Lizard Flanagan, Supermodel??

by Carol Gorman

  “Throw it here!” Luther shouted from first base.

  Tiffany watched Ed reach first base, then shrugged. “Too late.”

  I tried to stifle a laugh. Was I glad Lisa and Tiffany weren’t on my team!

  I was up next.

  “Get her out, Nathan!” Lisa shouted from right field.

  Nathan wound up and threw me a curve. Crack! I fired it right to Lisa. If the Guinness Book of World Records had a spot for worst catcher, Lisa would have had it sewn up. As I ran to first base, I looked up to see Lisa do a little prancing step toward it. But when she saw it catapulting down toward her, she stepped back and let it plop on the ground at her feet.

  I’d already arrived at first base.

  “Why didn’t you catch it?” Mike Herman yelled at Lisa.

  “If you must know, I have to protect my nails for the fashion show interview.”

  The whole game was like that. We steam-rolled Morgan’s team as easy as you please. The victory was sweet, but not as sweet as it would’ve been if we’d actually had some competition. The final score at the end of the period was 13–3.

  I was feeling awfully good until I realized it was time for showers. We’d been showering in front of each other for a couple of weeks, so we were getting used to it. But as soon as I had my clothes off, I looked up to see Lisa watching me. She turned to Tiffany and Heather and whispered loudly enough so that I could hear, “As soon as the interviewer sees that tomboy body, she’s out for sure.”

  “She’s built like a pencil. A strong pencil, but still a pencil,” Tiffany whispered back.

  They laughed.

  The other girls heard them, too, and smiled.

  My face must have turned a dozen shades of red. I gritted my teeth and stalked past them to Mrs. Puff, who stood next to the shower with her clipboard. “Flanagan,” I said to her, so she could check me off the shower list.

  I think I only got my hands wet, but I don’t remember exactly. I was so angry and embarrassed that I couldn’t think straight. Mrs. Puff didn’t seem to notice that I spent about five seconds in the shower before I hurried back to get dressed.

  I was out of the locker room in a minute. I stalked down the hall, furious.

  I hated Lisa and Heather and Tiffany with a white-hot passion. If only I could have a minute in a boxing ring with them. I could whip them all at once with one arm tied behind my back!

  Oh, why did Zach have to send in my picture?

  There was no way I was going to model in that fashion show! The last thing I wanted to do was walk around in front of hundreds of people, a lot of them probably like Lisa and Tiffany and Heather. They’d all be watching me and whispering about my body, and then I’d get the hiccups and humiliate myself.

  Not even the Cubs were worth that!

  My stomach felt horrible. Seeing the Cubs play in person had been my lifetime dream. I’d thought a hundred times about catching a fly ball or getting Mark Grace’s autograph or just sitting in the stands, eating a Wrigley Field hot dog and cheering on my favorite team.

  Now, finally, I had a chance to make my dream come true. And I was going to miss it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  OVER THE NEXT TWO days I perfected my plan for the interview. It was scheduled for four-thirty Friday afternoon.

  Friday morning I met Mary Ann at the bridge over the ravine. “I’m glad you decided to go to the interview,” she said.

  “Yeah.” I hadn’t let her in on my plan. I figured she’d try to talk me out of it, and I was determined that nothing would stop me from putting my plan into action. Still, I felt guilty that I hadn’t told her.

  “I bet it won’t be bad at all,” she said. “And, with a little luck, before you know it we’ll be on that bus heading for Wrigley Field.” She grinned. “Al called me last night. He says he’ll probably go, too.”

  I tried to smile. “Great.” Mary Ann really liked Al, but I wondered if she’d go to the Cubs game without me. I felt guilty again. Here Mary Ann was daydreaming about the trip, thinking I’d be there, too.

  “Even if you’re nervous at the interview,” Mary Ann said, “try to act cool. Sit and cross your legs and don’t fidget. And be sure to shake the hand of the interviewer.” She smiled again. “I read an article about how to get into teen modeling yesterday while I waited in the checkout line at Whetstone’s,” she explained. “Come on, let’s go.”

