I was feeling desperate, which is the only explanation I have for what I did next.
While Charlie read about the mummies, I tapped Tyler’s arm. “Could I have a word?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“I am—”
“Oops, that’s two words.”
“Ha-ha, good one. I want to talk to you, man to man.”
“Where’s the second man?”
“Ha-ha. Um. I was just. I mean, the thing is. I like Charlie.”
“Duh.”
“And, I mean, I don’t think you like her the way I do. So I was just wondering if you could maybe…back off a little?”
“Wait. You think I’m hitting on her?”
“Yes?”
“I have a girlfriend.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Really? Well, then, my apologies, I thought—”
“But she goes to boarding school, so. Out of sight, out of mind.”
“So…you are hitting on her?”
He stared at me without blinking. “Let’s see if I understand correctly. You think that if I back off, you might stand a chance.”
I cleared my throat. “Maybe?”
“You think I’m your biggest obstacle?”
“I think that you are possibly a roadblock, yes.”
He smiled sympathetically, and I thought for one fleeting moment that I’d actually gotten through to him. “Oh, Wank. Poor, deluded Wank.” He poked his finger into my soft belly. “You look like a life-sized Pillsbury Doughboy. You’re bland. You’re…nothing. You’re…a zero. I’m not your biggest obstacle. You are your biggest obstacle.” Then he walked back over to Charlie, who was still reading about the mummies.
I felt numb. I tugged at the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I could feel my eyes stinging. Do not let him get to you! I repeated the words in my head. I would not cry. I would not.
I left the Egyptian wing, and Charlie, and made a beeline for Fulton.
The foyer was fairly quiet. I lay down in between the metal slabs and stared up at Fulton’s massive bones. Once upon a time, he’d roamed the Earth with his dinosaur buddies, until they were blasted into oblivion by a giant asteroid, an ice age, or both.
I tried to think of Sal’s words. In the history of the Earth, our lives are a blip! In the scope of human existence, Tyler was right: I was nothing, but no more or less so than he was. In the scope of human existence, we were both blips.
These thoughts were oddly comforting. They calmed my mind and slowed my urge to burst into tears.
A shadow fell over me. “Wilbur?”
I shielded my eyes. “Mitzi?”
She looked down at me, her red hair held back by Hello Kitty barrettes. She wore black lace-up Doc Martens and overalls. “Why are you on the floor?”
“Just gaining perspective.”
She nodded like this made sense. “Cool.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Lame school trip.” Mitzi went to an alternative school somewhere in Parkdale. “You?”
“Here with the French exchange students.”
“How’s that going?”
“Oh, you know. Fine.”
A rare smile appeared on her face. “Hey, Franklin’s perked up.”
It took me a minute. “Glad to hear it.”
“Well. See you soon, I guess.”
“Yeah. See you.”
She walked away. And I stayed where I was for a few minutes longer, until a group of kindergarten students wandered over and started giggling at the weirdo on the floor.
* * *
—
On Saturday morning I slipped out of bed and took Templeton for a quick walk before aquacise. Charlie and I had stayed up late with the Mumps the night before, playing an epic game of Qwirkle, and I figured she would relish the chance to sleep in.
I went next door to get Sal. He put on his fedora and grabbed his cane, and I helped him to the car. Mup had scraped the front windows and was ready to go. I eased Sal into the passenger seat and opened the back door.
“Salut!” said Charlie from the back seat.
“What are you doing here?” My voice rose an octave.
“She said she’d like to come, so I lent her a swimsuit,” said Mup.
“Well, isn’t this fantastic. Wilbur told us the class was full.” Sal turned in his seat and gave me another one of his penetrating looks.
“What? Where did you get that from, Wil? There’s plenty of room,” Mup said oh-so-helpfully as she pulled away.
I didn’t say a word during the entire drive. All I could think of was that Charlie was about to see the life-sized Pillsbury Doughboy.
In nothing but a bright red Speedo.
* * *
—
I was a mess in the change room. “I’m not feeling so good,” I told Sal as he took off his rubber overshoes. “I think I’ll just stay in my street clothes and watch from the sidelines.”
Sal gave me a stern look. “I may be old, Wilbur, but I’m not stupid. Don’t be that person.”
“Which person is that?”
“The person who lets fear dictate his choices.”
“Um, Sal? In case you haven’t noticed, I have always been that person.”
“Well, not today.” He prodded me with his cane. “Get into your swimsuit. Now.”
“Ow! But I—”
“No buts. Do it!”
I opened my mouth to say no. Then I thought about little Salomon, who was orphaned at such a young age and had to get on a boat to England to start a whole new life.
And I started to get changed.
* * *
—
We headed out to the pool. I clutched my towel tightly around my body with my left hand while Sal held on to my right arm for support.
Ruth Gimbel and a few other women descended on Sal like vultures, circling him. “Sal, I baked homemade rugelach last night. I brought you a dozen,” Ruth said. She was wearing her swim cap with the daisies all over it.
