“Not really your gig, was it?” Iris said when I handed it to her.
“Nope.”
“Better to quit than be impeached, I always say.”
I’d stopped listening and was checking out Kai, who sat a few seats ahead of me. I stood up and gathered my stuff.
“Where you going?” Iris asked.
“Kai,” I said, and walked away.
“Good boy,” she said.
“Hey, Kai.” I sat in the seat in front of him and twisted around to face him. “I don’t have basketball tonight. Want to ride the bus home together?”
He stared at the pencil in his hand. The tip was worn down to the wood.
“Kai?”
Nothing.
I decided to leave him alone, give him time, go to the bus stop later, and see what happened.
Chase was in social studies, too. I moved over and sat behind him. I noticed Kai turn and watch me, and wondered if I’d made another mistake.
Chase acted as if he didn’t see me come over. Or care that I did. I leaned over his shoulder.
“Listen, dude,” I whispered. “I’m sorry I got into your duffel. That was totally stupid.”
He nodded.
“I’m glad it worked out between you and Misa,” I went on. “She’ll be class president now, you know. I resigned today.”
He didn’t turn around, but I could tell this got his attention. He got all perky and alert, like Ink.
“I was thinking we could stop being mad at each other now that you pretty much got everything you dreamed of. What do you say?”
He puffed a laugh, then said, “Maybe.”
“But I’m done with Lance. That guy’s the biggest jerk I ever met. No offense.”
“He’s my friend, dude. You should give him a chance. He just thinks you’re trying to squeeze him out.”
“Maybe,” I said. It didn’t sound like such a hot idea, but none of my recent ideas had been so hot. “So we’re cool?”
He sat there a couple seconds, then he held up his hand and I slapped him five.
“Cool,” I said.
Analisa was next.
I found her at cheerleading practice after school. The basketball team was practicing in the gym, too. I didn’t want to be seen by Coach, or the guys, or the other cheerleaders, actually. This not wanting to be seen did not make me feel very good about myself.
I stood in the hallway, with my visor pulled down, and tried to catch Analisa’s eye. Why did I think the visor would disguise me from everyone except the person I wanted to notice me? I was beginning to realize I wasn’t a big thinker and wanted to change that somehow.
Analisa never saw me, and I was going to miss my bus and stand up Kai. I pulled a notebook and a pencil out of my backpack and scribbled a note:
I tore this out and wadded it up like the trash it was and stuffed it into my bag. It was too late to take the time to figure out how to write it without sounding like a total dork. Anyway, how would I get it to her? It could wait.
I ran to the bus stop. Kai wasn’t there. No one was there. I’d missed the bus.
I sat down, got out my notebook again, and tried writing Analisa another note. And another. And another. Like I said: I’m not a big thinker.
Finally, I came up with a note I could live with:
I folded it up, wrote a big A on it, and stuffed it into my pocket. Practice would be over in twenty minutes. I thought about sneaking into the girls’ locker room and putting it in her locker, then realized that would be a really stupid thing to do, so decided instead to just sit there by the front doors and wait for her to come out.
It was definitely weird that I’d written a note to a girl, especially one asking her to not hate me and telling her I was sorry… twice. Weirder was that I was so nervous about giving it to her, and that I was risking having a bunch of girls see me do it. Maybe even a bunch of guys. The team, in fact.
Weirdest of all was that I went through with it.
People warned me that middle school changes you. Maybe this was part of what they meant. I’d spent my whole life steering clear of girls—not an easy thing to do in my house. Maybe it was the four sisters who soured me so much on the whole girl thing in the first place. Maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe there was a difference between sisters and girls. Analisa was different than my sisters. For one thing, she was my age. But there were other things, too.
When I saw the cheerleaders walking toward the glass doors, I hid in some bushes. They were all there: Analisa, Misa, Mackenzie, and Cassie. My four former suspects. I stepped out of the bushes when they came by. They jumped a little. Cassie jumped the most. She’s the jumpiest.
“Hi, squad,” I said, pretending I wasn’t the big jerk loser they probably thought I’d become.
They paused, more out of surprise and disgust than willingness to listen to me. Cassie just tried to catch her breath. I seized the moment.
“I wanted to apologize for bugging you guys about my stupid cap,” I said. I realized I’d just spoiled part of the note I was going to give to Analisa, but shook it off. “It was… stupid of me.”
Mackenzie groaned and pushed by me.
Cassie said, “You shouldn’t jump out of bushes at people.” And walked away.
Misa blushed. “That’s okay, Enzo.”
That left Analisa. She had her hand on her hip and did not smile. But she didn’t frown, either.
I fingered the note in my pocket.
“I hope you don’t hate me,” I said. “I was a real jerk.”
“True,” she said.
“I knew you didn’t take it. Wouldn’t take it. I was just, like, a total freaky jerk. I’m sorry.”
I heard guy voices. The team was heading toward the doors.
“Can we walk?” I asked.
“Because of…?” She pointed at the guys.
I nodded. She rolled her eyes. We walked.
