But because fashion is awesome, I knew that would never happen, and because nowadays everyone is crazy about reality TV, the advice-off had even the lunch lady talking.
“Can you believe that one Ryan boy? Laughing at someone’s Olympic dreams.” She shook her head as she dropped a handful of tater tots on my plate.
“Yeah,” I said in a vague voice. “Can I have some salad, too, please?”
“Oh, but the other fellow, Tim what’s his name . . . Antenna? My niece would love him.”
“Mm-hmm,” I said, handing her my meal card.
She swiped it, but instead of giving it back, she pointed it at me. “You look familiar.”
“Yeah, I was in a baby food ad when I was one,” I told her, plucking the card from her fingers. “Thanks!”
To be fair, I really was in a baby food ad, and my mom got free jars of Delicious Squish for a year. But I knew the lunch lady was thinking of the advice-off flyers, and I didn’t want to hear her gush about how wonderful Katie was.
I joined my friends at our lunch table, putting my tray down next to Tim’s.
“The lunch lady found you a girlfriend,” I informed him.
He spat a mouthful of soda across the table. That made me feel a little better.
“Dude!” cried Brooke, wiping off her math book. “And you could do a lot worse than the lunch lady. Imagine all the free corn dogs you’ll get.”
“No, no, the lunch lady doesn’t want to date him,” I said. “She wants her niece to date him.”
“Okay, so no free corn dogs, but you’ll probably get a twenty-percent family discount, which at a dollar fifty apiece would be”—Brooke scrunched her face—“thirty cents off?”
I nodded, and Brooke triumphantly slammed her book shut.
“I am going to ace this quiz. Math. Genius.” She pointed to herself.
“Hey, math genius,” said Heather, sitting beside her. “You guys did great today!”
“Thanks!” Brooke grinned. “That was actually a lot of fun, even if my competition was an obnoxious pig.”
“You’ll definitely win that one,” said Tim. “Although, someone else might be writing my column next week.” He made a face.
Brooke leaned back and crossed her arms. “Well, well. This is quite a change.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tim.
“I seem to recall someone didn’t want to write for the advice column a month ago, and now you’re sweatin’ it that someone’s going to take your job.”
“Oooh!” said Heather and I.
Tim scoffed. “Please. I’m not sweatin’ it. Check ’em.”
He raised his arms so we could inspect the pits.
“Lovely,” I said. “But some of us are still eating.” I lowered the arm closest to me.
“And even if he beats me,” Tim continued, “he only gets the job for a week, which frees me up to do more sports coverage while Stefan shoots people.”
All three of us gave him horrified looks.
“With his camera!” Tim quickly added. “Shoots people with his camera. Apparently, there’s this big exhibit on Friday that he’s trying to get into.”
“Really? I wonder if Gil knows about that,” I said.
Tim shrugged. “Anyway, if I lose, I still get plenty of paper time. It’s win-win.”
“Win-win-winners!” chirped Katie, appearing out of nowhere, like a pimple on date night.
She plopped down on my lap, stealing a tater tot.
“Oh, these need way more salt.” She grabbed a shaker and unleashed a blizzard on my tray. “Hi, you guys!”
“Hi, Katie!” Heather said.
“Hey, Katie!” Brooke said.
“Hey there,” Tim said.
“That’s too much salt,” I said.
But nobody heard me.
Brooke slapped a hand on the table. “Katie, I never found the balloon with the ribbon in it! Do you realize what I went through? How many people I had to push down?”
“Brooke!” Heather gave her a shocked look, and Brooke blushed.
“It was only one person.”
“Not better,” said Heather.
Katie laughed and grabbed Brooke’s hands. “If it means that much to you, I have another pair of tickets with your name all over them.”
Brooke squealed and leaned across the table to hug Katie, dragging her over my salad.
“Hey, leave my lunch out of this!” I poked Katie in the side, and she jumped up, laughing.
