by Sheila Agnew
I stared at the ground embarrassed.
‘Oh come on,’ I said, ‘I moved to New York, hardly a hardship, it’s not like I had to go live in some hut without electricity in … in … Malawi.’
He laughed but then said, ‘Owww, don’t make me laugh, it hurts.’
‘Walk with me out of here,’ he added, and I fell into step beside him.
‘What did the guy say? The Omaha guy that made you lose it?’ I asked.
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ said Finn as we walked through the maze of corridors in the Garden, ‘Let’s talk about something else. Anything else.’
‘Like what?’ I asked.
‘Like you and that Irish kid, Lorcan, what’s going on with you two? Greg says you guys are going out.’
‘No. Yes. I mean, probably,’ I said.
Finn glared at me.
‘You’re way too young to be seeing anyone. I can’t believe Scott’s letting you.’
My mouth dropped open and I felt like a bag of baby snakes had been ripped opened in my stomach. I put my hand on my gut to try and quell the wriggling sensation.
‘I’m thirteen,’ I said stiffly, ‘Scott doesn’t know and he doesn’t need to know. Where do you get off telling me what I should or shouldn’t be doing? You’re only two years older than me, you … you misogynist!’
Finn laughed.
‘Do you even know that that means?’ he teased.
‘Of course I do,’ I said haughtily, thinking PLEASE, GOD, LET ME HAVE PRONOUNCED IT PROPERLY.
The truth was I only had a hazy notion of what it meant. Any time Kylie’s Mom, Rachel, had a bad date, she called the guy a misogynist. So, it seemed appropriate.
Finn put both of his hands lightly on my shoulders and leaned towards me. His blood-streaked face was so very close to mine. For the briefest of moments I crazily thought he was going to kiss me but he just looked at me with those dark eyes and I looked back at him.
‘FINN!’ called out Tamara who had appeared at the other end of the corridor. Finn casually took his hands off my shoulders.
‘Don’t get your knickers in a knot Evie. Isn’t that the expression you use?’ and he grinned, ‘you’re such good friends with Greg, I guess I feel the need to look out for you … like a kid sister.’
I don’t think there’s anything in the world he could have said that would have hurt more.
‘FINN’ yelled Tamara again and she rushed up the corridor and flung her long pretty arms around him. Seriously, even her arms are pretty.
She touched the cut on his right cheek.
‘Poor baby,’ she said.
He swung his arm around her and said, ‘See you ’round, Evie.’
They walked off together, looking like Tom Brady and Giselle after an old Super Bowl, and left me standing there watching them, feeling like crying.
I turned around. A few feet away from me stood Coltan, leaning up against a door, staring at me with a look of such pure unconcealed hatred on his face that I took an involuntary step backwards. Nobody has ever looked at me like that before, not Scott’s old girlfriend, Leela, not even the bear. How long had had he been standing there, watching? I took another step backwards and Coltan smirked at me, his usual supercilious bored look on his face. I hesitated. Had I just imagined his murderous look?
Lorcan appeared behind him.
‘There you are, Evie,’ he said impatiently, ‘How long does it take to go to the bathroom? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come on, Simon’s going to take us for lunch at Serendipity. The nachos were just an appetizer.’
‘Ok,’ I said and walked towards him past Coltan. I sneaked a look at Coltan’s face but it was still the same smirk with no hint of the hatred, I thought I’d seen. Maybe, I was being paranoid. I let Lorcan take my hand. His hand felt warm and comforting. As we made our way out of the Garden, he talked about this and that, and about nothing, and that was comforting as well … the familiar sound of his Irish accent. Lorcan and me; we get each other.
Chapter 23
On Saturday morning Scott got an unexpected phone call.
‘Hello, Dr Brooks here,’ Scott said, swallowing a mouthful of Cap’n Crunch.
There was silence at the other end of the line. So Scott and I knew straight away that the caller must be Stan, one of the keepers at the Central Park Zoo. He’s terribly shy about speaking on the phone (and about speaking in general), which makes communication a little tricky.
‘Stan, is that you?’ asked Scott in a gentle tone.
I could hear Stan clearing his throat.
Scott pushed his bowl of cereal away so he could concentrate better on the difficult task of extracting information from Stan.
‘Which animal at the zoo are you calling about?’ asked Scott.
