The Encyclopedia of Me

by Karen Rivers

  I was about to stand up and try the swoop again when someone blocked the sun. I squinted, but I could only see a silhouette.

  “Hey!” said the person. “Whatcha doing?”

  It was Ruth Quayle.

  “Hi, Ruth,” I said.

  “Are you OK?” she said.

  “I’m good,” I said. “Really good.”

  “Cool,” she said, plopping herself down next to me. I moved over a bit. I don’t really like it when people are in my space too much. “I’m so psyched you’re here! There are NO GIRLS at our school who have boards. SO LAME! Are you good? Let’s see you do something!” Then she started listing these things, like ollies and wheelies and whateveries.

  “I don’t know the jargon,” I said. Then I shrugged, like I’m too tough to care about jargon, so she wouldn’t think I was a total loser.

  Not that I care what Ruth Quayle thinks! Freddie Blue doesn’t like her, so it’s not like she and I will ever be friends.

  “Who cares?” she said. “Let’s just kick it!”

  “Sure,” I said. “I mean, I can try.”

  “I’ll show you stuff,” she said. “It’s not hard! Really!”

  I tried to do what she was doing without looking like I was trying to do what she was doing. She was AWESOMELY AMAZING! I don’t know how she got so good. It was like the board was part of her. It looked easy and loose and not like she was trying or worrying.

  Mostly I fell off over and over again, but with the pads on, it didn’t hurt. I tried not to grin too much every time I did something where I didn’t fall. After a couple of hours, I could swoop full speed down the big ramp and not fall off. I couldn’t swoop back up the other side, but who cared? It felt amazing!

  It may just have been my favorite new thing I’ve ever tried. Ever.

  I mean, except for all the adventures I’ve had with Freddie Blue Anderson, of course. Those are still the best.

  See also Adventure; Boarding, Skate.

  Eels

  The terrifying underwater equivalent of worms or snakes. Electric eels are the scariest, as they can send electric impulses out with their brains, killing their prey with their minds. Eels have poisonous blood — do NOT eat them raw. And why would you? Disgusting!

  Seb is currently obsessed with eels. He collects them from the beach in empty margarine tubs and leaves them all over the porch. Then he forgets about them and they die and stink to high heaven. If I accidentally killed an eel, he would never forgive me and would likely have me arrested and thrown in jail with no hope of parole. Ever. Seb goes totally berserk if anyone kills a living thing for any reason.56 However, the accidental murder of a creature by Seb does not seem to count as a crime at all. This is an excellent example of a paradox, and you can use it for your next English assignment if you want to impress your teacher and get bonus points for brilliance.

  Sometimes the porch is just a writhing mass of disgusting eeliness. Other times, it is a stinking cesspool of decomposing flesh.

  Which is the state it was in when I was interrupted from my work by a knock at the door.

  “DAD, SOMEONE IS AT THE DOOR,” I shouted pointlessly. Dad was in the basement, rebuilding his Harley-­Davidson motorcycle.57 I could hear the clunk, whirr of some kind of tools and the beat of the reggae he was blasting in the background. Seb and Lex were locked in mortal paddle-ball combat in their room. And Mom was, as usual, at work.

  “I have to do everything around here,” I grumbled, swinging open the door.

  Then I gasped. And blushed. And nearly fell into a bucket of congealed eel corpses.

  “What are you doing here?” I said stupidly.

  “Um,” said Kai. “Hi.” He lifted his hand in kind of a half wave.

  “Hi,” I said, trying to get it together. I took a deep breath and then nearly gagged from the stench. “OMG, I am so sorry,” I blurted.

  “Why?” he said.

  “Because of the smell!” I said.

  “Oh,” he said. He inhaled dramatically. “I can’t smell anything,” he lied. “It reminds me of what my mom’s cooking smells like, actually. Aaaah.”

  “Liar!” I said, laughing. “It’s totally grot, I mean, grotesque. Sometimes I shorten words because . . . well. Anyway, I know it! It’s just . . . well, it’s a long story. I guess.” I scratched the scab on my arm that was just healing, and it started to bleed. Great. I didn’t want him to see, so quickly I said, “Anyway, what can I help you with?” I sounded like a greeter at Walmart, all formal and underpaid.

