The Cannibals

by Grant, Cynthia D.

  “Oh, nothing!” I sobbed. “My whole life is ruined, that’s all.”

  She stroked my back. “Is it really that bad?”

  I was crying so hard I could barely talk. “Campbell and I—” Then the tears overwhelmed me.

  “Did you and Campbell have a fight?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I managed. “We broke up! It’s over!”

  She said, “I didn’t know you two were going steady.”

  How can my mother be so blind? “He’s the only person I’ve ever really loved,” I moaned.

  “Honey, you two hardly know each other,” she said. “Don’t you think you might be overreacting?”

  “Mom, you don’t understand!” I wept. “Today I found out that Campbell … that Campbell …” I could hardly bear to say the words, “that Campbell is a vegetarian!”

  “So?”

  “So why does he have to be one of those people? Everybody I know eats meat!”

  “I don’t,” she said.

  “Since when?” I asked.

  “Two years ago.”

  I guess I hadn’t noticed. The important thing was that Campbell and I were through. My beautiful dream of our future was shattered. How could we get married and go out to dinner with our friends if Campbell was going to ask the waitress if there was anything without a face on the menu? How can someone who looks so normal be such a radical?

  My mother said, “Maybe you’ll feel better after you eat something.”

  “What’s for dinner?” I asked.

  “Tuna fish casserole.”

  I tried to eat, but it was like everything on the plate was staring back at me. So I came upstairs and lay down on my bed. The horrible scene at the Hot Spot kept replaying in my head. Perhaps my mother was right and I’d overreacted. After all, it’s a free country. Campbell’s entitled to his opinion, no matter how stupid it is.

  But it’s too late now, too late for apologies. Campbell will probably never speak to me again.

  A miracle just happened! My brother came to the door and said I had a phone call.

  It was Campbell! He said, “I tried to call you, but your line was busy, so I called your folks’ number.”

  I admitted I’d left my phone off the hook.

  “If you’d rather not talk—” he began.

  “That’s okay,” I said. For once, I was glad he doesn’t have a videophone and couldn’t see how bad I looked. “We’re going to have to face it sometime.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened today, Tiff. I really am,” he said. “I shouldn’t have called you superficial.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, happy tears welling in my eyes. “I shouldn’t have called you a weirdo.”

  “I don’t want to fight with you, Tiff,” he said. “It makes me feel so bad. But sometimes it seems like you’re putting on an act, when all you have to do is be yourself.”

  “I know. I want you to be yourself, too,” I said.

  “Real friends don’t have to agree about everything,” he pointed out. “Real friends can accept each other’s differences.”

  “That’s true,” I agreed. I want Campbell and me to be more than friends, but it wasn’t the time to go into all that. “It’s just that you’re so important to me, Campbell,” I added.

  “Well, at least you got my name right,” he said.

  We laughed. It felt so good to be together again!

  Then Campbell started talking about the importance of accepting people for who they really are, with all their uniqueness and warts, et cetera, and how, if we all lived by the Golden Rule, this world would be heaven on Earth and so on; then the Call Waiting buzzed, so I put him on hold.

  It was Shelby. She said, “Did you hear the news?”

  “What news?” I said.

  “They’re going to make a movie at our school!” she said.

  “You’re kidding!”

  “No!”

  “Are you sure?” I demanded.

  “Absolutely,” she said. “Amber Johnson was working in the attendance office and she heard Principal Brown talking to the movie people.”

  “I can’t believe it!” I said. “This is so fantastic!”

  I told Campbell I’d have to call him back.

  Chapter Seven

  Rumors about the movie were flying all over school this morning, and I thought for sure the principal would announce it over the PA. But it was just the usual boring news: Don’t forget the freshman car wash, bring in canned goods for the homeless, et cetera.

  I was dying of suspense, so I tried to sneak out, but Mr. Brewer’s sub was being really tight; she wouldn’t even let me go to the bathroom! What if I’d really had to go? And who knows when Mr. Brewer will be back. The other day while he was instructing Becki Jordan in the Drivers’ Ed car, somebody cut in front of them and Mr. Brewer snapped. He made Becki chase the guy, and when he stopped for a light, Mr. Brewer jumped out and attacked him!

