Ellen giggled, and a screen appeared next to her. I stared at the image inside: Ellen riding the Ferris wheel with Scott and laughing while he talked. It occurred to me that when Scott and I rode the Swisher together at the carnival, we’d both been pretty quiet. It’s hard to talk when you’re on a roller coaster.
I’d been so sure that Scott liked me. He’d sent me those Red Hots. That meant something, right?
But the note on the Red Hots was anonymous, I reminded myself. It could’ve been from anyone. Maybe there had been a mistake somewhere. Maybe I didn’t have a secret admirer, after all.
“Ellen wants to ask Scott to the Sadie Hawkins dance.” Stacy said it triumphantly, like she was so proud Ellen told her first.
“Oh. That’s a good idea.” I hung my head and sewed on another sequin. I wanted to believe that if Ellen and I both asked Scott to the dance, he’d pick me. But that was the thing about having a best friend who was pretty and smart and outgoing: They never did pick you. In image-conscious middle school Ellen was pure gold, and I felt like less than a dirty penny. In my head I could imagine Scott dancing with Ellen onstage in her sparkling Cinderella dress, and then whisking her off to the Sadie Hawkins dance like she was a real princess.
“I want to ask him,” Ellen said. “But not if he’s just going to say no.”
I kept my head down, and kept sewing. After years of being Ellen’s best friend, I knew where this conversation was going.
“So, I was wondering, could you find out for me?” Ellen asked. “You seem to just know things. I don’t know how, but I swear, sometimes I think you can read minds. You could find out if he’d say yes. Scott likes you, you know. He told me he thinks you’re funny.”
Funny. Not beautiful, or smart, or even cute. Just funny. I looked over to the corner. Scott laughed as Charlie pulled a red wig from the trunk and stuck it on his head.
“Please, Callie. Do this for me, please? Best friends forever, right?” Now Ellen held her pinkie out. Instead of holding mine out, I looked at the screen hovering next to her and read her thoughts: What’s her problem? I’m just asking her to do one tiny little thing.
Tiny little thing? Whatever. She could’ve just asked me to stuff my heart in her Cinderella costume so she could assault it with her sewing needles.
“I don’t know. What would I say to him?”
“Ask him if he’s going to the dance. Act casual, like you’re just making conversation.”
“What if he thinks I’m trying to ask him out myself ?”
“He won’t,” Ellen said. Callie, ask a guy out? Yeah, right.
Two minutes ago I’d been preparing to do exactly that. Before Her Royal Highness Ellen chose the worst time ever to start talking to me about boys. What happened to her secretly thinking that “Callie wouldn’t understand”?
“And then if he says he’s not going to the dance,” Ellen was saying, “you could say I wanted to go, but I wasn’t sure who to ask.”
I wished with all my heart I’d stayed with the paint crew today. Why did I think I needed Ellen’s advice to ask Scott out, anyway? Miss Uberconfident herself wasn’t going to personally risk rejection—she was like a general sending in the infantry to get shot down before swooping in to claim victory.
“Please, Callie?” Ellen asked, pinkie still raised.
I looked over at Stacy, and read her thoughts: If Callie won’t do it, then I will. That’ll show Ellen who her best friend really is.
“All right, I’ll do it,” I said, crossing my pinkie with Ellen’s just as Stacy opened her mouth.
“Great,” Ellen said. Something in her expression changed then, and she said, “Didn’t you used to have a little crush on Scott last year?”
Little crush? Did she listen to me at all? I considered saying yes and that I still liked him, and if she didn’t mind, I’d like to ask Scott to the dance.
But I knew I couldn’t do that. Being a best friend meant that, sometimes, you were the infantry. And maybe, if I found out Scott didn’t like Ellen back, I’d have a chance. Maybe he’d say he liked me and wanted to go to the dance with me.
And maybe, Ellen actually wouldn’t be mad about that.
“You don’t still like him, do you?” Ellen asked when I hesitated. But the screen bobbing next to her, showing me her thoughts, told me Ellen wasn’t interested in hearing the truth: Say no, Callie. Geez, just say no. What’s taking her so long?
