How to Outrun a Crocodile When Your Shoes Are Untied

by Jess Keating

  As soon as I sat down across from Mom and started to scarf down my Chips Ahoy! she took her opportunity to pounce.

  “Have you thought any more about what we talked about?” She peered up from her papers. Funny how she said “we” talked about it when really it was all her. Did she know about my secret hairbrush iguana incident and the reason I went to see Grandpa? There was no way she was that sneaky.

  “No, Mom. I didn’t.” I dunked my cookie, swiping at a dribble of runaway milk with my sleeve. Now was not the time to look immature.

  Must. Think. Assertive.

  “I already told you, I don’t want to do any presentations.” My throat felt thick just to say it, like I was trying to swallow bitter medicine that I couldn’t get down. But it was better this way. I couldn’t keep pretending it was possible. I wasn’t like Grandpa in that old picture. I let the sound of the lions carrying on outside fill the room.

  “Well, I know you said that. But I thought that maybe you could be persuaded.” She looked up at me with a sly grin.

  I hiccupped, sending milk from my fingertips onto her papers. She ignored it and kept on talking.

  “I’ve spoken with the director of education—Paul is his name—about the possibility of you leading a small presentation about some of the reptiles here. You don’t have to say yes, but, hun, he seemed very interested. That sort of thing would look great on your school record, not to mention it might open up other opportunities for you here that don’t involve muck work. There’s even a small group coming on Sunday that would be perfect for you to start with.” She put her papers down and eyed me.

  I nearly gagged. “This weekend?! Mom, I told you, I like the muck work. It means that nobody notices me and I can be invisible for a while. Anonymous.” As soon as the words tumbled out, I realized I should have stayed quiet.

  “Anonymous?!” she said. “Why on earth would you want to be anonymous?” Her brow knit together with concern. “Ana, sweetie—you have a real gift! You are a beautiful and talented girl. You know a lot about these animals, and it would be wonderful for you share that with others. You also happen to have a very unique set of skills that other kids your age don’t—that should be a good thing. You know how to handle them, and you’re so comfortable with them, hun. I don’t see why you’re so worried about standing out. If you like teaching people about animals, that’s exactly what you should do!” She looked confused, like she’d forgotten what school was like. What people were like. What fear felt like. Who cared what I wanted to do? What mattered was what I could do.

  “Mom, I told you I didn’t want to!” I snapped. “I’m not like you! I’m not perfect! I’m not brave! I’m not good at any of the things you are! And the last thing I want to do is prove it to the entire world!” My eyes burned with tears as I avoided looking at her.

  She didn’t respond, but the wounded look on her face made my heart clench. I wanted to pull the words back into my mouth. What was it about mothers that made them able to get to you? Seriously, all she had to do was look at me all concerned-like with her mom eyes and I wanted to bawl. She touched my hand.

  “Sweetie, you are cut out for anything you want to do. I saw how relaxed you were with that little girl. You were confident! I think that if you gave it a try, you might find you really like it…” She spoke quietly, still holding my hand. Already the echo of my voice when I yelled at her was running through my head on repeat. I was such a jerk.

  Guh.

  “Fine,” I mumbled.

  As soon as I said it, I regretted it, and she was on me like a lion on steak, giving me a huge hug. Darwin joined in by clicking his beak happily.

  “Oh, Ana! I’m so excited for you! You’re going to be great. I’ll help you every step of the way!” She clapped her hands together and beamed like she was watching the happy ending to a sappy movie.

  What have I done?

  Top Motherly Tricks: A Marvel of Science or Black Magic?

  1.Mothers are capable of not only making daughters feel guilty, but also doing so without saying a single word.

  2.If your mother believes you can do something, you start to believe she may be right. Even if this goes against every single shred of evidence provided from the real world.

  3.The only thing worse than suffering a mother’s wrath is suffering her disappointment. In you. Sometimes I think Mom is a lot like the lions she studies. Super strong and proud, but when she’s disappointed—man, that is one bitter lion of disappointment.