  He looked over my shoulder. I knew he could see into the house. I turned to see what he was looking at, which was just the living room, stacked with my dad’s Everybody mags, encyclopedias, and general junk.

  “It’s a mess,” I said. Then I nearly shrieked because I could see, on the top of the pile of M thru Z, a white piece of paper, covered in FB’s handwriting, titled THE CRUSH LIST.

  And on the top was Kai’s name.

  “You should go!” I said. “Thanks for coming by!”

  “But I . . .” he said. “I wanted to . . .”

  “OK THANKS SO I’LL SEE YOU AROUND,” I shouted.

  Which is why he left.

  And why I cried. I just couldn’t let him see the list! What if — once he knew that Freddie Blue liked him — he stopped liking me and started liking her instead? Because she was so much prettier than me and really better in every way! So why wouldn’t he? ANY boy thinking that FB liked them would go crazy with happiness! And I wanted him to be happy. I did.

  Sort of.

  But I also . . . well.

  I think I have a really big, really bad crush on him. Big, because I can’t stop thinking about him. Bad, because I can’t have a crush on him. Because of Freddie Blue. So don’t tell anyone I said that EVER or I’ll tell Seb that you kill mosquitoes for fun and sport.

  Anyway, I think I speak for everyone in the neighborhood when I say that we will all be relieved when the eel phase is over.

  See also Autism; Crush List.

  Elephants

  Giant, soulless pachyderms who enjoy long walks in the woods, lifting logs, spraying water out of their trunks, and the taste of preschoolers.

  I saw an elephant at a circus when I was four. Do you know how big an elephant is when you are four? Really big, I can tell you. And smelly. Also hairier than I would have expected. The eyes of this particular elephant were terrifying. I would have said elephants had kind and gentle eyes until I saw one. This one’s eyes said, “I would like to eat you for lunch in spite of the fact that elephants don’t eat meat.”

  I was forced to ride the kid-eating elephant, squashed between Seb and Lex, and sobbing my little four-year-old head off. We still have the photo on the fridge. Boy, that’s a magic moment you really want to remember forever.

  The thing about it that I do remember most is the way that Seb and Lex each held one of my hands and sang to me so that I’d stop crying. They were pretty OK when they were little. I don’t know what went wrong.

  Ellery, Charlotte

  Charlotte Ellery is Seb’s counselor. She comes to our house once a week to talk about how we all feel. She continually looks at me with an expression that I think she believes says, “I care about your feelings, Tink Aaron-Martin.”

  Mom loves Charlotte because Charlotte makes Seb “open up.” Frankly, I feel like Seb could stand to be more closed. Seb is very, very good at talking about how he is feeling. His feelings, however, are the only ones that he is familiar with. For example, Charlotte asked him how he thought I felt when he called me Freckle Peckle, and he just stared at her. Like, “What? Tink has a thought? Actual feelings? Well, I never.” He couldn’t come up with anything. Go figure.

  One thing that Charlotte said early on, when we first met her last year, was that Seb was probably never going to change that much, so it was actually going to be us who would have to change. This is just one more example of how Seb really has it made. No chores, no expectations, no changing, no compromisin
g.

  No fair, is what I say.

  See also Aaron-Martin, Sebastian (Seb); Autism.

  Everybody Magazine

  A half-celebrity, half-“normal person” magazine that both Dad and Freddie Blue are completely obsessed with, copies of which flop listlessly on every surface of this house.

  I was, in fact, lying on the Itchy Couch watching the sweat run in little rivulets down my maimed forearm, engrossed in an article about a certain royal celeb’s bedroom furnishings, when Mom burst in through the kitchen door like her hair was on fire and the fire extinguisher was somewhere under my seat.

  “Tink!” she shouted. “What are you reading?” she said, emphasizing the word “reading” so hard, she practically spat.

  “Nuh. Thing,” I enunciated. The nothingness of what I was reading was practically visible, like an aura that is as blank as Lex’s sentences. Everybody magazine wasn’t READING material. It was SKIMMING material! Everyone knew that. I tossed the magazine on the floor, and she picked it up and cradled it for a minute in her arms before putting it down on the table.

