The Encyclopedia of Me

by Karen Rivers

  It’s sometimes good to have secrets.

  See also Aaron-Martin, Isadora (Tink).

  Ukulele

  This gentleman is single-handedly responsible for the bad reputation of ukuleles. He should look more ashamed than he does.

  A musical instrument that looks like a tiny guitar and makes everyone who plays it look like they have freakishly large hands.

  It is not a lie to say that anyone who plays a ukulele is automatically cooler than someone who does not play the ukulele. It’s just the truth, squared.

  Prince X just happens to play a ukulele. The tabloids say that this makes him the laughingstock of royalty. But he is not a laughingstock to me.

  See also Aaron, Baxter (Dad); Prince X.

  Ulanova Academy, The

  Named after the totally famous ballerina, Galina Ulanova, the Ulanova Academy is a ballet school that cranks out pretty dancers for companies across the nation. And oooooh, boy, are they ever proud of that. Pictures of their successful grads are stuck on every wall that isn’t a mirror.

  And there are a lot of mirrors.

  I took a deep breath and stepped into the studio. Right away, I was bowled over by the smell. It was like smelling a memory, or actually like smelling every memory I had of ballet. Ever. It was a lot.

  A bunch of other kids were already there, stretching pretentiously at the barre while admiring their lovely posture in the mirror.

  “Hey,” I said to a couple of girls. One of them smiled and nodded. The other just looked down at her perfectly pointed feet. Everyone was so OMG-totally-serious, it made me want to do something ridiculous, make faces or start hip-hopping or something. Anything. It was just so . . . ugh.

  I looked in the mirror. Now that I was embracing the Afro, I refused to glue it down in any semblance of a bun and it stuck out all over, grandly and proudly. So I saw this row of tall white girls with immaculate buns and straight backs. And me. Short. Slightly square-shaped. Not white. And with all these wild curls jumping out all over.

  I smiled. It was sort of awesome.

  I went over and picked up my bag and walked out of the room, undoing the ribbons on my shoes as I went and letting them drag behind me down the street. Then I ran, hair fluffy in the wind and my feet feeling every bump on the pavement.

  I was never going back. Never.

  I’d tell Mom later. Maybe not today, but soon. I mean, she had a lot to deal with, with Seb and everything.

  I took the shoes off and threw them in the garbage. I probably shouldn’t have done that; they were expensive. But letting go of them and watching them fall down into the mess of food wrappers and empty bottles felt like the best thing I’d ever done for myself.

  I spent the rest of the hour at the beach, then went home, prepared to lie. But luckily, I didn’t have to because Seb was haywire again.

  And that took care of that.

  You know, Galina Ulanova’s mom was a ballerina too. AND she was Russian, so it’s not like she had so many choices. I wonder how badly she wanted to rip her own pink slippers off and run away. I wonder if she’d be happy for me, for finally just saying “NO.”

  See also Afro; Ballet.

  Umbrella

  I won’t bore you with a description of what an umbrella is, because I’m sure you know. I have no idea who invented the umbrella. Are you curious? Here, I will look it up for you in the real encyclopedia, which Seb did bring back inside, but dumped unceremoniously in the front hall. I moved them back to the living room, where they belong.

  Well, so much for that. No one knows who invented it, although someone named Jonas Hanway seems to be taking credit. He hardly sounds like an ancient Egyptian, and the ancient Egyptians used umbrellas. Smells like a big fat fish of a lie to me.

  Underall, Mrs.

  The Spanish teacher at Cortez Junior.

  Spanish teachers should have Spanish names, no? And NO teacher should have a name that is so easy to laugh about! Right? Right!

  So the detention wasn’t my fault.

  On my first day back at school after the tragedy,117 Freddie Blue plopped herself down right next to me in Spanish, which happened to be my first class of the day. “Tink!” she said. “I’m so glad to see you, kiddo!”

  “Are you?” I said. I still hadn’t worked out from that call if we were friends again or not, or BFFs or just acquaintances who were friendly or . . . what. “Why?” I glanced around to see if Kai was there yet. (He wasn’t.)

