Ms. Gilardi, the eighth-grade science teacher who supervises Reflection, urged me to channel my energy into Invention Day. That’s always been Erin’s deal, not mine, but I came up with the desk-evator idea so people could stand if/when needed. I recruited Brian, and we made what I thought was a good-enough prototype with basic kitchen materials. It got the point across, but the people at Invention Day were pros. We were so out of our league. They had robotics, and solar panels, and swag!
Enter my sister. The week after Invention Day, Erin stood up for me (literally) and got everyone to do a real protest during LA—she cleverly called it a stand-in. Delman said he’d consider the standing-desk idea. That is, after we put together a detailed report for D’Antonio, making our case.
And here we are. Butt solidly in chair, no report. Erin’s better at that kind of stuff than me, so I agreed she should put it together. But the way she goes about researching a topic, this could take until spring.
I roll off the sofa, crawl up the stairs, then knock on her door. “Can I please see what you have so far?”
She flings open the door. “Oh, all right! But only if you stop badgering me!” She sits at her desk. “Just know this is not where it needs to be.”
I stand next to her as she flips through several PowerPoint slides on her laptop, explaining each one. When she gets to the last slide, I go, “How can this not be done? You have everything.”
“Are you kidding me? This is thrown together.”
“Thrown together? Erin! It’s the best presentation I’ve ever seen! If this won’t convince Mrs. D’Antonio, I don’t know what will.”
“Thank you, but I think it needs a few more visuals. A couple more statistics. Maybe video.”
“No, it’s great! Let’s ask if we can show it to her tomorrow!”
“It’s not ready.” She pulls up a website. “I haven’t read this research yet. There might be some relevant information.”
“It doesn’t have to be perfect!” I shout.
“Um, yes, it does.”
I stamp my foot. “Why do you have to make everything such a major production?”
Erin narrows her eyes. “I resent that comment when I am helping you.”
“Sorry. I say we go with this.”
“And I say we don’t.”
We glare at each other for a few seconds. Our little stand-in is turning into a big standoff. A place I know all too well when it comes to my sister.
Erin’s phone buzzes and she picks it up. “Dad wants you to go out and shovel.”
I groan loudly, then barrel down the stairs. Boots, jacket, gloves, hat—on. I bang my fist on the garage-door opener, grab a shovel, and wade onto the driveway. “And I say we don’t,” I mutter, imitating Erin’s voice.
It’s still coming down, and it’s the wet, heavy kind of snow. I start a path, then turn around and see Erin—her room faces the street and her desk is by the window. She’s looking down with her usual intense face. Why is everything a thing with her? Why can’t she ever do something without index cards and a hundred hours of preparation? I bet she would’ve finished the report a lot sooner if she were getting continual scomas.
I jam the shovel into a large drift, then turn into a shoveling maniac, attacking pile after pile. It takes me I don’t know how long, but finally the driveway’s clear except for one monster snow boulder by the mailbox that I’m sure was left by the plow.
I hear Erin’s voice from the garage. “Ethan! Come in already! You’re going to get frostbite!”
I shake my head and she runs back inside. I’m finishing this. I try to chip away at the edges of the boulder. Not working. It’s more ice than snow. I drop the shovel and then, with all my strength, roll it into our side yard. I leave it right in front of the two Adirondack chairs that everyone likes to sit in on summer days. Everyone except me.
I have this sinking feeling that scomas are gonna be a part of my life for a long, long time.
ERIN
When Mom gets home, she’s full of stories about how long it took her and how many cars skidded off the road and how the plows can’t keep up. She walks wearily to the stairs. “Ethan?”
Some sort of inaudible reply comes from my brother’s room.
“Thanks for doing the driveway!” She drops onto the sofa and puts her feet up on the table. “I’m so glad you’ve both been home safe this whole time. What’ve you been doing?”
“Ethan shoveled. I worked on the report. He thinks it’s ready, but believe me, it’s not. It’s far from ready.”
Mom’s phone rings. “Can you grab it, hon? That car ride was exhausting.”