“Do you hate me now?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“A lot?”
“Tons.”
“I deserve it.”
“Did you find out who stole your cap?”
“No, and I don’t care anymore.”
That took care of more of my note.
“How about which cheerleader was in the locker room?”
I thought of Misa. “That doesn’t matter, either. It’s just a cap.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“LeBron signed it.”
“Yeah…” I didn’t like thinking about that.
“You still have your memories?”
“Right.”
“Why weren’t you at practice?”
“I got suspended. For a week. Two games. For being stupid. About the cap.”
That did it—the note was officially covered. I wouldn’t need to give it to her.
“I saw the pictures,” she said. “Lance’s pictures.”
“It wasn’t even because of them. I did more stupid stuff than that. I’ve been outstupiding myself lately. But I’m done. I’ve decided to smarten up.”
She laughed again. “How you getting home?”
“Oh,” I said. Stupidly. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I’ll ask my mom to give you a ride.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
16. Sugar Hiccups on Cheerios
“Did you give notice today?” I asked Dad as we watched a Kings game that night on TV.
“No.”
“How come?”
“You asked me not to.”
“And that worked?”
“I want to make the right decision.”
“I can’t believe you’d actually walk away from a job at Kap.”
“If it was the right thing to do, I would.”
“So you think doing the right thing is more important than getting lots of money and cool stuff and hanging with famous people?”
He laughed down in his chest, like he didn’t want me to know he was doing it, then said, “I do.�
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“Interesting,” I said. “You shouldn’t base your decision on anything I say then.”
“No?”
“No. What does the Sisterhood say?”
“They say they’ll support my decision.”
“Even Lupe?”
“Even Lupe.”
“I’m sure Nadine wants you to quit the big, bad corporation.”
“She said she wants me to do what’s right.”
I thought about this for a second. Then I said, “I’ll be right back.”
I walked down to the basement, to where Nadine’s room was. Her door was painted metallic silver. I knocked. I heard footsteps, then the door opened a crack. The music from inside got louder. Music I didn’t know. Strange, rumbling music, with a woman’s voice wailing in some strange language. Nadine’s face appeared in the opening, above mine. She’s taller than me. All of my sisters are.
Weeks before, she had bleached her black hair, then dyed it red. It was pulled back from her face by a white elastic headband. She wore bright red lipstick, a silver miniskirt, a purple bikini top with tassels hanging from it, and white, knee-high boots. This was her new look. Desi called it Goth Go-Go. Not sure what the Go-Go part was about, but the outfit’s skimpiness made me uncomfortable. It must have made her uncomfortable, too. It was cold in the basement. Especially considering it was November.
“What is it?” she asked. Her lips barely moved when she talked, like she was a ventriloquist, only she didn’t have a dummy.
“Can I t-talk to you?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
She looked me up and down, then said, “Sure,” and opened the door.
I had not been in her room in ages. A year, maybe two. She’d redecorated it, but not the way the others had done the upstairs. It wasn’t girly. It was a shiny, silver cave. The walls and ceiling were painted metallic silver, same as the door. They looked as if they’d been papered in aluminum foil. I felt as if I were standing in a hall of mirrors, except, because the surfaces were bumpy (the basement walls were made of rock, not plaster), the reflections were murky and distorted. This wasn’t helped by the room’s dim light, which came from one small lamp with a beaded shade and a red bulb.
Stacks of black plastic milk crates filled with records lined the walls, and a stereo, with a turntable, sat on top of one of the shorter stacks. A record spinning on the turntable was churning out the strange rumbling music with the wailing non-English-speaking woman. Nadine was the only person I knew who owned and played vinyl.
She stepped over to the stereo and lowered the volume. No remote for Nadine.
“What’s that music?” I asked.
“You like it?”
“Uh…”
“You’re curious?”
“Uh… sure.”
“It’s the Cocteau Twins.”
“Never heard of them.”
She nodded, like she didn’t think I would have. “They weren’t twins and weren’t named Cocteau.”
“Are they dead?”
“No. Why?”
Oh, maybe because she said “weren’t twins and weren’t named Cocteau”? Or because they were on vinyl? Or because Nadine listened to them and she mostly listened to old music by old or dead people—people who probably dressed in the same old-fashioned clothes only she wore?
I didn’t answer the question. Instead, I asked, “Is she saying ‘sugar hiccup on Cheerios’?”
“I don’t think so,” she said with a little scowl. “I mean, the song is called ‘Sugar Hiccup,’ but I don’t think there’s anything about Cheerios.”
“Is she singing in English?”
“Yeah. Her name’s Elizabeth Fraser. She’s Scottish actually. Isn’t her voice haunting?”
“I can’t tell what she’s saying.”
“That’s part of her mystery,” Nadine said with a dreamy smile.
