“For serious?”
“Of course.”
The muscles in my stomach loosen, and I stop my assault on the stress ball.
“So nothing but honesty from now on,” he continues. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
He asks about V and our relationship, saying that she seems to “have a lot of pent-up anger” directed at me.
“I got her grounded a few weeks ago, and she’s mad about that,” I say. “I think I did it sort of on purpose, too.”
“Let’s talk about that, shall we?” he asks.
And almost everything I tell him is true.
DAY 52
Canadian Maple Leaf Cake
We are getting completely desperate!
It’s been two weeks since I vowed to save FishTopia, and we’re nowhere near making enough money to show Charlie that this place is viable.
Alex and Elle and I are outside the store trying to flag down customers again, but by now people have lost all interest. They’ve all already seen Alex in his fish getup, and it’s yesterday’s news. In fact, I’m pretty sure people have started actively going out of their way to avoid us now.
A kind-faced elderly woman with a walker approaches the store, and Alex waves a friendly flipper toward her.
“Get a real job, you bum,” she spits as she turns and roll/walks away.
Closing my eyes, I try one of Dr. B.’s calming exercises.
A flipper on my shoulder: Alex.
“Maybe it’s time we grab some Wang’s and regroup inside,” he says, and I realize I haven’t had anything to eat since leftover cake for breakfast.
Elle nods. “It’s about time I try this legendary lo mein you two are always going on about.”
“Yeah, we should check on Jimmy anyway,” I say.
Elle’s brother had been so complainy about the heat that we said he could go inside and luxuriate in all the fans. That was about an hour ago, plenty of time for him to have permanently traumatized the fish.
As I’m pulling open the door to Wang’s, I notice a giant stash of about fifty of our flyers (on colored paper!) in the outside garbage can, just as Elle predicted. To her credit she says nothing about it and only gives me the slightest side-eye.
“What we need is something big,” I say as I push myself up to sit on the counter back at FishTopia. Elle and Alex follow, and we hand out the noodles and chopsticks.
“People love free stuff,” Elle offers. “Maybe you could do ‘buy ten fish, the next one is free’?”
“We actually already have something like that,” I say.
“We do?” Alex asks, mouth full of lo mein.
“Yeeessss.” I swat his shoulder. “Haven’t you ever given out one of our loyalty cards?”
Reaching over him, I pull out one of the little fish-shaped punch cards from the register. I think they’re actually from a fishing supplies shop Charlie used to own in Okeechobee, because the fish looks more like a freshwater bass than anything tropical, and it has a big hook in its mouth. Also you can pretty much make out the old address that’s been crossed out with black Sharpie.
“What d’ya know?” Alex laughs. “Creepy Dude might have already taken over the world if he’d known about this promotion.”
“That’s the problem.” I sigh. “We have too few loyal customers for anything like that to work.”
We all chew in agreement.
Nothing is coming together at all; we are the opposite of a movie get-in-shape montage.
“What about an app?” Elle tries again. “You know ‘FishTopia Yourself.’ ”
“What exactly would that entail?” asks Alex.
“Like, gills on your sides and turning your arms into flippers?” I suggest.
“Maybe?” Elle looks less sure of herself.
“It sounds naughty.” Alex winks. “Maybe the three of us could have a little FishTopia together, like in Molly’s dream?”
“For the last time, it wasn’t that kind of dream.” I laugh. “And besides, everyone knows you should never FishTopia on a full stomach.”
Alex suggests that we start a blog with funny captions under pictures of various fish. “Like LOL cats,” he says, adding in a ridiculous voice that sounds more extraterrestrial than feline, “ ‘I can haz cheezburger.’ ”
Elle’s brow creases into her righteous-indignation face. “Those sites are so disrespectful to the animals.”
“I was not aware of that.” Alex flashes me his crooked smile, and I shove a bunch of lo mein into my mouth to stifle a laugh. “Please go on.”
“It’s about fur dignity. If dogs and cats could read and write English, why would we assume they’d have atrocious grammar and spelling? And don’t even get me started on the Chick-fil-A cows. It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“So this has been an issue with you for some time?” Alex continues. “That these animals, after working so hard to become literate, are picked on for petty mistakes?”
“Exactly.”
Alex looks at me.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m just thrilled we finally got her to come into the store.”
“Fine, fine,” Elle says. “I’ll look up LOL fish.”
Whatever comes up on her iPhone makes Elle all squirmy and fire-engine red.
“It already exists?” Alex asks. “Of course. The idea’s a freaking gold mine.”
“Not exactly.” Elle chokes.
“What?” I grab her phone and start cracking up.
Leaning over my shoulder, Alex takes in the crazy shots of naked men, pouting their lips like trout and holding various fish in front of them.
“How is this a thing?” I say between gasps of laughter.
“That, ladies and gentlemen, is what it means to FishTopia yourself!” says Alex.
“Yeah,” Elle says. “This would definitely be one way to get people in the door.”
“Or send them away screaming!” I add.
Our hysterics draw Jimmy from the bowels of the store, and he stares at the three of us as if we were FishTopia-ing ourselves right there in front of him. For once he’s quiet and still and somewhat normal. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” Elle shoves her phone back into the pocket of her shorts. “Go back to torturing the sea horses.”
