“Hey…I know what will take your mind off your troubles,” Dad said. “Shucking corn! Jenna’s coming over soon, and I thought you guys could work on that together.”
Nothing like waking up from a nap and being asked to do two of my least favorite things: hang out with Jenna and shuck corn.
“Do I have to?” I asked. I searched my brain for an example of something else I had to do so I could get out of it. I was coming up empty.
“I think it would be good for you,” Dad said. “You’ve spent enough time by yourself up here in your room.” He pulled opened my curtains. “Check it out! Sunshine!”
I squinted. “I prefer the dark.”
“I know you do, Elf,” Dad said. “But I want you to try letting a little light in.”
* * *
• • •
As I walked into the kitchen, Mom announced that Jenna and Uncle Rex had just pulled into the driveway.
“I thought she was only coming for dinner,” I said. “Not this early.”
“Well, aren’t you the hostess with the mostest?” Mom swatted me with a dish towel. “Uncle Rex’s gig is in Greenville, about half an hour away. He has to get there early to set up, so I told him he could bring Jenna whenever he needed to.”
“Why isn’t Aunt Steph ever around?”
Mom was quiet for a second. “You know she’s busy with work.”
“She’s always busy with work,” I complained. “Seems like way more than ever lately. Are they at least bringing Larry?” Larry, Jenna’s dog, was the only bright spot in a visit from her.
“No.” Mom sounded relieved. “They’re boarding him at a kennel tonight just in case. Uncle Rex knows that leaving the dog here is a big ask.”
Hmph. Leaving Jenna here seemed like a much bigger “ask” to me, but no one seemed to care for my opinion on the matter.
Uncle Rex works as a lab technician during the day, but he also plays the saxophone in a band. He says that’s his “real” job, and that being a lab technician is just to pay the bills. His band plays a few times a month. Sometimes they play in an outdoor amphitheater or a restaurant where kids are allowed, and then Jenna’s allowed to go. I’ve been to some of those shows too. But other times, like tonight, the band plays in a bar where you have to be twenty-one or over to get in. When that happens, we usually wind up with Jenna. Lucky us.
“Hey, Teeney!” Uncle Rex called as he opened the door. Mom’s name is Justine, but Uncle Rex has always called her Teeney. He’s the only one who’s allowed to do that. It’s kind of funny, since Mom is actually pretty tall.
“Hello, Brother,” Mom said. “Have you eaten? Dinner’s not ready yet, but you can take a turkey sandwich or something for the road.”
“It’s okay; I’ll grab a burger at the bar. Thanks, though.”
Uncle Rex reached out and rubbed my hair. “Hey, Elf. Sorry to hear you’re having a stinker of a week,” he said, as though getting kicked out of Hampshire Academy was something minor, like having a bad cold or losing your house keys.
I couldn’t really focus on responding to his comment, though, because my eyes were zooming in on what he was carrying.
“Is that Jenna’s sleeping bag and pillow?” I asked. This was not okay. No one had said anything about Jenna sleeping over.
“Wow, nothing gets by you,” said a sarcastic voice from the doorway. It was Jenna, just now making her way inside. She had clearly been delayed by something fascinating on her phone screen. She didn’t even look up from it as she joined us in the kitchen.
“Your mom said Jenna could sleep over if she needed to. These gigs in Greenville can run really late,” Uncle Rex explained.
This was too much. Why did Jenna have to be our responsibility, and all night long?
“Remind me why your mom can’t take care of you?” I asked.
“Elfie.” Mom said my name in this sharp way she has where the f sound becomes like a tiny dagger. I saw her and Uncle Rex exchange a quick look, and Jenna’s cheeks were pink as she stared down at her phone.
“I told you Aunt Steph is traveling for work,” Mom said. “And we’re happy to have you anytime, honey.” She gave Jenna an awkward hug that went unreturned because of course Jenna was still holding her phone in both hands.
