by Barbara Dee
“Yeah, I guess. But it’s important for my mom, so . . .” Now Zachary was staring past the plants, out the window, as if he were already gone from school, already back in Florida with his dad. In a completely different time zone.
And I thought what an idiot I was, how selfish, to be dragging him into the principal’s office when he was dealing with all of that at home. But he should have said something in the hallway, before we came in here. Or a few hours ago, in the library, when I shoved the Life Cycle at him. And fought with him about that stupid CINCH tattoo.
Because how was I supposed to know things if he didn’t tell me?
And then telling me here, in front of the principal? Now, when we’d come to defend Maya?
It just seemed unfair. To all of us. All of it.
Fisher-Greenglass unfolded her hands. “Yes, Zachary, your mom called me with the news this morning. I told her I was really sorry to hear it, because you were doing so well. Especially socially.”
He shrugged. I didn’t know what else to do, so I nodded.
Fisher-Greenglass added, “And I’m sure many of your classmates will miss you.”
She caught my eye and gave me a sympathetic smile, like she understood that Zachary’s news affected me, too. The principal was actually a nice person, I thought. But she couldn’t fix this.
Nobody talked. The bell rang. We could hear a bunch of kids laughing loudly out in the hallway, and then Ms. Hanrahan call out, “Walk, please,” followed by more laughing and the sound of frantic running.
Ms. Fisher-Greenglass cleared her throat and said, “So about all this flypaper nonsense: I take it there’s been some back-and-forth between the eighth-grade boys and girls?”
“Yes, but it’s over now,” I said.
“Good to hear that, Finley. You know, you certainly caused Mr. Lundquist some extra work, and we could have had a pest infestation from those crumbs. And I’m not just talking about houseflies. Also, I don’t know if the flypaper fumes were toxic, but they were certainly unpleasant.”
Irk. Something else I hadn’t thought about.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “They were supposedly organic.”
“Even if they were, that doesn’t mean the whole school should have been inhaling them.” She studied my face for a few seconds. “All right, Finley,” she finally said. “I haven’t decided anything official yet, but I can tell you there’ll be a service project in your future involving some sort of payback to the school—maybe assisting Ms. Krieger in the library.”
“Oh, sure, fine with me,” I said quickly.
“As for Maya, she has a few things to iron out with Señor Hansen, but we’re in the process of working on that. I can’t tell you very much right now, just that she’ll be back in school on Monday, and she’ll have some sort of service project as well.” Ms. Fisher-Greenglass turned back to Zachary, and suddenly her voice was kind again. “Zachary, the thing for you right now is to get yourself home. It sounds to me like you need to start packing.”
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I do. Um, well, so thanks for everything.”
They both stood. He hesitated for a second; then he threw his arms around her in a Maya-style squeeze.
It was excruciating to watch. But I did.
He bolted out of the office without even glancing in my direction. I sat there for a second, in shock.
In the same sort of sympathetic voice, Ms. Fisher-Greenglass said, “You okay, then, Finley?”
“Me?” I said. “Oh, sure, yes, perfect.”
And I zombie-walked out to the lobby area, where everyone was still waiting.
CHAPTER 25
After dinner that night, I offered to help Mom give Max and Addie their baths. The way we did it was Mom and Max in the kitchen, me with Addie in the upstairs bathtub. It was surprisingly fun; I sang “The Eensy-Weensy Spider” while I was shampooing her wispy hair, and Addie loved it so much she kept demanding “AGAIN.” The amazing thing was, by the end of the bath she knew most of the words. And I had to admit that, for a two-year-old, my little sister was pretty smart.
As for Max . . . well, when Mom was finished with him, her T-shirt was soaked, but she was beaming.
“It works so much better one-on-one,” she said. “No more double baths ever again, I swear.”
“I’ll help you with the baths, if you want,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
Mom gave me a wet hug. “Thank you, Awesome Daughter,” she said into my hair.
After the Terrible Two were finally in their toddler beds, I closed my bedroom door. Mom and Dad were going to take my camera for a month, but starting tomorrow, so tonight I decided to take my own photo. A selfie, I guess you could call it. I wasn’t even thinking about the yearbook—it was too late to submit photos, anyway. But I still wanted some picture of myself that wasn’t generic. That wasn’t just Eighth-Grade Girl Smiling for the Camera. That showed me, or at least how I felt right then. Even if what I felt was a muddled, tangled mess.
Because what if I wanted to remember it someday? This photo might be what I had instead of a memory.
I stood in front of my mirror for a long time, like fifteen minutes. But all I saw was a pool-noodle-shaped girl with too many freckles and boring brown hair.
What other people saw. Nothing hidden behind my eyes or underneath my skin. No secrets, no mystery, no weirdness.
