Queen Geeks in Love

by Laura Preble

  “I think I was.” I concentrate on the red light changing to green, and it feels kind of like my life. Maybe I’m finally going somewhere.

  We get back with the ice and things already look spooky. The girls have put black light bulbs in the sockets, the creepy changing portraits are up, the bald-headed seer is propped on the hall table, and a bloodred cloth covers the dining room table, which is piled with goodies. “Scary, huh?” Claudette says from behind me.

  I turn and almost really do scream. She and Caroline are both joined at the hip by some black cloth, and there’s what looks like a real heart stuck between them. They also have this icky makeup on that makes them look like their faces are melting off. “Check this out,” Caroline says. “Watch the heart.”

  It starts to pump, and then red stuff oozes out of a tube and disappears back into the costume. “That has got to be one of the most disgusting things I’ve ever seen.” I poke at the heart. “Awesome.”

  Becca runs in and gives me a hug. “Let’s go get our stuff on too. It’s nearly five-thirty and people are coming at seven, right? Tunes, Euphoria, tunes!”

  Some rock song blares out of the speakers in the house; Euphoria is wireless and can get that going in an instant, and she probably won’t play the same song all night. Much better than an iPod, although you can’t put her in your pocket.

  Becca and I are wearing our costumes from Comic-Con, Vege-tastic and Smart-tastic. We figured, why buy new ones if we barely used those? And I’m pretty sure no one else is going to come to the party as a vegetarian superhero. Elisa has refused to wear hers, though; she says she’s developed a hideous allergy to spandex. Instead, she’s wearing a Raggedy Ann outfit, complete with red-yarn braids and painted-on freckles. “Returning to the days of my innocence,” she says airily. “Plus, it was on sale.”

  The house looks awesome. Once it gets dark, I know it will really freak people out; we have so many cobwebs it looks like some type-A spider on speed worked all night spinning, and cauldrons of dry ice bubble on the porch. Plus, we’ve created a huge, misty bowl full of bloodred punch with plastic eyeballs floating in it. They don’t exactly look real, but they’re kind of gross anyway. Now we just have to wait for people to show up.

  Becca and I head out to the porch and swing a bit in the twilight. I see one of our neighbors do a double take when he sees me in my green makeup, but I just wave. Briley, the standard-issue popular girl who lives next door, comes out of her house, glances over at us, and snarls before she crams herself into a black PT Cruiser idling at the curb. “Hey, Briley,” Becca calls, waving.

  Briley stops and glances at us as if we’re museum freaks, which I guess we kind of are. “What are you doing?”

  “Just a little beauty treatment. Spinach and artichoke dip,” Becca yells. “You should try it.”

  Briley just shakes her head and slams the car door. “You guys are losers!” she yells as the Cruiser peels out and speeds down the street.

  “Yeah,” Becca grins, “but you know she’s going to come home tonight and smear spinach and artichoke dip all over her face!”

  People start showing up at about 7:30 because no one wants to be the first to arrive. We’ve invited all of the Queen Geeks as well as members of the chess and Star Wars clubs, plus a variety of oddballs from school: band geeks, drama geeks, an assortment. Euphoria is cranking the tunes, the food is all laid out, and our eyeball punch is smoking in the kitchen, causing quite a lot of attention. “What’s in there?” Amitha’s brother, Naveen, asks, squinting into the dimly lit punch bowl.

  “Just leftover cow eyes from biology,” Becca says. I don’t think Naveen believes her, but I don’t see him drink any punch.

  “What is that costume, anyway?” Becca asks him, yelling over the increasing chatter and noise.

  “Oh,” he answers, plucking at the brightly woven pirate sleeves and balloon pants. Instead of a traditional pirate hat, he’s wearing a jeweled turban made of some shiny purple and green material. “I’m a pirate, but I’m an Indian pirate.”

  “Did those really exist?” I ask.

  “Probably not, but I didn’t want to spend money on one of the Pirates of the Caribbean hats, so I just used this.” He tugs at the front of the turban. “It’s kind of tight…. It belonged to my grandmother.”

  Caroline and Claudette move through the room showing off their exposed heart and its amazing pumping power.

  Amitha nudges her brother, who frowns at her and says something I cannot understand. “English, please,” Amitha says tartly.

