Scott leaves eventually, and we haven’t come up with a plan that could work. After he’s gone, I sit on my bed, staring into space. Then I remember I made James ask Meg what she thinks about Danny. I mean, what she thinks about me. So I fire up the computer again. And, let me see, yes! There’s a reply.
Hi, James, writes Meg. Danny? He’s a great guy. A little quiet at first but nice once you get to know him.
Meg has actually written a long paragraph about me.
I remember my first real conversation with Danny. I ran into him at a record store. He went on and on about some band I’d never heard of. But when you get to know him, Danny is a totally nice guy. He’s funny. And quite good-looking.
Did I read that right? Quite good-looking?
I jump off the chair and start doing a dance all around the bedroom. It’s this funny dance I do when something really good happens to me. I call it the Apache Dance. My knees go up really high, but I barely move my arms. It’s super energetic. Needless to say, I only do the Apache Dance in private, because it probably looks mental. I let out a few whoops.
From upstairs, Mom calls out, “Danny! Breakfast!” But I don’t answer right away. Instead, pretending to be James, I write a reply to Meg’s note about me.
Dear Meg, You’re quite right about Danny. He is a tremendous person. In fact, he’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had.
I drum my fingers on my desk as I try to think of more good things to say about me.
You are indeed right about his sense of humor. He’s one of the funniest guys. Also, Danny is super, super smart. I don’t know any geniuses. But I think Danny is about as close to one as I’ve encountered.
Hmm. What else?
Oh yes, I write. Danny is also quite a party monster. Loves, loves, loves to party. It’s hard to keep up with him.
I hit Send, and guess what? Meg is online, and she responds right away.
Party monster? I didn’t have Danny pegged as that. He seems more the thoughtful type.
What the heck? Who does Meg think I am? Some kind of nerd?
No, no, I write back. Danny spends several nights a week partying. In fact, it surprises me that he does so well at school. He’s what we in England call a party-basher.
There. Send.
Meg asks James more questions. About what life was like in Britain. About how he’s liking Canada. As I get caught up in the conversation, I imagine myself as James and what it would be like in a new country. Still in James mode, I tell Meg she seems good- looking from her photo. Only I write “quite striking” instead of good-looking, as that seems more English.
James, do you ever visit Victoria? Meg writes.
Yes, quite often. I’ll be there tomorrow, in fact, I write.
How about meeting for coffee, or hot chocolate? Or tea? ’Cause you’re British. LOL!
Yes, that would be lovely.
Okay. Why don’t we say 2:00 pm? There’s a coffee shop across from our school, writes Meg. It’s a date. She adds a smiley face.
I look forward to it, my dear. See you then. I write as James. I figure James would say something like “my dear.”
Then, just when I’m feeling all good about setting up a date with Meg, Scott walks back in.
“I thought you were going out,” I say.
“I did. I’m back. Hey, do you have that James FaceSpace page on your computer?”
When Scott says that, it brings me back to reality. It’s not me who just made a date with Meg. It’s James. And it’s tomorrow! What. Was. I. Thinking.
I’ve already told Scott about the whole fake James thing. So I tell him what just happened.
“Danny. Jeez. I can’t believe you did that. You’re not making things better, you know. We already agreed we don’t know anyone who could pretend to be James. Unless you want Chubs.”
“No, I do not want Chubs. I already told you that wouldn’t work.”
I groan, jump on my bed and stuff my head under the pillow. Why did I arrange for James to meet Meg? Mom calls me to breakfast again, only way louder this time. So I go upstairs, but not before telling Scott to keep a lid on my secret.
It’s hard to enjoy myself, even though it’s Saturday. I meet up with Brad. We shoot hoops at the outdoor court at the school, then hang out at the mall for a couple of hours. It’s fun. We buy hot dogs at Orange Julius and talk to some kids from school. It’s the sort of stuff I like doing.
At the same time, in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about Meg. It’s like a black cloud. Every time Brad says something funny and I laugh, I also think about this stupid date.
On the other hand, Meg did say some nice things about me. So it’s not all bad, right? Man, I don’t know. This situation is getting out of hand.
Chapter Eight
On Sunday morning I wake up even earlier than I did on Saturday. All night I had strange dreams about being chased down the hallways of an old-fashioned mansion.
In the dream, something’s after me, but I can’t see who or what it is. That makes it even worse. Just before I wake up, the evil thing finally catches up to me, and its icy hands surround my body. It feels like a ghost breathing on me. Only I’m being grabbed somehow.
I open my eyes, all groggy and confused. Then I sit bolt upright. Uh-oh. Today’s the day. Today James is going to meet Meg. The question is, how?
There’s only one solution. James has to die. That’s the only way out of this. If something happens to James—like he’s in a car accident—then he can’t visit Victoria and Meg. Obviously, being dead and all.
“James must die, James must die,” I think to myself. I get up and start pulling on my clothes. Then Scott stirs in the other bed.
“Danny. What are you talking about? You woke me up.”
“What do you mean?”
“All this ‘James must die stuff.’ What’s up with that?”
Yikes. I must have started saying it aloud. Am I losing my mind or what?