“You guys are weird.” Jimmy gives a dramatic shrug, pulls up his sleeves Popeye style, and races with his head down toward the back of the store.
“On that note, is it okay if I hop out a little early?” Alex stands and starts gathering up the stray noodles from his carton of lo mein.
Since technically he’s the only one of us who’s supposed to be working this afternoon, it’s bizarre. It’s also the second time this week that he’s asked if he could leave early without giving any actual explanation. In the entire two years we’ve worked here together, he’s never done that before. Maybe he’s the one sneaking out for therapy now?
“Band practice?” I ask.
“No.” His eyes dart from me to the floor and then the wall. “Just meeting a friend for coffee.”
One of the Hot Topic girls? Meredith Hoffman? Chris Partridge and my sister? I remember Dr. Brooks saying Alex was too immature for me to waste time on. Remember Dr. B. saying that nothing I could tell him would make him not like me.
“Sure,” Elle says. “We can hold down the fort.”
“Now, you ladies promise not to get your FishTopia on with any other guys while I’m gone, okay?”
“I don’t know.” Elle does this little shimmy with her shoulders that is probably supposed to be mock sexy. It’s definitely mock something. “Sometimes a gal’s gotta do what she’s gotta do.”
Chuckling and shaking his head, Alex gathers his backpack and gives us a warning to keep Jimmy away from the starfish tank. Last week he got one stuck on his face.
When Alex is gone, Elle turns to me with this look that’s all conspiratorial, like we share some juicy secret. She just sits there waiting for me to say something.
“What are you all psycho killer about?” I finally ask.
“He’s sooo nice, Mol. I mean, meat in his lo mein aside, he’s such a great guy.”
“Yeah, he has his moments,” I say, but I’m still thinking how weird it is that he took off. Even when it wasn’t his turn to stay late at the store, he almost always used to help me close up.
“And he’s sooooo completely in love with you, it isn’t even funny.”
Alex’s Molly. I love this color; it totally matches your eyes.
“Maybe he was a little into me before.” I shrug and try to act like this absolutely doesn’t bother me at all. “I think he’s seeing someone now. Did I tell you I saw him with Meredith Hoffman a few weeks ago?”
I want to add that V was there too, and that she gave him a hug, but it would require mentioning Chris Partridge and having to go through all that again.
“Meredith ‘Hooters girl’ Hoffman? Puh-leese.” Elle seems legitimately outraged. “What is it with these great guys dating completely vapid girls? There’s more to a woman than how she fills out a tank top.”
Even as she’s saying this, I realize that Elle, herself, is wearing something kind of tank-top-esque. She doesn’t fill it out like V or Meredith Hoffman would, but it looks cute and less aggressively confrontational Earth Mother than her usual getup.
“I like the new look, BTW,” I say.
Elle blushes and bows her head. “I was just trying something different. You know, it’s been so hot lately.”
“Yeah.”
“Anyway, even if Alex is hooking up with Meredith, it’s only because you’ve been giving him the runaround forever. I’m sure if you curl your little finger, he’ll come running back. He’s a good guy; he deserves someone like you.”
“Like what? Someone who can’t decide if she’s going to get dressed in the morning? Someone who has a panic attack every time she hears the word ‘graduation.’ Yeah, that’ll make him happy for sure.”
“Why do you do that?” Elle asks.
“Do what?”
“Always put yourself down. I think you’re awesome, and I should know. Isn’t therapy supposed to help you with stuff like that?”
Why the hell is everyone who was on my case to start seeing a psychologist in the first place now jumping down my throat about Dr. Brooks not doing what they think he should be doing?
“Whatever,” I say, amazed how much I sound like V. “Dr. B. likes me no matter what I say to him, which is apparently way more than I can say for you or anyone else.”
“I’m just sayi—”
“Look, you literally have no idea what you’re talking about, so give it a rest.”
Elle opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, but I shake my head. A few seconds later she starts to say something else, and I shake my head again.
Somewhere in the store there’s this wolf-man howl that would be really terrifying if we hadn’t already heard it three times today and didn’t know exactly what happened.
Elle still looks like she wants to say something, but settles on an exasperated sigh.
“Just go get your idiot brother out of the suckerfish tank,” I say.
DAY 53
Fruit Compote Cake
Alex’s band is no longer called the Flaming Dantes or Headless Naked Ken, or any of the various other names they’ve tried out in the eighteen months since they formed. Currently they have no name.
“So you’re called ‘No Name,’ like some paintings are ‘Untitled’?” I ask. We’re back on Elle’s front porch again, all worn out after another-less-than successful day at FishTopia.
“No, we decided we’re just not going to have a name for a while,” Alex says.
“How can you not have a name?” Elle asks.
“Our music is what’s important, so we’re going to let it name us.” Alex sounds serious, almost reverent. “One day when we’re jamming, the name will come to us and we’ll know.”
“Like how some Native American tribes renamed people as adults, based on things they had done in their lives?” Elle asks.
Alex nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, I think so.”