“We brought you homemade liverwurst,” said Leah and Alice Johnson in unison. They were twin sisters in their late seventies. “I’m the younger one,” Leah constantly reminded us. “By a full minute.”
I sat on the bench, keeping my towel wrapped firmly around me like a cape.
Mup and Charlie stepped out of the women’s change room.
Carmen is a foot shorter than Charlie and substantially wider, so the suit she’d loaned her was tight in some places and sagged in others. The cups in the chest area were comically big. One of them was dented.
And yet.
She still looked beautiful.
When Mup shouted, “Everyone into the pool!” I waited until Charlie jumped in. Only then did I drop my towel and jump in two rows behind her, so she wouldn’t have a perfect, hour-long view of my jiggling white flesh.
Charlie was not a natural. It took her a long time to grasp the moves, and she did them all on the wrong side. If Mup started moving to the left, Charlie moved to the right. Ruth Gimbel was stationed beside her; they knocked into each other a bunch of times. Ruth started grumbling about “foreign interlopers.” But Charlie didn’t notice; she was having a great time.
My plan was to get out of the pool a few minutes before class ended. But then Mup played “Uptown Funk” and I got caught up in the music, and next thing I knew, class was over.
I panicked. I tried to wade through the water to the pool’s edge, but Ethel Hiller—who’s built like a tank and moves like a tortoise—blocked my way.
Suddenly Charlie was beside me. “That was so much fun!” She threw her arms around me and gave me a hug. When she released me, the second cup in her swimsuit was also dented, to match the first.
She had made contact with my pasty, pimply flesh. I was
mortified on her behalf.
These were my decidedly unsexy thoughts when I felt Jeremiah stir.
I glanced down.
No.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
I used every ounce of willpower to think about boring things. I thought about erasers, but that made me think of the word rubber, which made me think of condoms. I thought about flowers, but that made me think about the Georgia O’Keeffe painting I’d seen at the AGO that looked like a vagina. I thought about volcanoes, because we’d been talking about Mount St. Helens in geography—eruptions; hot, flowing lava: bad!
“Time to get out, Wil, the next class is about to start,” Mup yelled.
I stared into the mid-distance. I could feel my face heating up, even though the water was cold.
Almost everyone else had climbed out of the pool, except for Sal. “Come on, let’s go,” he said to me as he passed.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
“What do you mean—”
“I mean I can’t!” I glanced down.
Sal followed my gaze. “Oh. Gotcha. Don’t feel bad, kiddo. Happens to the best of us. Well—not to me anymore, not for years—”
“Come on you two, out of the pool!” Mup hollered from the deck.
Sal grabbed my arm. He made a loud groaning sound and doubled over in pain. “Agh!”
“You okay?” Mup asked.
“Bad leg cramp. Wilbur, stay with me till it passes.”
“Of course.” I gave him a grateful look. “Academy Award–winning performance.”
He grinned. “Move over, Robert De Niro.”
A minute or so later Jeremiah went back into hibernation, and the two of us got out of the pool.
Sal is the ultimate best friend.
Charlotte, my own spider
You have gotten in my head
Charlotte, my own spider
You have caught me in your web
From “Charlotte’s Web” by Wilbur Nuñez-Knopf
The final few days of Charlie’s stay went by far too quickly.
“The last supper,” Mum sighed as the five of us gathered around our small Formica table, because of course we’d invited Sal. Charlie looked beautiful in a multicolored muumuu, and I wore my nicest gray sweatshirt and jeans; we were going to a farewell dance at the school.
“We will really miss you,” Mup said. “You’re like our adopted daughter.”
“I will miss you, too. You are my adopted mothers.”
Templeton barked and barked as if he too understood she was leaving in the morning. Finally Charlie picked him up and put him on her lap, and even though he wasn’t allowed at the supper table the Mumps let it slide just this once.
When we left for the dance, Sal held her hand in his and raised it to his lips, just like he had when he’d first met her. “À bientôt,” he said.
“That is perfect,” she replied. “Not goodbye. Just until next time.”
I was missing her already. Sal must have noticed, because he whispered to me as we left, “Relax, Wilbur. Stay in the moment. Try to have fun. Maybe you can use some of the dance moves I taught you!” Sal had tried to teach me and the Mumps the fox-trot on New Year’s Eve, when we’d gathered to celebrate. I’d knocked over and broken Mum’s favorite art deco lamp.
We picked up Alex, Fabrizio, and their billets on the way. The gym had been transformed; it was decorated with tons of glittery icicles and homemade paper snowflakes. We found a table to dump our coats onto. I was trying to gather up the courage to ask Charlie to dance, when she grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor.
She danced with such style! Sort of like the way she ran, with her limbs all over the place. I let myself go and tried to move like I did in the water at aquacise. For once in my life I didn’t care if I looked like a dork.
Charlie and I danced for a long time. When the first slow song came on, she put her arms around my waist, and I did the same. She was tall enough to almost rest her head on my shoulder.
“I have had such a good time here, Wilbur. And it is all thanks to you.”
“I feel the same way, my cherry.”
