by Jess Keating
Love and milkshakes (the strawberry kind),
Liviola XOXO
Can you believe it?
I must have stared at all those exclamation marks for an hour, wondering how they had the nerve to look so happy and upbeat in such an awful e-mail.
It didn’t matter what I did. Liv was gone. Officially, one hundred percent, not coming back gone, and I knew it. No wishing would fix that now. How could something be so true yet still feel so wrong? All day long, I kept picturing her millions of miles away, acting completely happy to be without her best friend. Why couldn’t I do the same?
I yanked myself back to reality and forced myself to sit taller. I just had to make it through the rest of the school year. Ms. Fenton’s familiar writing was scrawled out on the chalkboard, spelling out My Seventh-Grade True Self in loopy cursive. She had surrounded it with blue and green stars. A small ray of hope blossomed in my chest to see her cheerful writing.
Apart from sleep-in Saturdays and ice-cream sundaes, art class was one of my favorite things in the world. On our first day at the beginning of the year, Ms. Fenton had given us all a fabric-covered notebook, saying it could be for words or doodles, or even recipes or a stamp collection. Anything, she’d said, that gets your creative self buzzing. I’d always liked doodling, especially animals from the zoo, but it wasn’t until meeting Ms. Fenton that I realized some people made art for a living. I couldn’t picture myself doing that, but I loved the feel of having a pencil in my hand and the scritchy-scratch sound as I doodled on the paper. I filled up that first notebook in just three weeks, and she’d kept on giving me fresh ones every time I needed one.
My bench was closest to the window, so I was staring out at the waving trees when Ms. Fenton finally appeared in the room. I know some art teachers are pretty loopy, but Ms. Fenton was pretty put together. She has a short crop of auburn hair that curls under her ears like a model, and long fingers that always look so elegant when she draws something for us on the board. She even has a glittery ring on her thumb that she got from France. France! I can so picture her in that big art gallery with a baguette in her backpack.
“Listen up, my little rutabagas!” She shuffled to the front of the room with an armful of paints. Plunking them down on the bench in front of her, she hopped up onto her desk and crossed her legs. That was how cool Ms. Fenton was—she didn’t sit at her desk; she sat on it.
“The school year is almost up, and your hormones are probably turning you all into little monsters,” she said, giving the class a wink and everyone laughed. “To help ease your transition into summer, I’ve decided to go easy on you…”
The class erupted into a cheer, which she encouraged with a little desk-dance of her own.
“By giving you one last project.”
Cue the moaning.
“Don’t worry. You’ll love it,” she reassured us.
“How about we do a project on naps?” Mark shouted, fake snoring loudly. Some teachers would get upset at outbursts like that, but in Ms. Fenton’s class, everyone seemed to be a little nicer, a little happier. She shook her head.
“Maybe next year, Mark,” she said, tossing a piece of her chalk at his bench. He caught it and began doodling on the corner.
“As you can see from the board, your last project is going to be called ‘My Seventh-Grade True Self.’” The class quieted as she spoke. “All I want you to do, using whatever medium you choose, is to show me who you are today, to commemorate your time here in seventh grade.”
A hand shot up.
“Dan?”
“Can we use clay?” Dan asked, shoving his glasses farther up on his nose.
She nodded. “Any medium at all. Paints, clay, pastels, collage, colored pencils, anything! So long as you’re using your hands to make it, and we have a teeny chat, explaining your choices. I’m hoping to have some of them displayed during the summer, so new seventh-grade students next year can see your work, as inspiration.”
A few buzzes of excitement sped through the room, but I couldn’t help but hunch down a little lower when I heard that. Next year’s students getting to see my work? That would be like someone seeing inside my doodle notebook. That’s practically like seeing someone in their underwear.
“Any other questions?”
Bella lifted her hand from across the room. It was easy to forget she was there, buried behind her notebook. “Do we have to?” she asked. Her voice was stronger than I thought it would be. “I mean, do we have to display them when they’re done?”
