by Alex van Tol
Oracle
Alex Van Tol
ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
Copyright © 2012 Alex Van Tol
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now
known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Van Tol, Alex
Oracle [electronic resource] / Alex Van Tol.
(Orca currents)
Electronic monograph.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-1-4598-0134-9 (PDF).--ISBN 978-1-4598-0135-6 (EPUB)
I. Title. II. Series: Orca currents (Online)
PS8643.A63O73 2012 jC813’.6 C2012-902569-0
First published in the United States, 2012
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012938209
Summary: Owen sets up an anonymous blog to influence a girl at school.
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its
publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government
of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts,
and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council
and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.
10% of author royalties will go toward supporting the work of Kids Help Phone.
Cover photography by Thinkstock
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15 14 13 12 • 4 3 2 1
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
I can’t help it. She’s beautiful. I have to stare.
My love is like to ice and I to fire.
The words from that Renaissance guy’s poem spool around in my head in a repeating loop. Mr. Schmidt would be proud that I remembered something from his class last year.
Poems don’t usually make a lot of sense to me. But this one did. It was so true. The harder this poor guy loved the girl, the colder she got. He can’t figure out why he can’t melt her one little bit when he burns for her.
I totally get that. Looking at her stony perfection, I don’t think I could melt Kamryn Holt’s heart in a million years.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t try.
Maybe I’ll ask her to go to the dance with me.
Huh. Right.
Maybe when pigs fly.
When the bell rings, my daydream ends and another screamingly dull social studies class is over. People fling their books into their bags and charge out the door.
It’s lunch, and finally it’s nice enough to sit outside.
By the time I make it through the crowded doorway, Kamryn is sitting at her usual place on the concrete wall. She is surrounded by other girls.
Even if I wanted to ask her to the dance, there’s no way I could do it in front of that crowd. How do guys ever get anywhere with girls when all girls do is huddle together like a bunch of ducks?
The wall is a popular spot for the eights and nines. The sevens sit at the picnic tables. The sixes run around on the playground, screaming and pushing each other like demented toddlers. The senior students usually go to McDonald’s or Starbucks for lunch.
I stroll toward the wall. I take a seat a few feet down from the girl gaggle. I pull my iPod from my backpack. Mason spots me and heads across the grass in my direction.
I unwind my headphones and take a package of cookies from my lunch.
Scratch that. The cookies are my lunch. I’ve been raised on Oreos and Chips Ahoy ever since my mom declared she was done making lunches. That was two years ago.
Mason drops his pack and plops down. “I hate Prost’s class,” he says. “He’s so picky.”
“Got your essay back?” I ask, glancing at him. Kamryn is exactly in my line of sight. I should thank Mason for sitting in the perfect spot.
Mason nods. “He killed it,” he says. “I mean, who cares if I spell dumb without the b? It’s silent. Who remembers to add silent letters anyway?”
I shrug. “People who passed grade two?” I pop an Oreo into my mouth.
“Weren’t you the one who failed grade two?” he retorts.
“I taught it, bro.”
Mason laughs. “Hey, you coming over tonight? I finally got Naruto Shippuden for my Xbox. You can let my ninja kick your ninja’s butt.”
“I have to stick around to help Ms. Hamilton with math tutorial after school,” I say. “But I’ll come after dinner if I don’t have too much homework.”
“Math help? Seriously?” Mason says. He unwraps a tasty-looking sandwich. “You’re such a keener, O-man.”
“She totally cornered me,” I protest. “What am I going to say? No?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what you should say.” Mason takes a big bite of his sandwich. My attention drifts to where Kamryn sits with Becca farther down the wall.
Giggling, the two girls stand. I chew faster once I see them moving my way. I don’t want to have sticky brown teeth if Kamryn stops to talk.
Like she ever would. She knows I exist, but that’s about as deep as our relationship goes.
I swallow and take a slug of water, swishing. Why didn’t I pick the vanilla Oreos this morning?
Kamryn and Becca move toward the stairs, talking. My heart speeds up when Becca stops in front of us. For one agonizing second I think she’s going to talk to me. Which might be good, because it would open a conversation with Kamryn. It also might not be good, because I might end up looking like a freak with gooey black teeth.
Turns out I don’t have to worry. Neither of them notice my existence.
Becca drops her bag and leans over to retie her sandal. It’s one of those complicated ones with the ties that crisscross up the leg. It looks like it might take her awhile.
I keep my eyes down and listen.
“God, you should so not borrow these sandals for the spring dance, Kam,” Becca says. “This is the third time today I’ve had to retie them.”
“Yeah, but they look hot,” Kamryn says. “Isn’t that what matters?”