“Sorry, Vanny.” She brushed a piece of lettuce off the front of her sweater. “I actually came by to tell you that I was talking to James . . . uh . . . Principal Winslow,” she corrected herself, “and he said they’ve already received a ton of ballots in the office from today’s advice-off.”
Tim perked up. “Am I winning?”
Katie shrugged. “He wouldn’t give me the details, but from what other kids are telling me, you’re going to win.”
Tim smirked and crossed his arms behind his head. “Ha! I mean . . . not that I was sweatin’ it or anything.”
“We know,” I said, lowering the arm closest to me again. “You already showed us your armpits.”
Tim laughed nervously and avoided Katie’s eye. “Whaaat? That was stretching.”
But Katie was too busy looking at her watch. “OMG, I’ve gotta go! I promised I’d do a guest lecture in Home Economics.”
“Lecture?” I repeated. “On what?”
“Fashion, of course!” Katie tweaked my nose with her fingers. I kind of wanted to tweak hers with my fist.
“Wow!” said Heather. “That’s really amazing. You’re like a kid genius.”
“Oh, stop!” Katie giggled. “I’m just talking about what I know.”
Brooke raised an eyebrow. “V, I think you’re going to have some fierce competition tomorrow.”
“That’s right! You better bring your A game, sister,” said Katie, touching me for the hundredth time. “Well, I’d love to keep basking in the gorgeous glow coming from this table, but I must be off to spread wisdom. Au revoir!”
“Huh?” Brooke said as Katie pranced away.
“It means ‘good-bye’ in French,” I said.
“How do you know that?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Heather smile.
In Journalism, the topic on everyone’s mind? The advice-off. After Mrs. H addressed issues with the issue, we talked about the morning’s event. People congratulated Brooke and Tim, weighing the odds of each win (nobody thought either of them would lose). Then the attention turned to me and Heather. Before anyone could start placing bets, I raised my hand.
“Could we please talk about something other than the advice-off? We still have a paper to put out, don’t we?”
Mrs. H smiled. “Vanessa does have a point. Let’s get some ideas going for our next issue. Mary Patrick?”
Mary Patrick nodded and uncapped her marker with a loud pop, pen poised at the board.
“Front page?” she called over her shoulder. “What are you working on for this week?”
A guy leaning against a cabinet said, “Front page is covering the advice-offs.”
And we were back on that ride.
“We should have the write-ups done by Thursday morning, after Heather and Vanessa have competed and the results for both advice-offs are in,” he continued.
Mrs. H gave him a thumbs-up. “And where are we with photos for the front page?”
Gil glanced up from where he was drawing on one of his sneakers. “I have the proofs from today right here.” He leaned over and patted his backpack.
“Well, let’s see them,” said Stefan, extending a hand. “How do they look?”
I knew he really meant How do I look?
Stefan opened the envelope and flipped through the photos. From where I sat, they looked fine, but Stefan said, “What lens did you use? They’re so far away. You can barely see my . . . their faces.”
Gil shrugged. �
��I was trying to capture the whole scene, not just one person,” he said pointedly.
Mrs. H leaned over Stefan’s shoulder. “I think these pictures are fine, Gil. Although a few close-ups wouldn’t hurt tomorrow.”
Gil nodded and went back to drawing on his shoe.
“What else is on the front page?” asked Mary Patrick.
“The tour of the Ecklesby Estate,” said an eighth-grade girl. “It’s one of the oldest houses in the city, and it’s about to be torn down, so the eighth graders are going there tomorrow on a field trip.”
Mrs. H nodded. “Fascinating! Let’s make sure we get some good photos, Stefan.”
He snorted. “Of an old house? You got it.”
Mary Patrick scribbled on the board. “Sports?”
“I’m doing a piece on the fund raiser to replace the football team’s helmets,” said Stefan.
“And I’m covering the new mascot,” said Tim.
Mrs. H and Mary Patrick continued through the pages of the paper, and then we broke into our small groups. Brooke had already grabbed the advice requests from the box and spread them on the table for us to choose.