I get the phone from her purse, run it back to her. She taps the call, listens, then hangs up. “Automated message from McNutt. Snow day tomorrow, guys.”
Ethan races down the stairs. “Really?” He jumps and shoots an invisible ball. “Frankenstorm, I love you! You just keep making my day.”
Dad comes in, also talking about the traffic and weather and stuck cars. “It’s a real mess out there.”
Ethan interrupts. “What about dinner? I’m starving.”
“We’ll have to improvise,” Mom says. “I was planning to stop at the store, but then I just wanted to get home.”
Dad opens the freezer and holds up a package of egg rolls. “Jackpot!” Mom finds a family-size box of mac ’n’ cheese in the pantry that’s just past the expiration date. She laughs. “I don’t think it’ll kill us.” They add in a couple of other random items: applesauce, and chips and salsa. Interesting meal.
When we sit down, Ethan rips a bite from an egg roll like he hasn’t eaten in days. “Did you finish the report?” he asks me.
“Not yet.”
“C’mon, you were working on it the whole time I shoveled, right?”
“Pretty much.”
“So . . .”
“Well, there’s still—”
Ethan slaps the table with his palm and turns to Mom and Dad. “The report is done. It’s great, I swear! If I were Mrs. D and I watched it, I’d get standing desks in school so fast, everyone’s head would spin. And my ESD would be history!”
Mom glances at me. “Thoughts?”
“I want to go over it again. It has to be superb.”
“It’s already superb!” Ethan exclaims.
“Listen to your sister’s opinion,” Dad says. “Consider her feelings.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Ethan does this long, overly dramatic sigh. “Mom. Dad. Feel free to ditch your parenting philosophies and step in anytime to tell Erin she overthinks things—”
I huff. “I do not overthink things!”
Dad clears his throat.
“I mean, not all the time. Not with everything.”
Mom dips a chip in the salsa. “You know we don’t operate like that, Ethan. You two need to solve this on your own.”
Dad nods. “Put your heads together after dinner and come up with a compromise,” he says.
Ethan groans. “The compromise will be that Erin won’t say it’s finished until Erin says it’s finished.”
“If that’s what it is, then that’s what it is.” I help myself to some mac ’n’ cheese and raise an eyebrow at Ethan. “You need me, you know.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem.”
“You’re welcome to do it by yourself. I’ll delete the whole thing and you can start over.”
“No, don’t do that!” He slumps in his chair. “Fine! I’ll wait!”
“Good choice. It’ll be worth it.” I stab some noodles with my fork. “I promise.”
“Okay,” he grumbles.
I chew the noodles five times, then swallow. What? I like to do things the way I think they should be done, okay?
CHAPTER THREE
Snow Day
ETHAN
When I wake up, the snow has stopped. Dad and I clear the driveway again. Then, weirdly, by noon the sun is shining.
I’d just like to mention that Erin didn’t pick up a
shovel once during Frankenstorm. But I’m letting her have a bye because I’m praying she finished the report. No word yet. Her door’s been shut all morning.
Also all morning, Zoe’s been texting me.
Are you doing anything? Let’s hang out! Wanna go sledding? We should make a snow person! It’s beautiful outside!!! Doesn’t it look like Narnia? I love it!!!
An overload of exclamation points, plus hearts and snowflakes after “love.” I have no idea what to do about this thing with Zoe. Wait, I don’t mean it’s a thing! I mean it’s out of control. Out of my control.
I sort of like her, but I’m not sure if I like like her or want to have a girlfriend. Because then you have to buy her cute little presents like stuffed animals and candy, and go to the mall and movies. Isn’t that how it works? Brian’s dying to have a girlfriend. Why doesn’t Zoe like him?
Speaking of, Brian texts me and begs to come over. My mom wants me to help her cook kielbasa. U know how that looks? And smells? Escape route needed ASAP.
He lives on the block behind ours, so he gets here pretty fast. We go downstairs to the basement and play this game we made up with a ball and Dad’s broken air hockey table he had when he was a kid. Why he saved it, I don’t know. It’s never worked.
