And if she stayed, she would see the heads. I wasn’t worried about her fainting or throwing up, or even being too surprised. She’d probably think they were awesome. If anybody could handle it, she could. That wasn’t a problem.
But it would cement my spot in history as an actual Igor. Even worse, if there was any chance that we could be friends again, I’d never be sure whether she was being my actual friend, or if she was just using me to hang out with the heads. They’d become the next Dana. I could already see it.
Em tapped on the window, making me jump. Well? she mouthed.
Then there was the third possibility. Maybe it would fix everything. Maybe this was my chance.
“Howe,” I said slowly. “You really didn’t mean to ruin my life? I mean, ruin it more?”
“No!”
“Okay, then you want to make it up to me?”
He nodded.
“Your head’s feeling better?”
He nodded again.
“Great. So, do you remember what we did with those blindfold-goggles?”
11:26 p.m.
I left Em sitting on one of the uncomfortable chairs in the lobby, guarded by Howe. I didn’t actually think Howe could keep her from following me, but I was counting on him at least distracting her.
“So, Howard,” I heard her say.
“It’s just Howe.”
“So costumes, huh. Why all the vegetables?”
“It was strategic,” Howe explained. “I thought that if anything went wrong, at least we’d have something to live on. Part of a wilderness survival class I took once…”
I stepped into the Hall of Innards, leaving their voices behind and completely unprepared for how dark it was. It gave me the spooks. I tried to find the switch, thinking about the upside to all this, which was that at least I’d gotten a lot less boring in the last twenty-four hours. Maybe the key to Em was that. I just needed to show her that I wasn’t boring. Starting with the lab. I hit the light, blinked as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, and hustled down the hall to the wet lab.
Inside, the guys were doing some vocal warm-ups. They stopped as soon as they saw me.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “One quick thing to take care of before we get ready to go.”
“We can’t be late,” Lake said. “Recording studios don’t like that.”
“We can make up the time,” I said, scanning the counters in the lab. “This is important. I need some very specific eye protection.”
11:29 p.m.
I ran back into the lobby with the blindfold-goggles.
Em turned in the chair. “So when do I get to see the lab? And especially the bodies. When do I get to see the bodies?”
“That’s not happening,” I said. And then, when she started to frown, I added, “Right now. That’s not happening right now.”
“What is happening?” she asked. “You guys are in costumes. Hanging out in the middle of the night.” She leaned toward me and lowered her voice. “Is this what you do now?”
“No. No, no, no. This”—I gestured around the lab—“is definitely not what I do. I never come here. One night only.”
“And yesterday,” Howe said helpfully. “You were also here yesterday.”
“Howe,” I whispered. “Please stop helping.”
“What are we even talking about?” asked Em impatiently. “I snuck out because he”—she pointed fiercely at Howe—“promised me some lab adventure while I was stuck in frozen food products and bored out of my mind. So far, no adventure. No lab. Sneaking out was cool, but I can do that on my own, thanks.”
I grabbed a strand of Howe’s broccoli and pulled him next to me at the desk. Time for the super-totally-half-baked plan we invented while she was waiting outside.
“Em Taylor,” I said as officially as I could, “as Left Kidney, I’d like to welcome you to your first outing with the Underground Chicago Adventurers’…”
Not “club.” That sounded like something for little kids. Not “league” either. That sounded sporty. I looked to Howe for help.
“Refinement,” he said.
It would have to do.
“Refinement,” I said.
“You have a secret club? With him?”
Howe and I shared an awkward nod.
“And you’ve done a lot of these middle of the night adventure things?”
“Well—” said Howe.
“A few,” I said, hoping he’d roll with it.
“Some,” said Howe.
“Yeah,” I said. “And since this is your first time at the Chicago Underground—”
“Underground Chicago,” said Howe.
“Underground Chicago Adventurers’ Refinement, we’re going to need you to be blindfolded.” I handed her the blindfold-goggles. She held them up. The key to our potential friendship dangled between us. She smelled them, wrinkling her nose, then pulled them on. After a second, she pushed them high on her forehead.
“No thanks,” she said.
Howe and I looked at each other. The half-baked plan depended on her agreeing to be blindfolded. Without that, the plan wasn’t baked at all.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she continued. “How am I supposed to have an adventure if I’m blindfolded? That’s just weird. You guys have fun with your Kidney and Vegetables Club. I’m going home.” She stood.
“Wait,” I said, trying not to sound as desperate as I felt. She couldn’t leave. I had to ask her. “Why did you come tonight?”
She shrugged. “So I could see the lab. Obviously. Also, Dana’s in Cleveland. The last two days have been pretty boring.”
Boring. That was familiar.
“Also, just so you know,” she said, pulling on the goggles one more time. “These things really stink. They smell like felt tip marker, and nobody’s going to want to wear them.” She looked around. “That said, they black out everything pretty well. I can’t see a thing.”
“Howe,” I said, thinking quickly. “Give me some broccoli. Now.”
11:35 p.m.
