Take My Advice

by Robin Palmer

  “You do? So what’s your advice?” he asked as the pacing began again.

  While it may not have been the greatest time, I was pretty sure Pete would’ve said that, in that advice-giving oath I don’t remember taking, I had pledged to give advice to anyone, at any time. “Well, the way I see it, there are two things you could do,” I began nervously. “The first is that instead of coming up with something that the two of you might enjoy, you could just end up surprising the other person by planning a weekend at a place that they really like, even if you don’t. Because, see, not only does that show that you really care about them, but it’s really good for your karma. And the second is—”

  At that, he stopped so short, he almost toppled over backward. “That’s brilliant!” he cried. “That’s what I’ll do! I’ll book the weekend at that place in Vermont I saw online the other day!”

  Uh-oh. This was not good. That was what I’d told Mom! “No—wait!” I said. “There’s a second thing. Remember I said there were two things you could do?!”

  He started pacing again, but this time in his excited way instead of his worried way. “This will be great!” he exclaimed. “I think I saw on the website that it has a working farm. She’ll love that!” He stopped. “The animals there have all had their rabies shots, don’t you think?” he asked nervously.

  “But there’s a second thing,” I said again. “And you should probably hear that part before making your decision. See, the other thing you could do is just wait and see if the other person ends up choosing a place . . . because they just might do that.”

  He walked over and hugged me. “You’re right—I could,” he said. “But I love that first suggestion. It’s perfect. Sure, personally, I’d rather spend the weekend taking in a Broadway show, and staying at a nice hotel here in the city, but we can do that some other time. Your mom means the world to me, and if being surrounded by trees and farm animals and ticks that can cause Lyme disease will show her that, there’s no reason why I can’t make it through a weekend.” He paused. “Or at least thirty-six hours.”

  What was I going to do?! I couldn’t tell him that Mom was going to surprise him with the exact weekend that he wanted. But if he went ahead and booked a trip to Vermont for their anniversary, this was going to get really messy. “You know, Mom says she likes nature,” I replied, “but I bet if you suggested that weekend you were talking about, with the hotel and the Broadway play, she’d like that just as much.”

  He shook his head. “She’s so great, she’d say she was okay with it, but I don’t think she’d enjoy it. That’s more the kind of thing I’d like.”

  I sighed. Well, at least I knew my advice to Mom was spot-on.

  He gave me another hug. “Lucy, you really are great at giving advice. I’m so proud of you.”

  I smiled. “You are?”

  He nodded. “Very much so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a weekend at a farm to plan!”

  It felt so good to hear him say that, it almost made me forget I had a major problem on my hands. The good news was that I had finally found something that made Alan proud of me. The bad news was that I was so good at it, it was going to screw up their anniversary weekend.

  Now I needed advice about being great at giving advice.

  Things got even more out of control the next day in science class.

  “Hey, Lucy,” Todd Olivera, my science lab partner, wheezed as he jabbed me in the shoulder blades while I tried not to let my coordination issues get in the way of pouring the water for our hydrogen experiment. Although if I had screwed up and somehow gotten electrocuted—even though Mr. Eagle Eye had sworn that wasn’t possible when Olivia Barnett had raised her hand and asked that very question—I bet that would’ve got me out of (a) going to the dance, and (b) having to clean up the mess around Mom and Alan’s anniversary.

  “Yeah, Todd?” I asked, glancing over at Ashley and Noah at the next lab table. I wonder if she’d take my advice, which had appeared in that morning’s paper, and ask him. I sure hope she did, before he took my advice and started talking about America’s Worst Dancers in front of Romy.

  “So I was . . . uhhh . . . wondering,” he began. “Are you . . . uhhh . . . going to the Sadie Hawkins dance?” he asked. In addition to being a mouth breather, Todd was a big “uhh”-er as well.

  My eyes widened. Uh-oh. A few weeks before, Beatrice had said that a few times she had seen Todd staring at me, all creepy-like. Now he was talking about the dance? Did this mean he liked me? Not to be mean or anything, but I did not want him liking me. Frankly, I didn’t want any of the boys in our class liking me. I turned around and cleared my throat. “Um, Todd, the whole thing about this kind of dance is that the girls have to ask the boys,” I explained nervously. “So technically, you’re not allowed to ask me.”