  4.Even if you are 100 percent against an idea, your mother will somehow make it happen. What’s worse is if she suspects that you’re not 100 percent against it, because then she will really drag it out of you and you’ll have no choice but to give in.

  5.In the event above, you will not realize you have walked into a trap until it is too late.

  “What’s going to be great?” Daz jogged into the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of milk.

  “Ana’s decided she’ll do the presentation.” Mom grinned at him with enthusiasm. She turned to me abruptly. “In front of a small group, of course,” she added, nodding to me and then shifting gears instantly. “Daz, I’m sitting right here. Would you please pretend that you don’t drink out of the carton in front of me?”

  He didn’t respond but very dramatically leaned down to reach for a glass in a box. “Happy, Mother?” He poured a full glass and downed it in one über-gulp. “Way to go, Ana. Breakin’ out of the old shell, huh?” He smirked at me.

  My exhausted shoulders tensed up, realizing that he could use this against me very easily. My insides began to churn. “Don’t you even think about telling anybody, okay? Promise? Especially people at school.”

  He winked, pouring himself another glass, but Mom shot a warning squint at him. “Daz…it is your sister’s decision who she does or doesn’t tell. Don’t ruin it for her. We’re proud of her, so let’s not push her too far,” she said.

  “Yes, yes. All right. Scout’s honor.” He held his hand out, parting his fingers into the Vulcan salute.

  I threw a paperclip at him. “That’s Star Trek, you nimrod!”

  He shrugged, digging a shiny white iPod out of his pocket and inspecting the earbuds.

  “Okay, you two,” Mom said, scooping up the rest of the paperclips. She disappeared off to her office, muttering about how she could have adopted. I looked around for more ammunition, but Daz had already made a pointy paper airplane from a tourist map of the zoo. It jabbed into my forehead before I could block it.

  “Knock it off!” I yelled, reaching over to whack him with my notebook. He ignored me and opened the fridge again, yanking another carton to guzzle from. “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I said.

  Already I could feel the panic start to rise again, like bubbling magma under my skin. It was bad enough that Mom had gotten me to agree to the presentation. But first, I had to make it through the week.

  “Hey, loser,” Daz said, craning his neck around mine to see what I was doing. “You know where we keep the corn syrup? Or red food coloring?” He poked through the boxes on the counter. “Why don’t you put the nerd book away for a minute and help me out?” His smile went from sneaky to his attempt at genuine, which was the creepiest one of all, because you knew he wanted something. Milk was still dribbling down his chin.

  “No thanks, loser,” I retorted, closing my book before he caught a good look at my Mom-as-lion sketch. I didn’t need more teasing today. “And where did you get that thing, anyway?” I pointed to the iPod in his hand. New toys for Daz always meant something suspicious was going on. “It looks brand new.”

  He shook his head dismissively, ignoring my question.

  “Come onnn,” he said with a drawl. “There’s a group of eighth-grade girls from the school across town here, and I’m going to pretend Oscar’s on the loose from his exhibit and ‘save them all.’” He ma
de bunny quotes in the air and puffed his chest out.

  “Oscar doesn’t have an exhibit here. He’s your stupid pet,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  His smile widened. “Exactly!”

  “You are disgusting, you know that? Nobody’s going to believe that your snake has escaped from an actual cage here…” I trailed off, realizing as I said it that that was exactly what was going to happen if Daz played his cards right. And when it came to causing havoc, he usually did.

  “You’re seeing the genius of my plan now, I see.” He crossed his arms over his chest, giving me an appraising look.

  I shook my head. “Not a chance,” I said simply.

  He frowned. “Okay…want to help me scare some parents by the Canadian tundra exhibit?” His face lit up again as he reached around and pulled a plastic Wolfman mask from his back pocket.

  I tried to do the Brooke one-eyebrow-lift move. “Not today,” I said, poking at the mask with my pencil. It was seriously terrifying, and I made a mental note not to ever fall for it if he used it against me. “Mom’s going to freak if she sees you with that thing,” I added.