  “Because,” she said. “BECAUSE. What do you mean, why? Duh. I was worried about you all weekend and stuff.”

  “Really?” I said. “Thanks.”

  “Shh,” she says. “Mrs. Underpants is looking at us!”

  Mrs. Underpants! And before I could stop it, a tidal wave of uncontrollable laughing burst from my mouth!

  “Girls!” Mrs. Underall clapped her hands.

  “Yes?” said Freddie Blue.

  “No talking!” said Mrs. Underpants. I mean, Underall. “You haven’t been listening to a word that I say! What is your name?”

  “Freddie Blue,” said Freddie Blue. “Tink here had a family tragedy. Her brother ran over her other brother in the car and I was comforting her because she was so sad.”

  “She’s laughing,” said Mrs. Underall.

  I stopped laughing. I was pretty shocked that Freddie Blue just announced all that to the class. I felt myself blushing, like I should be the one who was embarrassed. Someone coughed. I looked around and noticed that Kai had come in sometime when I wasn’t looking. My heart jumped. He gave me a look that either said, “Why didn’t you tell me?” or “Wow, your family is weird!” Or really it could have meant anything. I had no idea.

  “Well, Freddie Blue,” said the teacher. “You and your friend there will see me after school for detention, yes?”

  Freddie Blue rolled her eyes at me and slumped down in her chair. I shot her a not-yet-patented Tink Aaron-Martin Stare of OMG, Did You Seriously Just Tell Everyone My Business? but she just grinned and winked. I didn’t know what to feel. I snuck a look over at Stella, who was naturally right next to FB. She was wearing the ugliest brown sweater I’d ever seen. She glared at me as if I were a large tarantula climbing up the hairs on her leg, which were showing in her too-short pants. She really did take ugly clothes to a whole new level.

  I glared back. Then I reverted to “devil-may-care” and gave her a cheeky grin. She half smiled back and then looked confused. Well, we’re all confused. Why should she be any different?

  Freddie Blue and I will be serving out our detention as Aardie the Aardvark at the weekend game against the Prescott Lion. She gets the first half, I get the second. As if I didn’t have enough problems. I walked out without another word to her.

  I’d really had enough of Freddie Blue Anderson.

  See also Aardvark; Anderson, Freddie Blue; BFF; Cortez Junior; Devil-May-Care Attitude; Spanish.

  Uvula

  The little dangly bit at the back of your throat.

  “Uvula” was Seb’s first word. That is a piece of trivia that will come up in your life never again, so I am sure you will never forget it and it will take up useful room in your brain where you should be storing something like the square root of 144.118

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

  Vertigo

  Vertigo is the feeling that you get when you’re afraid of heights. It’s like being dizzy, but not really. It’s more like the feeling that you’re going to fall over. Sometimes I get vertigo when I’m sitting on the Itchy Couch writing, and somewhere far away in the house, Seb starts to go haywire. It’s weird because I’m already sitting. How can you fall when you’re sitting down? But when you have vertigo, it feels like you have to lie down flat like a starfish to avoid spinning off into the sky.

  See also Couch, Itchy; Haywire.

  Virgo

  I am a Virgo. People who are Virgos are born sometime around now. Like, as in today. Yes, it is my birthday! I will stop writing right now
so you can stop reading and come running into the room singing and carrying a cake! Unlike anyone else I know in my real life!

  No? That’s OK. Don’t feel bad. I still like you anyway.

  Other Virgos I know include, but are not limited to:119 Freddie Blue Anderson.

  Her birthday was yesterday. My birthday is today.

  Our joint birthday party is on Saturday.

  Which is only a problem because we haven’t talked about it. At all.

  I sighed.

  “What’s up, Frecks Pecks?” said Lex, rolling awkwardly into the living room, where I was sitting on the Itchy Couch. He knocked over Mom’s poor lamp and a side table on his way. He may be a super-athlete, but he was really no good in a wheelchair.

  “None of your business,” I said.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’m trying to be nice. And I’m all strung out on painkillers! Whatever you tell me, I’ll likely forget.” He made an eye-rolling, baked face.