“Ellen,” Mr. Angelo called from the stage, “could you come up here for a minute?”
Ellen and I both stood up. “I don’t like him,” I said, taking my glasses off and tucking them into my back pocket. “I’ll find out and let you know.”
From the stage, Ana gave me a knowing smile as I walked toward Scott and Charlie. I smiled back thinly. She probably thought I was approaching Scott to ask him out myself.
Charlie pulled an oversize pair of plastic black glasses from the trunk, stuck them on his face, and fluffed his red wig. “Hey, Polka Dot, check it out. We’re twins!”
“Funny.” I looked away, glad he couldn’t read my mind—because it was full of nasty thoughts. I didn’t need to be reminded about my glasses and frizzy hair. Not right now.
“What’s up?” Scott asked, picking through a trunk.
“Not much. I need a prop for Stacy. Something Wicked Stepmother worthy,” I said, crouching down next to him and opening another trunk.
“I’ll help. What does she want?” Charlie asked, taking off the glasses and wig.
“Oh, just whatever,” I said, turning away from him and looking at Scott. “By the way, someone stuck a box of Red Hots in my locker this morning.”
“Oh yeah? How’d they do that?” Scott looked interested. I couldn’t tell if he really wanted to know, or if he was being flirty.
“Did you enjoy them?” Charlie asked softly.
“Sure,” I said distractedly, focusing on Scott. “I loved them.”
“Charlie,” Mr. Angelo called from the stage, “could you come up here, please?”
Behind me I heard Charlie take off his wig and glasses and slam them back into the trunk. “I’ll just leave you two alone,” he said, and stalked away.
“He’s been acting weird all day,” Scott said.
I nodded and looked out at the multipurpose room as I reached back in my pocket for my glasses, and slipped them on.
The air shimmered and blue screens launched up around everyone. Mr. Angelo coached Ellen and Charlie onstage.
“Brilliant, Charlie. You’re a natural. But Ellen, you need to put some emotion in it,” Mr. Angelo said. “This isn’t a book report, you know. Feel Cinderella. Feel her character. Feel the emotion. You need to remember your objective.”
“All right, Mr. Angelo. I get it,” Ellen said. From her thoughts though, it was clear she didn’t get it. Right now, my objective is to get off this stupid stage and away from my annoying teacher.
Next to Ellen, Charlie grimaced, and I read his thoughts: Forget it. She’s too wrapped up in Scott to listen to anyone. Why did you even try?
I suppressed a smile. I felt bad for thinking it, but a part of me felt happy that Mr. Angelo—and Charlie—thought Ellen wasn’t doing well in drama. Then I turned back to Scott. Time for the moment of truth.
“So, Ellen and I were talking about the Sadie Hawkins dance.”
“Oh yeah? Have you guys asked anyone yet?” Words scrolled across the screen that launched up next to him: She’s so pretty. I wish she’d ask me.
I blinked and wrapped my fingers around the trunk handle for support. Did Scott mean Ellen, or me? A part of me wanted to raise my hand, jump up and down, and shout, “Pick me, pick me, pick me!”
“No, I—we—haven’t,” I said, gripping the trunk handle tighter. “Any suggestions?”
Scott shrugged, but the screen hovering next to him showed me what I needed to know: Scott and Ellen dancing close together. Scott leaning toward Ellen, and Ellen leaning toward Scott …
I squeezed the
trunk handle tighter and tighter. If I squeezed that handle hard enough, I could keep my voice from wavering and my eyes from watering.
What had I been thinking? Why would someone like Scott like someone like me? Especially when he could have someone like Ellen?
Scott’s thoughts changed then: Dude, she’s got that death-stare thing going on again. Totally creepy.
I squeezed the handle so hard my hand hurt.
“Okay, nice talking to you,” I said. I stood up and slunk back to Stacy and Ellen, who had just been released from the stage.
“What did he say?” Ellen asked eagerly.
I smiled so widely I probably sprained a mouth muscle. “Go for it. He’ll say yes.”
With an excited giggle, Ellen headed over to Scott.
When I turned back to Stacy, she had a strange look on her face. And her thoughts were even stranger: Oh, I get it. Callie liked him. I remember that. I remember when they never liked me back.