  He ignored me. “All right. I’ve been saving this one, but I’ve got this wicked recording of Mom’s lions,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Want to be my spy in the girls’ bathroom and see how fast they tear out of there, thinking there’re lions on the loose in the can?!” His eyes twinkled.

  I blinked at him. “Where do you come up with this stuff?!” I exclaimed, slamming my pencil down. Go figure that I get to sit here dreading everything, while my brother, who shares 99.9 percent of his stupid DNA with me, gets to relax and goof off all day like the zoo is his personal theme park.

  “Oh, my dear sister,” he said, sneaking a look toward Mom’s office then leaning over to open a cupboard filled with bags of crickets for his snakes. He grabbed three of them and sauntered to the front door, pulling the Wolfman mask over his head. The bloody fangs and fake fur stuck out at bizarre angles. “You’d be surprised how much space is up here in the ol’ noggin,” he said with a muffled voice, poking the top of the mask with his finger. “’Specially when you forget about stupid stuff like school,” he said, muffled through the plastic. The toothy mask disappeared out the door, followed by the surprised chirps of crickets.

  Why do I get the feeling that despite being such a dolt, my own brother has it all figured out? How can that be? I mean, he puts peanut butter on his bologna sandwiches. Surely that can’t be a sign of enlightenment?

  chapter 10

  “In most African biomes, predators and prey must share the same watering hole.”

  —Animal Wisdom

  I bet Africa feels a lot like junior high then. Only here the predators wear skirts and the prey can’t move as quickly as gazelles.

  Sometimes, it feels like life should stop until you feel better. You know, like when bad things happen and you have a moment of silence over the PA system at school or something. Life should do that for you when you become camel poop girl and your best friend meets a girl named Leilani and your grandpa is parading around the news like a rockstar. Life should stop when you can’t figure out who you are, no matter how hard you try. Just a moment, where things don’t change or don’t move, out of respect.

  But it doesn’t.

  The next day, I knew I had to have a plan. Wild animals adapt and evolve to survive their hostile environments: I had to do the same. I needed a method, a fail-proof plan to make it through the next three days of school without Liv’s help. While Grandpa was in town flaunting his famousness all over the place. And my butt, apparently.

  This was easier said than done.

  When Liv first moved away, I sort of felt like she was still around, like a little voice on my shoulder waiting to hear about my life and help me out. But it didn’t feel like that now. Now that she had Leilani and exciting adventures and all that. Now somehow the place that used to feel sort of like home to me felt dangerous and unknown. I felt alone, really alone, with nobody there on my shoulder.

  So my plan was to disappear.

  In the past two weeks, I learned quickly that if you’re writing and doodling away with your nose stuck in a book, people are much more likely to ignore you. Constantly writing in a notebook is one of the best ways to avoid people. There are all sorts of crazy things going on in junior high, and the Sneerers would find it hard to focus on little ol’ me if my eyes were always down in a notebook.

  Right?

  Ana’s Week, Constant Notes Courtesy of Crippling Fear and/or Self-Pity:

  8:15: Arrive at school, narrowly miss the Sneerers on their way to the bathroom or wherever they go to apply makeup that their parents wouldn’t allow them to leave the house with. (Note: The Sneerers could totally be raccoons at Halloween without much effort, given all the eyeshadow. This would totally beat their oh-so-unique cat costumes every year.)

  8:30–9:20: English. Book report due on The Hunger Games. Really, Mrs. Roca should know better than that—we’re all just going to watch the movie instead. Managed to avoid eye contact with Ashley, who sat behind me staring death rays at the back of my head. Felt slight burning sensation in my hair.

  9:30–10:20: History class. Luckily I share this one with Bella, who is crazy into history and carts around ancient books and maps everywhere. Note: these books are often huge and great for hiding.

