Enthusiasm

by Polly Shulman

  “What did he look like?” said Ashleigh. “Was he of middle stature, about Julia’s height, with lightish brown hair and deep, soulful brown eyes?”

  “Um, he could have been. I’m sorry—I should have noticed better. I forgot you girls are getting to the age when you need all the details you can get about boys.”

  Casting reproachful glances at Mom, Ashleigh and I carried the package upstairs to my attic.

  “It’s from Ned, I know it is! Does it have a note? Open it!” cried Ash, bouncing wildly.

  “No note, but there’s writing on the box.” I read: “Had enough wattles this season? If not, here’s sweets for the sweet. Yours ever— I can’t read the name.”

  “Let’s see! That must be E-something-D—what’s Ned’s middle name?”

  “Does he even have one? That looks nothing like an E. More like a C. Chris Stevens? Could that be possible? Too bad it’s so smudged,” I said.

  “Of course it’s an E—well, I guess it could be an N—N, E, D, maybe?”

  “How do you get an N from that? It’s got to be a C or a G, or maybe a sloppy script A—something open on the right—well, I guess it could be a really messy capital E, but for sure it’s no N. Here, give it back, let’s see what’s inside.”

  The box contained a gorgeous chocolate turkey, its plumage delicately marked in three colors of chocolate: dark, milk, and white.

  “Sweets for the sweet! Is that not a chivalrous thought? That settles it—it must be from Ned.”

  “Or whoever sent it could be calling me a turkey,” I said.

  “Nonsense, Ned would never suggest such a thing. He has too kind a heart.”

  “Why would Ned give me a chocolate turkey?”

  “Oh, Julia! Do not pretend you do not know! Chivalrous young men courted their chosen ladies with gifts of sweetmeats even in King Arthur’s time. As for the turkey—well, it is Thanksgiving.”

  Whatever Ashleigh said, I didn’t believe Ned was the turkey giver. For one thing, he couldn’t spell—or at least, he couldn’t type. Of course, the note was handwritten; that could explain the absence of typos. Still, it didn’t sound like his style. But if not Ned, who? Chris Stevens, Mr. Igsome himself? Unappetizing thought! Seth Young? Dean Hanson, perhaps, as an apology for his turkey-faced colleague’s treatment? Surely not: my mother would never call the dean a boy; and similar reasoning ruled out Zach Liu, since she would have recognized him. Grandison Parr, then? Possibly. The reference to wattles suggested, if not the dean, then Ned or Parr. Nibbling on a bit of the tail—first-rate chocolate—I felt my heart begin to beat faster. From the sugar? Or from a powerful feeling that I would not allow myself to put into words?

  But would my unspoken hopes turn out to be hollow after all—as hollow as the chocolate turkey that was vanishing before my eyes?

  And whoever the kind turkey giver was, how would I express my gratitude? Obviously, I couldn’t just thank all the candidates, or the ones who hadn’t given me any chocolate would think I had left my mental marshmallows in the microwave a bit too long.

  After some deliberation, I sent e-mail to Ned, Parr, and Seth, thanking them in general terms for their recent kindness, and slipping in a reference to Thanksgiving. I hoped that the innocent guys—the ones who hadn’t sent me a turkey—would conclude that the theme of the holiday had made me think grateful thoughts. As for the chocolate giver, I hoped he would interpret my message as a response to his gift.

  And if the turkey had come from Chris, he could just consider me rude. He would get no thanks from me. I hadn’t asked him to shower me with turkeys. He would have to do more than ply me with chocolate to worm his way into my good graces.

  I received the following answers.

  From Parr:

  Dear Julia, What a sweet message. But it’s the other way around—I’m the lucky one. CGP.

  From Ned:

  happy thangsgiving to you too julie. i am glad you and ashleigh are in the play its much more fun than any ohter year!

  From Seth:

  Hi, Julie. I was touched to receive your message. I hope you enjoyed your Thanksgiving, and I look forward to seeing you when school resumes. Yours, Seth.

  Inconclusive, I thought. Nobody either acknowledged or repudiated the turkey. Well, at least if it was one of them, he wouldn’t think me rude and ungrateful.