  I pedaled toward school behind Mary Ann. I didn’t feel much like talking. It was so depressing, giving up a chance to see the Cubs in person. But what else could I do? There was no way I could be in a fashion show.

  The morning dragged by. At lunch, Zach seemed awfully quiet.

  “Hey, Walters,” Stinky said with a big grin on his face. “I heard about the play you’re in.”

  Zach nodded and swallowed a bite of hamburger casserole.

  “What play?” I asked.

  “It’s not a play,” Zach said.

  Stinky shrugged. “Well, okay, a scene from a play.” He turned to me. “Mrs. Brown’s language arts classes are studying plays, so they’re going to put on three scenes from melodramas. They’ll have to memorize lines and everything.” He smiled slyly. “Zach’s going to be Count Dracula. He spends half the scene in a coffin.”

  Ed grinned. “Cool.”

  Andy Walinsky said, “Yeah, I heard about that. Cassandra March is in the scene too.”

  Ed’s eyes widened. “Cassandra March? That’s really cool.”

  Cassandra is one of the cutest girls in our class. Not drop-dead gorgeous like Lisa St. George, but very pretty. And I’d heard she was nice. Everybody seemed to like her.

  “Yeah, but you haven’t heard the best part,” Stinky said. “In the scene, Zach has to climb out of the coffin, sneak up behind Cassandra and bite her neck!”

  “Wow,” Ed said, his eyes as big as the plates on the table. “I’d like to get that close to Cassandra March.”

  “I bet Sara Pulliam would find that very interesting,” I said, “seeing as how you’re supposed to be going out with her.”

  Ed’s face darkened. “You’d better not tell her, Lizard.”

  “Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t.”

  I’d never tell her what Ed said, but it was fun teasing him. Besides, he shouldn’t drool over Cassandra when he’s going out with Sara.

  Zach didn’t say much. In fact, he didn’t even seem to be paying attention to the conversation. I figured he must be embarrassed by how the guys were needling him. I was glad he didn’t act goofy about biting Cassandra’s neck, the way they did.

  After school, I found Ginger standing next to our locker, waiting for me.

  “Your interview is at Jackson’s Department Store at four-thirty, right?” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “You want Tiff and Heather and me to come to the interview with you? I mean, we wouldn’t go into the interview with you—unless you want us to.”

  What a horrible thought. “No, thanks,” I said.

  “We’re going with Lisa at four forty-five, but we could go earlier with you to give you moral support—you know, talk with you and keep you pumped while you wait your turn. And then, while you’re interviewing, we’ll wait with Lisa and help her stay calm.” Ginger laughed. “It’s funny that you’ll probably need pumping up, and Lisa’ll need calming down. See? Friends just know these things. We can help at important times like these.”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  “Isn’t Mary Ann going with you?” Ginger asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Whew. You sure are brave.”

  “Well, I have to go get ready now. Mary Ann’s waiting outside to ride home with me.”

  “Oh, sure,” Ginger said. “Now remember, be peppy. Models should be like cheerleaders, real happy and perky.”

  “Perky?”

  “Yeah. You know, bubbly and stuff.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  The article that Mary Ann read had said just the opposite. Sit quietly, cross y
our legs, and shake the interviewer’s hand.

  I met Mary Ann outside by the bike rack, as we’d planned, and we headed home.

  “So what did you decide to wear to your interview?” Mary Ann asked.

  “Oh—well, maybe my denim skirt. I don’t know.”

  Mary Ann’s mouth dropped open. “You mean, you haven’t decided yet? But your interview is in less than an hour!”

  “Well—” I was tempted to tell Mary Ann about my plan, but I was sure she’d try to talk me out of it, and I didn’t have time for that. Besides, I didn’t want her to start reminding me that I wouldn’t be going to the Cubs game. I felt bad enough about it already, but I just had to do it this way. “Yeah, I’ll probably wear my denim skirt,” I said.

  “Oh,” she said. “That’ll look nice.”