What did Stacy remember? Who never liked her back? I ripped off my glasses and tossed them onto my backpack. I was so sick of reading people’s thoughts. Most of the time, their thoughts were just as confusing as their words. And I was tired of it. I stomped over to the paint crew; they were busy with a scene from the ball.
“Hi, Callie,” Gretchen said. “Can you help me? I’m having trouble mixing the colors again.”
“Later, okay?” I said as I plopped down next to Ana. “He never liked me,” I whispered to her. “He liked Ellen all along.”
Ana was silent. Then she handed me a brush and said, “Pintura conmigo. Paint with me.”
I grabbed the brush. After I’d made a few strokes I heard her say softly, “Él es muy estúpido. Scott is very stupid.”
“You’re right,” I said. “He is very stupid.”
And then I began to cry.
Chapter 14
Super Freaky Glasses Rule #13
Some gifts you just can’t get rid of. No matter how hard you try.
“DR. INGRAM WILL SEE YOU NOW.”
I nodded at Mrs. Dillard and heaved myself off the plushy red velvet sofa. Mom had needed to pick something up at the teacher supply store. Instead of hanging out in the doughnut shop, I told her I wanted to stop by Dr. Ingram’s and see if my glasses had arrived.
When I entered the examination room, Dr. Ingram was polishing his glasses.
“Callie, what a nice surprise. Unfortunately, your glasses are still on back order. Normally, it wouldn’t take this long, but this seems to be a special case. If you would kindly sit down.” Dr. Ingram gestured to the exam chair, like he was inviting me in for tea or something.
“No. I don’t want to sit.” I pointed behind him, where framed diplomas hung on the wall. “Just what kind of a doctor are you, anyway?”
Dr. Ingram looked surprised as he put his glasses back on. “I’m a doctor who helps people see. I would have thought that was quite obvious.”
“Oh yeah?” I held up my glasses. “Do you have any idea what I’ve seen the past two months? These glasses are making my life miserable.”
“Really, how so?” Dr. Ingram squinted at me through his glasses, and I wondered, Did his glasses have magic powers like mine?
“Are you reading my thoughts right now?” I asked.
Dr. Ingram hesitated. “You’re angry and quite upset with me.”
“Ha, I knew it! You can read my thoughts.”
“Not at all. It doesn’t take a mind reader, or even a particularly observant person, to see that you’re angry. What I’m wondering is why?”
“Why? Are you kidding? Ever since you gave me these stupid glasses my life has just gotten worse.” I held the glasses out to Dr. Ingram. “Take them back.”
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I cannot.”
“Why not?”
“Because the glasses you hold are truly special. Everyone I’ve ever loaned them to has developed a strange connection to them. Though I must confess, I’m not sure why. I’ve found that the recipients of those glasses need them in more ways than they originally imagined.”
I didn’t believe him. I think he knew exactly what my glasses could do. “You knew something was up with my glasses. You even told me to use them wisely.”
“I see. And did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Use them wisely?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters,” Dr. Ingram said. “Some gifts are given to us that we may learn, not so we won’t suffer. And some of the best gifts in the world are those that first cause us pain.”
I walked farther into the office and sank into the examination chair. Somehow, I didn’t think “using the glasses wisely” meant using them to keep your best friend, or trying to find out who your crush liked. Although they definitely qualified in the painful department.
“What is it you want me to learn?” I asked, leaning my head back against the cool leather. “You tell me to use the glasses wisely, but I don’t even know what that means. How can I understand anything you say when you always speak in puzzles?
“If you’ve got some grand plan for these glasses,” I continued, “then you should’ve given them to someone else. Someone smarter. Someone braver. Someone who could make a difference.”
“Who’s to say you aren’t that someone?” Dr. Ingram said softly. “Sometimes vision correction takes time. Fear not, Calliope Meadow Anderson. I am sure the glasses will reveal their purpose in due course. For it’s not that I have ‘some grand plan,’ as you say, for these glasses. But perhaps these glasses have some grand plan for you.”
“Whatever,” I said. “You’re talking in puzzles again.”