  After the holiday, the pace picked up at school. Final papers and exams approached, and the deadline loomed for the winter issue of Sailing. Work on Midwinter Insomnia slowed dramatically, however, since finals were an even bigger deal at Forefield than at Byzantium High. With rehearsal time given over to review sessions, our schedule shrank to a weekly rehearsal, “the minimum we can meet and still expect to have anything left to forget by the time we get to winter break,” as Benjo put it.

  My part was so small, and my partner, the dean, so rarely around during these weeks, that I had almost nothing to do but prompt the others. I spent my time watching Ashleigh (as Hermia) chase after Ravi (as Xander) and defend herself from Igsome Chris’s accusations of coldness.

  As Daniel, Chris sang:

  Half an hour of hanging out with Hermia

  Would give a seal or walrus hypothermia.

  She’s the Queen of the Ice.

  She doesn’t know the meaning of nice.

  Turn the thermostat up and crank it!

  I need another sweater and a blanket.

  Ash/Hermia responded,

  Insinuating snake!

  He’s a man on the make,

  Out to get what he can take,

  And take what he can get—

  Which is nothing . . . yet.

  The yet came as Hermia drank the tainted water and found herself falling under his spell.

  Whenever Chris saw me watching him in his scenes with Ashleigh, he would give me a horrible, languid smile.

  I naturally took frequent breaks from their rehearsals to torture myself by watching Parr and Yolanda quarrel passionately, then kiss and make up.

  One day shortly before winter break, when Ashleigh’s dad drove us to Forefield, I noticed that Yolanda was uncharacteristically quiet. She contributed almost nothing to our discussion of the dance number leading up to the grand finale (which I found too energetic, whereas Ashleigh considered it not energetic enough).

  “You okay, Landa?” I asked.

  “Fine.”

  “It’s just, you seem subdued.”

  “Subdued? Oh, I—sorry, I was thinking about something else. What were you saying?”

  “The finale. Too tame? Too wild?”

  “I like it the way it is. It’s, uh, kind of energetic but not all that energetic, if you see what I’m saying. And that’s what it should be like, because it’s the finale.”

  Although Yolanda does not always think through what she’s going to say before she says it, this remark seemed especially incoherent. It made me wonder.

  Arriving at Forefield, however, I turned my attention to my part and forgot about the conversation until much later in the afternoon, when I went to help Yolanda and Parr. They were rehearsing alone in the Robbins Center’s dance studio upstairs, while Alcott Fish, Ashleigh, Ravi, Chris, and Erin worked on their big jealousy number on the stage. Yolanda and Parr needed me to stand in for Alcott, who had a couple of lines in their scene.

  To my surprise, Yolanda seemed to be having some trouble remembering her part. Suspicious, I checked her hair. The day before, she had worn all green beads, and her sister wore all red. Today Yolanda still wore green. And the beads weren’t just at the ends of her braids, but up at her scalp as well. If this was Yvette in disguise, the twins must have gone to a great deal of trouble to make her look right.

  The green beads clicked as my friend leaned her head back for the big reconciliation kiss. I flinched as usual, but forced myself to watch.

  Parr kissed her.

  “You’re not Yolanda, are you?” he said.

  She made a gesture of surprise. “Who else would I be?” />
  “The famous identical twin, maybe?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Yolanda kisses differently. You can tell a lot from a kiss.”

  The Gerard twin hesitated, then took a deep breath. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m Yvette.”

  “I thought so!” I said. “You were so quiet in the car. Where’s Yolanda?”

  “She got grounded.”

  “Grounded! What for?”

  “Dumb girl says she accidentally ordered some sexy underwear over the Internet, and my mom got the bill. Tell me, how do you accidentally order some sexy underwear? She’s grounded for two weeks, and she’s afraid she’ll lose the part if anybody here finds out. You won’t tell, will you?”

  I shook my head. “Of course not,” I said. “Ashleigh’s going to notice, though. You should tell her—she’d never give you away.”

  “Yeah, I wanted to tell you both, but Landa said to wait and see if you noticed. You won’t tell either, right?” she asked Parr.