Do the Hot Topic girls find this deep? Does Meredith Hoffman? To me the whole thing sounds patently ridiculous and pretentious and reminds me of the reason I dropped out of advanced art. Maybe this is what Dr. B. means about Alex being immature. I’m kind of glad he’s probably got a girlfriend and the unnamed band can be her problem.
“We’re playing Scream House next month,” he adds. “The name might come to us right then; you guys should totally come.”
“Of course,” Elle volunteers us.
I just nod, remembering how upset he was when I didn’t make the last show. No doubt the new girl will be there front and center.
“Wait, I got it!” Alex shouts with so much excitement, I expect a cartoon lightbulb to turn on above his head. “We should have a benefit concert for FishTopia—a battle of the bands to save the fish!”
“Ohmygod!” Elle screeches. “That’s brilliant!”
“We could have it right on the FishTopia roof and charge, like, ten or fifteen bucks admission. Maybe get a keg, have some food. We can make sooo much money!”
Seeing as there is a ginormous sign on the door to the roof proclaiming that no one is allowed up there, I can’t imagine Charlie will be thrilled by the idea. And while Elle’s mom might be too busy doing whatever it is she does to care, my mom certainly isn’t going to go for the whole beer thing—oh, and by the way, I have no idea how Alex plans to get a keg. Visions of me fleeing Chris Partridge’s party spring into my brain. “I don’t know . . .”
“Oh, come on, Mol. This could be the service component for your college applications!” Elle gushes. “Like that kid who raised money for his friend who had the zip-line wipeout. This could be your zip-line kid!”
“What—”
“Think about it: ‘Girl saves thousands of evicted fish’!” Elle continues. “That would at least get you into FIU!”
“I’m not trying to save FishTopia so I can get into college,” I scoff.
“Fine,” Elle says. “But you know it’s a good idea.”
“Well, it’s definitely the best idea we’ve had so far,” I conceed.
“It’s pure genius, if I do say so myself,” Alex jokes, and then starts explaining how he’s gotten to know the guys from Sinking Canoe pretty well, and if they’ve all recovered from mono, they’ll probably play. “And I think we could get Terminal Bitch and maybe even McLovin, although they’re completely blowing up right now, so you never know.”
Elle runs inside to get a notebook, and we start jotting down things we’ll need and potential costs.
“What if we had a tarot card reader?”
“Someone doing henna tattoos?”
“A cotton candy machine?”
“We can use blue Christmas lights to set the mood,” says Alex.
“And Molly can come up with an image for the event,” says Elle. “Like you did for our swim team shirts a few years ago.”
Alex cocks his head at me.
“Yeah, Molly’s a really talented artist,” Elle explains.
Shrugging, I say that I like to draw and paint, which used to be true. Back in junior high, art was always my favorite class. But then in high school the only kids taking advanced art were the kind of Hot Topic girls who used to come in and flirt with Alex. They were always explaining the deeper meaning of their projects—how the burning magazine represented the objectification of women, or a giant creepy rabbit was somehow about apartheid in South Africa. I started to feel really stupid, because my stuff was just what it was—a flower was a flower, not female sexual liberation. So I dropped it like I dropped everything else.
“That’s awesome.” Alex nods. “That can really tie everything else together.”
Our to-do list gets longer and longer, and we divide up the tasks.
It’s really hard not to get caught up in the excitement.
Wakey-Wakey Eggs and Bac-y Cake
Over the last few nights, I stayed late at the store for hours sketching a logo for the event.
It was hard to decide what to draw, but in the end I went with the fish that Alex and I had compared to the Golden Girls a few weeks before—idol fish for Blanche, brown clown goby for Dorothy, Rose as a dottyback, and Sophia as a black bar soldierfish (we thought the massive eyeballs sort of looked like her glasses)—as sort of an inside joke.
Above the logo I wrote “Rock the Tanks” in chunky block letters and then filled those in with little fish.
I think it came out really well, but when the little bell on the door chimes and Alex comes in to take over for JoJo, I’m all nervous to show him.
He gets this weird look on his face and doesn’t say anything at first.
“You got talent, CCH!” JoJo proclaims, turning away from Jerry Springer interviewing a man who wants to marry his dog.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Cromwell still the art teacher?” she asks.
“Yeah.” Ms. Cromwell, with her paint-spattered smocks and crazy hoop earrings. When I told her I was dropping art last year, she gave me this really sad once-over and asked, “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?” I told her there wasn’t, and she promised she would always keep a space open for me.
“Cromwell was cool,” says JoJo.
“Yeah, she really is.”
“This is amazing, Mol.” Alex finally says something. “I had no idea you could do stuff like that.”
Feeling myself blush, I turn away and mumble, “I’m just full of surprises.”
DAY 61
Raspberry Chocolate Swirl Cake
Elle, Alex, and I spend the whole day plastering flyers all over town (and at least a half hour pulling staples out of Jimmy’s fingers; the kid really is a little masochist). When I get home, I practically devour the cake Mom has made, even though I suspect the recipe called for unsweetened chocolate but she improvised with Hershey’s.
100 Days of Cake Page 13