She laughed. “Oh, Wilbur. It is not pronounced like the fruit. It is pronounced sherEE.”
“Oh.”
She lifted her head. We gazed into each other’s eyes. A jumble of thoughts crowded my brain. Is this it? Is this my cue? Should I go in for a kiss? But then other thoughts piled on top of my first thoughts: Never assume a girl wants any kind of physical contact! Always ask first! (Mumps™). Then I remembered that I’d never kissed a girl before, and what if I did it wrong? Maybe I should start by telling her how I felt about her; but how would I find the words? All of these thoughts fought for space in my head, and they were still fighting when the song ended, and she pulled away.
“Whew, I think I need a break,” she said. We were both sweaty and hot. I poured her a glass of watery punch at the snack table, and she gulped it down. “I will be right back. I need to pee very badly.” Then she added, “Trop mignons, tes boutons!”
And she kissed my cheek.
I was still touching the spot her lips had kissed, when Alex approached. He was wearing new jeans and a green polo shirt. “That color’s good on you,” I said. “Let me guess, Fabrizio took you shopping again?”
Alex nodded. “How’s it going with Charlie?”
“Good,” I said. “Really good. She just kissed my cheek. And she said something in French. Something about me. I caught mignon and bouton.”
“Mignon is ‘cute.’…Bouton is ‘button.’…Whoa. I think she said you’re cute as a button!”
My heart leapt. “Really?”
Another slow song came on. And it wasn’t just any song; it was “I Love You” by Billie Eilish. Fabrizio—who was dressed in a fire-engine red suit—grabbed Alex’s hand. “Let’s go.”
Alex looked at me. “Find her. Ask her to dance. See how it goes. If it seems right…tell her how you feel. Maybe you’ll get a kiss on the lips next time.”
“Good luck!” added Fabrizio as he pulled Alex onto the dance floor. It was filling up with couples.
I scanned the room. I couldn’t see Charlie.
I had another glass of punch and realized that I also needed to pee.
I left the gym and headed down the darkened corridor toward the washrooms.
I heard the noises first. Slurpy sounds, and little moans.
Then I saw them, down a side corridor, leaned up against the lockers, bodies intertwined.
“Mmmmmm,” said the girl.
“Mmm-mmm,” said the boy.
I quickened my pace.
Then something struck me.
The girl wore a multicolored muumuu.
I walked backward and peered down the corridor again.
And I forgot all about needing to pee.
* * *
—
“Charlie…and Tyler?” Alex asked moments later. He and Fabrizio had joined me at our table when the song was done. I sat, frozen, unable to move. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. I mean, it was dark.”
“This gym is a hotbed of hormones,” said Fab. “It could have been anyone.”
“He’s right,” said Alex, and for a moment I felt better.
“Hang on,” said Fab. He dashed out of the gym. A few minutes later, he was back. His eyes were wide. “It was them, all right. Going at it, hot and heavy.”
“Fab,” said Alex.
“Sorry,” said Fab. “Sorry, Wilbur.” He sounded sincere.
“I didn’t think she liked him that much,” I said.
“She probably doesn’t,” said Fabrizio. “It’s probably just one of those raw-animal-attraction-type things.”
I groaned.
“Fab,” said Alex
again.
“I thought—” I began, but I stopped. What I was about to say was so stupid and naïve.
“You thought what?” asked Alex.
“I thought…that just maybe…she liked me.”
“Of course you did. I thought she did, too,” said Alex.
“I mean, she kissed me,” I continued. “On the cheek, but still. And she said I was cute as a button.”
“Cute generally refers to babies. Or dogs. Or old people,” said Fabrizio sympathetically.
“Fab,” Alex said for the third time.
“What exactly did she say?” asked Fabrizio.
“She said, trop mignons, tes boutons.”
Fabrizio’s eyebrows shot up. His mouth opened, then closed, like he was trying to figure out how to break the bad news. “Oh my. I’m so sorry, Wilbur. She said your zits were cute.”
I wanted to go outside and lie down in a snowbank and fall asleep and never wake up.
* * *
—
We were all pretty quiet on the way home. Charlie walked ahead of us, chatting with Léo and Christophe in French. Alex and Fabrizio walked on either side of me, like they were afraid I might topple over at any moment.
When we got inside, Charlie went to the kitchen to get a glass of water but I went straight to bed, crawling onto my air mattress in the alcove without changing or brushing my teeth. Templeton is amazing at reading my emotions, and he knew I was upset. He made comforting little growls and curled his body closer to mine when I crawled into bed. “Thank you for always being there for me,” I whispered to him. He gave me a soulful look. He licked my face. He farted.
But I held him close anyway and just breathed through my mouth.
A few minutes later Charlie came into the room. “That was a wonderful evening,” she whispered.
For you, maybe, I thought.
“Thank you again, Wilbur. For everything.” I heard her get into bed.
I knew I shouldn’t ask. I knew. “Charlotte?” I said anyway, using her full name.
“Yes, Wilbur?”
“Why?”
“Why am I tired?”
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