His face lights up, like this is excellent news. “I’m glad you’re talking to someone.” He pats my shoulder. “I’m here if you need me, Wes. I hope you know that.”
“Yeah . . . I do.”
Then he trashes the “moment” by giving me a replay of Brett’s wrestling match and I pull back, stop listening, tune him out. He still doesn’t get that I don’t want to hear about it.
But he suddenly stops talking. In the middle of a sentence.
“Sorry.” He shrugs, like maybe he does get it. First time that’s happened. “What’s the teacher’s name?”
“Gilardi.”
“Which class does she teach?”
“I know her from Reflection.”
“Oh.” He smiles. “Okay.”
I’ve thought a lot about Gilardi. And I think the reason I’m okay with her is because she never made me talk or asked me to share my feelings or any forced crap like that. If that makes sense. She’s just there. I can go if I want, or skip it when I don’t feel like talking.
And I’m gonna tell you something, okay, and don’t repeat this to anyone. She kind of reminds me of my mom. They don’t look alike or sound the same. It’s just how Gilardi looks at me. Like no matter what I say, she’s still gonna be there the next time I walk in.
So Monday after school, I decide to come clean. I walk around Gilardi’s room and tell her about Mom. How she left, how I haven’t talked to her in months, and how I don’t feel like talking to her ever again.
I’ve never told anyone what happened. Not that I have many people to tell. It feels a little good and a lot bad to say it all out loud. Not all. I leave out the part about Mom’s friend. Or boyfriend.
Gilardi’s sitting at her desk knitting, nodding and going “hmm” and “oh.” But then she says, “This is tough, but you’ll get through it,” and “Try to see it as half-full, not half-empty.” All that supposed-to-be-uplifting stuff. But instead of making me feel better, it’s making me angry. At myself or Mom or the entire situation. I don’t know anymore.
I stop in front of Gilardi, my hands in tight fists. “You can tell me all that, but you don’t know what it’s like. She takes off, doesn’t care about me, or my brother. Thinks we’re just gonna go live with her in Florida because that’s what she wants? What if my parents end up fighting for custody and they never ask what we want? This is so frickin’ messed up. People are so frickin’ messed up.”
Gilardi puts down her knitting, then takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes. “You’re right. It is messed up.”
“Why’d my mom have to do this? It was fine before! We were okay!” I choke up a little and turn away so she won’t see.
“I’m guessing she wasn’t happy with her life.”
“But it seemed like she was. If that’s true, she was a great pretender.”
“You don’t ever really know what’s going on inside someone, do you? My mother used to say, put yourself in someone else’s shoes for a day and you’ll want your own shoes back real fast.”
“At least you had a mother to tell you stuff like that.”
“True. She didn’t leave. But I had other things.”
“Like what? Your parents split? Your brother thought choke holds were a fun activity?”
She slides on her glasses, then stands and faces me. “No. I lost my sister. She died when she was four years old. I was seven.”
I kick the leg of a desk. “Well, that sucks.”
“It did indeed suck. She had leukemia. My parents and I were never the same afterward. The point is, everyone has hidden scars. Some people have deeper ones that take longer to heal, others not so much.”
“But you got through it.” I gesture around the room. “You’re a teacher. You came out okay. Not everybody does, and you can’t tell me that’s not true.”
“I won’t. Some people can’t get over things. You’re right.”
I slump into a chair. “So how do you know if you’re gonna come out okay? Because a lot of the time, it doesn’t feel like I will.”
She picks up whatever she’s been knitting and smiles. “I don’t know if this scarf’s going to come out okay.”
I know she’s trying to get me to laugh, but I don’t want to. Then I’d have to open the door even farther, and a little was hard enough.
“Let’s go back to those seagulls for a minute,” she says. “There was a time when they made a choice to leave the water and go inland. For whatever reason. Food, avoiding their predators, better places to build nests. But I’m certain they didn’t know at first if it was going to come out okay.”
“They’re only seagulls. They can’t think. What does it matter anyway?”
“It matters. Of course it matters.”
I get up, go over to the window, look out on nothing. “What are you saying?”
“I think you know.”
I smirk. “I’m supposed to leave the water and go inland?”
She laughs. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”
“And then it’ll all be okay?”
“No. But it’s a place to start.”
I don’t say anything.
“You decide, Wesley. It’s become a tired cliché, but that’s the one thing you can do here. The one thing in your control.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Status Update
ZOE
Tuesday during lunch, I try to talk to Erin like Ethan asked me to, but she gets super mad and turns on me. She tells me I’m “taking his side.” I promise her I’m not and I’m just trying to help smooth things out, but then she goes, “Zoe, can’t you see he made a bad throw on purpose? It was clear he aimed for the table. He wanted to destroy our project.”
I say no, I don’t think that’s how it was, Ethan wouldn’t do that. She crosses her arms and shakes her head. “You don’t know,” she says. “You don’t know how he really is. No one does.”
I keep trying, but she plugs her ears like a little kid and won’t listen. And I realize that no matter what I say, she’s got her mind made up.
That’s when I get mad.