Brian stands behind the line and tosses the ball toward the table. “You gotta gimme your take on the Veronica Lee situation, okay? I talk to her every day in math, right? I crack jokes about how Mrs. Genovese is so old she has a pet dinosaur and lives in a cave. Veronica always laughs. I gave her this little rainbow eraser I found in the gym. She uses it every day!”
“Sounds promising.” I take my shot; the ball bounces off the table and hits a wall.
“I sing ‘Veronica’ to her all the time.”
“There’s a song called ‘Veronica’?”
“Yeah. Elvis Costello sings it.”
I elbow him. “I’d go out with you.”
“Great. I don’t want to date you. My question is, how come I can’t get past school-friend status? I’m taller. I’ve grown an inch! I’m funny. Aren’t I funny? Tell me I’m funny.”
“You’re funny.” I get the ball, try to twirl it on my fingertip. “Maybe you should, like, not be so all over her.”
He stares at me. “What are you talking about? Then she’d never even notice me.”
The basement door opens and I hear my sister’s and Zoe’s voices. A minute later the two of them come down the stairs.
“Hi, Ethan!” Zoe waves.
“Hi.”
She skips over, then hugs me. I don’t know what to do, so I sort of end up patting her ponytail.
She steps back. “It’s amazing out there, you guys! The snow is like magic crystals! You almost don’t want to walk on it, you know? But we should. We should get out there and experience it. Breathe it in.”
“We’re in the middle of something important here,” Brian says.
“What?” Erin asks, glancing around.
“Nothing you need to know about.”
Erin rolls her eyes. “Oh, okay.” She motions to Zoe. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. There’s nothing to do down here.”
“We can just hang out.” Zoe plops onto the sofa.
Brian’s looking at his phone. “News flash. Veronica’s at the toboggan hill with Sky Jeon and some other people. She posted a picture. Do you think she likes him? She probably likes him. It looks like she likes him.” He enlarges the picture with his thumb and finger. “It’s impossible to compete with that kind of coolness.”
“She likes him,” Erin says bluntly.
“For sure?” Brian asks. I swear, he looks like he might cry.
Erin shrugs. “I thought you knew. Everyone else does.”
“Not true,” I interrupt. “I heard Mason likes Sky.”
Erin shakes her head. “Mason doesn’t like Sky. He likes Jack. Why don’t you guys ever know what’s going on?”
I cross my arms. “We know things. That are going on.”
“Okay,” Erin says. “Sure.”
Zoe bolts up. “I have an idea! Let’s walk to Starbucks! Doesn’t a steaming cup of hot chocolate sound great right now?”
Brian’s still staring at his phone. “This image is now burned into my mind forever.”
“Bri.” I pull the phone from his hands. “Maybe we should go. You need some air.”
He nods sadly. Then we all file upstairs, put on our gear, and go outside. Zoe circles her arms as I close the garage. “See? Look around, you guys! Isn’t it beautiful?” She comes up next to me. “What kind of hot chocolate do you like?”
“I don’t know—how many kinds are there?”
“Oh, they have regular, peppermint, salted caramel, molten, snickerdoodle, tuxedo . . .”
“Regular’s fine, I guess.”
“Really? Me too! We like the same kind!”
As we start walking, she links her arm through mine. Brian raises his eyebrows and shoots me a grin, and I just, I don’t know, I just walk.
ZOE
Can we talk about Ethan for a second? If this is even possible, he’s gotten cuter in the last few weeks. Maybe someone gets cuter when you realize how much you like him? I’ll have to see if there’s an online quiz about that.
We went to a movie a few weeks ago. I chose one carefully—not a potentially embarrassing rom-com, nothing bloody or violent. But not a kid movie either. It was based on a book we read last year in LA. Perfect.
He bought the tickets, so for sure it qualified as an actual date! I was waiting for him to hold my hand or put his arm around me, but he didn’t. His awkward shyness just made me melt even more. I was almost going to kiss him again before I got out of the car, but it felt too weird with his dad in the front seat.
When we text, his answers are always short and sweet, like “hey,” and “okay,” and “see ya.” How adorable is that?
