by Jess Keating
I was completely mathed out by the time I got home that night. I made sure to copy Kevin’s notes twice to convince my brain they were important. How could I remember the entire score to Singin’ in the Rain, but not homework notes?
As I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed, something about what Kevin had said kept niggling away at me. No, not the part about integers, although that would probably be handy for the next test. The part about perspective. Could he be right? Could I be brave like Mom and Grandpa? I mean, I’d managed to talk to Beatrix without anything embarrassing happening, and it’s not like I was in kindergarten anymore where people peed their pants all the time. A lot had changed since then. Geez, back then I’d slept with a stuffed unicorn named Steve. Did I need a new perspective on…myself?
I changed for bed and stared at the half-finished art project sitting on my desk, a mess of dark, angry lines. Who was I, anyway? I didn’t want to be trapped by those lines.
“What do you think, Darwin?” I asked. Darwin tilted his head at me and didn’t answer. “Do you know who you are?” He bobbed his head excitedly, chirping quietly. “What if you’re too afraid to be who you want to be?”
“Ana banana!” he screeched.
I ignored his little dance. Bending down to pick up Ms. Fenton’s question prompts from the floor, I reread the one answer I’d written. It brought me back to that day, watching Mom talk about iguanas in front of my whole class. Then I remembered the buzzing feeling of talking to Beatrix.
A flicker of hope fluttered over my heart.
Staring at the mirror again, I plastered on my widest smile. I tried to focus on how it had felt talking to Beatrix about Louie the crocodile, getting to feel that rush of knowing someone was learning something cool because of me. I stood taller and gestured broadly as I imagined that I was my mom, standing in front of a huge crowd. I took a deep, shaky breath.
“This is the green iguana,” I whispered to my imaginary crowd. The buzz of excitement started to surge through me. Darwin watched me with interest, tilting his head. Perching my green hairbrush on my outstretched arm, I closed my eyes. Already, the facts that I knew about iguanas lined themselves up in my head, like they wanted to be known.
And like they wanted me to tell people about them.
I imagined that I was brave and proud like my mom. I tried to pretend the crowd didn’t bother me, so I could enjoy that feeling of getting to teach someone something amazing. But almost instantly, the excitement morphed into fear.
That tight feeling clamped onto my chest. And squeezed.
My imaginary crowd sneered at me, laughing at how stupid I looked. How weird I was.
Thunk.
The hairbrush toppled to the floor as I flinched.
My eyes snapped open. Reflection-me was bright red, with a look of panic in her eyes.
“Ana banana,” Darwin whistled. “Iguana banana!”
I shot him a look as he chattered happily. My heart buckled with disappointment; even imaginary crowds turned me to mush.
“Perspective,” I said to Darwin. Willing myself not to give up, I picked the hairbrush up from the floor and set it back on my desk. Darwin fluffed his feathers and glared at me. It was past his bedtime. “I need some help finding a new perspective.”
Tomorrow, I thought, as I got into bed and pulled the covers up to my cheeks. I’ll get some help tomorrow.
I knew just who to ask.
chapter 7
“Armadillos sleep for an average of eighteen and a half hours a day.”
—Animal Wisdom
Luuuuuccckkyyyyyyy.
The manager of Grandpa’s fancy hotel had a face that looked like a chipmunk and teeth to match.
“Oui? How may I help you today?” He sniffed and looked down at me over his runty nose as I stood there awkwardly. I hadn’t realized it was a swanky hotel, or I would have worn something nicer than my old work shorts from the zoo and a sloppy T-shirt. Ladies in slick business suits bustled around me, clicking their heels on the marble floor. The smell of waffles drifted through the air, and a man in a black suit was plinking away on a piano in the corner.
“I’m looking for someone,” I said, shifting my feet. “He’s supposed to be on the top floor? In room 602?”
Chipmunk Face blinked a few times. “I’m afraid that floor is entirely booked by a private party. If you would give me your name, then I can leave a message.” He went back to his computer, tap-tap-tapping away.