After a few seconds of silence, during which I could almost feel Stan’s efforts to build up the will to speak, he answered, ‘Milly.’
Scott gestured at me but he didn’t have to. I had already grabbed the purple folder we keep with the names and histories of all the animals at the Zoo. I ran my finger down the ‘M’s’ until I came to Milly.
‘Alpaca,’ I whispered to Scott, ‘Adult Female. From Peru. Oh. She’s eleven and a half months pregnant.’
Scott nodded at me.
‘Is Milly showing signs of labour?’ asked Scott.
A low humming sound came across the line.
‘Excuse me? said Scott.
‘HUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM,’ Stan hummed again, much louder this time.
‘Oh, I got it, I’ll meet you at the alpacas’ enclosure in ten minutes,’ said Scott hanging up.
I looked at Scott confused.
‘Stan is imitating Milly,’ Scott explained. ‘Alpacas often hum when they are close to giving birth. Come on, let’s get our stuff.’
In my excitement, I half-ran down the spiral staircase to the clinic, tripping over Ben’s favourite orange ball on the third last step and sliding the rest of the way so I landed on the floor on my bum with a painful jolt.
Scott’s head appeared at the top of the stairs.
‘This isn’t the time for sitting around on your backside Evie. Get to it.’
‘I’m coming,’ I yelled, glaring at Ben, who had retrieved his ball and was giving it a good lick as if to compensate it for the unpleasantness of coming into contact with my foot. I scrambled to my feet. I was about to see an alpaca give birth. Saturday mornings don’t get much better than that.
Nearly ten minutes later, after jogging through the Park, Scott and I reached the zoo and found Stan waiting for us close to the alpacas’ enclosure. The alpacas looked like wooly white sheep crossed with hump-less camels. As we reached the gate, a large alpaca made a high pitched braying noise. It sounded like – WARK WARK, WARK WARK. And as Scott opened the gate, the big alpaca lifted up his head and spat at him. A streak of green grassy bile flew through the air in an arc. Scott ducked like a prizefighter and the alpaca spit hit me smack in the middle of my face. ‘Uuugh,’ I gasped, ‘it’s in my nose. Gross.’ There was a deep low shuddering sound like a troubled jet plane approaching landing. (It was only later that I realised that was Stan laughing. I’m glad I afforded him the opportunity for a good laugh.)
‘I’m guessing the spitter is Daddy,’ Scott said cheerfully.
Stan nodded. ‘His name is Arturo.’
‘Look at the dung piles, Evie, what’s unusual about them?’ Scott asked. I wiped some spit out of my right eye with my sleeve so I could get a clearer look.
‘Um, some of them are super tidy and others are a bit of a disaster.’
‘Exactly,’ said Scott, ‘the tidy dung heaps are made by the males. The female alpacas are like some teenage girls I know. They can’t use the bathroom without leaving it a mess.’
‘Ha, ha,’ I muttered tonelessly.
Scott grinned.
‘I’ve never seen an alpaca before,’ I said. ‘We don’t have any in Ireland.’
‘They come from the Andes
,’ said Scott, ‘the great mountain range in South America. Alpacas hate being wet. They could never tolerate living somewhere as rainy as Ireland.’
We reached the part of the enclosure that Stan had fenced off for Milly’s use. She was lying on her side, panting a little and looking tired. The rest of the herd gathered as close as they could to Milly’s enclosure. This was going to be a birth with a large, curious audience.
After washing and disinfecting his right arm and hand with the help of Stan’s pail of hot water and some soap, Scott examined Milly.
‘I can feel the cria’s nose and front feet,’ he said, ‘it’s a little big – Milly’s getting exhausted from the effort of straining. I’m going to see if I can help ease the cria out.’
Fifteen minutes later, Scott announced, ‘it’s a boy,’ and picking the cria up, gently swung him upside down.
‘To help drain the fluid,’ he explained.
Milly made a series of joyful clicking sounds at her baby. The herd of alpacas joined in with a chorus of clicks to welcome the new arrival. Scott handed me a towel to wipe the new mother down.
‘But don’t wipe the head and bottom areas; it’s important to keep Milly’s scent for the little one to recognise.’
