by Karen Rivers
“And I hear the store is a mess,” he went on. “You’re lucky they aren’t pressing charges. How dare you? Seriously, how dare you? I wouldn’t have expected this from you, Tink.”
I wanted Dad to stop talking. I wanted to be alone in a quiet room to try to figure out what I was thinking. I knew it was a dumb thing to do. But no one got hurt, right? Not that I’d have said that to Dad. I wouldn’t dare.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said again.
“Uh-huh,” he said. “Sorry you got caught, or sorry you did it?”
“Sorry for all of it,” I said. I closed my eyes. I hadn’t gotten what I’d wanted from the adventure, which was to be normal BFFs with FB again. If anything, that whole thing had gotten worse.
But I’d gotten something else. And maybe it was what I’d been looking for all along.
Maybe it was sort of like my dream came true. In a way that made a lot of people mad, sure, but still . . .
It happened.
Kai kissed me.93
See also Adventure; BFF; Boyfriend Race, The; Crush List; Fish; Grounded; Kissing.
Mesopotamia
I know nothing about Mesopotamia, but when I think of an encyclopedia, it’s the first thing I think of. I have no idea why. If you are really curious about the details of Mesopotamia, you should go to a garage sale and purchase your very own set of gold-edged books, which contain the answers that you seek, plus millions more.
Encyclopedias are really pretty awesome,94 you know.
Mohism
A Chinese philosophy, sometimes also called “School of Mo,” which makes it sound like a movie spoofing something serious. Basically the idea is that you should love everyone exactly the same amount: your mom, your brothers, your teacher, the guy at the bus stop with the waist-length beard, Mrs. O’Malley, whoever. ALL THE SAME. Which is ridic, because you can’t really choose how much you love a person. It’s not a decision. Sometimes you meet someone, and you’re like, “Oh, hello, you seem nice enough, maybe we’ll be acquaintances who say hello in the hall sometimes or share a pen if one of us forgets ours at home,” so you don’t love them at all. And other times, you’ll meet someone and you’ll think about them all the time until you suspect you might be going a bit crazy and then they’ll kiss you in an ice cream shop and then call you, and you’ll hang up on them, and not see them again until you spend the night with them in the mall, where they will kiss you again, and you’ll keep thinking about it over and over again, and then you would know that if you went to the School of Mo, you would flunk out entirely and be asked to never set foot on the campus again.
See also Ice Cream Incident, The; Kai; Mega Mall.
Name
The label you are given to differentiate you from the other seven billion people on the planet.95
I happen to think that your name is one of the most important things about you. For example, when you hear the name “Freddie Blue,” you imagine a pretty girl who is fun and popular. When you hear the name “Tink,” you probably picture either a tinker96 or an animated fairy. You hopefully have a perfectly exquisite name, like Grace or Indigo or Sienna. I really like the name Sienna. If I got to pick my own, I think that’s what I’d pick.
Of course, I didn’t get to pick my own. Which is why I was named after a very famous dancer, Isadora Duncan, even though a dancer is the last thing I’d want to be. And Tink? No one would choose to call themselves Tink, I don’t think. I wouldn’t. I mean, I wouldn’t NOW. Obviously, I DID ages ago, when I was four and told everyone they were to call me Tinker Bell because I preferred it to Isadora.
Who lets their kid choose a name from a Disney movie?
My parents, that’s who.
If/when I ever have kids, I’m going to think carefully about their names and make sure to give them really good ones. Then I will actually take the crazy and novel approach of calling my kid by that name instead of renaming them something that sounds like the sound of a coin dropping on a hardwood floor.
See also Aaron-Martin, Isadora (Tink).
Napping
The act of sleeping at random times during the day.
I stopped napping when I was two, just like everyone else. On the other hand, I have started again now that I’m nearlyconstantly grounded. It’s the kind of napping where you wake up feeling sick and groggy and like you’re lying under a blanket of wet, foggy wool. My muscles are going to atrophy! It can’t be healthy. I think Mom and Dad did not properly think through this form of punishment.
Napping would be a lot more pleasant if my brothers didn’t keep waking me up by continuing their passionate hobby of full-body-contact Wii playing. The shouting at two p.m. when you are sound asleep is completely uncalled for, IMHO.
See also Grounded.
Nemo, Finding
Animated movie about a clown fish who gets lost and ends up in a dentist’s office.
AKA my favorite movie of all time, although I formerly hated this movie due to my fear of fish. Now I will love this movie forever. I think I will buy it. No, better yet, I will buy it for Kai for his birthday! Actually, I don’t even know when his birthday is. Or what his middle name is. Or whether he likes egg salad sandwiches. Or his last name even.
I don’t know anything about him. Not really.
And he doesn’t know anything about me. Not yet.
I hope he wants to find out more.
Does he?
And if he does, why doesn’t he just call and ask? I’m grounded, not muzzled.
So maybe he’s just not that interested.
Maybe he doesn’t want to know me, after all!