  Anyway, while I was sitting there wondering how I could find out what was happening, Amber Johnson came in with a message from Dean Schmitz: He wanted to see me right away! Talk about perfect timing! Thank you, God!

  In the hall I asked Amber if the rumors were true, and she said the movie people were in Principal Brown’s office right then!

  I made a quick stop in the bathroom to check my hair. It looked great. Then I walked past the secretary—she said, “You can’t go in there, Tiffany”—and into Principal Brown’s office.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized, when everybody stared at me. “I’m looking for Dean Schmitz.”

  “Have you tried his office, Tiffany?” the principal asked.

  You could tell the people were from Hollywood. The man was wearing sunglasses—in the office!—and the woman was thin and dressed in black. I shook their hands and introduced myself.

  “Hello,” I said. “I’m Tiffany Spratt.” That Spratt has got to go. “Head Yell Leader at Hiram Johnson High School. Welcome to our campus.”

  “Thank you, Tiffany. That will be all,” the principal said.

  “I understand you’re making a movie at our school,” I continued. “That’s so exciting! Are you working from a screenplay or a treatment?” Thank God for my subscription to People magazine!

  “A treatment,” the man answered, impressed. “Have you had much film experience?”

  “Not really,” I admitted, “but I’m a professional model, and my goal is to be a TV and movie actress.”

  “Thank you, Tiffany,” the principal said. “You can go back to class now.”

  “What kind of modeling have you done?” the woman asked me.

  “Runway and print,” I said. “I can show you my portfolio.”

  “Bring it to the auditions,” she suggested.

  “I will,” I promised. “What’s the movie called?”

  “Scream Bloody Murder. It’s a comedy.”

  “I can really scream,” I said.

  “That won’t be necessary, Tiffany.” Principal Brown butted in again. “As I’ve explained to Ms. Stuart and Mr. Goldman, we’re running a school here, not a movie set.”

  “But just think what an educational experience it would be for our students,” I pointed out. “And it would really put Hiram Johnson on the map!”

  “I fail to see how a murder movie is educational,” grumped Principal Brown. What an old sourpuss he was being! Doesn’t he realize that when opportunity knocks, you at least have to open the door?

  “As I’ve explained, Mr. Brown,” said Mr. Goldman, “nothing’s written in stone. We’re willing to work with your people on the script. And remember, none of the murders actually take place on campus.”

  “Except for the one in the cafeteria,” Ms. Stuart noted. “When the cook gets possessed and serves the poisoned tapioca.”

  “True,” said Mr. Goldman, “but only the fat kid dies.”

  “And the scene where the maintenance man goes berserk,” Ms. Stuart added, “and mows down all those kids.”

  “
Sure,” said Mr. Goldman, “but with a lawn mower, not a gun.”

  “No, no, no.” Principal Brown shook his head. “The custodians won’t go for that. And the school board would never approve it.”

  “Have the board members seen the treatment?” I asked.

  “No they haven’t, Tiffany, but—is there some reason why you’re still here?”

  “Well, shouldn’t they be allowed to make up their own minds?” I asked. “After all, they’re the ones running the school district. Maybe they could play themselves in the movie!”

  “That’s a possibility,” Mr. Goldman said.

  Principal Brown was making an awful face, so I addressed Ms. Stuart and Mr. Goldman. “Why don’t you make a presentation at the next school board meeting?” I suggested. “I’ll rally all the kids to show support! We’ll work together as a team to achieve our goal and score another victory for Hiram Johnson! Oh, please don’t turn us down, Mr. Brown! This is the chance of a lifetime!”

  There were tears in my eyes. Even I was surprised. Everybody was staring at me, frozen.

  “Thank you, Tiffany,” the principal said. “Go back to class now. Or wherever you were going.”