  He looked at me like I was nuts. “Uhhh, you thought I was going to ask you to the dance?!” he asked. Loudly. Which made pretty much everyone on our side of the room turn around to see who he was talking about. That was another semi-annoying thing about Todd—when he got overexcited, he was almost as loud as Alice. And he didn’t even have the excuse that he was deaf in one ear like she did.

  I turned as red as my Converses. “Well, I mean, when you said—” I sputtered.

  Todd snorted. And not one of those quick snorts I sometimes did when something was semi-funny, but a very long, very loud one. Which, of course, made more people look over. “Uhh, I was just making conversation.”

  “Oh,” I replied, my shoulders reaching up to my ears as I got even more embarrassed.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Lucy—I mean, you’re nice and all—but you’re not my type,” he announced in his loud voice, as I went from red to as purple as the bell-sleeved minidress I had on. “Plus, Denise Milchowski already asked me to go,” he added.

  Seeing that they were both in the gaming club, that made sense, but still—was everyone going to the dance except for me? I saw Ashley tap Noah on the shoulder, and I whipped around and handed Todd the beaker. “Here—hold this!” I ordered as I zoomed across the room so I wouldn’t miss what happened next.

  “Lucy, what are you doing?” Mr. Eagle Eye asked.

  “Oh. I, ah”—I crouched down on the floor—“dropped my pen,” I said. Ew. You’d think the floors in such a fancy school would be clean, but it turned out they were disgusting.

  “But your lab table is all the way across the room,” he said, confused.

  “It’s one of those pens that roll really fast and really far,” I yelled from underneath the table.

  “So, Noah, I was wondering—” I heard Ashley say.

  I popped my head up from underneath the table.

  “Hey, Noah,” I said. “Did you know that hanging out with Ashley is a great way to spend an evening?” I asked.

  She gave me a weird look. “How would you know?”

  “I mean, it’s not like you and I have ever actually hung out or anything,” I replied, “or, ah, ever even really talked, but I can just tell that if we did, it would be great. Because, see, I’m . . . a little bit psychic.” Now it wasn’t just her and Noah who were looking at me weird—it was the four kids at the lab table next to them. Which is why I squatted down on the floor again and started to look for my imaginary pen.

  “So you know this Sadie Hawkins dance that’s coming up . . .” I heard Ashley say nervously.

  “Yeah. I know about it,” came Noah’s muffled reply.

  I popped up again. “Sorry for interrupting again, but you know what I was just thinking?” I asked. “I was thinking that if I were going to that dance—not that I am, but if I were—I bet you’d be a really good person to go with, Ashley.”

  I had started to attract a crowd, including Beatrice—who, because she knew about the letters, understood what I was trying to do. And the way she kept shaking her head like she had water in her ears made me think that maybe she didn’t think it was a good idea.

  I turned to Ashley, who not only lo
oked confused, but also like if I didn’t let her get out what she needed to say, she was going to burst. Or get her period right then because of all the stress and embarrassment. Which, according to my log, she had not gotten yet. And if she did, it would make it so that I was that much closer to being one of the only girls in the grade who hadn’t gotten it. “Ashley, not only do I think you’d be a good person to go to the dance with,” I said, “but even if I couldn’t dance because, I don’t know . . . I had a broken leg or something, I still think you’d be a good person to go with. On account of the fact that you’re so easy to talk to.” I gave a huge gasp. “Oh wow—look at that—Noah, you have a broken leg! I completely forgot! Pretty weird that I just said that, huh?”

  “Oh boy,” I heard Beatrice say.

  He shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Like. . . . almost . . . fate kind of weird, right?” I asked.

  “Oh no,” Beatrice said.

  “Lucy Parker, I’d appreciate it if—” Mr. Eagle Eye started to say.

  “Lucy B. Parker,” I corrected him.