When Scott goes upstairs for breakfast, I put on some Black Sabbath. It’s an old song called “Paranoid.” Early heavy metal, from the seventies, with driving guitar. The singer sounds like some crazy guy on a hilltop cradling a machine gun.
“Paranoid” goes like this: People think I’m insane because I am frowning all the time/All day long I think of things but nothing seems to satisfy.
Mom yells at me to turn down the music and come up for breakfast. I snap out of it. The weird thing is, I’ve dressed myself all in black without realizing it. I’m wearing a black T-shirt, black jeans and black jacket, even. I check myself out in the mirror. I look like one of those crazy goth teenagers who go on murderous rampages. My face is all angry-looking, like the guy’s in the Black Sabbath song.
I’ve got to pull myself together.
The morning goes by too quickly. It’s almost noon before I know it. Two more hours before Meg meets James. What to do?
I log in as James on FaceSpace. There are tons of new friend requests for him. There are no new messages though. Almost without thinking, I type a status update for James.
Ran into some tough-looking dudes today. One guy looked like a gangster. Scary-looking.
A couple of people comment with stuff like, Really? and Tell us more. I think for a second, then write,
We live in a mixed neighborhood, close to East Van. You see a lot of crackle-heads.
I should have said crackheads, but I was typing too fast. Of course, right away a bunch of guys make fun of that. Saying stuff like, Crackle-heads? Dude, do you even know what you’re talking about?
Bad mistake. James is supposed to be cool.
We called them crackle-heads in the UK, I write quickly. No one questions it. I dodged a bullet there.
Meanwhile, I’m thinking about a plan. Let’s say James runs
into some bad guys in Vancouver. Drug dealers or something like that. There’s a gunfight, and James gets caught in the cross fire. A hail of bullets. Yeah.
The more I think about this idea, the more excited I get. I realize I can create a really cool memorial page for James, an amazing tribute made by his very best pal, Danny McBride. I can make it elaborate, with pictures of where he used to live in Britain and all that. It’ll be fun. And everyone will think I’m a good guy for doing it. “What a super nice person Danny is,” they’ll think.
Admittedly, there are a few holes in my plan. For one thing, some kids might want to know if James is going to have an actual memorial service. They might want to go. That’s a detail that could be worked out, I guess.
This isn’t going to solve the problem of James meeting up with Meg today. It is 12:47 already. James is supposed to be at the coffee shop in an hour. If only I’d thought of this gangster thing before. If only I hadn’t let my imagination get away with me.
The funny thing is, I know I’m not going to cancel the coffee date. It’s sort of like if James has a date with Meg, then I do too. Know what I mean? James is my creation, after all.
James is me.
At 1:45, I head out the door. I’ve traded my goth, psycho-killer outfit for something a little less intense. I’m wearing jeans and a green tennis shirt. My plan? I’m not sure yet.
The coffee shop is across from the school. It’s one of those places with big windows. You can see right in. As I get closer, I see Meg sitting there, bent over. It looks like she’s texting or something.
Oh man. What to do? Usually, I can come up with something, but today I’m drawing a blank. There’s a row of bushes by the coffee shop. I creep up behind them. Just to get a closer peek.
There’s this big branch in my way, blocking the view. When I move to try and get a better view, my foot hits something slippery. I tumble forward, and I roll out of the bushes. My right leg clunks against the window of the coffee shop. Right in front of Meg. Makes this huge clong that has everyone in the shop looking in my direction.
Meg looks up right away. She’s startled—she’s got that deer-in-the-headlights look. Then she smiles and waves.
What can I do? Of course, I go in to say hi.
“Hey, Meg.”
“Danny. What’s up?”
“Oh, you know. Not much. Just going for a walk, like.”
“Were you hiding in the bushes?” says Meg.
“What bushes?”
“The bushes you fell out of a minute ago.”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “Well, I was just checking those bushes out. Because, um, because Mom wants to get new bushes to go in front of the house. And these look like really good ones. Really thick leaves, you know.”
Meg smiles. She can tell my story is bogus. But she’s too nice to say so. That makes me feel even worse.
“Anyway, Meg. I’m also here for another reason.”
“Really? What?”
“James sent me here.” I’m making this up as I go along.
“He did?” says Meg. She frowns.
“Uh, yeah. James is worried that he’s being followed. That, like, someone is after him.”
Then I tell her this story about how James lives in a bad part of Vancouver. I tell her that he ran into some tough guys and, through no fault of his own, got into a hassle with them. I tell Meg there was some misunderstanding, that these bad guys have mistaken James for someone else. I tell her they chased him down the street and yelled that they were gonna get him. I finish by saying that it’s curtains for James.
“Curtains?” says Meg. “What do you mean?”
Why did I say “curtains”? That’s so lame. I must have got that from an old gangster movie or something.
“I think it’s an English term, curtains. Anyway, James wanted to be here, but he didn’t think it was safe to travel. He’s going to lay low for a few days. He’s really, really sorry.”
Meg looks disappointed. And puzzled. She tells me to sit down, since I’m there, and have a hot chocolate with her. Her treat. Hey, this is working out good.