  “Never mind,” I said. “You wouldn’t get it.”

  “Whatever.” He shrugged and yawned. “Get off the couch, I want a nap. And I can’t go upstairs.”

  “I’m going,” I said. “Thanks for caring. Or for almost caring. You’re a real champ.”120

  He grinned. “You’re welcome.”

  I grabbed my board and went out.121 It was windy and drizzling a bit. I shivered and dropped the board. Skating warmed me up. I didn’t feel like Drop Mac, so I decided to lurk on my own. I went to the old pool first, but there were kids there I didn’t know, so I just kept going. Finally, I ended up behind a preschool, where there was some playground equipment that was tiny and had ramps and bridges. I skated for a long time by myself. It was awesome. I did some tricks, but no one was with me, so I didn’t know what they were called. I wished Kai was there.

  I skated back home again all sweaty and I wanted to tell someone about the place, so I called Ruth Quayle. I wasn’t used to it yet. Calling her. I had to look up her number again and everything.

  “Hi, Ruth,” I said. “I lurked the coolest spot today.”

  “Hi, Tink,” she said. “Where did you go?”

  I described it. “Wow,” she said. “It sounds wicked. But I have to tell you something, and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”

  “What?” I said. I was nervous. It sounded bad, like she was about to say that we couldn’t be friends. That’s what I thought she was going to say. I was so sure of it, I almost hung up. “What?” I said again.

  “It’s just that I quit,” she said. “Actually, I turned my deck into a totes awesome side table for my room!”

  “What?” I said. “You turned your skateboard into a bedside table? How? Or WHY?”

  “I decided to focus on making films with Jedgar!122 We’re making the coolest one. You’ll see it in drama, it’s so wicked. Lots of blood and gore and whatnot!”

  “Um,” I said. “Wow.”

  “I still want to be friends!” she said. “I just am not skating anymore. You don’t care, right? It’s not like you were just using me for skateboarding, anyway. So what’s the diff?”

  “Right,” I said. “I mean, of course. I mean. You know what? I have to go.”

  I hung up.

  “I’m OK,” I said out loud. “I can skate without Ruth. It can be my thing. I don’t need someone else to do it too.” I was totally lying to myself, of course, and I knew it. I really wanted to have a friend to skateboard with! I didn’t want one more thing to do alone!

  Though what I really wanted to have was a friend to do dumb things with, like to rescue miniature pugapoos or sneak into films with. And Ruth already had that person, she had Jedgar. The skating thing was just a . . . thing.

  “I am OK by myself,” I said out loud. “I am enough just on my own. I don’t need anyone.” Then I pretended that was true.

  Which was sort of like trying to pretend there isn’t a huge, green parrot screeching swearwords from his perch on your head, when there actually is one.

  What? It could happen.

  See also Anderson, Freddie Blue; Boarding, Skate; Lurk; Quayle, Ruth.

  Virgorama

  The Party of the Year! The annual celebration of the birthdays of Tink Aaron-Martin and Freddie Blue Anderson, organized by Freddie Blue Anderson’s mom.

  It is the same. Every year. Except not exactly the same. When we were seven, there was a farm theme. When we were ten, it was mermaids. My favorite was the circus theme when we were eleven, even though there were elephants on the cake.

  Let’s assume that’s not going to happen this year.

  But actually, I didn’t know what I could assume will happen this year.

  Not knowing was like a knife through the tough muscly tissue of my heart. I didn’t even know if we were going to do a party or if I should give Freddie Blue the really expensive ceramic technology curling iron I bought for her as a gift or if we just weren’t that kind of friends anymore. I mean, what if she gave me a potted plant or a tube of toothpaste? Humiliation! What if I wasn’t even invited to Virgorama?

  I was so distracted by the stress of it all that I didn’t even hear Kai rolling up behind me while I walked to school. I didn’t skate to school because Seb still hadn’t noticed that I’d “borrowed” his deck, and as he’d see me in the mornings because we left at the same time, I couldn’t chance it.

  “Isadora!” said Kai.