Ms. Fenton puckered her mouth and tapped her lips with her finger. “Well, no. You don’t have to. But I think it would be great for new students to see. Think of how intimidated you were when you started seventh grade!”
Bella nodded, and I shot her an appreciative glance. At least I wasn’t the only chicken around here.
“I thought it might be nice if you paired up to work,” Ms. Fenton continued. “Maybe with someone you’ve never worked with before. If not now, then when, right? Summer is almost here!” She sang happily and hopped from her desk and began spreading out the materials at the front of the room. “Before you start, make sure you pick up this list I’ve prepared with questions to prompt you along the way. If you’re not sure where to start, this is for you.” She waved a stack of pink papers in her hand. “Chop, chop, little onions!” She clapped twice and pointed to the colorful spectrum in front of her.
Chairs skidded as everyone leaped up and ran to the front. I took my time, wondering how in heck I was going to show who I was in this project. Who was I, anyway? Was I colored pencil? Was I a collage? Was I stinky clay? I didn’t feel like much of anything without Liv here.
“Hey,” a small voice interrupted my thoughts. “You want to work on our projects together?” Bella was standing by my bench with a timid smile. Normally I would have worked with Liv, but without her, I assumed I’d be on my own.
“Sure,” I said, shoving over to make room for her. If the Sneerers didn’t like her, she couldn’t be that bad. Funny I never noticed how cute her short hair is, with tiny metal clips over her ears. She looked almost like an elf, with darting eyes that seemed to have a lot of secrets. She passed me one of the question sheets Ms. Fenton had prepared for us.
“Maybe we should brainstorm some ideas first?” She peered up at the front of the room, where everyone was clamoring for all the good paintbrushes. “We can figure out who we are.” She rolled her eyes, but in the “oh boy” way, not the mean way. A smile tugged at the side of her mouth, making her even more elf-like.
“Good idea. I have no idea who I am.” I giggled.
I’m not sure when I fell asleep after I got home from school—all I knew was that I woke up to the sound of Mom’s vacuuming downstairs. Now that she knew Grandpa and Sugar would be around more, it was like Oprah was on her way.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t even want to draw, which probably meant I was dying from some awful disease that I’d picked up from crummy math class. I always figured integers were contagious.
Things I Would Do If It Meant I Could Sleep until College
1.Play video games with Daz. Complete with all the squirming and girly screaming. And that’s just Daz.
2.Juggle every one of Daz’s snakes at once.
3.Take over dish duty for the rest of my life.
4.Go help my mom’s friend Gail at the zoo while she helps birth reindeer babies. That means you have to stick your hand up…well, you know. Ain’t pretty.
5.Never look at Zack again. Okay, this one is pushing it…
Of course, it didn’t take too long for Mom to start bustling around my room, opening curtains and stuff. Why is it they always go for the curtains? It’s like teenage kryptonite, all that bright light when you’re tired.
“What are you doing sleeping? It’s a beautiful summer day out there!” Her voice was determin
ed. I could tell she was trying to force as much upbeat happiness into the room as possible. I mumbled a reply into my pillow, but she yanked the blanket from my shoulders.
“Not a chance,” she said, ruffling my hair playfully. “If you nap now, you’ll never get to sleep tonight.” Darwin whistled at her, trying to charm his way into a treat. She tickled his wing through the cage bars and clapped her hands at me.
“Come on! I don’t want you moping around. Why don’t you come help me at the zoo if you’re bored? Daz is out with Kevin, so you can help me clean the new house up before our move.” Her eyes flitted to the watch on her wrist.
It’s funny how parents can technically be asking a question but do it in a way where you know the answer already. And that answer is nonnegotiable.
“Okay, okay!” I huffed, yanking myself out of bed. “But I need to e-mail Liv, all right? It’s important.”
Important that I tell her how much she hurt me by not showing up for our wish, just so she could hang out and go on “adventures” with some girl who has purple hair.
