Parrotfish

by Ellen Wittlinger

  “Wait and see. Russ is a nice guy,” Sebastian said, “but he’s just a regular guy. Nothing extra. You’ve got extra.”

  That I did. Extra in some places, and not quite enough in others. But would that make me interesting to the most amazing girl in Buxton?

  I’d never been to a chorus concert before. Not surprisingly. The only people who showed up for this kind of activity were parents or maybe best friends. I was surprised—the singing was actually pretty good. And they all looked very professional: the girls in their white blouses and long black skirts, the five guys who’d had the courage to join the group in black tuxedos and bow ties. Of course, I couldn’t help wondering—if I’d joined the chorus, what would I have been wearing? A long black skirt and a bow tie? Always the question.

  It was nice to see everybody enjoying themselves up there, singing harmony and coming in at just the right places. I was stupidly happy that those five guys hadn’t let their friends talk them out of joining a group that was obviously going to be 90 percent female. The guys sang as loud and strong as the girls.

  Of course, my eyes were pretty much glued to Kita during the whole performance, so I couldn’t really tell you who those five guys were. She had her hair pulled back with an elastic, but it still stood out gloriously around her face. What a beautiful face it was, her double ethnicities weaving themselves around each other in perfect harmony.

  Russ Gallo was sitting in the back of the auditorium, not that far from where we had the camera set up. The place wasn’t more than half full, and most people sat up close to the stage. Russ slumped in his chair and put his feet up on the seat in front of him; he didn’t appear to be enjoying himself. Not that I spent much time looking at Russ, but when I did, he was studying his fingernails, not looking at the stage. I wondered if Kita could feel me staring at her. If she did, would she think the person who couldn’t take his eyes off her was her boyfriend? If she realized it was me, Grady the Special, would it freak her out?

  When the concert was over, Russ got up and ambled over to where Sebastian and I were packing up the equipment.

  “Hey,” he said, reaching down to pull in some wires.

  “Hey,” I said back, feeling immediately guilty for the betrayal of him that had been going on in my overactive brain.

  “You guys want to come out and get something to eat with us?” he said.

  “With you and Kita?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  Sebastian gave him an arched eyebrow look. “You guys want company?”

  Russ shrugged. “Might be easier that way. Kita’s still pissed off at me.”

  “About the Ben and George thing?”

  “Yeah, that. And other stuff. I don’t know. She’s on my back all the time lately about one thing or another.”

  “Well, couples have their ups and downs,” I said cheerily, as if I had any experience of couplehood or knew what the hell I was talking about.

  “Yeah, I guess. Anyway, Kita will be happy to have you two along. She likes you.”

  I had a Sally Field moment: She likes me, she really likes me! But I came to my senses when I saw Kita walking down the aisle toward us, her jawbone arranged in a manner that seemed to be saying she didn’t like anyone very much at the moment.

  “The chorus sounded great,” I said, trying to wipe the frown off her face. “I totally enjoyed it.”

  “Thanks, Grady,” she said, shooting me a half-baked smile. “The harmony was off in the last song, though.”

  “Really?” Russ said. “I liked that one.”

  “You did, huh? What was the last song?” Kita turned on Russ and stared him deep in the eyes. I could imagine crumbling to dust under that stare.

  “You know, the one about . . . wasn’t it about a . . . a train or something?” Russ looked to us for help, but it was too late.

  “Tell him, Grady. What was the last song we sang?”

  My betrayal fantasy was coming true. “It was ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,’” I said quietly, thanking God I was a better listener than Russ.

  “That’s right. There aren’t any trains in it, Russ. There’s a chariot in it, but no trains.” Kita propped one arm on her hip and pursed her lips, glaring at him.

  “Oh, I guess I was thinking of a different song . . .”

  “Admit it, Russell. You weren’t even listening. You didn’t want to come, so you just sat out here pouting. I could see you. You decided before you showed up that you wouldn’t like it, so you didn’t.”