  Naveen squints at her, and looks like he might dunk her head in the punch. “Your outfit is a bit too revealing,” he says, very calmly.

  Amitha rolls her eyes. She has come to the party as an angel, but her outfit is far from saintly. She’s got this really short white skirt, wings, a halo, and a white sequined halter top that shows off her dark skin beautifully. I always wanted to be dark; you can wear absolutely no makeup and you still look great. If I don’t wear makeup, I look like a fish belly with eyelashes.

  Jon and Amber cruise into the kitchen. They are dressed as, I guess, tortured poets. They are all in black, with white face paint and stylized black eyeliner snaking in teardrops down their cheeks. “Wow, you look cheerful,” Becca comments as she snags a cookie. “Are you going to read some entertaining obituaries later?”

  They ignore us and drift into the living room, presumably to discuss how dismal life is in the suburbs.

  The biggest shock of the party comes when my dad walks into the kitchen. I’m leaning against the sink, wishing I hadn’t worn green makeup, sipping a cold soda, and Dad strolls in wearing a towel. Now, if you’ve never seen your own father wearing a towel in front of dozens of other kids from your school, it’s not something I would recommend unless you are a great actor and can pretend you’re not related. To be fair, it is a huge spa towel, and it’s clipped at the shoulder with something that looks a little like the hubcaps from Eugene’s head.

  “Hi, sweetie,” he says, kissing me on the top of my asparagus hair.

  “What are you supposed to be?”

  “I’m a Roman emperor.” He twirls and shows off his hairy legs under his towel toga. “Like it?”

  “Pool boy, can I have a drink?” Thea materializes from somewhere, and the two of them standing together is electrifying. Not in the exciting, buzzy way, but in the shock-therapy, torturish way.

  “Mom?” Becca asks, her voice trailing off into the land of inescapable embarrassment. Thea is wearing the Vampira outfit, but she’s painted it with images of fruit, and she’s wearing these heels that could puncture the linoleum and drill a hole to China. On her head is a huge hollowed-out coconut with an animated skull that keeps popping out and waving a paintbrush.

  “I wanted to be Vampira, but I wanted to make it my own.” She ruffles her mango-pineappple-orange-laden skirt. “I’m a fruit bat.”

  Dad and his towel seem extremely interested in Thea’s fruit. I feel extremely nauseous. “Excuse me,” I mumble, dashing toward the front door.

  Euphoria is stationed in the alcove, bundled up in Becca’s fortune-telling gear. As a couple of girls from the club walk through the door, she extends her claw and says, “Good evening. May I tell your fortune?”

  The dark haired one nods, kind of astonished that we might own a robot, especially one who’s fun at parties. Euphoria grabs her wrist, hums, beeps, buzzes, whines, and then spits out a white piece of paper before saying, “When in doubt about your looks, always remember that humans have evolved, but you still have genetic commonalities with apes.”

  “Huh?” The girl frowns, grabs the little paper unwillingly, and mutters to her friend as she weaves her way into the party.

  Amber and Jon stand side by side. Euphoria moans mystically (something I think Becca taught her), bleeps, bloops, and spits out another white paper. Amber takes it curiously as Euphoria intones, “If you paint your world black and do not see the color, you will most likely run into thing
s when it’s dark.” Amber rolls her eyes and stands aside so Jon can get his magical reading.

  Euphoria waves her claws this time, imitating some spastic, possessed person. “Pest control is never something that can be left to amateurs. Call Terminix today!”

  “Huh?” Jon backs away from her, blushing. I suspect she somehow picked up a loop of advertising from some radio frequency, but if it gets Jon to bathe more, I guess it’s not all bad.

  “Nice fortunes, Euphoria,” I say, patting her on the shoulder under her flowing velvet cape. “Want to tell mine?”

  She buzzes and beeps. “Gotta change a CD,” she says, rolling away. Even my robot knows I’m a loser when it comes to love. Think I’ll go eat worms.

  Outside it’s dark; our strings of ghost globes and purple crystal minilights give the porch a spooky, midnight feeling. Kids are standing under the magnolia tree in front, half in shadows, half lit by the streetlight. Apparently, that’s been designated the make-out spot. So, of course I think of Fletcher and just flop down onto the porch swing, first carefully stepping over a couple in salt-and-pepper-shaker costumes who are trying to combine and make a new condiment.