  “Lucy B. Parker, I’d appreciate it if you went back to your lab table now,” he said. “I’m sure Todd would like your help.”

  “Yeah,” Todd agreed. With my super-sensitive ears I could hear him mouth breathing all the way across the room.

  “Okay, but I just—”

  “Now, Lucy,” Mr. Eagle Eye barked. For the most part, he was really mellow. Like to the point where sometimes when we were taking a quiz and I looked up at him, I could swear he was dozing off even though he’d quickly wake himself up, like Alan did when he fell asleep at the movies. But when he got all barky like he was at that moment? Watch out. There were no “supers” or “wonderfuls” when he was like that.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, making my way back to my table. Very slowly. Stopping every few seconds and turning around to see if Ashley had gotten up the courage to follow my advice and ask him until Mr. Eagle Eye barked “Lucy!” even louder and in more of an I-mean-business tone than before. Unfortunately, when I got back to my table, Todd decided it was important for him to tell me every single thing that happened in the latest episode of Monster High, so I couldn’t overlisten to Ashley and Noah with my super-sensitive ears. But when Ashley ran past me into the hall all sniffly, I realized that things probably hadn’t gone so well.

  “Lucy B. Parker, where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Eagle Eye demanded as I started to follow her. You couldn’t really blame the guy for sounding all mad, seeing as how he was missing his midmorning nap.

  “To the bathroom,” I replied. I’d burst into tears during school hours enough times to know that’s where I’d be able to find Ashley. “I’m having a . . . female issue,” I whispered loudly. He turned all red and said, “Fine. Go,” rather than putting me through the third degree as to why I couldn’t wait five more minutes until lunchtime.

  “Ashley?” I called out as I walked into the girls’ room down the hall. For heavy-duty, hunkering-down-type crying, I preferred the one near the cafeteria because of its roomy handicapped stall, but when you were having a real meltdown, sometimes you just had to suck it up—in this case, literally, because of the gross smell—and hide out in this one.

  The only answer was sniffling coming from the middle stall. I walked up to it. “Ashley, I know you’re in there,” I said.

  “How do you know?” she sniffled.

  I pointed at the ground. “Because I can see your lavender Uggs.” While I wasn’t an Uggs fan (too sweaty), I was a purple fan, which is why I made mental notes of who wore the color in what form. “By the way, I keep meaning to tell you I really like them.”

  “Thanks,” she sniffled.

  I reached into my back pocket and took out some tissues. They were a bit wrinkled, but because they were the Cold Care tissues with aloe and vitamin E, they were super-soft. Not only that, but they were warm because I had been sitting on them, which kind of made my butt like the towel warmer in Shutters on the Beach, the fancy hotel that Laurel and I stayed in when we went to L.A. “Want a tissue?” I asked. “They’re Cold Cares.”

  “Cold Cares are the best,” she sniffled as she put her hand underneath the stall.

  “I know,” I said, handing them to her. Maybe I should try to get to know Ashley better. Anyone who knew their tissues was worth at least one trip to Billy’s Bakery together. “So are you okay?” I asked. “I mean, from the way you ran out of the room and the fact that you’re crying, I’m guessing the answer is no,” I said, “so I wanted to see if you wanted to talk about it. Even though we’re not really friends. And, uh, I have no experience asking boys to dances.”

  She opened the door a crack. “How do you know I asked someone to the dance?” she demanded.

  I shrugged. “I don’t. I mean, I just had this psychic hunch that that’s what happened,” I lied. Well, not exactly lied. I mean, I hadn’t actually heard her say the words Noah, would you like to go to the Sadie Hawkins dance with me?” so I kind of was going on psychic ability at that moment. “But, ah, did you ask someone to the dance?”

  Not a good question to ask unless you want to watch someone burst into tears, complete with a running nose. “Yessss!” she bawled.

  “And what did he say?” I asked hopefully. It was probably pushing it to think that Noah had said yes and Ashley was just having some sort of weird opposite-like reaction, like how sometimes after announcing “Boy, I’m completely stuffed!” after chowing down on Rose’s delicious fried plantains, I then ate more of them.