The bell jingled, and I stood up at the sound of Mom’s voice.
“Promise me you’ll think about what I said,” Dr. Ingram said as I turned to leave.
“I promise.” I hesitated, and then asked, “Ellen tried on my glasses. How come she couldn’t see what I see?”
Dr. Ingram thought for a second. “I suppose there are those who see, and those who do not want to see.”
My optometrist, the philosopher.
As I walked out the door, I heard Dr. Ingram grumbling to himself. “One thing I always liked about that Cinderella. She was always so thankful to her fairy godmother.”
I said good-bye to Mrs. Dillard then, and made a decision: Next time I needed to get my eyes checked, I was heading to the mall.
Chapter 15
Super Freaky Glasses Rule #14
One very unwise use of the glasses: spying on people when they’re lost in Coupleland. Can you say ewww?
WHEN YOUR BEST FRIEND GETS HER FIRST BOYFRIEND, IT’S a total bummer. Especially when you have a crush on said boyfriend. Ellen had always been time conscious, but now she took it to a whole new level. Our conversations were all about minutes now. How many minutes Ellen spent on the phone with Scott. How many minutes until Ellen got to see Scott. How many minutes since Ellen had last seen Scott.
Oh, and get this: Scott wrote Ellen poetry. That’s right. Last year, I dreamed about receiving a romantic haiku from Scott. This year, Ellen actually did.
We had conversations about Scott. We had conversations about Scott’s feelings. We had conversations about Ellen’s feelings about Scott’s feelings.
Scott and Ellen had been dating for a few weeks, and they were practically one person now. In my head (and in the stories I wrote), I secretly called them Scotlen.
Scott and Ellen walked each other to class, ate lunch together, and hung all over each other in drama class. I started sitting with Ana in drama, safely away from Scotlen’s lovesick aura.
“Don’t look at them,” Ana advised me one day after we’d taken seats on the floor of the multipurpose room to practice our lines.
“I’m not looking at them.”
“I’m just saying. They’re being all—what are the words you said?—flirty faced. They’re being flirty faced, yes?”
“How would I know if they’re bein
g flirty faced? I’m not looking at them, remember?” I glanced across the room. Stacy and Charlie—both of them looking uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed—sat on either side of Scott and Ellen, who giggled at a private joke. “Yep. They’re being flirty faced. It’s totally disgusting.”
Ana grinned. “Like, totally, for sure.”
We cracked up, and I felt a little better. Ana and I ate lunch together more often, on account of me feeling the urge to barf whenever I ate with Scotlen. On the days Ana wasn’t tutoring me in Spanish, I’d started tutoring her in the all-important tongue of California Valley Girl.
I peeked over at Ellen and Scott again and pulled my glasses out of my backpack. Use your glasses wisely. I’d been thinking about what that meant, but after a few weeks, I still had no clue.
I slipped the glasses on. The air shimmered and the screens appeared, showing me Scotlen’s dopey love thoughts. Yuck. Definitely not a wise use of the glasses.
“I told you not to look at them,” Ana said.
“I’m not looking at them.” I turned my attention back to my script.
Ana nudged my shoulder and said, “Look.”
I turned, and saw Stacy walking toward us with a tentative smile on her face.
“Can I sit with you guys?” she asked.
“Why?” I blurted out, and then heard Ana hiss, “Callie!” in a disapproving tone of voice.
Stacy didn’t say anything, but the air shimmered, and a screen sprang up next to her and a couple of images flashed by: of Stacy in the cafeteria, quietly eating her lunch while Ellen and Scott giggled next to her. Then of Stacy looking bored in Ellen’s room while Ellen talked on the phone (to Scott, I figured).
I moved my backpack. “I mean . . . sure, sit down.”
“Thanks.” Stacy sounded relieved.
“So how are things over in Coupleland?” I asked.
“Oh, you know, it’s sort of like The Scott and Ellen Show.”
We all turned to look at Scotlen—who continued to flirt and giggle. Charlie smiled at us, looked at Scott and Ellen, and rolled his eyes. Then he pretended to choke himself. Ana, Stacy, and I busted up laughing.
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