I wrote the day’s date at the top of the page, then underneath:
What she likes:
Then I just started writing whatever came to mind:
Parker pens.
Horses.
Colourful erasers at the ends of her pencils. ABBA.
Stickers on her school binders with a) funny sayings on them; and b) rock band logos. Glam rock from England.
I looked at my list. It was pathetic. I’d have to come up with way more than this. I thought harder.
I Capture the Castle (note: check out author, find out what else she’s written.)
Zan (she liked holding him at barbecue. Might want to learn more about chimps.)
I put stars beside these last two items because I thought they might make good topics of conversation.
I was starting to feel a little better. This was scientific. I could even write down funny lines to use with her. Based on my data, we’d soon be having all these great conversations, and she’d be smiling and laughing at everything I said.
As it turned out, the Time piece gave me a huge boost. The day after the magazine came out, the headmaster mentioned it in chapel (we went to chapel Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings), and afterwards, crossing the quad, Jennifer walked up to me. She actually walked up to me, without Shannon or Jane in tow.
“So you’re totally famous now,” she said.
“Yeah right.” I nodded, rolling my eyes. I didn’t want to seem conceited. “Phone ringing off the hook.”
“Time magazine,” she said. “That’s really cool. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Hey, did you know ABBA’s got a new album out? They mentioned it on American Bandstand last night.”
Her face lit up. “I know! I can’t wait. Do you like them?”
“Are you kidding? I love them,” I said. I’d never actually heard one of their songs.
Then the bell went and we had to hurry off to class. It was the longest conversation we’d had all year. Pump me full of helium, I couldn’t have felt lighter. The logbook was already paying off.
At lunch, when I went into the dining hall, David Godwin waved me over. “Hey, Tarzan,” he said.
A nickname—I loved it! I hoped it stuck. It sure beat chimp boy.
When David and Hugh made room for me at the table, I could barely believe it. I’d been promoted. I glanced down at the hobbits, and saw their hungry looks of envy.
I’d barely sat down before the tray of pork chops was being pushed into my hands.
“The food comes so much faster here,” I said.
“Life is good here,” said Hugh, chewing.
“Groovy hair in Time,” David said. “It was practically gleaming.”
“My mom’s got some Slik left over if you want it,” I said, and he laughed.
“I hate that stuff,” Hugh chimed in. “If I see it, I pour it down the sink.”
After lunch I headed to English class, feeling as mighty as the real Tarzan. Jennifer smiled at me as I walked in, and I tried to give her my best dominant male smile. The bad news was we were doing Shakespeare right now. Twelfth Night. I spent more time looking at the footnotes than the actual lines, just trying to figure out what was going on. These people and their crazy lives made almost no sense to me.
I liked Mr. Stotsky, but he often got people to read aloud in class, and I was lousy at it. The two times I’d done it before, he kept telling me to slow down and “take my time with the language,” and I’d been really embarrassed, especially with Jennifer in the class. I was hoping he’d skip me today.
But he didn’t. “Mr. Tomlin, would you like to be our Orsino this afternoon, please.”
“No thank you, sir,” I said impulsively.
That got a good laugh, and I started to feel pretty cocky. The dominant male always took charge.
Mr. Stotsky raised an eyebrow at me. “You see yourself in a different starring role, perhaps, Mr. Tomlin?”
That was a good one, and the kids were laughing with him now.
The dominant male never backed down. “I’m just not in a reading kind of mood today, sir, sorry.”
Everyone laughed, but a little nervously.
“I’m sorry, too, Mr. Tomlin. You can report for detention after school.”
I could feel myself start to flush, and fought it, tried to exhale quietly and let the blood flow away from my cool, careless cheeks. I’d got a detention, so what? A detention was a sign you were a scrapper. I was marking out my territory as an alpha male.
I felt like I was in control.
On Friday, when the bus dropped me off in front of the house, there was a brand new Mercedes in the driveway. I thought Dr. Godwin must be visiting, or someone else from the university, but it was just Mom and Dad in the living room. They looked like I’d caught them in the middle of a fairly lively conversation. Beyond the kitchen, I could hear Zan playing in his suite with the students.