  “No, of course not. You know the part—they’d have to replace Yolanda with somebody anyway, so why not you? Why do you know it, anyway?”

  “I learned it helping my sister practice. Thank you so much, guys. Yolanda will appreciate it.”

  “I don’t get it. I thought you hated performing and things like that,” I said.

  “Yeah, I do. She owes me.”

  “You’re a generous sister,” said Parr. “Shall we take it from after the kiss?”

  Except for Parr, Ashleigh, me, and Ned, whom Ash told but swore to secrecy, no one involved with Insomnia noticed the new actress playing Tanya. The substitution did have one dramatic result, however. Igsome Chris followed Yvette into the prop room, where she’d gone to put away some test tubes. He yelped and came out again quickly.

  “What did you do to him, Yv—Yo?” asked Ashleigh.

  “Something my sister should have done weeks ago. That girl’s too soft-hearted.”

  She refused to say more.

  Chapter 14

  Musings about the Inscrutable Gender ~ A Date ~ Ashleigh to the rescue ~ Painful Praise.

  When I began tenth grade, I never imagined I would become a Belle, but when Seth Young called the third December evening in a row and Mom made a comment about boys, I began to rethink my self-image.

  “It’s not boys, Mom—it’s just Seth. He wanted the math homework.”

  “The math homework, eh? What did he want yesterday?”

  “How do you know he called yesterday? Did you go snooping in my Calls Received list?”

  Mom looked hurt. “You know I wouldn’t do that. But if he calls you while we’re in the car, I can’t help overhearing, can I?”

  “Well, if you did overhear, you’d know he wanted to find out if I’d finished reading Mad Alex’s story for Sailing—the literary magazine.”

  “And the day before?”

  “Oh, Mom! It’s just Seth. Really—would you go out with him?”

  “I don’t know, honeybear, I don’t think I’ve met him. Unless, is he that nice-looking young man who gave you that chocolate turkey?”

  Was he? Whatever Ashleigh might believe about Ned, I hadn’t solved the chocolate-turkey mystery to my satisfaction. “I’m not sure,” I said. “There’s a bunch of people it could be. You didn’t exactly give us a good description.”

  “There, what did I tell you?” said Mom triumphantly. “Boys!”

  Taken one by one, I felt, Ned, Igsome Chris, Seth, and Parr added up to something less than—or at least other than—Boys. None of them seemed to be behaving like a real suitor. No matter what Ashleigh said, I couldn’t believe that Ned had feelings for me. Igsome did pursue me pointedly—he was out for conquest—but as long as he didn’t conquer me, you could say I’d won. However, my victory was nothing personal, as Yvette had shown; he chased after anything female. Nor did Seth fit the bill, I told myself. Nothing could be more natural than for a guy to call a girl with whom he shared several classes and endless literary duties.

  As for Parr—well, what was there to say about Parr? I was afraid my conflicted feelings for him might be clouding my observations. The warm, teasing gallantry that marked our first meeting had given way to something more restrained. Now when we were together, I always felt a barrier between us, as if he were quietly holding me off or holding himself back. At moments I even imagined that he was aiming some intensity directly at me, but stopping, perfect swordsman that he was, with the point at my heart, a fraction of an inch from drawing blood. What this meant for Ashleigh and her dreams, I couldn’t say. I often thought he treated her with the same courtesy he gave me, but with more freedom, more warmth.

  Individually, then, none of these boys seemed to justify that remark of my mother’s. Taken all together, though, there certainly were a lot of them. Was Mom right? Did they count as Boys?

  There was no talking to Ashleigh about it, of course—I knew I’d just get an earful about Ned. But Sam, when I consulted her, sided with Mom.

  “Why does Seth have to call you on the phone about the homework and stuff?” she asked. “If all he wants is information, he could just as easily e-mail you. With the phone, he can get you to give him one-on-one, person-to-person alone time—even if he can’t actually get you alone in person. I don’t know, Julie. Unless you do something definite to discourage him, I bet he’ll make a move soon.”

  As usual, Samantha was right.

  Seth sent me a text message one Thursday afternoon: can u meet me at java jail 2 discuss page proofs?