Em was now completely tangled in broccoli, kale, garlic, peppers, and blue yarn. Her arms were tied down by her sides, thick with broccoli. She had a kale scarf. Her hands were useless and extremely garlicky. And the blindfold-goggles were still on.
“You misheard me, Kidney Face. I said I was not doing the adventure.”
We were five minutes late. Maybe we could make up the time on the walk to the recording studio. That could work.
“You were bored,” I said. “Now you’re not.”
11:36 p.m.
Howe and I left Em in the lobby and walked quickly down the Hall of Innards.
“Thanks,” I said. “For loaning me your vegetables so I could tie up my ex–best friend.”
“Anytime,” said Howe, rearranging the couple of vegetable strands he had left. “I mean, I don’t exactly think it’s a good idea. But I’m also not sure any of this is technically a good idea.”
“Excellent point,” I said as we stepped into the lab and the heads all started talking at the same time. “Hold on, everybody. There’s a slight adjustment to the plan. We’re bringing somebody along with us. And this is important: she can’t know about you. We have to keep her from knowing that you’re—”
Lake interrupted. “Devastatingly handsome?”
“No. That you don’t have bodies.”
“That’s going to be a tough one,” he said thoughtfully. “I mean, I’m good at impressions, but—”
“No,” I said. “No, no—you don’t have to do anything. Please don’t do anything, actually. She’s wearing the blindfold I made for Howe’s tryout. And she’s sort of…tied up. So she won’t be taking the blindfold off either. But if you mention that you are just heads, even subliminally, I’m bringing you back immediately.”
“That seems fair,” said Andy.
“Great. So we’re all agreed? No talking about not having bodies?”
“When do we ever do that?” asked Lake.
“I believe we can accommodate you,” said Andy, cutting off what was clearly about to become another yelling match. “Gentlemen?”
They mumbled in agreement.
“Great,” I said. “We have to move fast to make up time.”
Andy told us where to find some coolers, and while the heads discussed our outfits like we weren’t even there, Howe and I started digging around under the big sink.
“That one?” Howe asked, pointing at a smallish lunch-size cooler that would probably hold one head comfortably. I nodded, slid it out, and handed it to him. He opened it and checked inside. Empty, thankfully. “So why did you guys stop being friends?”
“It’s complicated,” I said, scooting over a few boxes labeled SUCTION CANISTERS. “Which is to say, I don’t actually know. She said I was boring, but I’m the same person I used to be and she liked me just fine before.”
He was quiet for a minute and then said, “That is complicated.”
I hadn’t talked to anybody about it yet, because I definitely couldn’t talk to Em about it, or the Lauras, and no way was I going to talk to my parents about it, and if I could not talk to Grandma Van about anything ever, that would be perfect. But it was kind of nice talking about it to Howe.
Too bad we were running late. “Can you help me with this?”
Together, we eased out the big cooler. It was a flashy Chicago Football cooler, and had about enough room for two heads. The other head would have to ride solo in the smaller cooler.
“Shotgun!” Lake yelled.
“Fabulous,” McMullen mumbled.
Since we’d lost time tying up Em, I wasn’t about to let them argue about who got which cooler: without any more discussion, I used some Hippocrates oven mitts I’d grabbed from home to pop the guys into the coolers, McMullen and Andy in the big cooler, and Lake in the little Styrofoam cooler with a picture of a walrus on one side. The walrus had a bow tie, a dopey smile, and a cartoon bubble that said NICE ICE.
“Oh. Do you need ice?” I asked. “I didn’t think of that.”
“No! No,” Andy said. “We need to keep defrosting. It’s a long process, you know.”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to know,” I said. “The only thing I want to know is if you need ice.”
“Maybe if you have a little something to pour over the ice…” Lake suggested.
“Lake,” Andy warned.
“Tyrant.”
When I’d finished getting everybody packed, I turned to Howe, who was inspecting a plastic skeleton dangling in one corner of the lab. “Which one do you want?” I asked.
He let go of the plastic leg bone he’d been holding in the air. “Which what do I want?”
“Which cooler?”
He gave me a blank look.
“I am not dragging three heads all the way to this place by myself, Howe. I hereby amend the verbal contract so it states that you are required to carry a minimum of one head.”
He sighed. “I’ll do it, but see, you can’t just amend the contract whenever you want to. This is exactly what my mom says is the problem with verbal contracts.” He looked at the two coolers, then pointed to the smaller one. “I’ll take that one.”
“Fine. Keep it steady.”
“Yes, please,” Lake said from inside.
I put the lid on Lake and handed him to Howe. Then I looked down into the big cooler. I could only see the tops of the heads, like two giant hairy eggs. “Okay in there?”
“Could be worse,” Andy said.
“Hmmph,” McMullen said.
I closed the lid, grabbed the handle, and rolled the big cooler out of the lab and down the Hall of Innards.
“Wait,” said Howe, catching up to me. “That one has wheels?”
“No take-backs.”
11:39 p.m.
“This is absurd.”
We hadn’t even gotten out of the lobby and Em was refusing to move. “I can’t walk if I can’t see.”
“She’s got a point.” Howe had rested the small cooler on the desk and was retying both of his shoes.