“True, it is,” says Becca. “So? Are you going to talk to him at the dance?”
“Yes, and I’m so freaked out about it!”
“Why?”
“I’m still trying to figure out what to say,” Kamryn says.
“Think he’s noticed you?”
“Totally!” Kamryn exclaims. “You were right there when he was staring at me at the game last Friday. He, like, couldn’t take his eyes off me.”
“But he’s in high school, Kam.” Becca finishes her knot with an extra tug and straightens.
Kamryn’s after someone older?
“So? He’s not that much older, Bex. Grade ten? Hello? That’s only two years. Actually, less,” she adds. “His birthday is in October and mine’s in March, so we’re really only, like, sixteen months apart.”
At the mention of grade ten and October, my stomach gives a little twist.
The next thing she says sends it into ful
l seizure mode.
“It’s meant to be, Bex. Think about it. Kyle and Kamryn? How perfect is that? How do we not belong together?”
Kyle?
I try to swallow. Beside me, Mason crumples up his wax paper. He reaches for his Coke.
Kyle?
“Okay, so maybe you belong together,” says Becca. “But how are you going to get together?”
“That’s where I need a plan. And a superhot outfit,” Kamryn says as they move off.
My stomach gives another sickening turn as it all sinks in. This is so wrong. So totally wrong.
That grade-ten guy she’s talking about? The one named Kyle?
He’s my brother.
Chapter Two
The girl I am desperately crushing on is in love with my big brother.
How am I supposed to be okay with this?
The guy’s a jerk. I wish I could go up to Kamryn and tell her flat out that the good-looking basketball star she thinks is so fantastic has broken at least a dozen hearts in the last ten months alone. I wish I could tell her he’s a waste of space.
And that last guy she was with? Segal? He was a jerk too.
I wish I could tell Kamryn that she should give me a chance. I’d treat her like a princess.
Yeah, right. Like I’d ever have the guts to tell her something like that. Like she’d ever listen to me anyway.
My afternoon crawls along. The seconds tick by even slower when I remember I’m supposed to start that stupid math tutoring today.
The tutorial hour passes like a turtle walking backward through cement. Perfect squares and square roots and ratios. But at 3:40, I’m finally free.
I skip the bus and decide to walk home. I need to think. I need to give my brain time to obsess about Kamryn trying to get together with my brother. My loser, jerk brother. He looks great on the outside, but he uses people to get what he wants.
How can I get what I want?
I want to get Kamryn to like me instead of Kyle. But how do I do that?
This requires serious thinking. And serious thinking requires serious fuel. I double back half a block to the 7-Eleven. I buy a carton of milk and a bag of black licorice. The combination grosses all my friends out. But it works, especially when applied just before massive brainpower output. It’s gotten me through at least seven major exams, one prepared speech and a really confusing breakup with a girl who was way better than me at talking in circles.
I take my sugar overdose outside with me and sit down on a parking block. I have to think. I have to come up with a plan to make Kamryn realize not only that Kyle is a weenie, but that she should spend her time with me instead.
Plan A: I kill Kyle outright. Then I won’t have to think about him for the rest of my life. No more awards banquets. No more driving around to weekend tournaments. No more pictures of my grinning brother caught up in one-armed hugs with sports celebrities.
I go very still as I think about this for a moment. A warm feeling comes over me. I stop chewing and lose myself in the thought of a Kyle-free world.
I blink.
No. I can’t kill Kyle.
The warm feeling goes away. The familiar knot of irritation settles back into place in my chest. I sigh.
Plan B: I go right up to Kamryn and tell her she’s hot and that I want her in my world. I say that Kyle is a doofus who leaves poo streaks in his Jockeys. I tell her I am clean, kind and full of love.
Somehow I don’t think that plan is going to fly.
Something sneaky might work though. What if I could somehow communicate the same basic information to Kamryn without her knowing it’s from me?
I chew through three more pieces of licorice while I brainstorm various options. I remind myself that anything goes when you’re brainstorming. Stupid ideas included.
Write an article in the newspaper about how Kyle sucks. (Who reads the newspaper?)
Make an announcement on the radio about how Kyle sucks. (Really? Stupid.)
Buy ad time on tv and make an ad about how Kyle sucks. (Really? Really really?)
Make a YouTube video about how Kyle sucks. (Too revealing.)
Write Kamryn a note about how Kyle sucks. (Possible. But she’ll know it’s from someone who’s jealous. And even if a single note was enough to convince her—which it wouldn’t be—how do I take the next step of showing her that I’m the right guy?)
Write Kamryn a poem about the kind of guy who’s perfect for her. (This is more promising. Girls go for poems. Don’t they?)