  I should have guessed what was going on when he paid for my latte and insisted with extra-nervous pompousness that half my whichs should have been thats, but it wasn’t until he had put away all his papers and turned the subject to the movie playing at the Cinepalace that I realized what he had in mind.

  “Well, if you haven’t seen it either, you want to go see it now?” asked Seth.

  “I—I can’t—I have to—my mom needs me to help her in the shop,” I garbled, taken by surprise.

  “Then what about tomorrow night?”

  A movie alone with Seth—on a Friday night! What would that mean—what would that make us? What would people think if they saw us?

  “I promised Ashleigh,” I began, meaning to finish the sentence, “that I’d go see it with her.” But I realized in time that I’d already told Seth all about her reaction to the movie, which she’d seen with Emily Mehan the previous weekend, while I was at my Dad’s. “. . . that I’d hang out with her and help her with her dance routine,” I finished lamely.

  Seth got a stubborn look in his face, centered mostly around the jaw. “What about Saturday night, then?” he said.

  Saturday night—even worse. I caved. “I’ll call my mom and see if I can help her tomorrow instead,” I said.

  His jaw relaxed and he gave me a proud smile, as if he had beaten me by seven points on an English test and I had praised him for it.

  Have you ever been to the movies with a boy you most certainly don’t Like? A boy whose hands you can almost feel thinking (as if they had their own separate little brains) about creeping over to your shoulder or reaching for your hands? He leans closer to whisper some sardonic comment to show he’s superior to the movie. You nod abruptly, trying to fend him off with your famously pointy chin. His shoulder brushes yours, and you feel him trembling a little under his pose. You draw away to the other side of your seat, pushing against the armrest until it digs into your waist.

  I escaped to the ladies’ halfway through and put in a rescue call to Ashleigh. “Help,” I whispered. “I seem to be on some sort of horrible date or something with Seth Young. Can you meet me accidentally at the Cinepalace in an hour, when the movie gets out?”

  “A what? A date? With who? What?”

  “Can’t talk now—I’ve got to get back to my seat—please, it’s important—Cinepalace, one hour.”

  Seth seemed relieved when I came back; I think he was afraid I’d walked out on him altoge
ther. But he bristled when we ran into Ashleigh and the Gerard twins on our way out of the theater, just as he was reaching for my arm.

  “Julie! There you are!” cried Ashleigh. “Where were you? We’ve been trying to call you.”

  “Where does it look like she was?” said Seth. “We went to see the movie.”

  “Oh, hi, Seth,” said Ashleigh, as if she’d only just noticed him.

  “How did you like the movie?” said a twin.

  “What are you doing out? I thought you were grounded,” I answered. Unsure which one was Yolanda, I directed my question to the space between them.

  The one on the left answered. “I got a ninety on my math test from Mr. Klamp, so my mom let me out for the evening. Kind of like bail, or is it parole? We’re going to the Java Jail to celebrate. Want to come?”

  “We already spent hours there,” said Seth. He turned to me, shutting them out with his shoulder. “Shall we go to Bennie’s Burgers?” he suggested.

  “Yeah, Bennie’s, that sounds great,” said Ashleigh. Ignoring Seth’s irritated look, she took me by the arm and charged off down the street.

  “What do you expect, the way you encourage him?” said Yvette later, when we were back at Ashleigh’s. Seth had made an attempt to outwait my friends at the restaurant, but after Ashleigh had shown that she was prepared to out-outwait him, he had given up and gone home.

  “I don’t encourage him—what do you mean?” I objected.

  “You’re always replying to his messages right away and letting him sit next to you in the Nettle’s class.”

  “But what am I supposed to do, without being totally rude? And how do you know where he sits? You’re not even in that class.”

  Yvette just smiled.

  “Well, I am, and she’s right—he is always sitting next to you,” said Yolanda. “Why don’t you like him back, anyway? He seems like a pretty nice guy, and he’s cute too. Not crisp-cute, like Adam or Ravi, but sort of cutish-cute. He’s got that artistic, romantic thing going on. He’s got a nice nose. He looked really good that time at Halloween when he was a pirate. You really don’t like him? I would, if he liked me like he likes you.”