  I squinted. Something was definitely up.

  “Where are the boys?” she said, hopping back and forth from foot to foot as though she desperately had to pee.

  “Don’t know,” I singsonged.

  “Tink,” she said impatiently. “Tink, where is your dad?”

  I pointed at the stairs to the basement. I can’t believe she’d had to ask. If he was home and not on the couch, he was in the basement, whirring, clunking, and singing.

  “I have the most exciting news!” she shouted, like she couldn’t contain it.58 “I want to tell everyone at once. Where did you say your brothers are?”

  “MOM,” I said. “I don’t know. I like not knowing. Then I can pretend I’m an only child! A dream come true!”

  Mom kept talking as though I hadn’t said a thing. “. . . magazine is going to do a story about our family,” she said.

  “What?” I said. “What? WHAT?”

  “Everybody,” she repeated. “Everybody magazine. Isn’t that great?”

  “Erfhvbla?” I said. I looked at the copies stacked up on the coffee table in a messy heap and then I looked back at Mom. I picked up the top one and looked at Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt and an assortment of orphans. Then I dropped it on the floor, where it landed with a sad-sounding smack.

  AS IF WE WERE GOING TO BE IN EVERYBODY MAGAZINE.

  She was obviously lying!

  I wanted her to be lying!

  But also I didn’t! For a split second, I allowed myself to imagine that we suddenly became hugely famous and papa­razzi followed me to Cortez Junior and photographed my every move. Then I went ahead and wondered what kind of TV shows I’d get to be on and who my boyfriend would be. Maybe my first boyfriend would be famous! Way better than Kai! Maybe even Prince X!

  Then I felt sad. Prince X probably wasn’t better than Kai. I didn’t want to be famous. And I hate looking at pictures of myself. My mouth always looks like I’m chewing something huge, like a gobstopper or an entire tomato. And don’t get me started about my hair. If paparazzi followed me to school, I’d have to have good hair at least!

  “It is the greatest thing ever!” said Mom. “Your dad is going to die of excitement!”

  “How did this happen?” I whispered.

  “Well,” she said, plopping herself next to me and wrapping me up in a hug like she used to when I was little. I wriggled away. “Because of me, of course. Someone at Everybody heard me on the radio, read the blog, and the rest is history! Of course, people are interested in our story and there are so many families like ours. And,” she added, “I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that the boys are so photogenic.”

  “Gak,” I said, which is what you say apparently when you are choking to death on the tidal wave of acid that has just unexpectedly slammed into your mouth.

  “Of course,” she said, “you’ll get to be in it too. I’m not sure they’ll interview you, but you’ll definitely be in the pictures.”

  “No thanks,” I muttered. “I’d just wreck them.”

  She laughed, even though I didn’t mean it in a funny way. “It’s a story about autism and how families cope,” she said. “And you are part of the family, Tink. Obviously. Boy, your dad will be thrilled, won’t he? And Freddie Blue is going to be so jealous!” She elbowed me.

  I elbowed her back. Hard. “What. Ev. Er,” I said, for the sake of saying something. Inside my brain, there was a loud scream of staticky noise, like a ringing in the ears by a million different off-key bells. It sounded like dread.

  “Dread,” I mumbled.

  Not that Mom was listening as she paced around the room, yelling, “BAX! BOYS!” every few seconds.

  I tried to imagine how this was going to go. Badly, I could predict with 100 percent certainty. I would likely be edited out anyway. I shut my eyes and pictured someone at Everybody hard at work Photoshopping a potted plant over me, or perhaps an adorable photogenic puppy.

  “More dread,” I whispered. “Extra dread. Dreadsome.” I patted Hortense, which I rarely do, and she meowed in a horrified sort of way and climbed down my leg, glowering at me from the floor.

  “You aren’t photogenic either,” I said.

  “Oh, Hortense is so exotic,” Mom said. “I bet they put her in the picture for sure. We’ll have to get you some great new clothes! Maybe get your makeup done professionally.”