Anytime we weren’t in school, it was like Jenna’s phone was surgically attached to her. She only looked up from it when an adult made her put it down.
I didn’t have my own phone. Mom and Dad said I couldn’t get one until I was thirteen, but I didn’t really see the need for one anyway. I used my computer for homework, watching videos, and researching things that interested me (like challenging math problems, world and American history, and the geographic regions different harmful insects might be found in). Jenna used her phone for texting other kids and sending them cute and funny pictures. This was not something I needed to be able to do. And the disaster with Colton was further support for my conviction that kids our age had no business owning their own phones.
Dad came in holding a big paper bag.
“Hey, Rex. Hope the gig goes okay.” Dad and Uncle Rex were really different. Dad was a librarian, and he loved books (no surprise there) and going to peaceful places like parks and quiet restaurants. Uncle Rex liked loud music and big parties. He was always grabbing me, mom, or Jenna by the hand to try to get us to dance. (He never had to convince Aunt Steph. She was a born dancer like him.)
But Dad and Uncle Rex still got along really well. Mom always said that the two of them were like circles in a Venn diagram, where most things were different. But the places where the circles overlapped (good food, their senses of humor, and a love of scary movies) held them together.
“I told Elfie these girls have their work cut out for them.” Dad tipped the bag forward so we could all see the ears of corn inside.
“Why is there so much?” I asked. “There are only four of us eating.”
“We’ll send some home with Uncle Rex in case he and Jenna want it later in the week.”
Dad handed me the bag. “Take that out to the porch, though. We don’t want corn worms inside the house.”
I shuddered. My own personal scary movie was about to unfold.
Everyone knows that the scariest part of a horror movie isn’t when the monster jumps out of a closet. It’s the part right before that, when the main character is slowly reaching toward the closet door. That’s the part where the audience is screaming, “No, no, don’t do it; run away!”
Well, when I shuck corn, every husk is like that closet door for me. Because each time I peel one back, I’m convinced that a sod webworm is going to be on the other side. And if not a sod webworm, then a European corn borer. Or a seed-corn beetle. Maybe a corn leaf aphid. The point is, insects love corn. And that’s why you can be sure that in every batch of corn you shuck, there will usually be at least one or two bugs hiding behind a husk, waiting to jump out at you (especially if your parents prefer to buy organic corn, which is grown with minimal pesticide exposure).
I sat on one of the rocking chairs on the porch and put the bag of corn in front of me, with an empty bag beside it for the husks. Jenna sat in the rocker opposite mine, pulled one knee up to her chest, and started tapping at her phone. Of course.
“Aren’t you going to help me?”
“With what?”
“Shucking the corn, like my dad asked us to do.”
Jenna glanced up from her phone for half a second. “Yeah, in a minute.” Then she kept tapping away.
I slowly pulled the husks away from one ear of corn, holding it as far as I could from my face and bracing myself to see a giant insect every time.
Jenna glanced up again. “Why do you do it like that?”
“Like what?”
“So slowly. And so far from your head, like it’s going to explode.”
She was unbelievable. Not only was she glued to her phone instead of helping me, but she was actually criticizing the way I was doing the job we were both supposed to be doing.
I started ripping away at the next ear much more quickly.
“You’re so annoying, Jenna. If you’re such an expert at shucking corn, why don’t you do it yourself and let go of your phone for a ch— AYYYY!”
Jenna had gotten me so worked up that I’d lost all focus. Just as I was about to say “change,” I ripped back a stalk to reveal a gigantic slimy monster (more specifically, a European corn borer).
It startled me so much that I flung the ear of corn straight at Jenna’s head.
“Hey! What’d you do that for?”
“A corn borer!” I said. “I was surprised. There’s a European corn borer on that ear of corn.” I scooched back my rocking chair and pointed at the corn borer.
“A what?” Jenna said. “This little thing?”