“Is that a student’s car out there?” I asked in surprise.
Dad shook his head and gave me a mischievous smile I’d never seen before.
“You bought a Mercedes?” I exclaimed.
“Oh yeah,” he said. He looked like a kid who’d done something reckless but was defiant and totally happy.
I saw Mom roll her eyes.
“Oh, come on, Sarah,” Dad said. “The Volvo was hanging by a thread. The drive across Canada pretty much finished it off. We needed a new car.”
“But not a Mercedes.”
I thought Mom was coming down kind of hard on him. Dad had a big new job now, and he was practically famous. We’d had that Volvo forever anyway, and Dad hardly ever bought anything, probably because he’d grown up with so little money.
“Your father got a new car practically every year of his life,” Dad said to Mom.
“Yes, and it was disgusting.”
Dad shrugged. “Well, you know what? I’ve wanted a Mercedes for a long time, so why not now? What’s wrong with that?”
Mom shook her head. “Fine. But we both know what this is about. It’s so you can have the same car as the department chair.”
“No,” said Dad. “Mine’s actually quite a lot nicer.” He looked at me with this wicked smile, and winked. I couldn’t help laughing. I liked Dad this way. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him enjoy himself so much.
“Well, your timing’s uncanny,” said Mom, smiling herself now, “with the Godwins coming to dinner tonight.”
“That is funny how that worked out,” said Dad, kissing her mouth.
“The Godwins are coming for dinner?” I said.
“David and Jennifer too,” said Mom.
For a second I couldn’t take a breath. “Really?”
Mom said, “I’ve got to pick up a few things at the plaza. You want to come give me a hand?”
Dad jingled the new car keys in front of her. “This is your set.”
“Thank you, Alpha Male,” Mom said. To me, Dad said, “Make sure she doesn’t scratch up my new car.”
We drove down to Cordova Plaza. The Mercedes was really nice. It had leather seats, electric windows, and an amazing stereo, and it didn’t smell like ketchup and Fresca. I felt rich just sitting in it. Mom parked the car very carefully. At Safeway I helped her buy some food and load it into the trunk. Then she wanted to go to the florist and pick up some fresh flowers, so I waited for her in the hobby shop.
I was nervous about David and Jennifer coming. What would Jennifer think of our house, and what would we talk about all evening? I’d better review my logbook for some ideas.
I walked up and down the aisles of the shop, pausing to look at all the rockets—the ones with solid fuel engines that you ignited with a car battery. I was wondering if it was worth saving up for one. There was lots of room in the backyard to blast it off.
“Hey,” someone said, and I looked around and saw Tim Borden.
“Hey, Tim,” I said, and suddenly felt self-conscious because I realized I was still in my school uniform.
/> “What happened to you?” said Tim. “You just disappeared.”
I felt guilty about the way I’d dropped him. After the construction site incident, we’d hung out a bit together, but then I’d just started making lame excuses whenever he came by or called. I’d never even told him I wouldn’t be going to his school in the fall.
“My parents wanted me to go to Windermere,” I said, as if that explained everything.
I looked over as Mike appeared at the end of the aisle. He smirked when he saw me in my uniform.
“Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing,” he said.
Automatically, I loosened my tie and undid my top button—as if that made me look any cooler.
“Windermere. That private school on the other side of the Pat Bay highway, right?” said Tim.
“Yeah, it’s okay. Too much homework.”
“Windyqueer,” Mike said.
I wasn’t looking at Mike, but was aware of him staring at me the whole time with those scary dark eyes of his. It actually made me feel a little sick, he seemed to hate me so much.
Tim asked, “How’s Zan?”
“He’s good, yeah.”
“My dad said he saw you guys in the papers or something.”
“Time magazine.”
“Man, that’s cool,” said Tim.
“Come on, Tim,” said Mike.