  Russ turned his palms up and appealed to Sebastian and me to help him. “Can you believe this? I told you, Kita, I’m not that into singing. I came, didn’t I? What do you want from me?”

  She shook her head. “I want you to act like you give a damn about me, but that obviously isn’t going to happen, is it?”

  I was embarrassed for Russ that he was being insulted in front of two schlubs like us. He had to get mad; what else could the guy do?

  “Look, Kita, I’ve tried to be whatever it is you expect a boyfriend to be, but I’m obviously not perfect enough for you. Maybe you should find somebody who is.”

  “Or maybe just somebody who’s more emotionally mature than a twelve-year-old!” Kita shot back.

  “That’s it!” Russ yelled. “I’m sick of you ragging on me all the time! So I’m not perfect. Boohoo. Neither are you, Kita! Neither are you!”

  Sebastian and I broke down the equipment, pretending we were invisible. In another minute, Russ was headed out of the auditorium, barking a few last nasty words back at Kita. Once he was gone, the fight went out of her and she slumped down onto the arm of a chair.

  “Did you and Russ just break up?” Sebastian asked her, managing not to sound too pleased about it.

  “Is that what it looked like?” Kita asked.

  “Did to me.”

  “Well, I guess we did, then.” She didn’t seem 100 percent happy about the idea.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. And then, lamely, repeated myself. “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she said.

  “I know, but . . .” But what?

  Sebastian was hard at work, not just packing up the video stuff, but also plotting the course of my life. “What you guys really ought to do is go out and get some coffee or something. Kita needs somebody to talk to.”

  I looked at him in panic. “Your mother is picking us up any minute, isn’t she?”

  “Well, she’s picking me up, and I can take all the equipment. But you live close enough to walk home, don’t you?” His eyebrow was trying to send me a signal of some sort, leaping around the left side of his forehead.

  “Would you mind, Grady?” Kita said, looking up at me sadly. “I don’t really want to go home alone right now. My mother could pick us up later and drop you off at your house.”

  “Well, I guess I could, but”—I turned to Sebastian once more—“maybe we could all go, and Kita’s mother could drop you off . . .”

  Sebastian shook his head sorrowfully. “I wish I could, but I have a trig test tomorrow, and I’ve barely studied. I have to get home.”

  Right. Did Sebastian even take trigonometry? My hands were so sweaty, I could barely hold onto the camera case. We all carried the equipment outside and stacked it in the back of Mrs. Shipley’s waiting Volvo. She and Sebastian both waved their little hands at us as they drove away, leaving me alone with Kita Charles.

  It was only two blocks to the August Moon diner, but they were the longest two blocks I’d ever walked. Kita was dragging her feet a little, and I kept walking too fast and getting ahead of her, then realizing it and dropping back. But walking right next to her, banging elbows, made me kind of light-headed, so then I’d speed up again and leave her behind. If anyone had been watching, they would have thought my cruise control was broken.

  Finally, we slumped into a booth at the diner.

  “I’m sorry, Grady,” Kita finally said. “I shouldn’t have made you come with me. You probably just want to go h
ome.”

  “No, I don’t!” I assured her. “If you want to talk or anything, I’m here. I mean, I’m glad to be here. I mean, I’m not glad you broke up, but . . .”

  She sighed. “I shouldn’t have been so mean to Russ. He’s a nice guy, and he tries to do the right thing, but somehow we just don’t work together. We’re too different—we get on each other’s nerves.”

  I couldn’t imagine Kita ever getting on my nerves. We ordered coffee and fries, then sat in silence until the coffee arrived.

  “You must think I’m terrible, don’t you? A spoiled brat,” Kita said.

  “No, I don’t! I’ve always thought you were really . . . really nice.” I’d almost said “wonderful,” but at the last minute I managed to switch to the most benign compliment possible.

  “I used to think I was a nice person, but lately . . .” A tear rolled down her cheek. Lord, save me.