“Danny,” says Meg after awhile. “James tells me you’re quite the party guy.”
“What?” I say.
“Yeah, he told me on FaceSpace. That you party a couple of times a week.”
I take a long, slow drink of my hot chocolate. It gives me time to think.
“Yes,” I finally say. “I do like to party. Quite a bit. Partying is excellent.”
“I’ve never seen you at any of the parties the kids at school have,” says Meg.
“Yes,” I say. “Well, that’s because I like to go to parties with older kids. You know. Grade eleven, grade twelve. Those guys are more…mature, like. We have more in-depth conversations.”
“Really?” Meg smiles. What is she thinking?
Then she invites me to a party she’s having that night. She’s going to invite Brad too. It’s a last-minute thing. It won’t be a big party, she says, just a few friends. Close friends.
“If James changes his mind about coming to Victoria, tell him to come too,” says Meg. “I have a feeling if you’re there, he might want to come.”
She smiles again, like she has a secret.
I watch Meg leave the coffee shop. Outside, she waves and then walks down the street. With my spoon, I scoop out the chunky stuff from the bottom of my cup of hot chocolate. I’m feeling pretty happy. I’m invited to a party. And oh yeah, Meg said it was for her close friends. I must be one of them!
What did she mean about James coming though? I think through my story again. Meg didn’t say much about it. Does she know the whole James thing is a big fat lie?
Chapter Nine
Later that day, Brad phones. He wants us to go to Meg’s party together. And he asks if I want to stay over, because his house is three blocks from Meg’s place.
The added bonus is that if we stay late, my mom won’t know. She’s pretty strict about staying out late on school nights.
Before Brad joined the basketball team, we had lots of sleepovers. We’d watch scary movies or play Risk. Brad’s mom would make us these huge bowls of popcorn.
So this will be like the good old days. I’m pretty psyched about it.
For the rest of the afternoon, I work on Lego City. I’m building an overpass over the city. It’s supposed to be like a rapid-transit system. Like an overhead subway. That way, people can leave their cars at home, avoid traffic jams and get to work a lot faster. And if they do this, it will cause less pollution.
Working on Lego City takes my mind off any worries I might have. I don’t think about the James situation or the homework that is piling up again.
Mom notices at dinner that I’m different. That’s because I don’t eat much, even though she’s made a whole mess of homemade French fries. I don’t say much either. I’m a little uptight about the party. It’s gonna be fun and all. But I can be shy around new people.
Mom asks if I’m feeling well and wonders if I should stay at home. In case I’m catching the flu or something. I start scarfing down the fries on my plate. Mom can be overprotective sometimes.
After supper, I get ready for the party. I put on my fancy hoodie. I’m checking myself out in the mirror, trying to get my stupid hair to stop sticking up, when Brad walks into the bedroom.
“Hey, boy-o,” he says, punching my arm.
Scott gives us a ride. His sports car has only two seats, which means Brad and I have to share the passenger seat. It looks sort of weird. Too close for comfort, right? But we joke around and laugh it off.
Megan’s house is real nice. It’s colonial style, with brick columns. It looks like a Monopoly house come to life. Her folks must be rich. Inside, it’s decorated for the party with balloons. There are good snacks too. It’s
not just chips and dip. It’s special stuff—crackers and shrimp, like you’d have at a party for adults.
“Hi, Brad. Hi, Danny. Where’s James?” says Megan. She smiles. Brad raises one eyebrow really high, like some goofball from a TV sitcom. Everyone laughs. Me too, even though I’m wishing this whole James thing would just go away.
It turns out that I know a bunch of people here. Most, I recognize from school. We sit around listening to tunes. Then someone starts a trivia game where you try to guess who was in what movie, or who sang what song. It’s awesome.
After the game, we talk about our hobbies. Some girl says she takes riding lessons. A guy says he and his dad are restoring a 1936 Chevy. Not making a hot rod but doing it stock, like bringing it back to new.
When it comes to my turn, I start talking about the architectural design I do on my computer. The kids at the party are actually saying, “Hey, cool” and, “Wow.” I feel all encouraged and excited, so I start talking about Lego City.
Then Grant says, “Oh man, McBride. You don’t mean you still play with Lego.”
“What do you mean?” I say.
“Only little kids play with Lego. You must be a total dork.”
You know how when something really bad happens, time slows down? That’s what happens to me. All the kids look at me. I feel my face getting hot.
So I say, “Hey, Grant, I’m talking about Lego City the band.”
“What?” says Grant.
“I’m talking about Lego City the band. They’re, like, underground rock. You’ve probably never even heard of them.”
Grant’s smile disappears.
“You’re making that up, McBride.”
Brad looks at me funny for a second. Then he says, “Yeah, Grant. You’ve never heard of Lego City? They rock, dude.”
All the kids look like they expect something to happen. Grant looks choked, like he wants to take a swing at me. So I do something, well, kind of weird.
I say, “This is Lego City’s greatest hit.” And then I start making up this crazy song. The words are like, “If you wanna get to Lego City/You gotta get down and sing this ditty…” Stuff like that. I stand up and start doing a spazzy dance.
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