“Well, see you around,” said Tim, and he honestly looked a bit sad.
“Yeah, see you,” I said.
“Loser,” muttered Mike as he walked off with Tim.
I tried on a lot of pants and shirts before I figured out what to wear. I wanted to look good for Jennifer. I had a shower and blow-dried my hair, brushing it out to make it straighter. I hated my curly hair. It never looked cool. On the counter I saw Dad’s Old Spice aftershave. I’d always liked the smell; it seemed kind of manly and it worked for that guy in the TV ads, the guy in the sailor’s cap with the hot girlfriend. I sluiced a whole bunch onto my hands and then splashed it over my face and neck. I wished I had straight hair; then I’d look really good in a sailor’s cap.
When I came downstairs, Mom looked across the living room at me and said, “Are you wearing Old Spice?”
“Yep.”
“You might want to rinse off just a little.” I felt stupid. “Really?” She nodded. “A bit strong.”
The doorbell rang and I rushed back upstairs and splashed water all over my face, scrubbing my skin with my hands. I patted myself dry with a towel, but now my neck was red and chafed. I could hear the Godwins coming in. I couldn’t go downstairs like this—I looked sunburned. I hurried to my bedroom and dragged out a black turtleneck. I hated turtlenecks; I knew they were supposed to be all artsy and beat-niky, but I still thought they were kind of uptight. But Mom was always saying I looked sharp in them. I just hoped she was right.
When I came down, the Godwins were all standing around in the living room and Dad was making cocktails for the grown-ups.
“Hey,” I said casually to Jennifer and David. Their older brother Cal wasn’t coming. He had better things to do than hang out with his parents’ friends. He could drive. I didn’t know a lot about what seventeen-year-olds did on Friday nights, but I guessed there’d be dancing and girls and making out.
David was wearing a really cool orange shirt with the collar way open. Jennifer had this tight dress with a crazy design all over it and a thick green belt. There was lip gloss on her lips. She looked fantastic, and I felt a surge of excitement and hope. She’d done that for me. She’d dressed up for me because she liked me and wanted me to think she was pretty. Maybe I was wrong, but that was my assumption. Scientists had to have assumptions.
In her hand was a portable record player in its pink plastic case. She saw me looking at it and said, “I didn’t know if you had a hi-fi in the rec room, so I brought mine.”
“We don’t actually have a rec room,” I said.
“You don’t have a rec room?” she said, looking horrified.
“Isn’t that against the law or something?” David said, shaking his head at his sister.
“The basement’s unfinished.” I lowered my voice. “It’s kind of gross. It’s where Dad keeps all his experiments that go wrong.” I put my arms out and took a few clunky Frankenstein steps.
Jennifer and David laughed. I saw Dad glance over from talking to Dr. Godwin, but I didn’t think he’d heard what I said.
David tapped the army surplus satchel hanging from his shoulder. “Jennifer picked out some albums, and I brought some real music.”
Jennifer rolled her eyes.
“We can play them upstairs in my room,” I said.
“I’ve got the new ABBA album,” she said. “It’s really good.”
“Can’t wait,” I said.
“Liar,” said David, shaking his head in disgust.
“They do that cool ‘Waterloo’ song.” A couple of nights ago I’d heard it on the radio for the first time.
Jennifer’s face completely lit up. “That’s got to be my favourite song!”
“We’re going upstairs to listen to some music,” I told Mom.
She broke off from talking to Mrs. Godwin long enough to smile and nod and say she’d call when dinner was ready.
I was really relieved they’d brought a turntable and records—I’d been worried about what we were going to do all evening. I didn’t want them to think our place was boring. Especially since we didn’t have a rec room. Good thing Mom had gotten me to tidy up my room in case we ended up there. The whole time I was tidying I kept thinking of what would make me look coolest, and I’d left out little things that I thought were interesting. My cross-country ribbons on the bulletin board, my camera, some artistic black and white photos I’d developed recently.
“Where’s Zan?” Jennifer asked as we walked upstairs.