And just as quick as the shock you get when you stick your finger in an outlet accidentally while trying to plug in your straightening iron, I am in a terrible, awful, no-good mood now. It has nothing to do with Finding Nemo, I just mention it because I don’t want you to think I’m just happily jotting down encyclopedia entries and nonchalantly ignoring the fact that I’m trapped in my house with a hairless cat who has more affection needs than anyone can satisfy, and my phone isn’t ringing. And it could be! It works. I just checked.
See also Grounded; Fish; Kai; Mega Mall.
Norway
A country in Scandinavia where, like Alaska, there is snow and probably bears and lots of thick, woolly sweaters. The major difference being that in Norway, skateboarding was illegal until 1989.
1989!
Think about it!
Outrageous!
Or at least, that’s what Ruth Quayle said when she phoned me, proving to me that my phone worked AND I was allowed to talk on it. She managed to fit in a dozen different topics in about fifteen minutes, including the thing about skateboarding in Norway, a complicated story about Claymation and filmmaking, the strange pasta her mom was making for supper, and something about how if you lick a slug, your tongue will go numb. I didn’t have to say anything, which was a relief, because I had nothing to say.
“Want to go to Drop Mac?” she said. “I have totes designed this awesome sail for my board. It is going to be seriously gnarlicious.”
“I can’t,” I sighed. “I’m grounded.”
“WHAT?” she yelled. “That’s totes outrageous! School starts next week! You are being robbed of your last week of summer! What did you DO?”
So I told her.
Maybe because I was lonely and grounded and upset, I ended up telling her the entire story, including the kisses — she gasped and said, “I totes knew he liked you!” — and about Freddie Blue and how she was acting.
“Freddie Blue Anderson is a big phony now,” said Ruth. “She used to be totes funny and now she’s just a big Stella-clone.”
The way she said it was so matter-of-fact, my blood ran cold. Because maybe she was right. But it couldn’t be true! Could it?
“She is not,” I said frostily and hung up.
I flopped back on my bed, which was rumply and uncomfortable, and watched Hortense slinking her way invisibly across the floor. She had a way of doing
this, like if she moved super slowly she’d be camouflaged, that was so dumb it was funny.
Then I picked the phone back up. I could call FB. I could — I WANTED to — call Kai. But instead I called Ruth back, mostly because her number was right there on the call display. And also because I felt bad. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hang up on you.”
“It’s OK,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I guess I didn’t think about it. I know you, like, like her. So whatevs. It’s probably just a phase or whatever.”
“Yep,” I said. “Probably. I mean, I know her pretty well. So.”
“Yeah,” she said. “So. Anyway, forget it. Look, call me when you’re ungrounded. I’ve got to go sail this thing. Wish me luck!”
“Luck,” I said, and hung up, feeling more alone than ever. Outside, the sun blistered down and the breeze lifted the leaves of my (Kai’s!) Tree of Unknown Species, flipping them back and forth between darker green and silvery green. It was so pretty, my heart ached. Ached because it was trapped in my chest, which was trapped in my room, which was trapped inside forever and always.
For all I knew, being grounded was illegal in Norway. It probably was.
“Oh, Norway,” I sighed. I flipped open the N volume to take a look at the pictures. It looks pretty there. You should go.
I would, but I’m grounded.
This bear is saying, “Welcome to Norway!” But what he means is, “Oh, you don’t speak bear? Well, too bad. WELCOME TO MY STOMACH, TOURIST.” (Norwegian bears are very similar to Alaskan bears.)
See also Boarding, Skate; Grounded; Hairless Cats.
NT
NT is an abbreviation for “neurotypical,” and it is the word that people with autism use to describe people without autism. This gets very confusing because autism is a “spectrum” and depending on who you ask (e.g., Dad), “everyone is on the spectrum,” meaning that no one is NT.97
Charlotte Ellery says that we are all NT in this family — and she tested us just to make sure — except for Seb. Dad despairs when she says that, because he is going to stick to his idea that everyone is autistic no matter what anyone else says. “NT is just the far end of the spectrum, then,” says Dad. “But we’re all on it somewhere.”
“Fine,” says Charlotte. “If that’s what you want to think. You’re all on it, shoved right up at the far end labeled NT.” Sometimes Charlotte is hilair.
What Seb wants to know is what is going to happen when there are more autistic people in the world than people without autism. Will autism then be neurotypical? Because technically it will be more typical than not? In that case, then what will the rest of us be called?
It’s a great mystery, Seb. I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it eventually, but in the meantime, it’s like the Stonehenge of questions: an unsolvable mystery. A koan.
See also Autism; Ellery, Charlotte; Koan.
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)
Obsessive-compulsive disorder is when you have to do something a certain way or you’ll feel crazy inside, like your brain is in the washing machine on a spin cycle and can’t stop. So you do things to stop it, like sanitizing your hands a million times, or touching your nose before you turn right.
Charlotte Ellery says people with autism often have a touch of OCD and that Seb is no exception. (It was Seb who said that about the spin cycle on the washing machine. I stole it from him, but it’s not like he’s going to read this anyway, so I don’t have to credit him, but I will because I’m nice that way.)
It’s true, he does wash his hands a lot. He always has sanitizer in his pockets, both of them, in addition to in his backpack, tucked into the side of his shoe, and in a little dispenser that attaches to the zipper on his hoodie. Once I caught him sanitizing his boots after he stepped in dog poop. I wish he didn’t have to do that. I mean, I understood about the poop, but there is something about his face when he starts sanitizing that makes me feel like what he really needs is a hug.