She picked up the ear of corn and, to my great disgust, plucked the corn borer off with her thumb and forefinger and examined it. Because of course—of course—Jenna is not only popular and cute and athletic, but she’s also not afraid of anything. Including slimy insects.
“Hey, Chubby Squirmy Guy,” Jenna said, holding the wriggling wormlike insect up to her face to get a closer look. She was using the same voice other people might use to talk to a puppy.
“What did you call it again?” she asked.
“A European corn borer. That’s what it’s called.”
“You’re so weird, Elfie. Why do you have to use the scientific name for everything?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” I said. “European corn borer is its common name. Scientific names are Latin. If I were going to call it by its scientific name, I would call it Ostrinia nubilalis.”
“Ohmigod, you’re even weirder than I thought.” Jenna rolled her eyes. “How do you know that? Why do you know that?”
“As you may have noticed, I’m not a particularly big fan of insects. Learning as much as I can about them helps them become more familiar to me. Besides, sometimes the common name—like cave crickets—is terrifying. So learning the scientific name helps me feel less intimidated.”
“Yeah, I can tell that’s really working,” she muttered, rolling her eyes again. “Well, I’m going to call him Chubby Squirmy Guy.”
Jenna set Ostrinia nubilalis, aka the European corn borer, aka Chubby Squirmy Guy, on the porch railing. She tore into the next ear of corn, which revealed two corn leaf aphids (scientific name: Rhopalosiphum maidis; Jenna names: Tiny Green Guy and Little Green Lady), and a third ear, which was free of insects. She seemed disappointed.
“I have a question,” Jenna said as she reached for another ear. “Is that why you wanted to go to that other school? Because they do things like talk about bugs in a different language?”
“Something like that,” I said.
She nodded. “What’s that place called? Hamster Academy?”
“Hampshire Academy,” I corrected her, and shook my head. Jenna was a terrible listener.
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry they kicked you out.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are,” I said. “Now you’re stuck with me back at Cottonwood.”
“Ugh, Elfie, that’s not what I meant. I just know you really wanted to go there, and you’re probably upset!” Then she muttered something that sounded like “I don’t know why I try.”
“What did you say?” I asked.
“Nothing.” Jenna looked at the corn in my lap. “Hey, now who’s not doing their job?” she said, reaching for a fifth ear of corn and noticing that I had barely started my third. “You’re just sitting there!”
I hopped up from my chair. “No, I’m not. Now I’m going to the bathroom. Keep up the good work.”
I knew that leaving Jenna with the rest of the corn wasn’t exactly the right thing to do. But she seemed to genuinely enjoy finding the insects. And I was usually the one doing all the work when we had a chore to do (or a group project). Besides, I wanted to send a clear signal that I was done talking about Hampshire Academy with her. (And I really did have to use the bathroom.)
I went through the dining room on my way back out. Dad was sitting at the table on his laptop, making a serious face as he looked at the screen.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
He looked surprised to see me standing there. “Oh, nothing. Just doing a little research.”
But I could see the reflection of the screen in Dad’s glasses. It was a familiar purple background with a white falcon logo in the corner. The Hampshire Academy website.
“Why are you on the Hampshire website?” I asked. “What happened?”
“How’s that corn coming along?” Dad asked.
“I just came in to use the bathroom. But don’t change the subject. Why are you on the Hampshire Academy website?”
Dad sighed. “I was going to wait until Jenna wasn’t here to tell you this. But I went online to see what I could learn about the honor code review board at Hampshire.”
“Oh.” Something in Dad’s voice told me I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the rest.
“And, well…”
He turned the computer to face me. The heading at the top of the page said “Honor Code Review Board Members,” and it was followed by a list of names. At first I wasn’t sure why Dad was showing it to me. Then one name near the bottom jumped out at me: Colton R. Palmer IV.
“Colton’s on this board?!” I said. “How can that be? He’s just a kid!”
“No, it must be his father,” Dad said. “Or maybe his grandfather. Did Colton happen to mention what number is after his name?”