  I gave Ms. Stuart and Mr. Goldman my phone number and told them I’d be glad to help in any way I could.

  Ms. Stuart asked about my Cannibals sweatshirt. I explained that The Girls and I were in a gang. Not a gang, per se, more like a club. Mr. Goldman seemed really interested.

  “Maybe we could work that into the script,” he said. “I mean, what could be worse than cannibal vampires?”

  Ms. Stuart looked doubtful. “I don’t know, Alex,” she said. “If the vampires eat their victims, there won’t be any new vampires. That’s the problem.”

  “I see what you mean,” he said. “We can work that out later. Tiffany, it’s been a pleasure.”

  I shook hands with them again—but not with Principal Brown; he looked like he wanted to bite off my fingers—and floated out of the office on a golden cloud.

  Me! In a real Hollywood movie! Maybe even helping to write the script!

  Unfortunately, Dean Schmitz ran out of his office and grabbed my arm.

  “I sent for you a half hour ago!” he said. “Where have you been?”

  “I’m sorry, Dean Schmitz, but I can’t talk now,” I said. “When is the next school board meeting?”

  “Right after the holidays,” he answered. “Tiffany, do you intend to graduate with your class or are you planning to stay on as a janitor?”

  “I’m sorry, Dean Schmitz, but I have to go home.”

  “Oh, please don’t tell me it’s cramps again!” he blared. “You have more cramps than the entire NFL.”

  I couldn’t believe it! Why not blab it all over the whole school so everyone can hear?

  I leaned close to his hairy ear and whispered, “Clots.”

  He reared back as if I’d spit at him.

  I ran into Campbell in the Senior Quad. “Did you hear the news?” I asked.

  “What news?” he said.

  “About the movie they’re filming on campus!” I said. “Isn’t it great?”

  “I guess.”

  Sometimes I have to wonder about Campbell. I mean, I know he lived in LA and everything, but you’d think he’d be happy that I’m finally getting my big break.

  “I’ll probably get a part, being a model and all,” I said. “They’ll need people with experience and talent.”

  “Modeling’s not exactly a talent,” Campbell said. Then he started—it was horrible—going through all these poses.

  “Look, I’m running in place,” he said. “Now I’m laughing.” He threw back his head and grinned. “Now I’m thinking: Hmmmm.” He frowned and cupped his chin. “Now I’m waving to someone. Now I’m throwing a football—”

  In the two months we’ve been going together, I have never been so angry at him.

  I said, “I’m sorry you think my whole life is such a joke.”

  “I don’t. It’s just that I’ve done that number.”

  “You never told me you modeled.”

  “Yes, I did,” he said. “It just got too absurd.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked him.

  “I like to smile when I feel like smiling. Not when somebody tells me to,” he said.

  Sometimes I think Campbell tries to get too deep. Why can’t he just relax and enjoy life?

  He offered to walk me to math, but I explained that I had to get home right away; I had tons of work to do before the next school board meeting.

  “What kind of work?” he asked.

  I promised to tell him later. And even though he’d ticked me off with all those silly poses, I kissed his cheek to show there were no hard feelings.

  My dad was using the computer when I got home, but I explained that I had an urgent school project. I just can’t say enough about the Internet. It is truly the gateway to the future. I know it got poor Wally into trouble—I wonder how he’s doing—but it puts the whole world at your fingertips. It’s like going inside God’s brain.

  Plus, computers make writing so fast and easy! In the old days, people had to use typewriters or even pencils, and that could take forever.

  So here is something very important I want to say to all of my future readers: These days, you have got to be computer literate. The computer is a very important tool. Stay in school, study hard, and go to college. And whatever you do, learn marketable job skills. Like Miss Jones says, “He (or she) who fails to prepare prepares to fail.”

  Even if you’re planning on a career in show business like I am, let’s face it: Dreams don’t always come true. So if you want to act or model, ask yourself, and be honest: How beautiful or handsome am I, really? Lots of people apply to model at Macy’s who, truthfully, don’t stand a chance. You want to just go up to them and say, “Don’t take this wrong. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but this is never going to happen.”