“In his suite, with Peter.”
“Can we go visit him?” she asked.
“Probably not a good idea. We’d just get him all excited.” I could see Zan making a run for the door and getting into the living room and jumping on the dinner table. Dad would freak out.
“What time does he go to bed?” David asked. “Usually about eight,” I said. “Beddy-bye time for little chimps,” Jennifer said. I chuckled. “Yep. Beddy-bye for little chimps.” “He is so cute,” she said.
I led them into my bedroom and helped Jennifer find an outlet for her record player. We were down on our hands and knees, underneath the desk, and I was aware of how close she was to me, her arms and shoulders and hair. I’d imagined her in my bedroom lots of times—and the things we might get up to—and it made me blush to think of it right now. She passed me the cord and I plugged it in and backed out.
“Is that Old Spice?” she said, sniffing.
“Hmm?” I said.
“I didn’t know you were shaving,” David said mockingly.
“Tarzan shave every day,” I said in my Tarzan voice, and when I saw Jennifer’s eyebrows lift skeptically, I said, “Twice a day—me very hairy,” and she laughed.
David spread the albums out on the floor. I knew which ones were his. Pink Floyd, The Who, Led Zeppelin. Jennifer had brought Bay City Rollers, Elton John, ABBA, and a single called “Seasons in the Sun” that they were playing about every twenty minutes on the radio.
“I call first pick,” said Jennifer.
David sighed and handed her the ABBA album. “I’ve only heard this, like, a hundred times.”
We put on the record. David and I sprawled out on the floor, and Jennifer sat on the edge of my bed—which I thought was pretty cool: she was on my bed—and mouthed the words of the songs. I watched her eyes travel around my room—the Hitchcock poster, the Truffaut poster—hoping maybe she’d ask me something about them, so I could be all hip and fascinating, but she didn’t say anything, not even when she saw my camera on the desk. We all talked a bit about school and teachers and TV, but we only got through about four or five songs before Mom called us down for d
inner.
Mom was pouring the wine and gave me half a glass and asked the Godwins if it was all right if their two had a small glass as well.
Dr. Godwin sort of snuffled and said, “Yes, yes, of course,” but I could tell Mrs. Godwin was a bit shocked.
“Do you like wine?” I asked Jennifer. We were all three of us together at the end of the table.
“I don’t know yet,” she said, taking a sip. She wrinkled her nose, but then took another sip.
I was feeling pretty suave now, the big-city boy with the cool bohemian mom who let me drink wine. I was wearing Old Spice and there were pictures of me in Time magazine.
“Your parents let you drink all the time?” David whispered beside me.
“Oh sure,” I lied. The grown-ups were already yakking away, so I explained to David how Mom’s parents were European and had let her drink when she was a teenager. And how it was better that way, because then she didn’t go crazy and get drunk all the time when she turned nineteen.
“Man,” David said. “Wow.”
The truth was, I still wasn’t that used to wine. Since that first taste on my birthday, I’d had maybe a couple of tiny glasses, and the one Mom had poured me now was bigger than usual. But it didn’t taste so bad to me any more, and with every sip I felt warmer and more relaxed. David and Jennifer and I were talking and eating and drinking our wine, and the conversation was moving so fast it was hard to keep up.
The meal seemed to accelerate. Occasionally I tuned in to Dad and Dr. Godwin’s conversation. Dad had the charm at two hundred watts, and was talking about Project Zan and how the big grant application was coming together. Whenever I checked in with Mom and Mrs. Godwin, it was usually Mrs. Godwin droning about the trouble they’d had with their new electric oven, or how they were getting their patio stone replaced, and Mom trying her best not to look bored. If Mom was talking, she was very dramatic and her hands were going, and she was talking about American foreign policy or the art show at the university gallery, and Mrs. Godwin was just nodding and looking at Mom like she was an alien life-form.
After dessert we went back upstairs and David put on Led Zeppelin II and pretended he was playing guitar, while Jennifer and I laughed at him.
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