  Mom flew out of the room like a fairy with a drinking problem, knocking over a teetering pile of mail that we keep conveniently balanced on the newel post. I heard her pounding down the stairs to tell Dad. I have no idea why she didn’t tell him first. It’s really HIS dream come true, not mine. My dreams don’t feature Lex and Seb looking into the camera with fake serious looks. Ugh.

  I picked up the phone, pressed Freddie Blue’s number, and listened to it ring. Her voice mail came on, and I didn’t leave a message. I called back again. And again. Finally, she answered.

  “Oh, hey,” she said.

  “Why didn’t you answer?” I said. “I have some news.”

  “Do you?” she said. “Can you hang on? I’m on the other line.”

  “No!” I said, but she’d already cut over. I listened to the silence for about ten seconds before I hung up. I lay back down on the Itchy Couch. It itched. I glared at Hortense and tapped her with my foot. She purred.

  “I’m not being nice,” I told her. “I’m in a terrible mood.” I stared out the window. The sky was so blue, it was insulting to my grumpiness. I could see the roof of Kai’s house. Kai. I sighed.

  KAI.

  Wait!

  Freddie Blue NEVER puts me on hold. We have a deal! We wouldn’t put each other on hold! UNLESS!

  Unless we were talking to a boy!

  I got up and ran to the window, as though I’d be able to see Kai talking on the phone (if he was). All I could see was reflections in the glass.

  “Argh,” I said, and kicked the wall. What if he saw the list? What if he had called her to confirm?59

  Kai and Freddie Blue. What if they were RIGHT NOW talking about their mutual like for each other? What if they were Liking each other on Facebook? What if they were IN LOVE?

  I mean, sure, she could have been talking to someone else. But I couldn’t overcome the thought. It was like the thought was a hungry seagull and I was a tiny crab trapped on an expanse of sand. And just like that, my silly crush on Kai was swallowed by a noisy, annoying seabird.

  I stomped up to my room and flung the door open, like there might be someone in there who cared. Of course there wasn’t. AND my bed was in completely the wrong place.

  “IDIOTS!” I shouted, in case my brothers Dumb and Dumber were somewhere where they might hear me. I lay down and waited for FB to call back. It wasn’t until I really started to think about the photo shoot, though, that I realized something.

  The problem with the whole Everybody thing wasn’t going to be me. It was going to be Seb.

&n
bsp; Because photo shoots involve cameras.

  It was going to be a huge FAIL. Because when Seb says, “No more pictures,” he isn’t going to change his mind. At least, I doubt it. He once changed his mind about something. ONCE.60

  Mom would be crushed! Dad would be destroyed! And I would never be famous! So the whole thing would be filed, once again, under S, for “Seb Didn’t Want To So We Didn’t.”

  I laughed out loud.

  “DREAD,” I shouted, not that anyone was listening. “DREAAAAAD.”

  See also Aaron-Martin, Sebastian (Seb); Autism; Celebrities.

  Fame

  The lofty position celebrities enjoy, i.e., being stared at in Starbucks and photographed in unattractive sweatpants. People who are in Everybody magazine are either already famous or they gain fame just by being in the magazine.61

  When Freddie Blue finally called me back, I told her about the photo shoot, and then I said, “So if I get famous, will you still be my friend?”

  Then there was this long silence. I knew she was there because I could hear her breathing. I laughed. “Freddie Blue, seriously! Answer!”

  She sighed. “I guess,” she said.

  And that was it. Just like that. “I guess.”

  My heart fell into my stomach. I could practically feel it disintegrating in the acid. My stomach gurgled.

  “What?” I said. “I was kidding, FB. We aren’t going to be famous, except maybe at school for five minutes, because people forget and don’t care about stuff like that. Or else something dumb will happen and the whole thing will be totally embarrassing and no one will ever forget, but I’ll have to move to the south of France and change my name to Alphonsine Le Noir to escape the humiliating shame of it all.”

  She didn’t laugh. I could practically hear her shrugging. “Can I call you back?” she said.

  “No!” I said.

  “Oh,” she said. “OK. It’s just that I don’t have much to say.”