“Of course I have a point,” she said. “Maybe you should reconsider kidnapping somebody and making them be part of your secret club when they don’t want to be a part of it.”
“Are we talking about kidnapping again?” asked Lake from the cooler on the desk. “Can we revisit that Tiger Kidnapping business? And also, can I ask for a little more information about the secret club? Is there a handshake? Because—”
I hit the cooler and heard him thump against the side.
“Oh. Right. Never mind.”
“Who said that?” Em asked, moving her head around like she was trying to find a spot I might have missed with the blackout marker.
“Everybody relax!” I said. “There’s no kidnapping happening. We’re just helping spice up Em’s summer.” It was going to be short-lived spice if I couldn’t figure out how to get her to Nussbaum’s.
“Too bad she doesn’t have wheels,” said Andy from inside the big cooler. “This is quite smooth, actually.”
“A little crowded, though,” said McMullen.
“WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?”
“Em, this is the rest of Howe’s barbershop quartet. Andy, Lake, and McMullen. Guys, this is my fr—this is Em.”
She frowned. “Why do they sound so muffled?”
“They are…”
“We’re singers!” said Lake from the walrus cooler. “We’re just saving our voices.”
We all waited a moment to see if Em was going to buy it.
“Hmm. Smart,” she said.
How about that? I thought. The guys were actually being helpful. And suddenly I knew what to do about the problem of walking a blindfolded person fifteen blocks downtown.
11:42 p.m.
Outside in the warm night air, the rest of the gang waited for me to lock the door. Howe looked around nervously as he held Lake. Next to him was the large cooler with the other two guys inside, and Em, blindfolded and tied up with yarn and veggies, sitting on top of it.
We’d ridden horses at camp once. So okay, this wasn’t really a horse. And she was riding backwards. She’d be fine. As soon as she stopped being angry, she’d be totally fine.
I pulled out the keys and tried not to second-guess myself. Once I locked the door and we walked away, there was no turning back. Or at least, turning back was going to be way more awkward. I held the key ring in the streetlight to find the right key, and as I did, something a block away clattered. Howe and I both jumped, staring down the dark street.
Nothing. A few parked cars, a flickering streetlight. On the far side of the street, the stairs to the train platform were empty.
I looked to Howe and he shrugged slightly.
Midnight was closing in. It was definitely time to get moving.
I locked the door and we started the walk to Nussbaum’s. Em and the heads were in the dark, literally, what with her being blindfolded and them being stuck inside coolers, but Howe and I stayed on the alert for any sort of lurking danger. I wished the cooler wasn’t so creaky—it clearly wasn’t made to carry people. Entire people, anyway. It probably would have been fine with just the heads. But having Em as a passenger meant that the wheels made a grinding noise as we went, and nothing I did seemed to make them roll quieter. We were about halfway down the block when Howe suddenly started walking faster. “What’s wrong with you?” I asked, trying to keep up.
“Don’t look,” he said, “but I think we’re being followed.”
I looked.
“I said don’t look.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“I don’t see anything either!” said Em from on top of the cooler. “Because, if you recall, you’re making me wear this blindfold.”
“I’m not being funny,” said Howe.
&nb
sp; “Neither am I,” she said.
“I’m serious,” he said, sounding rattled. “Don’t talk. Walk. Look casual.”
We walked, trying to move a little faster but at the same time appear as casual as a kidney and James Bond and a blindfolded vegetable stand on a cooler possibly could. As we crossed the street, Howe glanced behind us again. “Cheese it!” he cried, and bolted ahead of me.
“Cheese what?” asked Em, her question turning into a shriek as I yanked the cooler and started running. “Hold on!” I called back.
“WHAT! THE! HECK!” She’d flopped down onto her stomach, and since she didn’t have her arms free, was holding on with her legs.
Most of me was thinking: RUN, but I admit, there was also a part that went like this: If nothing else, this is definitely going to make Em realize that I have a lot of exciting stuff going on. I pulled the cooler as hard as I could, trying to close the distance between me and Howe, and Em let out a yell as one of the wheels jammed.
The jammed wheel made the cooler swerve erratically, and I had to jerk it forward with every running step while Em just kept saying, “WHAT. THE. HECK” over and over again. I finally caught up with Howe, who was definitely struggling with the too-tight elements of the tuxedo, and I could hear Lake thumping against the small cooler as Howe’s feet hit the ground. This didn’t look good for any of us.
We turned a corner, and Howe pulled us into the darkened entryway of a run-down old flower shop, fake daffodils still in the windows. I was so out of breath I wasn’t sure how much longer I could have run. I dragged the cooler and Em against the door where the shadows were heaviest and whispered, “Quiet, everybody!”
I tried to breathe quietly. Exist quietly.
Standing beside me, Howe held the little cooler tight, and both of us shrank into the shadows. I hoped Em could stay quiet for a minute. And I hoped Howe was right, that by hiding like this, we’d lose whoever was following us. Because if he was wrong, we were now sitting ducks.
The Mortification of Fovea Munson Page 11