I clenched a note in my hand, scribbled with the list of questions I’d hoped to ask Grandpa about presenting and public speaking. “Please, I’m here to see Shep Foster. He wouldn’t like it if you made me wait around.” I tried to sound like Mom did when she didn’t want to be messed with.
He laughed without looking up from his computer screen. “Oh, is that so? Well, I suggest you—”
“Ana doll!” someone shouted from the foyer. Chipmunk and I turned to find the voice.
Sugar stepped around the corner, beaming at us. Her hair was piled into a loose bun on top of her head and dangly feather earrings swayed at her chin. “What are you doing here, sweetheart? If Shep knew you were coming, he would have canceled his interviews!” She rushed over and wrapped her arms around me.
I smiled slyly at Chipmunk, who was now staring at Sugar with his jaw practically dragging on the floor. Told you, I fired at him telepathically.
“Sorry,” I said meekly. “I figured I’d surprise him.” Mostly because I knew I’d chicken out if I thought about it too much, I added to myself. “Mom told me where you guys were. It’s not far at all.”
“Well, let’s go see if he can get rid of some of these vultures! Marcelle.” She turned to Chipmunk. “You’ll be certain to let Ana up anytime she needs, right then?” she cooed innocently as she dragged me toward the elevator. She hit the top floor with a long, pink fingernail.
“Your grandfather’s been so busy with all the press,” she said, checking her hair in the mirrored wall of the elevator. “He’s been lucky to have five minutes to himself! Go on in and ignore the circus. I have to find the little girls’ room!” she said when we’d finally arrived at the top.
The swarm of people inside his hotel room nearly made me dizzy. Photographers, cameras, people yelling on phones, and tables of tiny sandwiches and coffee were everywhere. I couldn’t see Grandpa anywhere. I stumbled past a huge camera on wheels in the center of the room, folding and unfolding my note nervously.
“Excuse me?” I asked a man with thick earphones around his neck. “I’m looking for my grandpa? Shep Foster?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he just pointed.
I followed his finger to the huge wall at the back of the room. A bright white sheet was hanging from the ceiling, and Grandpa was posed in the center with a copy of his book in his hands as cameras flashed around him.
“Grandpa!” I yelled, making my way over to him.
He noticed me right away, his eyes lighting up. “Ana banana!” He shouted over the noise. “Sorry, everyone! I need a minute to see my granddaughter!” He bounded over to me, nearly plowing into a guy holding a microphone, and gave me a hug.
“It’s so great to see you! You should have called!” he said, ruffling my hair.
I tried to ignore the annoyed looks around us. It was clear I was intruding, but how was I supposed to know he’d be doing a photo shoot like some model? I opened the note in my hand and read my first question.
“I was wondering if I could ask you for some help,” I said. I didn’t want to talk to him like this, all rushed in front of people. But it was my only chance to get some advice. “Say if I wanted to be like you,” I stammered. “Or like Mom. How would I be brave like that? You know, when you speak in public and do presentations? Is there something you do to make sure you don’t mess up?” My hands shook as I held the note tight.
Grandpa nar
rowed his eyes. “Brave? You are brave! You’re part of this family, aren’t ya?” he joked, helping himself to a swig of coffee from a tiny cup.
“Hey, Shep!” a man with a phone stuck to his ear yelled from across the room. “Can we wrap this up? You’ve got the next interview in five!” He gave me a pointed look that made my skin crawl.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t know it would be so busy. It’s no big deal.” I backed away toward the door, eager to get away from all the cameras. Thankfully none of them were taking pictures of me in my dirty shorts and T-shirt.
Grandpa gave me another hug. “It’s a busy time right now, that’s all,” he explained. “Maybe we can chat again later? Oh! But before you go.” He stepped over to a tattered duffel bag by the window. “I’ve been meaning to give this to you.” He pulled out a tattered book and handed it to me.