No, not a poem. Not a note. A conversation. There has to be a way to engage Kamryn in some sort of back-and-forth. Then I can reel her in slowly. Get her to fall for me, without giving away my identity.
At least, not until I’ve got her, hook, line and sinker.
I think about my options here.
Post on a blog that she reads and get her interested enough to leave a comment? Could I start the conversation that way?
But how do I know what she reads? Her Facebook page isn’t public, so I can’t see her Likes. I don’t know which websites she reads. Which means I have to catch her attention—and keep her interested—with something new.
A website where…where what? What would interest an eighth-grade girl enough to keep her checking every day? Shoes? Clothes? Makeup? I don’t know anything about that stuff.
Huh. What about relationships? I can probably make that stuff up.
Okay. Plan C.
Set up an anonymous blog and write a bunch of posts about relationships at my school. Write the blog like someone who can see the future. Get people excited about it so that lots of them read it. And come to depend on it for advice.
And then, through the blog, I’ll convince Kamryn that I’m a better option than Kyle.
I look around, excited. I think this could work!
I need to think of a name.
I think about the Big Idea, like teachers always tell you to do. I need a great name that tells people what kind of blog it is. It needs to say that it’s a place to go for advice on relationships, looking into the future. The name should make people think of a crystal ball, but with more practical suggestions.
I need something catchy, easy to say and easy to remember.
Wizard? Nah. Wizards create magic. They don’t give advice.
Muse? No. I’m not going to be inspiring people.
Mystic? That sounds like I should be handing out green tea and crystals.
I play with the words for a few more minutes, until the perfect one arrives. When it finally drops into my mind, I get one of those powerful full-body shivers.
Oracle.
I grin suddenly and spook a small child walking through the parking lot. He stares.
I stand and fire my milk carton into the garbage.
Let the games begin.
Chapter Three
I settle into my chair and open up my laptop. I set up my blog name. Oracle.
I set up the About page with a picture of an ancient temple. Then I write my bio. I’m careful to keep it anonymous while still letting it be known that I’m a member of the school community.
By day, I’m a student at LaMontagne. You know me, but I know you even better. Call me the Oracle. Here’s where you’ll find direction in life and love at LaMontagne.
I pause. Yeah, but how do I give that direction? How do I get people to leave comments so that I can get the conversation started?
I start typing again. Want to find your soul mate? Wondering how to make that cute guy or girl fall head over heels for you? Need tips to get that first conversation started? Ask the Oracle.
I decide to write a post and then answer it with a comment. Then it’ll look like someone has already asked the Oracle questions.
So, then, I’ll post about…what?
My shoulders slump. I’ve hit a wall. I can’t just make up stories about the people at LaMontagne. I can’t use names. I can’t write about my own situation, because I’ll give myself away.
I type r
elationship advice into Google. Twenty-nine million hits! I dive in and read Q&As on different websites. After a few minutes of reading, I find a question that will work perfectly. My boyfriend and I have been going out for five months. We used to talk all the time. Now he doesn’t return my calls. He says he’s just busy with soccer season. Should I keep calling him?
I don’t even need to read the answer to know that the guy’s trying to tell her it’s over.
This is so easy! I can basically copy and paste questions and answers. This won’t take me very long at all.
I click on New Post. My grin slides off my face when the hole in my plan becomes obvious.
I can’t keep posting random questions and answering them. If I want this thing to get off the ground, I have to find a way to get other people to submit questions.
Which is impossible, since no one knows the blog exists.
I sigh in frustration. How can this be so complicated?
I stand up, suddenly needing to get out of here. I slip on a hoodie and stuff my phone into my pocket. I grab my skateboard and a couple of bucks for a Slurpee.
When the going gets tough, I go for a skate.
I’m still stumped when I roll into the 7-Eleven.
I kick up my board with one hand and grab for the door handle with the other.
I yank the door open without looking. From inside the store comes the sound of girls chattering.
By the time I feel the weight of someone leaning on the other side of the door, it’s already halfway open. I stagger backward as someone crashes into my chest.
“Oof!” My breath punches out of me. Reflexively, my arms come up. I drop my board. It clatters to the concrete. Cold slushy stuff hits my arm and stomach. I find myself in an unexpected hug with I’m-not-sure-who. The Slurpee on my shirt soaks through, freezing my stomach against whoever I’m now holding in my arms.
The chatter turns to gasps.
“Oh my god! Kamryn!” a girl’s voice shrieks. “Are you okay?”
Kamryn? Oh crap.
I shrink back like I’ve been burned. In my clumsy scramble to push our bodies apart, my hands land on something soft. Really soft.
Kamryn squeals in outrage.
I realize in horror where my palms have landed.