Don’t worry! I assure you I haven’t forgotten about the imminent peril facing our planet. I will return to the Be Green Club when my heart has settled down. Although . . . it might be a while.
It looks like everything is covered with a giant white blanket—snow on every rooftop and tree, sparkling in the sun. Chimneys with their little puffs of smoke coming out, the cloudless blue sky. It doesn’t even look real. More like a painting.
I unhook my arm from Ethan’s and breathe it all in. “Most people don’t know that snow is environmentally necessary.”
No one replies. Ethan and Brian knock into each other, then laugh, and Erin’s bundled up, only her eyes peeking out.
“It insulates and protects plant life from freezing temperatures and damaging winds. And when it melts, snow provides moisture to plants during the winter months. It replenishes the water supply too. Isn’t that interesting, how nature has a purpose for everything?”
“Very,” Brian says.
“Don’t make fun of her,” Erin says. “It is interesting, Zoe.”
Brian kicks some snow in Erin’s direction.
“Hey,” she scoffs. “It’s not my fault if Veronica likes someone else.”
“Thanks for bringing that up again,” Brian mutters.
“Yeah,” Ethan adds. “Really, Erin. You had to say that?”
“Just telling it like it is,” she says, then walks ahead a little.
We turn the corner and I see Starbucks in the distance. Brian makes a snowball and tosses it toward Erin’s back. It just misses her. She whips around, picks up a handful of snow, and throws it at him. He dodges it, grinning, his arms in the air.
I fall in step with Ethan. “You know, they’re actually kind of cute together.”
“Uh . . . I don’t think so.”
“They are! Opposites attract and all that. They have a definite chemistry.” I listen to everyone’s boots crunch in unison. “This is so fun, you guys! We’re, like, a group now, the four of us.”
Brian turns around. “We’re not a group. Maybe you think we’re a group, but I don’t think we’re a group. We’r
e just four people walking.”
I smile to myself. We’re a group.
We pass a line of snow people in front of a house. “Don’t those heads look really small?” Ethan says.
Brian nods. “Uh-huh. It’s a disease. Shrunken snowball heads.”
Erin looks at him. “What?”
“Forget it. Just making a joke.”
“Oh, that’s what that was?”
He glares at her.
We cross the street and reach Starbucks. Brian runs to the door, holds it open, bows, and makes a sweeping gesture with his arm. “After you, Erin McBarren.”
“Why is everything in my life so dysfunctional?” Erin says, then goes inside.
Brian follows her. “Maybe you’re the one who’s dysfunctional.”
“See what I mean?” I whisper to Ethan. “Really kind of cute.”
BRIAN
I spot her right away: Veronica, with the undeniable coolness of Sky Jeon next to her. The two of them look cozy, sitting at a table in the back with some other people.
I turn around, bumping into Zoe. “We have to go,” I say. “Right now.”
“Why? We just got here.” She glances around. “Seems like a lot of people from school had the same idea.”
“Yeah.” I tip my head toward the back. Ethan and Zoe look over. Then I hear Veronica laugh. Her cute, crinkly-eyed, shoulder-shaking laugh. Great, just great. I’ll sit here the whole time, watching her with Sky out of the corner of my eye, listening to that laugh. First, I was obsessed with Jamie Pappas, but she liked Armando. Now Veronica goes for Sky. I’m 0 for 2.
Ethan says, “If you bolt out of here, that’s kind of . . .”
“Kind of what? Lame? Weak?”
Zoe puts a hand on my arm. “Let’s just get our hot chocolate and sit by the window, okay? C’mon, Erin’s already in line. It’ll be fine.”
“I think she saw you,” Ethan says, glancing over my shoulder as we’re paying. “She’s looking over here.”
I don’t turn around. I grab my hot chocolate—I don’t even know what I ordered—and hightail it to the farthest-away table I can find. Ethan, Erin, and Zoe pull up chairs. I hear that laugh again as Veronica and Sky and the others walk through the place, finally going out the door. I want to pull off that little jingly bell and stomp on it until it jingles no more.
Ethan Marcus Makes His Mark Page 2