I shook my head. “We didn’t get to know each other quite that well.”
“Right. Well, I’m just thinking…”
“…that I don’t have any hope of getting admitted back at Hampshire if someone in Colton’s family is on the board that makes those decisions.”
Dad turned the computer back to face himself. “I’m not saying that, necessarily. It’s just that…well, we’re all still learning how these things work.”
“I already know how these things work,” I said. “If you have enough money to buy a library, you can also get anything else you want. Including unfair punishments for other people.”
* * *
• • •
Jenna had finished shucking the corn by the time I went back out to the porch, something she kept reminding us of throughout dinner. (“This corn is delicious, isn’t it? You know, I pretty much shucked it all by myself.”)
I didn’t even argue with her by pointing out that I had shucked three ears. I didn’t have the energy. All I could think about was how there was no way Colton’s father, or grandfather, or anyone in his family, would ever let me back into Hampshire Academy.
Jenna didn’t sleep over that night. Uncle Rex came by to get her after his show at around midnight. He seemed really tired, but she must have texted him that she wanted to go home. I suspected this because after she fell asleep on the sofa during our third hour of watching Superstars of Science, I saw a text bubble pop up on her phone screen that said:
Dad: OK hang in there. I’ll come get you.
I didn’t know what she had texted her dad before that, but I could imagine. One thing Jenna and I had in common: she had about as much fun around me as I did around her.
Dad stayed home with me the next day, but Rhoda still came in the afternoon.
When she read my notes in the Important Jar, she gave me a big hug.
“I know this is really hard, Elf. Some things are so hard that it’s tough to know what to say to make it seem better. All I can tell you is that your parents are going to do everything in their power to make this right.”
“That’s the thing, tho
ugh,” I said. “Everything in their power is a lot less than everything in Colton’s family’s power. And the school’s power. So it doesn’t really matter.”
“Urft,” Rhoda said. “Well, sometimes the world surprises you in good ways too. We’ll just have to see. On to a more fun topic, though: Did you and Jenna have a blast last night?”
I caught the twinkle in Rhoda’s eye and socked her with a throw pillow. She reached out and messed up my hair.
“Come on, kiddo. Let’s make some chocolate turtle brownies.”
* * *
• • •
For the next week, I had to spend mornings at the library with Dad. The town library was usually one of my favorite places. Dad had worked there since before I was born, so everyone on the staff knew me. I was allowed to go behind the circulation desk and into the offices, and I knew where Dad’s secret stash of lollipops was. Besides, it was a quiet building with rows and rows of books. What wasn’t to like?
But not even the library felt fun now. Dad was in charge of a big reorganization they were doing, and he was always in serious work mode. Ms. Nudler, the children’s librarian, was busy with toddler story time every day. And worst of all, I knew Dad’s coworkers had heard my Hampshire story, because they looked at me with pitying faces and sad little smiles every time they saw me. It was humiliating. Every day I counted the minutes until Rhoda would finish her classes for the day and come rescue me.
The only thing I really ever felt like doing was baking. In addition to turtle brownies, over the next few days we made banana bread, orange-cranberry muffins, and even a gingerbread house. (“Why not?” Rhoda said. “We’ll perfect our technique before Christmas.”)
My least favorite part of baking was cleanup, but I told Rhoda I could be in charge of it for now. It was her least favorite part too. When I said I would take care of all the dishes, she said, “Woot! In that case, we can make anything you want!” She was also pretty tired; she said nursing school was still knocking her out.
I thought about what Sierra and Colton and all the other kids at Hampshire might be doing in those same moments. As I dried our whisks and spatulas, were they putting away expensive test tubes and beakers? Maybe talking about the amazing presentation they’d seen that day in their planetarium? Feeding snacks to the falcon? Making plans to hang out together after school? What was life like for kids at Hampshire? I wondered if I’d ever know.
Elfie Unperfect Page 5