  The waiter plopped the basket of fries and a small bowl of ketchup in between us, unaware of the drama taking place before him. I handed Kita my napkin, even though she had one in front of her too. “You are a nice person, Kita. You’re a great person. You’re probably my favorite person in the whole school!” Whoa, back up. Too much information. “I mean, you know, except for, like, Sebastian.” Shut up! Shut up!

  “Thanks, Grady,” she said, smiling a little. “I like you too. Are you and Sebastian a couple or something?”

  “What?” I could feel the heat spreading across my face and imagined the scarlet color that came with it.

  “I wasn’t sure if . . . you know . . . if you were into guys or girls now.”

  I reached for the coffee cup to disguise my embarrassment. “Well, no. I like girls. I always have liked girls, only now I like them as a boy, I guess.”

  She nodded. “That’s good.”

  “It is?”

  “Sure. Now you’re a boy who likes girls and understands them. How many of those are there? In my experience, not many.” She looked into my eyes and grinned as she toyed with a long french fry, flopping it around in the ketchup before finally bringing it to her mouth and chopping it in half.

  “Well, I don’t know if . . . some people wouldn’t . . . I mean, not everyone thinks . . .” I had no idea what I was even trying to say. She had me hypnotized, my eyes following the dancing potato.

  “I like you, Grady,” she said, clearly, so there could be no mistaking it. She took the uneaten half of her french fry and held it in front of my mouth. “Let’s share.”

  I opened my mouth and let her put the fry inside it. I wasn’t at all sure I’d be able to chew and breathe at the same time with her looking at me like that. But somehow I managed to live through the most astounding moment of my life so far.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sebastian called two minutes after I got home. I hadn’t even had a chance to answer my mother’s questions about why the filming went so late.

  “Who gave you a ride home?” she asked as she handed me the kitchen phone—the old kind that was still tethered to the wall—then stood there, watching me.

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” I said, but she didn’t move.

  Since the main living areas were still on display, Dad and Charlie were in the kitchen too, staring at a basketball game on the small TV on the counter. Laura was spending the night at her friend Mira’s house, so at least she wasn’t there to spy on me.

  “So what happened?” Sebastian screamed at me. “Where did you go? What did she say?”

  “I can’t talk right now, Sebastian. I just got home, and—”

  “What do you mean, you can’t talk? This would never have happened if I hadn’t set it up! I had your back, just like Napoleon and Pedro! You owe me details!”

  “I know, I know,” I said, then let my mind drift.

  KITA: [brandishes a golden fried potato] I like you, Grady. Let’s share.

  GRADY: [tongues the french fry, nibbling it out of her fingers] Whatever you say.

  KITA: I say, the hell with Russell Gallo. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for all my life. You’re my twin, my perfect match.

  GRADY: And you’re mine, Kita.

  KITA: Feed me, Grady. Feed me. [opens her mouth]

  [GRADY picks up another fry, dips it in ketchup, and twirls it into Kita’s chin, spewing ketchup across her face and blouse.]

  KITA: [wiping red goo off herself] Grady! Look what you did! You ruined everything!

  [GRADY crawls under the table and curls into a fetal position.]

  Jeez, even my imagination couldn’t come up with a decent outcome for me and Kita. The actual evening hadn’t been that bad.

  The phone in my hand was chirping. “Grady! Tell me!”

  My mom had finally left my side and was folding laundry on the kitchen table; I turned away from her. “We shared a french fry,” I whispered.

  “A what? A french fry? Is that code or something?”

  “Look, why don’t you come over tomorrow? We’ll talk about it then.”

  He sighed. “You have got to get a cell phone. What time should I come?”

  “Say, eleven. I want to sleep in.”

  “Fine. I’ll be up at dawn, waiting.”

  “Don’t expect much, Sebastian. It was really just a french fry.”

  I hung up and turned around to find my mother staring at me. “What was ‘just a french fry’?” She obviously thought I was speaking a secret language too.

  I sighed. If only there were something to tell. “It’s nothing. I went to get something to eat with this girl I know. Kita Charles. She just broke up with her boyfriend, and she needed somebody to talk to.”