She gave me her best “make it quick” look and bustled back downstairs. Before starting my e-mail, I knew I needed to find the guts. To psyche myself up, like athletes do before important games. I wanted to see where she was.
I flipped open my laptop, hammering Liv’s new address into Google Maps, like I’d done a million times since she’d left. I always hoped that I would somehow feel closer to her, being able to see the green grass near her new house.
But it never happened.
I jerked the mouse around, dragging the map back to Denver.
Liv was a whole earth turn away. With a girl named Leilani. I tapped the space bar angrily with my finger, gearing myself up.
I would tell her the truth.
Chewing my lip, I opened my e-mail.
Dear Liv,
I don’t get it. I thought you wanted to come back home? Why didn’t you just tell me you liked it there from the start?
My teeth clenched together as I typed. I sent the message and was about to close my computer when a little blip alerted me.
A new message.
My heart hammered as I saw Liv’s name in my inbox. She was there!
Auto-Reply Message: Tuesday, 4:14 p.m., from Liviola
You have reached my auto-reply message. I’m out exploring our new home until Sunday, June 2, but don’t worry. I will get back to you as soon as I’m back home! [end of message.]
My jaw dropped.
Auto. Reply.
She was out exploring?! And she didn’t even think to mention that last night in her e-mail? What kind of best friend gives you the auto-reply without even warning you they’ll be gone!? Auto-reply was for uncles and cousins you never hear from, not us.
Suddenly I was wide-awake. I shoved my computer from my lap like it was on fire. And what was this stuff about “her new home” and how she’d e-mail back once she was home again. New Zealand wasn’t her home. Denver was! She was supposed to be finding a way back home with our stupid wish, not out frolicking with the hobbits. Was Leilani going with her too? Was she already part of Liv’s family, like I used to be? The image of future Liv and Leilani marrying brothers unfolded in my head, jolting me with panic.
“Come on, sweetheart!” Mom’s happy voice rang in my ears. “Fifteen minutes until the limo leaves!” I could hear her cackling at her own joke as she cleaned.
“Coming!” I yelled. My voice sounded hoarse. I didn’t have time to think about what to do next. I didn’t know if there was anything to do at all, actually. I was in a daze as I dressed for the zoo. I hoped the familiar brown uniform would help me disappear.
Mom and I drove in the back entrance and parked the car by a row of cleaning stations by the African Pavilion. I caught a whiff of the hippos instantly; they smelled like living, breathing hunks of shower mold. Something to look forward to once we moved in.
“So what do you think?” Mom asked, holding her arms open wide in front of the house as we stepped out of the car.
I shrugged. The house, which was tucked behind the lion exhibit, wasn’t that bad. At least as far as fake base-camp housing went. But I wasn’t about to tell her that. There was a fake thatched roof and gauzy curtains in the windows. The sign out front said “African Expedition: RESEARCH STATION.” Think Africa meets IKEA.
Lions roared and grumbled beyond the open window. Mom’s project was working with the large carnivores here, so I guess they figured we wouldn’t mind being surrounded by fangs and angsty felines. There was already furniture, but Mom insisted that the place needed a “good inside-out cleaning.” I couldn’t argue, as the whole place smelled like mothballs had figured out how to reproduce and have a party.
“Can I have the room on the right?” I asked once she’d given me a quick tour. It was the second biggest one, and since I was here cleaning, I figured I should get first dibs before Daz. Mom agreed without looking up from her scrubbing.
For the next hour and a half, we cleaned and disinfected every surface of the house, including the countertops and bathtub, which I thought were beige but turned out white.
When the three main rooms were respectable according to Mom, we sat out on the front doorstep and caught our breaths. Despite my mood, it was a bright summer day, and the sound of sandals slapping against the pavement surrounded us. I’d been getting a headache from all the fumes, and my stomach was rolling with hunger, so I knew I had to make a getaway before Mom could launch into another dirt session. I told her that I needed some air and would be back in a few minutes. I wanted to be alone.