As I towelled Milly down, the cria found her mom’s teats and began to suck happily. The herd of alpacas began to hum. I found myself joining in, but was quickly drowned out by Stan’s impressively deep resonant hum. He’s the American Idol of hummers.
Chapter 24
After school on Monday, I went home with Kylie, supposedly to study together.
When I first started school, I found, to my surprise, that I was a little ahead of the class in math, but I’d been doing steadily worse on the math tests all year. Last Friday, my math teacher, Mr Papadopoulos, asked me to stay behind after class. I felt that familiar sinking feeling in my gut. As the rest of the class filed out, a few of my friends shot me empathetic smiles. I tried to smile back. That wasn’t easy because I overheard Camille telling Lorcan how sorry she felt for me. I hate when people feel sorry for me. But a put-down dressed up as sympathy is even worse. If I was still a little kid, I probably would have pulled her hair.
Mr Papadopoulos got straight to the point.
‘Evie, I’m very disappointed with your progress in math. You seem to be going backwards. Is there anything going on at home that’s distracting you?’
‘No,’ I said.
Mr Papadopoulos looked sceptical.
‘Nothing different at home? A divorce, a new sibling?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I live with my uncle. Everything’s fine.’
Mr Papadopoulos continued to press.
‘What about boys? Do you have a boyfriend?’
‘No,’ I said quickly. It was so embarrassing to be talking about boys with Mr Papadopoulos. And even if Lorcan was my boyfriend, which I hadn’t quite figured out yet, I couldn’t see how that could possibly be any of Mr Papadopoulos’s business. How would he like if I asked him if he had a wife or a husband?)
‘Can I go now?’ I asked.
‘May I go now?’ corrected Mr Papadopoulos.
‘May I go now?’ I repeated through gritted teeth.
Mr Papadopoulos hesitated and then he said, ‘If you don’t get at least a B on Friday’s test, I’m going to have to get in touch with your uncle to suggest he hire a tutor.’
My stomach lurched even lower, which was funny as I thought it was already as low as it could go. Just shows, you can always sink further, I thought a little bitterly. Scott already had so much stuff going on with the court case and managing the clinic plus the CPZ job.
‘I’ll improve Mr Papadopoulos,’ I said with a confidence I didn’t feel.
‘I hope so,’ he said.
When I told Kylie about my conversation with Paps, she suggested we study math together all week after school in preparation for Friday’s test. Kylie is much better at math than she thinks. If I even hear the word ‘angle,’ every brain cell I have seems to instantly shatter into dust.
Working our way through the problems at Kylie’s apartment on Monday, we got stuck on some of them. We called Greg for help but he said, ‘Hang on a minute, I’ll see if Finn’s here, he’s a genius at math.’
‘No,’ I barked into the phone like a belligerent beagle. ‘Um, Kylie and I want to try and figure it out ourselves. Thanks. Bye.’
Kylie looked at me curiously. There was a knock on her bedroom door. Kylie’s mom, Rachel had arrived home from work. She insisted on cooking us a real, nutritional home-made meal, from scratch. Rachel’s the worst cook on the face of the universe and every other part of the universe. Even toasting toast is a challenge for her. But Kylie and I did our best to choke down some of that … well, whatever that burnt, sticky, rice dish was supposed to be.
‘Yum, delicious,’ said Kylie, which I think was taking the charade too far.
Worse was yet to come. After we stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, Rachel asked us to come with her to Camille’s apartment. Camille’s Mom, who is in the middle of a nasty divorce, had asked Rachel to appraise the value of the artwork in the apartment. Kylie and I made agonised faces at one another when Rachel’s back was turned. Seeing Camille at school was bad enough. Having to go to her apartment and deal with her fake pity seemed too … challenging. I wanted to say no, but I knew Kylie would never do that if she were me. Sometimes having friends with high moral standards can be a burden. They are a lot to live up to, I grumbled to myself as I followed Kylie and Rachel out into the rain.
It was dark and raining steadily by the time we reached Camille’s apartment on East 85th Street. The housekeeper, Anya, let us in. She was not decked out like Eurdes in coloured satin bra, skirt with an elastic waistband and flip-flops. Anya wore a stiff old-fashioned black dress with a frilly white apron, like a maid in a PBS period costume drama. Anya led us through the long hallway into a strangely bare living room. Camille’s Dad must have carted off half the furniture. I felt a little bad for Camille. It can’t possible feel too good to watch your parents go three rounds over custody of an antique clock especially when neither of her parents seemed much interested in having custody of her.