“A book?” I asked. It looked ancient, with worn corners and stains all over it. I wanted to bolt from that busy room, but curiosity got the best of me as I thumbed through the pages. Little sketches of reptiles and birds peered back at me, drawn with wispy pencil lines. There were even close-up details of scales, feathers, and claws. It was cool.
“It’s only some doodles from when I was a kid,” he said. “But your mom said you like to draw too, so I thought it would be nice to pass along to you.”
I paused at an ancient Polaroid photo taped inside the cover, of a young boy holding a baby crocodile with a crowd of scared kids in the background. Grandpa with a crocodile. A sharp pang of realization stung me like a jellyfish.
I was stupid for coming here.
Grandpa had always been brave.
There was no point asking him for help. He wouldn’t get it. It would be like asking Sugar for help looking pretty. What’s the point if it came naturally to them?
“Shep!” the man yelled again.
“Sorry, sorry!” I said, holding the book to my chest. “I’ll leave. Thanks for the book, Grandpa,” I said over my shoulder as I scooted to the door.
I threw my note in the garbage on my way out.
Escape. Retreat. Flee.
I had to get out of there.
After rushing home from that snooty hotel, I paced around my room. I’d seen some animals pace in their cages at the zoo before. Was it because they felt stuck too? Why had I even bothered trying to ask him, anyway?
Snatching the question sheet for my art project from under my bed, I stared at Bella’s phone number. She’d written it in the corner, in case I ever wanted to hang out to work on our projects. Usually when I needed to escape, I went to Liv’s. But that wasn’t an option now.
I took a deep breath and dialed Bella’s number. Please be there.
“Hello?” she answered on the first ring.
“Hey, Bella?” I said. “It’s me. Uh, Ana. Did you want to meet up at the library and work on our art projects?” I tried to ignore how lame that sounded on a weekend afternoon.
“Sure! I’m finishing lunch right now, but I can meet in half an hour!” Her voice sounded different on the phone. Happier and bouncier. “We should work in the art section,” she added. “Maybe some of the artistic genius will rub off on us.”
I grinned into the phone as I swept my supplies, some poster board, and my animal drawings together, piling everything into my backpack. A wave of relief swept through me as I texted Mom to let her know where I was headed. Seriously, how did people escape their lives before libraries?
When I made it to the library, I slipped past the book stacks and found Bella at a table under a painting of a swirling blue sky over some houses. It felt so good to escape from the rest of the world and surround myself with quiet, safe books. Books didn’t expect anything of you, and they didn’t even care that you weren’t super confident like the rest of your crazy family.
“Da Vinci?” I asked, pointing to the painting.
Bella shifted to look. “Van Gogh,” she said. A sheepish look crossed over her face. “I only know that because I read the little plaque before you got here.”
“Sorry I’m late,” I said. “We have relatives visiting.” I pulled out my animal drawings and spread them on the table. Bella’s project was a lot of maps, with red spots dotting the landscapes. “What’s with the maps?”
She beamed. “My true self right now loves maps. Something cool happened in all these places, and I want to visit them all.” She pointed to a dot. “This is where Alexander the Great lived.” Her eyes twinkled with mystery. “I think he’s pretty awesome too.”
“Cool.” I showed her my animal drawings. “I think my true self right now is surrounded by animals.” I didn’t mind telling Bella the truth about that much.
“You’re really good,” she said, inspecting my drawings. “Why are they all in black and white?”
I shrugged, feeling the coil of sadness grow inside of me. Because I’m the only one in my entire family who isn’t brave? Because my best friend would rather hang out in the Shire than with me? Because I have no idea who I am anymore?
“The charcoal seemed to fit,” I said finally. “I think I’m going to make a collage.” I thought about Grandpa as I laid out the pictures on a big piece of black poster board from the supply cabinet and glued them down, one by one. Moving into a zoo, going on television for his interview, everything that felt tangled around me loosened as I drew sharp lines around each picture. When I was finished, a mishmashy kaleidoscope of animals covered the poster.