  When we got to the bridge over the ravine, she called, “Good luck!”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I rode home and went straight up to my room. I got out what I’d really planned to wear to the interview: a pair of jeans with tears just above the knees, a sweatshirt that said I’M A CUBS FANATIC! and my favorite pair of sneakers. I didn’t fix my hair, but left the wisps that had pulled out of my braid hanging loose around my face. Then the crowning touch: I put my Chicago Cubs cap on backward. I looked in the mirror.

  The effect was great, especially with the scratches on my chin. Lisa said models are supposed to be flawless, and that definitely did not describe me. I grinned at my reflection. I’d never make it past the interview.

  I hopped on my bike and rode to the Spring Pines Mall. Part of me was feeling great. After all, I wouldn’t have to model in that dumb fashion show. But the rest of me was feeling sad because I’d miss sitting with my best buddies at Wrigley Field, watching my heroes play ball.

  I locked my bike to a small tree near Jackson’s and walked inside. I figured the interviews would be held in the offices, so I took the escalator to the second floor.

  At the customer service desk sat a woman with lots of eye makeup and fire-engine-red fingernails. She would’ve looked very sophisticated, but she was chewing a wad of gum, and that sort of ruined the effect.

  “Hi,” I said. “Could you tell me where the fashion show interviews are being held?”

  She looked me up and down. “You’re interviewing?”

  “Yes. I’m Lizard Flanagan.”

  She riffled through some papers and ran her fingers down a list of names. Then she glanced at the clock on the wall that said it was four twenty-five. “Have a seat,” she said. “Ms. Landers will be with you in a few minutes.”

  “Thanks.”

  I plopped into a chair next to the wall. The woman with the gum kept looking up at me from her paperwork, but I pretended not to notice. Mary Ann said I should cross my legs at the knee and be poised, so I swung my legs back and forth under my chair.

  After a few minutes, a door opened and an older girl walked out. She was very dressed up, and she was beautiful—a sixteen-year-old version of Lisa. She turned to someone still inside the office.

  “Thanks, Ms. Landers,” she said, smiling with perfect, blinding-white teeth. “It was nice to meet you.”

  She was like a walking, talking Barbie doll.

  She glanced curiously at me, then left, walking smoothly on mile-high heels.

  In a moment, a pretty woman in a blue suit came to the door. “Lizard?”

  “Yeah?” I stood up.

  Her eyes took me in swiftly. “Come in.”

  I followed her into the office. “Have a seat,” she said.

  I sat in the plastic chair next to her desk.

  “Congratulations on making the preliminary list,” she said.

  “Thanks.” I rested my ankle over the opposite knee.

  “Your name is Lizard?” She smiled. “That’s unusual.”

  I shrugged and grinned. “Yeah, I know. It’s really Elizabeth, but my twin brother couldn’t say that when we were little. It came out sounding like Lizard, and it stuck. I like it better than Elizabeth.”

  Ms. Landers smiled again and looked at the paper in front of her. “I see you like sports.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I love baseball.”

  “Are you a spectator or a player?”

  “Both.”

  “What position do you play?”

  “I pitch.”

  Ms. Landers’s smile widened. “Good for you. My husband used to play major-league ball.”

  I sat up with interest and put my foot down. “You’re kidding. Who with?”

  “St. Louis. Just for a couple of seasons.”

  “What position?”

  “Catcher. He was pretty good. When our daughter was born, though, he decided he’d better get into something more stable. He sells insurance now.”

  “So does my dad.”

  “Where?”

  “At the Perkins Agency,” I said.

  “Small world. So does Mike.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, grinning. “I’ve heard my dad talk about Mike Landers. I hear he’s a great bowler.”

  Ms. Landers laughed. “He sure is.” She gazed at me thoughtfully for a moment. “Lizard, take off the cap, please.”

  I did.

  “Stand up, will you?”

  I stood.

  “Walk over to the window, turn around and come back. But don’t sit until I say so.”

  That sounded easy. I did what she asked.

  “You’re not like the others who’ve come to interview,” she said. “You probably already know that.”

  I put on a surprised look. “I’m not?”

  Ms. Landers just smiled. “You may sit down. What else do you like to do, besides play baseball?”