  It’d be nice if he’d just sort of show up, I guess; but realistically, that isn’t going to happen. I fantasize for a moment that he walks up the street, decked out in a Batman costume or something, and as he gets closer, I can tell it’s him from the way he walks. Then I imagine that he walks right up to me, grabs me around the waist and kisses me, kisses me so hard that I can’t breathe. But then, I know that’s not going to happen. Why should it? What’s the use of dwelling on it?

  People are still arriving in twos and threes; a cool breeze touches the leaves and makes them moan, a perfect sound for a Halloween party, and a perfect sound for how I feel. But I’m suddenly thrown back to reality when I see a very tall somebody in a rabbit suit walking up my street.

  “Becca. Becca!” I hear my own strangled voice as I stumble over the protesting salt and pepper shakers. I rush into the house, elbowing my way through a crowd of witches, teddy bears, cowboys, and oddly, several bananas. Becca’s sitting on the floor near the sliding glass door, yakking with Amber, Jon, and Elisa. “Becca. The rabbit guy…He’s coming!”

  She nearly chokes on her punch. “What?”

  “You mean the guy from Comic-Con?” Elisa squeaks. “Oh my God, he could be a stalker! Like in Donnie Darko! He might be the crazy steel rabbit who is coming to take our souls!”

  Becca scrambles to her feet, grabs my hand, and dashes through the crowd. (Being tall, she can actually dash with very little effort.) Followed by Amber and Elisa, we get into my room and Becca slams the door.

  “What are you going to do? Should we tell Shelby’s dad or something?” Elisa asks, eyes glowing with the possibility of chaos. Like the middle-aged man in a bath towel is going to be able to defend anybody.

  Becca primps mercilessly, ditches the blue wig, and forces her blond spikes to stand at attention. “Maybe I’ll get to meet him, I mean really actually talk to him tonight!”

  Amber, who has had to separate herself from Jon, stares longingly at the door. “Are you ready to go back out?”

  “Wait, wait!” Becca yells. “Let me just…hang on…” She routs around in her purse (which is in my closet) and produces all of the poems the rabbit guy has written her, all sealed in a wrinkled baggy. “I want to make him read these to me.”

  We march out and are hit by a wave of music and chattering, and the smell of sweaty, costumed bodies. It’s all a blur of color, purple/blue/green lights bouncing off surfaces, Euphoria gyrating wildly to some hip-hop tune she’s spinning. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was trying to scratch some tracks to go with it.

  Off in the dining room, I spot him. “Rabbit, dining room, lead pipe!” I scream, slithering between a couple of Stormtroopers. We all take different routes, hoping to corner him. What will a cornered rabbit do?

  The other kids must sense our seriousness, because the snack table clears out instantly, leaving just us and bunny boy. Munching on a baby carrot through his costume, the guy stops, checks for exits, and realizes he’s blocked. Becca strides up to him, rubbing her hands together. “So, Rabbit Man, we meet again, eh?”

  He just nods. Becca sidles up to him and traces a line around one of his droopy ears. “Bunnies should be home in their hutches on Halloween. Don’t you know that some people like to play tricks and turn them into casseroles?”

  He pretends to tremble, putting his paws up to his buckteeth and shaking so hard he practically knocks the cups off the table.

  Becca pats him on the back. “Now, now, no need to be afraid. We won’t hurt you, will we, girls?”

  Everyone says no, of course not, and then I spot Elisa doing a belly crawl on the floor toward him, her red braids inching along with her like two confused garden snakes.

  “Maybe you should go outside for some air,” I suggest, wondering what weird thing Elisa has planned.

  “Oh, no,” Becca purrs, putting her arms around the rabbit man. “I want Mr. Bunny to do a poetry reading for all of us, right here.” The rabbit shakes his head adamantly. “But you have to! I’ve been waiting since July to find out who you are, and if you read, I might have a clue.” Becca stands on tiptoe and whispers audibly in the droopy ear, “You must have wanted to introduce yourself if you came to the party, honey bunny.”