  It’s sad.

  In no time at all surfing the Net, I’d collected a wealth of information—Remember: She who fails to prepare prepares to fail!—showing how much money a movie company typically pumps into the local economy when it chooses that town for a location: how many residents are employed as carpenters, caterers, extras, et cetera; the number of hotel and motel rooms the movie people rent, not to mention all the meals they eat in restaurants; plus the money from all the tourists who later flock to the famous town to see where the movie got made. Sometimes the movie company even makes permanent improvements that the people in the town get to keep!

  The track regraded? The cafeteria repainted? A new school board meeting room?

  Barbie and Kendall called, but I couldn’t talk; I was on the phone with the chamber of commerce.

  Chapter Eight

  It’s funny how, when things are really boring, you’ve got all the time in the world for your journal, but nothing to talk about; and when things are going really good you’re too busy to get it all down.

  Oh, well, that’s life!

  We had a very Merry Christmas, in spite of the fact that my brother left the front door unlocked and Grandpa took off and we couldn’t find him. The police brought him back in time for Christmas dinner, but he was having trouble eating and it turned out he was wearing somebody else’s teeth! Daddy got mad and called the home, and they got mad at him and said that Grandpa’s been stealing everybody’s teeth; they found a whole pile of them under his pillow. So now they have to figure out whose teeth are whose, which apparently is a big honking mess.

  Luckily, Grandpa didn’t seem too upset; he kept gnawing on a turkey leg until my mother couldn’t stand it anymore and brought him a bowl of ice cream.

  It being the holiday season, 1-800-YOR-MAMA was extra busy, so my father asked my mother to take some calls. Which she wouldn’t, of course, even though it was Christmas. So he changed his voice to an old lady’s again, which works out amazingly well since the callers do most of the talking.

  I got some
really nice gifts: clothes, music, books, a new TV, et cetera, even though my mother had insisted that we were cutting back this year because the holiday has become a spending orgy. She says that people have way more stuff than they need, and we should give everything to the poor. Like a homeless person needs a TV set. I know my mother means well, but sometimes she doesn’t think things through.

  I gave Campbell a bottle of this fabulous new, very expensive aftershave called Urge. So he wouldn’t think I was being cheap, I “forgot” to remove the price tag. Fifty dollars. He gave me a piece of paper that showed he’d donated ten dollars in my name to an organization that rescues abandoned pet ferrets. Later, when The Girls asked what he’d given me, I smiled and said, “I’d rather not say.” Which was true.

  I did not forget my poor darling Wally. Apparently he’s developed some kind of allergy to manioc, or manatee root, or whatever it is he’s been eating, so I sent him some Turns in Christmas colors, insect repellent, an honorary Cannibals sweatshirt, and the fashion layout from the San Francisco Chronicle, starring yours truly in the Macy’s Holiday Magic Show.

  If only he could’ve been there! That would’ve really cheered him up! The Girls and I have never looked more elegant, more “swannay,” as Mr. Margo, who’s in charge of the fashion shows, said. Even Shelby looked stunning, in spite of the fact that she’s been hitting the pork rinds pretty hard lately. Also, her legs looked like she’d given them a mohawk! I realize that we were wearing long gowns, but you’d think she’d have enough pride in herself to do a thorough job of shaving! I mean, nobody sees your underwear, either, but don’t you feel better when it’s clean?

  But the holiday season wasn’t just an endless round of parties, fashion, and fun. There were school papers to write—I have got to get mine done!—Christmas shopping; organizing support for Scream Bloody Murder; and last but not least, singing Christmas carols at a local nursing home. Definitely not my grandpa’s; he always says the darnedest things to me. Like, “Midge, tell Fred to get the lead out!” I love him and all, but that’s really unnerving.

  Our Christmas caroling visit was a trying, but extremely worthwhile, experience for me and The Girls, even though Ashley completely freaked out when an old lady in a wheelchair grabbed her and wouldn’t let go.