  “Well, I like football and riding my bike and fishing and camping and catching frogs—”

  “I get the picture,” Ms. Landers said. “Are you treating those scrapes with anything?”

  “Well, I wash them in the shower.”

  “Try an antibiotic cream,” she said. “They’ll heal faster.”

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  “If you were selected for the show,” Ms. Landers said, “would you be able to practice every night for two weeks?”

  “I s’ppose.”

  “How are your grades?”

  “Mostly Bs. The rest As.”

  “What’s your favorite subject in school?” I opened my mouth to answer, and she added, “Besides P.E.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess it would be lunch.”

  Ms. Landers laughed. “What would you like to be when you grow up?”

  “I haven’t really thought about it,” I said seriously. “I’m only twelve.”

  “Well, I’ll say one thing, Lizard,” Ms. Landers said, “you’re a refreshing change. The other girls all say they want to be either doctors or models.”

  I made a face. “Yuck.”

  She laughed again. “I’m surprised you mailed in an application for the show.”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “A friend of mine did.”

  “Was it a joke?”

  “No. He thought I’d be good.”

  She smiled. “Well, I’ll be calling everyone tonight to let them know my decisions.”

  I stood up. “Okay. Thanks.” On an impulse, I stuck out my hand. “’Bye, Ms. Landers.”

  She shook my hand. “Good-bye, Lizard. Thanks for coming in.”

  “Sure.”

  I walked out of the office, and standing there were Lisa, Ginger, Tiffany, and Heather. They were all dressed up, especially Lisa, who wore an outfit so fancy, I’d only consider wearing it for the presidential inauguration if my dad were elected.

  They all gawked at my outfit, and I grinned.

  “Hi, guys,” I said. “Have fun. Ms. Landers is really cool.” I left before they recovered from their shock.

  I rode my bike home knowing I’d accomplished my goal. Even though Ms. Landers seemed surprised at how I was dressed, she was still nice. But there was no way she’d pick me t
o model.

  Even though she’d said I was “refreshing,” I could tell she meant refreshing with a tinge of weird. And when she said the others wanted to be doctors or models, I’d said “Yuck.” It had just popped out, but it was the perfect thing to say. I’d played it just right.

  As I rode up my front sidewalk, though, a sinking feeling crept into my stomach. I was glad I wouldn’t be modeling in the fashion show, but it meant that I’d miss out on all the fun at Wrigley Field. Still, even seeing the Cubs play wouldn’t be worth getting up on stage in front of all those people. That would be a nightmare!

  I knew I’d done the right thing. I just wished I felt better about it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I WENT TO THE INTERVIEW this afternoon.” Zach passed the football to me, and I ran toward the evergreens at the end of the yard to catch it. Klondike, Zach’s dog, stood next to the garage and barked.

  “How’d it go?” he asked.

  “Fine.” I fired the ball back to him. It brushed his fingertips and bounced at his feet. Klondike bounded over to it, but Zach snatched it out of his way.

  “I don’t think I’ll get picked, though,” I said. “I saw some of the other girls. They were really beautiful.”

  “Uh-huh.” He passed the football back.

  Zach seemed very distracted. He missed an easy catch, and he threw me a couple of wimpy passes that were miles below his usual standards.

  “Your mom make anything good for dessert tonight?” I asked.

  I had been hoping he’d offer me some, the way he usually did. But since he hadn’t, I took the direct approach.

  “Oh, yeah. Apple pie. You want some?”

  “Sure.”

  I’m very deprived in the dessert department. My mom never makes them, on general principle, and dad doesn’t usually have the time. So I come over to Zach’s to satisfy my sweet tooth.

  Inside, Zach cut me a piece of pie. “Frozen yogurt on top?”

  “What kind?”

  Zach opened the big freezer, leaned over, and peered into the basket on the bottom. “Vanilla, caramel, or brownie fudge?”

  “Vanilla,” I said. “But I’ll do it.”

  I pulled the ice-cream scoop from the kitchen drawer and dug a big chunk out of the hard yogurt.