“Stop blaming him!” I shout. “It was an accident! Admit it, what you’re really upset about is how our project wasn’t working! I’m upset too, but that doesn’t mean we should give up!”
Her hands are folded tightly in her lap and she won’t look at me.
“If we have to start over, that’s okay. Our world is in peril! Sea levels are rising! Polar ice is melting! And invasive plants are a threat to biodiversity and human health. We have to focus on that and not some little brother-sister argument!”
Finally she turns. “Nice speech, Zoe. But this isn’t a little argument, and my brother has to realize that you can’t just say you’re sorry after you create a mess and then everything’s fine.”
“Erin, listen—”
She stands abruptly, gathers up her lunch. “And tell me the truth, you like him, don’t you?”
I bite my lip. “Yes.”
“I knew it.” She walks to the garbage can, dumps everything—not recycling even one item—then leaves the cafeteria.
Parneeta, sitting next to me, says, “What’s going on with Erin?”
“It’s a long story,” I sigh. “And it doesn’t have a happy ending.”
BRIAN
Three amazing things happened today.
The first was in LA. I made a joke about Delman’s tie: COMMAS SAVE LIVES. I said, “Unless you get stabbed by an exclamation point,” and are you ready for this? Jamie laughed. She goes, “That was funny, Brian.” I about died.
Two, the protein diet is working! I grew. Only one inch, according to the pencil marks on the kitchen wall, but I’m taking that to mean more inches are coming. Even Gram said I looked taller, and she seemed all there at that moment, not lost somewhere in one of her stories. I’m on an upward roll, I can feel it. Good-bye, shortness.
And three, I was invited to Naomi’s Halloween party. She has one every year, but I never made the cut
before. She’s good friends with this girl Sheridan, who’s friends with Jamie, so the only explanation I can come up with is that Jamie got me on the list.
Days don’t get much better than this.
ETHAN
I have no idea if Zoe talked to my sister, because now Erin’s not doing the thing where she speaks to me through Mom and Dad. She’s acting as if I don’t even exist.
In school, at home, on the bus, wherever. She walks right by me, staring straight ahead. Like she’s never going to forgive me. She’s sticking 100 percent to what she said in the garage—the “We’re done” comment.
Mom and Dad know what’s going on, but they told me they want us to “work it out on our own” because that’s what you say when you’re fully committed to Parenting 101.
I answered, “I’m willing, but it takes two, you know.”
They said they understand, and I should give Erin some time, that she’s very hurt about what happened and it’s still “raw.”
“I said I was sorry. I offered to fix it and pay for whatever they needed.” (Not that I have any money, so I don’t know how that would happen.)
They said that was the right thing to do and they’re sure it will be okay. Eventually.
Anyway, after a few days of waiting to see if she’d get over it, I kick open the door to her room one night. She’s at her desk, hunched over something, most likely homework that I should be doing too. She does this sideways glance toward my feet.
I slap my hand on her dresser. “Look, I’m sorry! I don’t know what else you want me to say. I can’t erase what happened. You can hate me for the rest of your life if you want to. I guess that’s your choice. But stop the silent treatment already. It’s just stupid at this point, Erin.”
She doesn’t look up, doesn’t say a word.
“And here.” I pull a crumpled napkin from my pocket with a few mini marshmallows wrapped inside. I think they’re stale, and I couldn’t roast minis, but whatever. It’s the gesture, right? I put the napkin onto her desk. One marshmallow rolls to the floor.
She glances at it. I wait for her to say something. She doesn’t.
“Fine. No one can say I didn’t try.”
ERIN
I know he tried. Don’t come down on me. See, this is what always happens. Ethan does something, but then somehow it ends up being my fault for getting mad. Don’t you see how wrong that is? I can’t even bear to walk into the garage.
I’ve forgiven him so many times before, or let it go, or not made a big issue. But this time is different. I was going to win this year. Take it away from Marlon Romanov. Then he could finally stop acting so smug and superior every time he passes me in the hallway.
You know that last year, after Marlon took first place, he walked up to me and said, “This is proof that men are better than girls at science.”
I was so stunned, I couldn’t even respond. Then he marched over to the judges to shake their hands and I watched. And yes, I cried. When I got home.
So I had something to prove this year, and it was bigger than me. It was for girls—women—everywhere.
Zoe’s all upbeat and positive and thinks we can just pick up the pieces and go on. Plus, how could she like Ethan? That really hurts. And Mom and Dad keep suggesting that I need to find a way to get past this.
But I’m not able to do that right now.
It’s not only the football incident, which is bad enough. Ethan went and asked Marlon for help. Not me.
I pick up the marshmallow from the floor. It’s kind of hard. Stale, I’m sure. Where did he find these anyway?
I ball up the napkin and I’m about to throw them away, but then I eat every single one. I forgot how good marshmallows are, even if they’re stale. And unroasted. There are times that can be okay.
WESLEY
Go inland. Like the seagulls. Sure. You do that and tell me how it goes.
At lunch, I sit where I always sit. The table with the kids who have nowhere else to sit. The guy with long hair who has his headphones on the whole time, three guys who do their homework, this heavy kid who gets two lunch trays. And me.