  I jumped. “Argh!” I screamed.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Are you OK?”

  “It’s OK,” I said. “I was just, um, startled.”

  He flipped the board up and caught it in his hand. “Can I, like, walk with you?” he said.

  “Of course!” I said. I smiled. Mom told me a long time ago that if you smile a lot around someone, they’ll think you’re pretty. Mom was usually right.

  “Um,” he said. “So Freddie Blue sort of . . . invited me to your guys’ birthday party on Saturday?”

  “She did?” I said. “I mean, she said it was for both of us?”

  “You didn’t know?” he said. “I thought it might be something weird like that, because she was all . . . um. I hope I didn’t wreck your surprise party. I’m such a jerk. I did, didn’t I?”

  I laughed. “No!” I said. “We have the party every year.”

  I felt lighter. Literally lighter. Like I was floating! Every year! This year would be no different! Obvi! Why was I so worried?

  So I went to Freddie Blue’s at noon on Saturday. She’d written me a note in Spanish that said, “Come over early and help me do my hair! Besos! FB.” I knew it was a lie, because she’d never let me touch her hair, but still, it was sweet. For some reason, I was nervous and my armpits were wet, which was really wrecking my mood because these gross little wet moons were marking up my puffy yellow pirate shirt, which I wore as a joke that wasn’t funny.123 I went into her house without knocking because the door was mostly open. And I started singing “Happy Birthday” in Spanish because it’s much more sophisto that way. Then I heard voices.

  More than one voice.

  Freddie Blue’s voice. And Stella’s voice.

  I mean, I should have known. They were BFFs now. I was just the third wheel. You never want to be the third wheel. The fourth, sure. But not the third.

  I followed the voices to FB’s room.

  “Tink!” squealed FB, and she jumped up and hugged me. I passed her her gift without saying anything. She opened it and said, “Wow, Tink! This is so so so so awesome! Thank you so much!” Then she whispered, “What I got you is sooooo much better than a gift, though! Just wait!”

  And I’m like, “Um, OK.” Then Stella started shrieking about my armpits because she does not have any manners, and next thing you know, Stella and FB were both doubled over laughing.

  “It’s cute!” laughed FB. “We’re not laughing AT you. It’s just that even your sweat stains are . . . cute! And adorable! It’s because we love you that we laugh, right, Stell?”

  “Right,” laughed Ste
lla. She grabbed her sides. “Cute!”

  “Shut up,” I said. I grabbed the hair dryer and started drying the stains, which made them laugh even harder.

  “Don’t pee,” I hissed at FB. She stopped laughing.

  If you’re thinking, “Oh, well, it will get better when everyone arrives!” you are dead wrong and should seriously consider just reading the book instead of trying to get ahead of where it’s at.

  So everyone arrived. I didn’t know half the people. More and more kids piled in and started eating the food that FB’s mom had put out. There was tons of it, popcorn and chips and veggies and dip. Everything was pink. Bright pink.

  “What’s the theme?” I whispered to FB.

  “It’s Barbie!” she whispered back. “It’s supposed to be ironic because we’re too old for Barbies. Isn’t that hilair?”

  “It doesn’t make sense,” I said in my normal voice. “That’s not irony, it’s just . . .”

  “I totally love it sooooo much,” she said. She laughed. “Didn’t you wonder why I was wearing this?” She pointed at her outfit, which I hadn’t really thought about because I was busy fixing my sweat stains. It was pink. And sparkly. And short. “I’m Barbie!” she laughed. “Do you get it?” She punched my shoulder.

  I felt a bit sick to my stomach. Barbie? I hated Barbies. I have always hated them! FB knew that!

  Nothing about this party was for me.

  I whispered, “I’m not feeling that well, I think I might have to go home.”

  She squealed. “Oh, TINK, you’re so funny! Remember how you used to not be funny? With the joke? Now you’re hysterical! You’re such a scream!”

  “Why are you talking like that?” I said.

  But she wasn’t listening. She was busy hugging people. People I didn’t even know. I closed my eyes and wished I was in my tree. Who were all those PEOPLE? And why would they care about my birthday?