  10:30–11:20: Math: reviewing session. We’ve already begun preparing for the final test, which apparently will be cumulative. In other words, all the stuff that I knew before for the last test but then forgot will be on it. What the crap is a rational number again? A number that makes sense? Praise the lemurs I have Kevin’s awesome notes.

  It wasn’t until the bell after science rang when I realized I was up against what was possibly my Most Dangerous Encounter: lunch.

  In other words, open season on losers.

  For all of our junior high lives, Liv and I had shared a table at the far right of the cafeteria, against the wall. According to her, tables in the middle of the room are simply far too easy to access from any angle, making an ambush likely. The trick was to stay on the perimeter, ready for a quick escape.

  I approached the cafeteria cautiously, with my eyes down. I had to consciously force my legs to stop shaking. Nothing to see here, folks. I stood in line with my tray, waiting for them to slop up a scoop of mashed potatoes on my chicken parm. Finally, I grabbed a carton of chocolate milk, paid the lady, and made my way to the table. For the first time in my life, I was disappointed that Daz and Kevin had a computer club meeting; you know things are bad when you’re wishing your idiot brother was around for lunch so you could share a table.

  I had just plunked myself down when I noticed Bella, sitting across the room behind a huge atlas. She was barely visible, with only the top of her head poking out. She probably had her whole meal going behind that atlas. The girl is a master at anonymity, I thought with admiration. Why didn’t I think to ask her to sit with me? I pulled out my notebook and tried to make it look like I was absorbed in the blank page, doodling aimlessly.

  “Hey, Scales. I saw your grandfather and his girlfriend at the store yesterday,” Ashley’s voice interrupted my thoughts. I twitched a little upon hearing her, and noticed Brooke and Rayna were standing beside her. They were all wearing matching skirts, which were clearly pushing the boundaries of what “three inches above the knee” meant. “Leave me alone,” I muttered, trying not to make eye contact. Just keep doodling. Anonymous people don’t talk much.

  “You should have told us you were related to him. It explains so much.” She giggled to Brooke, while Rayna watched with her usual blank look. A shot of betrayal rang through me; I didn’t expect Brooke to be nice to me exactly, but I had thought we’d been civil to each other in class so maybe she’d go easy on me. I could use some pity right now.

  “Hope you’re ready for lights, camera, actio
n!” She waved her fingertips as her voice trailed off dangerously in a hiss. Her eyes were cold as ice.

  I shuddered at the reminder of our upcoming TV interview. “Please…” I was already annoyed at myself for sounding like such a wimp. Liv would tell me to stand up for myself. I tried to make myself feel braver. “Go away,” I said, looking up at her.

  “Oh, quit whining. We just wanted to get your music choices for the dance playlist,” Rayna interrupted, flicking her hair and shrugging like this was the most normal thing in the world. (Are you surprised they were organizing the dance? Really?)

  I squinted and closed my notebook. The last thing I wanted was for them to see my list of “How to Survive the Sneerpocalypse.” (Step one: find invisibility cloak.)

  “Yeah, okay, sure.” I snorted, rolling my eyes and taking a swig of chocolate milk.

  “It’s true! Ashley’s only messing with you. We need everyone’s list by Friday,” she said, smiling her widest grin as she and Ashley wandered off to a vending machine behind me, leaving Brooke standing alone, fidgeting with her nails.

  Did they actually care what I wanted to hear at the dance? And how did Rayna get her teeth so white?

  “Listen, Ana,” Brooke said softly, “I know that everything’s sorta messed up lately, but you could go to the dance”—she paused—“plus, everybody is going.” She gave me a knowing look and glanced over her shoulder at Zack, who was currently arm wrestling Mark, otherwise known as The Guy Who Bathed in Cologne.

  I let out a tense breath.

  Okay.

  There was no way I wanted to go to the dance. Not only did I hate everybody, but the thought of showing up on my own in front of everybody made me want to lose my chicken parm all over Brooke’s electric-blue shirt. But maybe Brooke was trying to be nice? She had been half nice to me when we made our study notes, after all. Maybe I should give her a chance, now that Liv was gone.