Every day.
I eat my sandwich, shut out the noise, watch the heavy kid go through all his food. The bell rings. I get up, walk to the trash can.
I didn’t plan this. But Marcus is on the other side of the can, throwing his garbage away. He glances at me. I remember when he was in Reflection, how he was so nice and polite to Gilardi all the time. Some kids are pretty rude to her. And I just think, Say something.
So I tip my chin and go, “Hey.”
And he says, “Hey. How’s it goin’?”
“All right.”
“Well, see ya.” He leaves, walks out with Kowalski.
I think I’m the last one in the cafeteria. The monitor blows her whistle. “Get going, young man.”
Yeah. Okay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Two Peas in a Pod
ETHAN
As soon as the bell rings on Friday afternoon, I head to Gilardi’s room. I’ve decided I can’t do it. I’m quitting. Giving up on the invention. I’m not the carrot seed kid after all. I made a decent attempt, but I guess I really don’t have what it takes. Erin was right. Like always.
Last night I went down to the basement with a big garbage bag and packed up everything we used to try to make the desk-evator. Don’t get me wrong. I still get scomas, and I still think that kids shouldn’t be forced to sit at their desks all day and rule number seven needs to change. But I’ve got to face facts. I can’t make this thing and never will. The desk-evator was a great idea, but thinking I could do Invention Day was a bad one.
It’s time to go to Plan B. Or actually, Plan C.
As soon as I come up with it.
I don’t even tell Brian. He won’t care. Actually, he’ll be happy. He didn’t want to do this in the first place. All he can think about is Jamie anyway. Now he can focus on her full-time.
When I’m almost at Gilardi’s room, I hear my sister’s voice. “I don’t see how we can,” she says. “I feel as if I have no other choice.”
What? I poke my head into the room and Erin’s in there, standing in front of Gilardi’s desk. Her back is to me. I quickly step back and duck out but too late. Gilardi spotted me. “Ethan? It’s all right,” she calls. “Come in. How funny, your sister’s here too.”
I cringe, then go inside. “Hi.” That was to Gilardi, not Erin.
“What can I do for you?” Gilardi asks me.
“Well . . . ,” I start, not sure if I want to say it in front of Erin. Then I think, Whatever, doesn’t matter, who cares at this point? It’s all messed up anyway. “Yeah, uh, I want to withdraw from Invention Day.”
Gilardi puts a hand on her cheek. “Not you, too? That’s just what your sister was telling me.”
Erin and I actually give each other a brief, very brief glance.
“The thing is,” I say, “my project sounded like a good plan, and I—we—thought we could make the desk-evator, but nothing we’ve tried is working.”
Gilardi shakes her head. “You and your sister are two peas in a pod.”
“We’re not,” Erin says immediately.
“We’re really not,” I add. “We’re complete opposites. Different galaxies.”
“Right,” Erin echoes. “Oil and water. Day and night. Hot and cold.”
“Fast and slow. Up”—I can’t help but smile—“and down.”
The corner of Erin’s lip twitches, like she might want to smile too but she’s holding it back. We lock eyes for a second, and then she looks away.
Gilardi ignores our little list of examples. “Erin was just saying that she’s had some unexpected trouble with her project too, and she feels that she has no other choice but to withdraw. But here’s what I’m going to say to both of you.” Gilardi slides the pencil out of her hair bun and points it at us. “I’m not going to accept your withdrawals.”
“What?” I blurt.
&nbs
p; “Why not?” Erin asks.
“I think you both can do what you set out to do. If we don’t fail, we don’t learn. You know that. I ask you to sleep on it over the weekend. If you still want to withdraw your projects on Monday, I’ll accept it then. But not now.”
Sleep on it. Gilardi’s solution for everything.
Erin shakes her head. “Ms. Gilardi, the thing is—”
She gets up. “Nope, no.”
“I don’t want to sleep on it,” Erin says. “I’ve already made up my mind.”
“Monday,” Gilardi answers, shooing us out. “Things always look brighter after a good night’s sleep. And you can quote me on that.”
There’s nothing else to do then except walk out. Sort of together. When we’re in the hallway—which is deserted except for Wesley sitting on the floor, his back against a locker—Erin starts to walk away, then stops and turns around. “I want to tell you something.”
“What?”
“You remember that best friend I had, Ellie? The one who moved away?”
“Kind of.”
“That day we missed the flight because you were making waffles in the hotel, we were so late getting home, I never got to say good-bye to her.”
I sigh. Oh man. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”
“Because it wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“Okay, look. I’m just gonna say this. You shouldn’t withdraw your project because of what happened with the football. I mean it. You were right about me. I’m the one who doesn’t know what I’m doing. I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to fix it. You always do.”
“I don’t think this is fixable.”
“Listen, you and Zoe have a brilliant idea. The kind of idea that can really make a difference in the world.”
She tilts her head, eyes me.
“I’m being serious,” I say, and I swear I am. I hold up my palm like I’m taking an oath or something. “And sorry about your friend. Sorry about everything I ever did to you in my whole entire life. I hope that covers it.”
Ethan Marcus Stands Up Page 9