Ignoring the groups of families and tourists that had started to swarm around, I wandered down the Reptile Path. Usually, I loved watching the animals at the zoo, just living their lives. It was one place where everybody could be themselves, whether they had scales like crocs or were just big weirdos like the anteaters. It was all allowed. But today everything felt wrong. I checked my watch for the third time that day, wondering where Liv was and what she was doing. Probably hanging out with her new friends. The thought nibbled away at my mind as I walked.
Somehow, I ended up in the Crocodile Pavilion. The air was wet and dense like a rainforest, but the quiet sounds of trickling water calmed me down. I parked myself on a bench and stared at Louie, the ancient crocodile. My throat was thick, but I couldn’t tell if it was from all the chemicals or plain old loneliness. I sunk my head back onto the bench and stared through the cloudy glass ceiling up into the sky at the birds. The problem with birds, I realized, is that they could fly away and I can’t.
Lucky beasts.
Maybe I had more in common with Darwin and his busted wing than I realized.
I would have stayed there all day if a small movement hadn’t caught the corner of my eye. I lolled my head to the side to see better.
A little girl in a very unfortunate purple dress and lime-green leggings was standing on her tiptoes, trying to hoist herself up over the top of the partition to get a better look at the exhibit. She looked about six or so, and the heel of her shoes lit up with red lights with every hop.
Where were her parents? After a few minutes of jumping and huffing, she turned to look at me expectantly. Something about wearing a uniform in a zoo made people think you wanted to help them.
“I want to see him! He’s scary!” She grinned at me with no front teeth and pointed her tiny finger at Louie, who looked to be either disinterested or completely comatose.
I forced my face into a smile. “Here, hop on,” I said as I walked over and lifted the little girl onto a log outside the perimeter fence, helping her get a grip on the top of the partition.
“Really, he’s not so scary. He doesn’t eat people, even though lots of people think he could. Mostly sausage and fish. He can’t even chew his food.” I shrugged.
The girl watched Louie with wide eyes, turning to face me i
n astonishment at the mention of Louie’s food. Then a mischievous smile crept onto her face.
“Could I see it?” Her hands clapped together. I peered around. It wasn’t very busy in the pavilion. I could show her. Plus, I had nothing else to do around here other than mope.
“Okay,” I said, kneeling down to her like I was sharing a secret, “but you have to be very careful and stay right here.” She nodded gravely, furrowing her brow. Kid looked like I’d asked her to guard the president.
“What’s your name?” she asked while I was digging around behind some ferns for the small cooler with one of Louie’s food buckets Mike keeps for educational tours every few hours.
“Ana.” I hesitated. “I’m named after the biggest snake in the world.” It was the first time in my life that I’d said it out loud.
The little girl’s mouth gaped open. “That’s so cool!” she squealed.
Hah. If only the Sneerers could share that sentiment. Her excitement was like a jolt of Pepsi to my tired system.
“I’m Beatrix. Mom says it’s ‘yoo-neek.’” Her nose scrunched up as she spoke. “But I think it’s crummy.” She hung her head, her small purple-rimmed glasses falling to the end of her nose. “People at school say it’s an old lady name.”
Ouch.
“I understand.” Boy, did I ever. “They’re probably just jealous.”
I could tell by the look on her face that she didn’t buy it. I couldn’t blame her—I didn’t either when my mom said the same to me. A sudden outburst behind us made me jump.
“Mommy!” Beatrix jumped down from the log and raced over to a woman with wide eyes, rushing into the pavilion. She hunched over and grasped her daughter by the shoulders.
“Here you are, sweetie! Don’t run off like that again! I told you to stay next to me.” She turned to me and reached out, clasping my hand with a frazzled look of apology. “Thank you so much for watching Bea.”
“Oh, no problem.” I smiled and looked back at Louie. “I was about to feed him if you’d like to stay and watch.”