  “I never heard you mention her before. Did you just meet her?”

  “Yeah, sort of. I know her boyfriend. Her exboyfriend.”

  “Uh-huh.” She examined me quizzically. “I went to the window when I heard the car in the driveway. It looked like there was an Asian woman driving.”

  “That’s Kita’s mother. She’s Japanese American.”

  “So, Kita is Japanese?”

  “Partly. And partly African American.”

  “Really? Well, I imagine she does need friends—I’m glad you’re helping her. I keep reading about how difficult it is for those kids.”

  “What kids?”

  “Kids who are half in one culture and half in another. It’s hard for them to know which one to identify with.”

  “Kita has lots of friends,” I said. “Of all kinds. She doesn’t even need me. I just happened to be around when she broke up with her boyfriend.”

  She smiled at me. “You’re a good . . . kid.” What a laugh. She thought I was doing Kita a favor or something. She had it all backward.

  The game must have finished up: Dad turned off the TV. “So, what did they have to say about the decorations when they dropped you off?” he asked. Even after all these years, he liked to hear what everybody thought of his efforts.

  “Well, Kita said ‘wow’ about fifteen times. Her mother seemed a little bit confused by it all.”

  “Tell ’em to come by on Christmas Eve for the big show!” he said, undaunted. “Which reminds me, tomorrow is costume-fitting day, in case any seams or hems need to be let out or anything. So your mom has time to fix things.”

  Charlie stopped on his way to the stairs. “I don’t want to do that Tiny Tim thing this year, with the crutch and everything. I’m too big.”

  That was certainly true. Even last year Dad could barely carry him on his shoulders, and Charlie hadn’t gotten any smaller with another year’s worth of sitting on the couch inhaling Cheez Doodles.

  And it’s not as if we really put on A Christmas Carol anyway—that would be way too much, even for Dad. We dressed like Dickens’s characters, and we ate turkey and pudding—chocolate pudding, not plum pudding made with suet and brandy like in the original. But the rest of the show was mostly in mime. We were miked to the outside, but the scripted lines were few and mostly belonged to Dad, which was fine with the rest of
us. It’s true that ending the show with Charlie on a chair shouting, “God bless us, every one!” always got a big cheer from the crowd, but maybe that was just because the whole thing was over and the parents could finally get their kids to go to Grandma’s house for their dinner.

  Dad, of course, looked crushed. “But how will we end the show without Tiny Tim?”

  “I’ll still say it, if you want, but I feel stupid limping around with that crutch and pretending to be a baby.”

  “But it’s a show, Charlie!” Dad begged.

  “Look, Joe,” Mom said. “We’re all getting a little bit tired of doing this every year. You can’t expect the children to be as excited about it as they used to be when they were younger.”

  “Why not?” He really didn’t know. Mom and Charlie and I looked at each other, none of us able to say what needed to be said.

  “It’s late,” Mom finally said. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  Charlie and I tore up the stairs so we didn’t have to see that sad, confused look on Dad’s face another second.

  At a quarter to eleven the next morning, Sebastian’s mother’s car pulled into the driveway. I opened the door with a piece of bacon in my hand.

  “Ooh, can I have that?” Sebastian said, taking it from my fingers. “Haven’t had bacon in ages. Oh, and my mother wants to know when to pick me up. Am I staying all day?”

  “Sure. I can drive you home later.”

  He ran back to give his mother the message. She was swaddled in a fur coat that made her head look even smaller than it really was. She stuck her head out the window and yelled to me, “I think one of your teddy bears has fallen over!”

  “Thanks!” I said. “I’ll put it back up later.”

  “I’ll do it!” Sebastian said, and ran right over to set Pooh in an upright position again. His mother backed out, smiling and waving. She did seem quite pleased by our friendship. And I had to admit that I was too. Sebastian wasn’t Eve—he could never replace the friend I’d had since I was a little kid—but he’d proved himself to be on my side when I needed a friend, which was a lot more than I could say for Eve, or anyone else for that matter. Except Kita.