However, Seb loathes hugging and if you hug him, he is likely as not to practice a karate chop on your forearm that will require surgery to repair. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
See also Aaron-Martin, Sebastian (Seb); Autism; Ellery, Charlotte.
O’Malley, Mrs .
Mrs. O’Malley, as you well know, is the mean old woman who sits outside smoking on a bench and insulting us if we walk by, while keeping her sad, mangy miniature pugapoo, Mr. Bigglesworth, prisoner against his will in her purse. I very much doubt anyone really knows Mrs. O’Malley. She’s not exactly someone who welcomes new friends with her open smile and laughing eyes.
I think the only pleasure that Mrs. O’Malley gets out of life is derived from thinking of new insults to throw at passersby. This makes me both sad and happy. Sad, because that’s pathetic. And happy, because thinking of new insults to throw back at Mrs. O’Malley gives me a goodly amount of pleasure too.
See also Arms.
Ollie
The coolest skateboarding move ever, where you jump WITH the board, but without grabbing it first. So you’re just rolling along and then, using only gravity (!), you and your board leap into the air. Together. Somehow, the board stays glued to your feet, even though it seems like it wouldn’t or shouldn’t. Ollies are both hard to explain AND hard to do. Trust me.
See also Boarding, Skate.
Oreo
A cookie that is black on the outside and white on the inside, best eaten by separating the halves and scraping the icing out and throwing it away, as the icing is disgusting.
I like Oreo cookies, but I don’t love them, due to the icing factor. In fact, I have almost nothing to say about them, but “Oreo” is approximately the only other word I can come up with that begins with O, and seeing as I have nothing but spare time, I do not want to neglect any of the poor little letters of the alphabet. Even the ones that don’t start any good words.
I will try to think of more O words and may return to add more entries, breaking my own just-made-up-right-now rule about not going backward. But unlike Seb, I can break my own rules without it being a federal case that I first need to plead in front of the Supreme Court of Me. In fact, forget it. This is my encyclopedia! THERE ARE NO RULES!
So there.
Oxen
Large, hairy animals, likely with a great deal of excess saliva dripping off their curly-haired mouths. I have never seen an ox, but I would imagine they smell just terrible, and I am as affronted by bad smells as I am by spit. They are probably also quite drooly, what with their huge heads and furry faces.
Honestly, I’m a bit afraid of all large animals because they look like they might trample me to death and not even notice.98 Being trampled to death is my number four fear, after heights, brain tumors, and being nibbled by fish, but may have been bumped to number five by my new fear that has just jumped into my head just now: Kai doesn’t really like me after all and instead is just a compulsive kisser with impulse control problems.
See also Elephants; Fish; Ice Cream Incident, The; Kai; Kissing.
People Magazine
A half-celebrity, half–“normal person” magazine — sound familiar? — copies of which also flop listlessly on every surface of this house, much like The Magazine That Can’t Be Named.
Superior to the other, similar magazine in every way, People magazine has never been known to destroy entire families by publishing a photo of them looking completely demented, such as the one that was in today’s Everybody. A photo that featured two manic-looking twin teenage boys, a beat-up father, a mother with something resembling a giant octopus of slime in her hair, and a small girl who was almost entirely hidden by a large shrub, under which a cat imitating a wrinkled-up handbag was perched. The proximity of the cat to the girl and the weird angle of the shrub, combined with the girl’s huge and puffy shirt, makes her look like a human who has been shrunk in the wash and then tossed into a regular-sized scene for giggles. You can be assured that the entire family in that photograph is
now in very, very dark moods, and it is best to not mention Everybody magazine in their presence.
In related news, I’ve just read the terrible, no-good, very bad article in Everybody magazine that accompanied The Worst Photo of All Time, and I have to go now and cry into my pillow about the fact that not only will I not be made popular by fame, I will likely be the laughingstock of the school and referred to only as “Arrrgh, matey!” (thanks to the shirt) or “Freckle Peckle” (kindly contributed by Seb in a lovely quote about how “coping with a Freckle Peckle is more difficult than ‘coping with autism,’ dude.”99)
I have just now made a commitment to being tough and impermeable to meanness, so I refuse to let the article bother me in any way, even though it really, really does.
From now on, the only magazine I will ever read will be People, my new favorite.
See also Everybody Magazine; Magazines.
People Who Don’t Call after Kissing a Person for the Second Time and on Purpose, Not by Accident
Otherwise known as “bad people,” these people do not warrant a mention in this encyclopedia. Go back and strike from your memory any mention of any such person that might have been previously mentioned in this weighty tome.
Oh, bollocks, as Dad would say.
I am going to call Kai. This is ridic! It’s almost 2020, for goodness’ sake, which — if not the start of a new century — is at least the start of some decade where it is perfectly acceptable for girls to phone boys and say “hey” without the girl feeling like she should be waiting for the call. I don’t know what is going on here, except maybe there is something in the atmosphere that is making me act like someone who is not the real me.100