I picked up my camera. Maybe if I zoomed in on myself I’d notice something shocking. Or if I used the wide angle I could get some sort of ugly/beautiful distortion.
I pressed the buttons. Then I looked in the mirror, watching myself press the buttons.
What I saw was myself, with a camera covering my face.
Click.
There it was. My self-portrait.
• • •
A couple of weeks later, I asked Ms. Fisher-Greenglass for Zachary’s e-mail address. For some reason I couldn’t explain, I’d decided to e-mail him my self-portrait. And as long as I was attaching photos, I sent him the four photos I’d taken on the stairwell after he’d (accidentally) noticed the Life Cycle and I’d (mistakenly) invited him to Chloe’s party.
To go with the photos I wrote this note:
Hey Zachary,
I thought you might like to see these. I still don’t know what I’m doing, but I guess I’m learning. Ish.
I’m sorry we ended on a fight. I still think your stepbrother’s mnemonic was dumb and that his view of girls was totally lame. But maybe the Life Cycle wasn’t that different, so probably we’re even in messing up. Anyhow, I hope we can be friends in the future.
I liked that last sentence. It didn’t say, Everything is fine between us, lalala, because honestly, I didn’t know if that was true.
But I did hope we could be friends sometime. So that part wasn’t a lie.
The ending of the note was tricky. I didn’t want to end it with “love,” because I didn’t. “Talk to you soon” was out because I didn’t know if we would. “Best” was too formal, “ciao” was too pretentious, and “sincerely” was too . . . I don’t know. Unsmiling.
So in the end I decided on “See you, Finley.”
Because the funny thing was, when I looked at the stairwell photos, I realized I had.
• • •
A few days later, Zachary e-mailed back:
Hey Finley,
Thanks for the photos. They’re great, although I have to say I look a little slimy. And green. But maybe I was feeling sort of amphibian that day? It’s possible.
It’s okay here, and school is mostly pretty decent, considering it’s school. I’m not sorry I came back to Fulton, but it was probably not the best idea to show up in the middle of the year, even with so-called “tips” from Kieran. Some things you have to figure out as you go along, I guess.
Anyhow, right now my plan is to come back to Fulton in the fall and start high school with everyone else. Restart, whatever. It will NOT be a CINCH. But my mom got another promotion, which means she won’t be traveling all the time now, so bo
th my parents say they’re willing to give it a shot.
Not a hook shot, so don’t worry.
Really sorry if I hurt your feelings, Finley. The truth is I’ve always thought of you in 3-D. So maybe next time send a hologram of yourself instead of a photo? Haha, joke.
See you in a few months. I’m usually pretty lazy over the summer, but if you e-mail or text, promise I’ll answer.
—Zach
Zach, I thought. He’d changed his identity again. But it sounded right—I couldn’t say why, but he seemed like a Zach.
Zach. Zach Mattison.
For some reason, I was smiling.
CHAPTER 26
Anyway, that’s everything that happened in the past tense.
Now it’s ten-thirty p.m. on September 2, the night before the First Day of High School. My clothes are all picked out, my backpack is empty, my phone is charged, my nails are polished, and my stomach feels like a tangled blob of flypaper. I’m hoping I won’t get lost as I look for my classrooms; I’m hoping my teachers are as nice as Ms. Krieger and Ms. Fisher-Greenglass and not as evil as Hairy Hands. I’m hoping I see Maya at lunch, and Olivia and Hanna, too, that I make the basketball team, that I get to take photos for the newspaper.
Also: I’m hoping Zachary—I mean Zach—meets me in the library, the way we planned.
I want to see him from the beginning.
Barbara Dee is the author of Trauma Queen, This Is Me from Now On, Solving Zoe (Bank Street Best Children’s Books) and Just Another Day in My Insanely Real Life (Publishers Weekly starred review). A former English teacher, she runs creative writing workshops for kids and frequently presents at schools and libraries. Barbara is one of the founders and directors of the Chappaqua Children’s Book Festival. She lives in Westchester County, New York, with her family, two naughty cats, and a visiting hound dog named Dipper (who thinks all cats are squirrels). Read more about Barbara at www.BarbaraDeeBooks.com.
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ALSO BY BARBARA DEE
Trauma Queen
This Is Me From Now On
Solving Zoe
Just Another Day in My Insanely Real Life
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALADDIN M!X
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First Aladdin M!X edition September 2014
Text copyright © 2014 by Barbara Dee
Cover illustration copyright © 2014 by Vera Brosgol
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Cover design by Karina Granda
Interior design by Hilary Zarycky
The text of this book was set in Plantin.
Library of Congress Control Number 2014933151
ISBN 978-1-4814-0563-8 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4814-0564-5 (eBook)