  “He said nooooooo!” she bawled ever louder.

  Okay, so much for that theory.

  “You know the ‘Ask Annie’ advice column in the school newspaper?” she hiccupped.

  I pretended to think really hard. “Hmm . . . I think I may have seen it at some point.”

  “Well, I wrote to her and she said that it was okay to ask someone to the dance who couldn’t dance because of a broken leg,” she sniffled, “because as long as I asked him questions about him, we wouldn’t run out of conversation.”

  I nodded. “Huh. That sounds like good advice,” I said. “This Annie person sounds smart.”

  “And then, because this person who had a broken leg spent the entire science period saying things like, ‘Boy, I sure would like to go to the Sadie Hawkins dance’ and ‘Even though I can’t dance, I sure would like to go to the Sadie Hawkins dance and sit on the bleachers and talk about dancing—like the dancers in that America’s Worst Dancers show, which, even though I don’t really watch, I hear is really good—’”

  Uh-oh. I didn’t like where this was going. That being said, it was nice to see that not only had Noah taken my advice about how to let Romy know he was interested, but also about not lying about having seen the show.

  “—I thought that was a good sign that he’d say yes if I asked him,” she continued. “I mean, wouldn’t you think that was a good sign if you were in my shoes?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” Unless someone, like me, had given him advice to say that so someone else, like Romy, would ask him to the dance.

  “So I asked him. And he said no!” she wailed, busting out into a whole new slew of tears.

  “I’m sorry, Ashley,” I said, patting her arm and trying to stay clear of anything that might be dripping out of her nose. “Hey, can I give you some advice?”

  She looked at me like I had just said, “Hey, you want to see me burst into flames right now?” “More advice?” she said bitterly. “I don’t think so. In fact, I think I’m going to send a petition around to see about getting Annie fired. My dumb brother could do better than her in that job, and he’s only eight.”

  “Well, everyone’s allowed an off day here and there,” I said nervously. This wasn’t good. What if the entire class revolted against Annie, like the Russian peasants did in 1905 (my brain may not have worked good for math-like stuff, but for some reason history facts stuck in it like Jolly Ranchers did to my molars), and there was an upri
sing, complete with ANNIE MUST GO! posters and marches? That would be beyond embarrassing. “But let’s not talk about Annie anymore,” I said. “Plus, this is really good advice,” I said. “Pete, my doorman, gave it to me, and he’s pretty much the smartest person I know, even if he didn’t go to college. And everyone knows doorman advice is the best advice around.”

  “We don’t have a doorman,” she sniffled. “We live in a loft in Tribeca.”

  “Well, trust me—it is,” I replied. “So what Pete is always saying to me is that as long as you’re yourself, you’re always going to end up meeting the people you need to meet,” I said. “You know, the ones who will get you and your Ashleyness.”

  “My Ashleyness?”

  “Yeah. My mom’s the one who came up with that term. You know, all the stuff that makes you . . . Ashley,” I explained. “And if for some reason this boy with a broken leg doesn’t want to spend an evening on the bleachers talking to you, finding out more about your Ashleyness, then that just means that you’re supposed to be hanging out with someone else that night who will get you more.”

  “Like who?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know . . . maybe . . . me?” I suggested. “I mean, I’m not going to the dance.”

  “Really? You’re not? How come?”

  “I hurt my ankle a few weeks ago, and it’s still kind of sore, so I feel like I should rest it. You know, so it’ll be better for gym.” Okay, that was a total lie. I barely ever took part in gym, thanks to the forged “Please-excuse-Lucy-from-gym-class-as-she-is-menstruating” note that Marissa had written for me last year that I had luckily photocopied so I could use it in New York, too.

  “But you’re class president.”

  “That’s another reason why I don’t think I should go,” I replied. If I had known I was going to get so much grief about the dance because of the president thing, I never would’ve run for office. “So that I don’t, you know, take attention away from everyone else because I’m president. Maybe we could go to the movies or something that night.” I’d just TiVo the Hoarders marathon.