  I swear, if a white rabbit could blush, he would have been doing it. Unfortunately, I’d totally forgotten about Elisa, who jumps up from the floor like a minicommando, spazzes into the air, grabs the guy’s ears, and yanks, pulling the head sideways at a crazy angle.

  The rabbit head pops off, revealing Carl Schwaiger, football moron.

  Becca screams, truly terrified, and everyone freezes. Dad comes running in, holding his towel for extra support, with fruity Vampira close behind. “What happened?” he yells. The music has stopped completely.

  Becca still stands, mouth agape, eyes glued to Carl Schwaiger and his furry white torso.

  Dad grabs her shoulders. “Are you all right, Becca? Did someone do something? What happened? Who’s this boy? Did he hurt you?”

  “Dad,” I mumble in his ear. “Nobody’s hurt. Let’s just move on. It’s just not who she thought it was.”

  “Oh.” Dad studies the situation a moment longer, then yells, “Bobbing for polymers on the front lawn! Right now!” Most of the kids dash out after him, even though I’m not even sure what bobbing for polymers involves.

  Becca is still staring at Carl, who stares dejectedly at the floor. “It was you?” she finally manages to say.

  “Yeah.” He booms. “I just think you’re really cool. I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

  Becca glances at me and gives me the “what the heck?” look. I try and help her out by speaking slowly and clearly to the Giant. “So, Carl, you wrote those Alice poems, huh? Because you knew she liked Alice in Wonderland.”

  He looks up, focuses on me, and says, “I’m not retarded, Shelby, just big. You don’t have to speak slowly.”

  Whoa. Slam. I am reminded of what Fletcher said (damn that Fletcher! He will not vacate my brain!) about Carl, and about how he was very smart, and even though he played football, he wasn’t just a dumb jock. “Uh, sorry,” is all I manage to say. I am very grateful for my green asparagus hair, which conveniently covers my face.

  I stumble out to the front porch, where batches of kids are standing around watching my dad and Thea stabbing with their faces at some plastic balls floating in a tub of water. Why am I so stupid? I judged Carl the same way I always criticize everyone else for judging me. When I look back through my screen door, Becca is leaning against the wall, her face softer; she’s laughing slightly at something funny that Carl said, and I realize I’m the biggest moron of all.

  17

  LOVE IS NEVER HAVING TO WEAR A SARI

  (or The Screaming Vishnu Revue)

  People stay and dance and eat until almost midn
ight, then Dad kicks them all out. We decide to wait til morning to clean up, much to Euphoria’s dismay. “I can’t leave the house looking like this!” she screeches, but we just ignore her.

  Becca and Carl seem stuck together, and as I trudge into the kitchen to rummage for any last cookies, I hear them talking in the dining room. “How did you know I like Alice?” she says, her voice soft and warm, qualities that I’ve hardly ever heard in her.

  I can’t see his expression, but I hear Carl chuckle. “I did a little research. Fletcher was pretty helpful. And, of course, it doesn’t hurt that I’ve read everything on your MySpace page, and that I happen to love all the same things you love.”

  She giggles (giggles!) and then they start talking about Comic-Con and the poems, and Carl agrees to read one, and as I stumble out of the kitchen, I hear his booming voice reciting poetry to Becca, and I hear her clapping her hands like a kid at Christmas.

  At the beginning of the night, I could never have anticipated how things would work out. Of course, I thought Carl was stupid because he was tall, so who am I to predict anything? But as things are wrapping up, I see my best friend and her rabbit admirer, arm in arm, headed for the door. As they pass me, Becca gives me a huge hug. “What’s that for?”

  “I just think it’s so great that Carl showed up and now I know who he is.” She glances back at him as he retrieves his huge bunny head that has been propped up in a corner all night, looking like a forlorn piece of a parade float. “Know what he said? He said that I was the only girl in school who had depth, and he knew he wanted to go out with me the first time we met, but he was afraid I’d say no. That’s why he did the rabbit thing at Comic-Con. He planned it all out! Isn’t that great?”

  She’s practically glowing with the idea that a guy would think about her enough to plan something out. I, on the other hand, am feeling like so much pocket lint. Now my best friend has a boyfriend, my boyfriend has a girlfriend, and I’m left alone with my asparagus hair.