“Hmmm,” said Tim. “The hilarious part of me wants to answer the guy who challenged me to a rap battle. . . .”
Heather, Brooke, and I laughed.
“While the newly compassionate me wants to help this girl pick a present for her boyfriend,” he finished.
“Rap battle!” cried Brooke, looking to me and Heather. “Rap battle!”
We took up the chant. “Rap battle! Rap battle!”
Tim grinned. “I thought you wanted me to care more about other people’s problems.”
“You can answer her question on the website,” Brooke reminded him.
“Rap battle! Rap battle!” Heather and I kept chanting.
“Fair enough. Mix Master Tim in the house!” he said, striking a pose.
“Okay,” said Brooke, chuckling. “Now help me find one.”
The four of us went back to sorting through the requests.
“Wow,” I said as the piles in front of Brooke and Tim grew. “A lot of these are about fitness or asking for guy advice.”
“It’s not surprising,” said a voice from behind us. Mary Patrick strolled by. “It’s called increased awareness. Students saw Brooke and Tim this morning, and now their interest is piqued.” She nodded to me and Heather. “I expect the two of you will have your share of extra questions after tomorrow’s advice-off.”
Heather’s eyes shone. “Oh, I hope so! Imagine all the people we could help!”
Ever the kind heart.
Tim lifted his pile of questions and let them flutter onto the table. “Imagine if these were hundred-dollar bills. We should really charge for our answers.”
Ever the schemer.
Brooke snorted. “If the advice of four twelve-year-olds was that valuable, I’m pretty sure we’d be so famous, we wouldn’t go to regular school.”
Ever the realist.
“Give me a few years,” I told my friends. “When my designs make it out into the world, I will be charging for my time.”
Ever the dreamer.
When school ended for the day, I rushed to the auditorium but lingered at the entrance, poking my head inside. The place was empty, and the drama club wouldn’t show up for at least ten minutes.
I had the place all to myself.
Dropping my bags in the front row, I climbed onto the stage.
“Hello,” I said to the empty chairs. My back was hunched, as if I was ready to curl into a ball at the first sign of predators. I straightened and then put my hands on my hips. “Hey!” I tried in a cheerier voice. “Hi! I’m Vanessa—”
The side door opened, and I quickly leaped down, landing on all fours.
“Vanny?” Katie tilted her head to one side.
“Katie?” I sat back on my heels. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m helping with costumes,” she said, holding up a sewing box.
“What?” There wasn’t an ounce of happiness in my voice, but Katie smiled all the same.
“Isn’t this great? We get to make the costumes together!”
“But I’ve already started,” I said. “And there isn’t enough work for two people.”
Katie settled on the carpet beside me. “Don’t be silly! There are two costume changes, and five actors. You’re really going to sew ten costumes by yourself? No, no, no. I have come to save the day.” She made muscles with both her arms. “Now what are you doing on the floor?”
“Uh . . . yoga,” I said. “I really like the peace and quiet of being alone.”
I could not have emphasized the word alone stronger, except maybe with a bullhorn. But Katie smiled again and snapped her fingers.
“You were doing Cat-Cow? I’ll join you!” She got on her hands and knees.
“Oh! Uh . . .” I imitated her.
“Are you on Cat or Cow?” she asked.
“Well . . .” I didn’t know any yoga except the breathing Heather had shown me, but cats seemed more glamorous than cows. “Cat.”
Katie bowed her head and curved her spine upward like a hissing cat. I copied her.
“How long do you hold your poses?” she asked.
“Until I feel ridiculous, which is now,” I said.
Katie raised her head and dropped her spine so that her back curved into a U. I guessed this was the cow.
The auditorium door opened again, and several people walked in. I started to get up, but Katie grabbed my arm. “Let’s have them join us!” she said.
“What?” Again, no joy. I wasn’t sure how Katie maintained such a constant state of obliviousness.
“Guys! Vanessa is leading us in yoga!” she called.
