really sure what.
And that’s exactly what Roberta has in mind today. When we get to class, there are puzzle pieces waiting for us on each table. But they’re not flat puzzles with pictures of scenery or kitty cats; these are three-dimensional blocks of different shapes and sizes.
“Hooray, puzzles,” Larry comments sarcastically as he sits in the chair next to me. “Looks like we’ll have to wait until next week to start designing the robots that will cook our food and do our homework.”
Samantha takes a seat at the next table over. “I love puzzles,” she says, staring blankly at the pile of blocks on her table. Her complete lack of enthusiasm makes Larry burst out laughing. Sam smiles too.
“Give me your focus, everybody! Focus!” Roberta shouts, clapping her hands. I wonder if she gets paid based on how many times she says “Focus!” in a day, because she says it a lot. “Today you’re going to focus on…”
“Puzzles,” Larry and Samantha say at the same time.
“Yes, puzzles,” says Roberta. “But more than that. You’ll see.” She’s going to place us in groups, and each of us will take a turn being the leader. For ten minutes the leader will make all of the decisions, and then we’ll switch. It sounds like a silly way to spend thirty minutes of a school day, but hey, it’s better than trying to roll my r’s in Spanish or stay awake during a movie about the Civil War.
Because Sam’s closest, Roberta puts her with me and Larry. Great. Sam and I nod at each other. It’s hard to believe that she was once the best friend I’d ever had. The only other person who came close was Jane Anne in Ohio, who I knew since I was a baby. She stopped talking to me in fifth grade and I never knew why. Then I moved away and didn’t even get to say goodbye. I don’t want that to happen with Sam. I don’t want anyone else in my life to disappear without any explanation.
Larry looks back and forth at me and Sam saying nothing to each other. “Well, I’ve got two words for this situation!” he says in a booming voice. “Awk. Ward.” Sam and I both let out quiet, nervous laughs. It will be nice if Larry’s jokes keep this from becoming too weird.
“Cleo told me you were funny, Scab…Larry,” Sam says. I breathe a mini sigh of relief because she stopped herself from calling him “Scabby Larry,” which people have been doing since second grade, when someone supposedly saw him eat one of his scabs. “I guess she was right about something for once.”
Ouch. Looks like Samantha’s not ready to be friends yet.
Larry doesn’t seem to notice Sam’s meanness toward me. “Cleo said I was funny?” he says. “I’ve only heard her describe me as having genius smarts and crazy good looks.”
“I did not!” I shout. “I never said—”
Before I even finish my sentence, Larry cuts me off. “My trademark sarcasm! Don’t even think about stealing it. Now, who wants to be the leader first?”
We all look at each other. More silence. Awk. Ward.
“Cleo, you’re first alphabetically. Why don’t you go?” Larry suggests.
“Great idea,” says Sam. I’m sure she wants to go first because she’s really smart, but it took me a while to realize that she’s also pretty bossy.
“Hey,” Larry says in a jokey tone. “Remember, sarcasm is mine. Trademarked.”
“Okay.” Sam laughs, shooting Larry the biggest, warmest smile I’ve seen since she and I were friends. Then she turns to me, frowning. “I don’t think that’s the best idea ever, but go for it, Cleo.”
Now that I’m under the pressure of Sam’s unfriendly attitude, our three-dimensional puzzle tower gets off to a slow start. First I suggest we group the pieces with similar shapes together. Sam sighs, but we do it anyway. Then I change my mind and decide we should divide the pieces by size: small, medium, and large. “Aren’t we supposed to be building this tower?” Sam asks, piling up the medium pieces.
“Not necessarily,” Larry replies. “We’re supposed to be following Cleo’s lead. That’s going to be today’s lesson. Learning leadership skills.”
Sam nods. “Aha! You are a smart one, Scab—uh, Larry! No matter what Cleo said.”
I’m really happy they’re getting along (Cleo’s trademark sarcasm!) while my brain is working overtime trying to figure out how to start this puzzle. Sam doesn’t want to wait anymore, though. She dives in and creates a base for the tower out of the large pieces. By the time Roberta tells us it’s time for the next leader, Samantha has already taken charge, telling us exactly what to do. But when I start to put a blue L-shaped block on the tower the wrong way, she grabs it from me.
“I’ll do it,” she says, and places it perfectly. We get a lot of the tower done with Sam as the leader, but it’s not much fun because I’m just quietly doing what she says.
When Larry is in charge, he asks our opinion of what should go next and we decide together. He places a piece, then I do, and then Sam does. Samantha compliments him on how quickly we’re getting the project done, and it looks like he blushes a little. Even with all the embarrassing things we’ve had to do for the
play or in Focus! class, I’ve never seen Larry blush.
When our tower is over a foot high, Larry picks up the last piece like it’s the Olympic torch. “Today, my friends, we have built not only a ridiculous tower; we have built friendship and understanding.” He pauses dramatically, raising the “torch” higher. “But only one of you can have the special privilege of placing the ultimate piece—”
Sam grabs it out of his hand and puts it on top. “There!” she says, slapping both hands on her hips and nodding in satisfaction.
I would be mad if Samantha ruined my moment (if I ever tried to create one), but Larry laughs. “Nice, Sam, taking charge!” Then they high-five!
What is going on here? I’ve never seen them get along like this. It almost seems like Samantha…likes him! And not in the way I like him. She’s looking at him with dreamy sparkles in her eyes, like she’s watching her first Ryder Landry music video. But this is Larry. One time not that long ago, Sam told me not to even be his friend. How could she go from thinking he was “Scabby Larry” to liking him so quickly? But I think she has!
“We did it!” Larry shouts, drumming his hands on the table. The tower shakes.
Sam drums too, yelling, “Earthquake!”
“Be careful!” I warn them. “It’ll fall over!”
That only makes Larry and Samantha laugh and drum harder. “Who cares?” says Larry. “We still have the knowledge of a job well done, with three great leaders!”
“Well, two,” Samantha cracks.
I’m too worried about our tower to even care. “It doesn’t matter how well it’s done if Roberta doesn’t see it!” I try to stop them, but I only have two hands to their four, and…CRASH! The tower falls into what looks like a million pieces.
“Oh no!” I shout. Across the room, I see Roberta walking toward us. “Roberta, we were finished! Really, we were!”
“That’s okay. I saw.” Roberta knows we finished our tower and is happy we all learned about different styles of leadership. Larry and Sam scoop up the blocks and return them to the supply closet in the back of the Focus! room, laughing and chatting like old friends the whole time.
Twist My Charm Page 2