Bella looked up from her maps, which she’d cut to spell out huge letters of her name that she’d mounted on painted corkboard. I didn’t know Bella that well, but it definitely reminded me of her. Quiet but somehow strong. “I like it,” she said, inspecting mine. “Where are you, though?”
I grabbed a tiny piece of white chalk and drew myself in the corner, bright against the dark background. I didn’t mind that I looked like a stick person—I’d tried hard on everything else. “Right here.” I grinned. Quietly, I added another stick figure all the way over in the farthest corner. And there’s Liv. I signed my name in the corner.
“Nice,” she said. “So who’s visiting?” She pinned the corner of her A down.
I stared down at my project. I wanted to tell Bella the truth, but I felt a twinge of guilt. Was it because I usually complained to Liv? Or because Bella had been so nice to me so far, and I wasn’t being honest? I hated feeling like such a liar.
“My grandpa,” I said finally. That was the truth. “He’s kind of intense.”
And comes with paparazzi.
“That’s cool. I never got to meet mine. They died when I was younger.”
I tried to picture what Bella’s grandparents might have looked like. I bet they wore those cozy sweaters with cats on them or those reading glasses that have the strings attached. Nothing like my grandpa, who still acts like he’s a teenager and likes the spotlight instead of prune juice.
“I think I’m done,” Bella announced. “Ready for the world to see your true self?” she joked.
I rolled up my project, ignoring the queasy lurch in my stomach. “Yep.”
I sounded more confident than I felt.
chapter 8
“A few milligrams of venom from the Belcher’s sea snake can kill over one thousand people.”
—Animal Wisdom
Note to self: Stay out of the water. The Sneerers don’t use venom, but I’m pretty sure they could infect almost as many people as that snake.
I huffed at the mirror as I tried to fluff my hair up a little from its normal state of blandness.
How did Sugar get hers to look so bouncy? I tried twirling it with my fingers and even spritzed some of Mom’s hairspray, but the whole thing made me sneeze and look like a bad before makeover photo. I gave up, shoving the mess into a ponytail.
“Ready for your last week of grade seven, sweetie?” Mom asked, sliding her sungl
asses into her hair. I grunted in response. After spending the rest of the weekend hiding away like a meerkat from cameras, I didn’t feel up to the onslaught of school on Monday.
“You’d better hurry up—you’re late. I can drive you to school, but we’re giving a couple camels a ride too. Daz went on ahead with Kevin.”
I gaped outside the window at the trailer that was hooked up behind my mom’s work truck. Sure enough, there were two camel butts sticking out the back.
Wonderful.
“Do you really think I want to be seen with camel butts, Mom?” I asked, sliding my backpack over my shoulder.
She rolled her eyes, holding the door open for me. “Don’t worry. You get to sit up front with me. I won’t make you sit in the trailer with them.” She flashed her smile and hopped down to the car. “Let’s get a move on!”
Music was playing loudly from iPod speakers on the grass as we pulled up to the school. Everybody seemed to be outside trying to get a tan, like lizards basking on rocks, while Principal Miller was already trying to round them up with his usual British mannerisms. This included a lot of head bobbing while yelling “hip hip.” Nobody listened though, maybe because we weren’t British and “hip hip” didn’t sound nearly as threatening as he wanted.
I had a crick in my neck from trying to hide in the seat, squishing the cover of my sketchbook into my hair as a shield. Is there anything more mortifying than showing up in a truck with hairy camel bottoms hanging out from the back? I grabbed my art project from the backseat and tried to bolt from the truck before anyone would notice the traveling petting zoo, or worse, saw my mother. She was decked out in full safari uniform again, but this time she wore a set of aviator glasses that looked a lot like Tom Cruise’s from that movie where he’s a hotshot.
Jumping out, I slammed the truck door shut.