“No! I—”
“Yoga? Great idea!” said Phoebe. “We need to loosen up our muscles. Everyone onstage!”
The actors and actresses, along with Katie, put away their schoolbags and did as Phoebe instructed.
“Come on, Vanny!” Katie offered me a hand up.
“Oh, I think I should stay down here where you can . . . um . . . all see me better.” I laughed nervously as everyone faced me.
After several seconds of awkward staring, I realized they were waiting for me to start.
“So . . . uh . . . our first pose is . . .” I didn’t actually name it, but I stretched my right hand high into the sky and wiggled my fingers.
Everyone mirrored me except one girl who frowned. “I’m not familiar with this pose. Is it a modified version of the Gate pose?”
Why wasn’t this girl in charge?
“Uh . . . no. This is a different type of yoga from my . . . my ancestors.” I clasped my hands together solemnly. “That first pose is actually called . . . Teacher, Teacher.” I lifted my left arm and wiggled my fingers. “And now we do it on the other side.”
Everyone shifted along with me. Yoga was supposed to be relaxing, but I was racking my brain, trying to come up with the next move.
“Uh . . . this one is Back Scratch.” I lifted my right hand up to scratch my left shoulder blade. It actually felt pretty good.
After Back Scratch, I showed them Who’s Following Me?, I Dropped My Keys, Sumo Wrestler . . .
“And these are from your ancestors?” asked Yoga Girl at one point.
I put my finger to my lips and shifted into the next pose, Rock in My Shoe. I had to fight back a smile at how dumb they all looked doing my made-up yoga. It only made me more confident that I had no desire to be in the spotlight.
CHAPTER
9
Heather the Parrot
“What do you mean you’re not going onstage?” Brooke demanded the next morning.
I’d asked her, Heather, and Tim to meet me around the corner from school so I could tell them my plan.
“Katie has built this up to be too big of a deal, and I already have massive stage fright,” I said. “If I get up on that stage, I’m going to lose. The only way I can win is with a
little help from Heather.”
“Me?” Heather squeaked. “I don’t know anything about fashion.”
“I know,” I said. “Your shoes never match your purse. But that’s okay!” I stopped her before she could interject. “You’re just going to repeat what I tell you.”
I reached into my backpack and pulled out a set of wireless earbuds with an attached mic. “Here. You can talk and hear me through these. They’ll hardly be visible on camera, so it’ll look more professional.”
Heather gave me a dubious look but synched the earbuds with her phone and put them in.
“Uh . . . hello?” Tim waved a hand. “Why don’t we just tell Mary Patrick and ask—”
“No!” I shook my head vehemently. “If we tell her, she’ll freak out and force me onstage. Then I’ll freak out. Just . . . Heather, when you’re done with your questions and it’s my turn, stay in the seat.”
Heather blinked at me. “I’m pretty sure she can tell us apart.”
“Duh.” I rolled my eyes. “Again, you’re not pretending to be me. You’re just speaking for me. And Mary Patrick won’t want to make a scene in front of the whole school, so she’ll have to go along with it.”
“And then later kill you behind the cafeteria Dumpster,” Brooke told me.
“That’s why I have these.” I held out a jumbo bag of Reese’s mini-cups, Mary Patrick’s greatest weakness.
“I don’t know,” said Tim. “You’re going to have to throw that bag pretty hard to knock her out.”
I gave him a withering look. “Do not make me practice on you.”
Tim held up his hands and backed away. Brooke stepped between us.
“V, are you sure you want to do this? It has BAD IDEA written all over it in blue and green, and I know you hate when colors clash.”
I gripped her shoulders. “Trust me. It’s this or we’re all mopping up my puke during homeroom.”
Brooke clapped her hands. “Okay! Let’s test out the earbuds. Vanessa, give Heather a call.”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialed Heather’s number.
“Hello?” she said.
“Can you hear me?” I said.
She turned to me. “Yes, but to be fair, you’re standing right next to me.”
Vanessa's Fashion Face-Off Page 8