“Sugar Hiccup” stopped suddenly and a louder, sort of punk song kicked in so fast I squeaked. Nadine smiled and turned the volume down a bit more. Not all the way down. Obviously, the music was really important to her. I wondered what she would do if someone stole her Cocteau Twins record. Would she turn to crime, like I did? I mean, it can’t be easy to find Cocteau Twins records anymore. Or any records…
Nadine swayed slightly to the echoey sound of the fast drums, acting sort of zoned out. Drugged out? How would I know? I was getting more uncomfortable. I started edging toward the door.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asked without really focusing on me. “Having trouble at Stan?”
I shrugged.
“I thought you were class president. Basketball star. Girl magnet.”
Girl magnet? What a horrible phrase.
“Not so much anymore.”
“Fame is fickle,” she said, and fluttered her hand like a butterfly. A joke, I guess. One I didn’t get. Was she becoming an adult already? She was only fourteen.
“Dad said you told him he should quit his job at Kap,” I blurted out.
“Told him? No, I didn’t tell him to stop selling his soul. He came to me and said he didn’t feel right working there. I just listened and supported him. It’s not easy to do what is right, Enzo. Especially when people offer you a lot of money and perks.”
“Perks,” I mumbled to myself. Magic caps, for example.
“We should be proud of Dad,” Nadine said.
“For what? For quitting?” This went against every guy code I’d ever heard of.
Hey, wait. I quit the student council.
“He’s not quitting. He’s resigning in protest. He’s refusing to support the company on principle.”
“I… I resigned as president.”
“In protest?”
I really wasn’t feeling good. No wonder I never visited Nadine’s room.
“Not exactly,” I said. “I’d just gotten in so much trouble they were about to kick me out, so I thought I’d better quit first.”
“Better to resign than get impeached,” she said, which was pretty much what Iris had said.
“I was a lousy president. Misa will be better at it. Iris would be even better, but she ran for treasurer instead.”
“Wasn’t popular enough to run for president, eh? Not pretty enough?”
She knew the answers, so I didn’t bother giving them to her.
“This trouble you got in… were you rebelling against the system, against things you believed were unjust?”
“No. I was just trying to get back my favorite cap. Someone stole it.”
“So you took the law into your own hands?”
“Huh?”
“You broke the law to find the lawbreaker?”
“Oh. Yeah. I did that. Is that bad?”
She didn’t answer. Out loud, anyway. Her silence said a lot.
“Well, what would you do? What if someone stole your record?” I pointed at the turntable. “Wouldn’t you try to get it back?”
“What would I do? Be sad, I guess. Wonder why someone would do something like that. Look for another copy?”
“There is no other copy of the cap. It was one of a kind. A prototype.”
The music ended suddenly. Phew. But then it was quiet in the glowing red foil cave. Which was extremely uncomfortable. I almost asked her to play the record again. Almost.
“Listen, Enzo,” she said, in what was clearly an introduction to some big-sisterly advice, which was what I had come for, but which suddenly I really didn’t want to hear. So far most of what she’d said made me feel guilty.
“Yes?” I said anyway.
But her serious expression dissolved into a smile, and she said, “Never mind. You’ll figure it out.”
Why wouldn’t anybody just tell me what to do?
She walked over to the stereo, flipped the record, and the scary music returned.
“You want me to tape this for you?” she asked.
Tape? Did people still tape?
“No, thanks,” I said, and hustled out of her cave and back into
the modern world.
17. New Cap
Kai stood at the bus stop in the morning, wearing a new Kap cap. My Kap cap. Well, one like it. The cap was certainly a hit with my demographic. (That’s Evan-speak for kids my age.)
“Nice cap,” I said as I approached.
He didn’t look at me. Must have been mad because I stood him up. I had thrown him over for a girl, though I wouldn’t be telling him that.
“Sorry about yesterday, dude,” I said. “I got… detained.”
“Another detention, huh?”
So he knew about the detentions.
“I tried to make the bus, but missed it.”
This seemed to soften him up a little. Enough to look at me at least.
“Where’d you get the cap?” I asked, eyeing it a little sadly. It reminded me of what I lost.
“From my uncle. For my birthday yesterday.”
Whoops. Forgot about that. Why didn’t he remind me? It was probably a test. I failed it.
“Happy birthday,” I said. “Sorry I forgot.”
“That’s okay. I’ll forget yours on July fourteenth.”
“Someone stole my cap, you know.” I wanted to change the subject. “They took it out of my locker during a pep rally last week.”
“I heard. You don’t know who took it?”
“No, and I don’t care, either. Stupid cap. I got in so much trouble because of it. Trying to get it back, I mean. Now I say, Who cares? It’s just a cap. I have other caps. Like this one.” I touched the cap I was wearing.
He looked at it. “Yeah.” And he smiled a little.
I took that to mean we were friends again. It wasn’t like I was expecting some big movie hug or anything. We were real.
“I’m glad you don’t care about the cap anymore,” he said. “I mean, you’re right to let it go. You don’t want to carry anger around with you. It eats you up.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“Now that you understand the cap actually brought you lots of bad luck, and you’re better off without it, you should probably thank the guy who took it, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. That might be going a little far…”
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