Rachel wandered around the room scrutinising the paintings. Kylie and I sat down, squishing together on an uncomfortable but pretty cream-coloured chaise longue. We heard the clicking of heels in the hallway. The door opened and four people walked in.
‘Hello, Evangeline,’ said Leela in a friendly voice, as if the events of last summer had never happened.
My jaw dropped. I sat there, opening and closing my mouth like a goldfish with indigestion. Leela – enemy No. 1 from last summer! She was Scott’s girlfriend at the time and basically made it her mission in life to marry him and turn him into a reality-TV show ‘star’ while shipping me home to Ireland, probably in a coffin if necessary. Thanks to Kylie and Greg and most especially Ben, I’d managed to … em … help her change her mind. Oh, and Scott woke up to the fact that his girlfriend was a Bride of Frankenstein type.
Camille’s mom air kissed Rachel.
‘Rachel, how lovely of you to drop by. This is Leela Patel, my divorce attorney, one of the best in the city, and, my daughter Camille, of course you know, and, this is my nephew Coltan.’
Coltan half-raised his eyebrows as a greeting. Rachel smiled all around and made polite small talk. I gripped the underside of the chaise longue.
‘Your mouth’s still open,’ whispered Kylie pinching me on my arm.
I shut it. Coltan was looking at me, with a smarmy smile but without the furious hatred I thought I’d seen at Madison Square Garden. Still, it was too much, my three least favourite people all together in one room.
‘I have to go home,’ I said loudly. I’m not as good a person as Kylie is. I accept that.
‘So soon,’ said Leela. ‘That’s a pity. I didn’t realise that Camille and Coltan were your friends.’
‘She’s not exactly our friend,’ drawled Coltan.
I felt heat on my cheeks. It’s not like I thought we were friends. I didn’t even want to be his friend. But to hear him say it like that, in a tone that suggested friendship with me was equivalent to social suicide, embarrassed me.
Leela looked intrigued. She flashed Coltan one of her horribly-familiar seductive smiles. He looked bored. Leela, who was not used to that reaction from boys, sulked for a few seconds. Coltan watched her lazily as if he was the Queen Bee of the hive and she was one of his worker bees.
‘You’re a divorce lawyer,’ he said to her. ‘I’m interested in going to law school one day. Perhaps you would give me some tips on what courses I should study.’
Kylie and I stared at Coltan. He’d never remotely expressed any interest in studying law before or studying anything. But Leela looked gratified. She agreed at once. Then she turned her attention to Camille. I couldn’t watch any more.
‘Tell your Uncle Scott I said hi,’ purred Leela as I stalked towards the door. There was something about the way she looked at me that was seriously unnerving; it was a knowing look but knowing what? I didn’t stay around to try and find out. I left the room with as much dignity as I could muster, quelling with difficulty the instinct to run.
Kylie followed me to out to the hallway.
‘So weird, she said, ‘Leela, Camille and Coltan all together. It’s like a convention of witches.’
‘Yeah, real weird,’ I agreed, ‘Sorry to dump you with them but I can’t hack making small talk with Leela. What am I supposed to do? Compliment her on her shoes?’
Kylie giggled and hugged me.
‘I know, I know, it’s OK, I can deal. Go home! See you tomorrow, text you later.’
I caught the M86 crosstown bus. I like the bus. It’s slow, but that helps me think, and unlike the subway, there’s stuff outside to look at. Bus passengers have a different energy to riders on the subway. Mostly, they are very, very old or kids, like me. Or they are in wheelchairs. On route, we picked up three different passengers in wheelchairs at three different stops. At that last stop, the old lady in front of me with dyed plum hair and a scaly neck, started complaining very loudly about the delay caused when a passenger in a wheelchair got on the bus. Nasty old woman. I mean, seriously, surely, the passenger in the wheelchair has a LOT MORE to complain about. There was a young man in a Dunkin’ Donuts uniform sitting beside her. When she started whining, he glared at her and stood up. There were no other free seats so he just stood there in the aisle with his back to her. I’m not sure, but I think she got the message because she stopped complaining.