He looked at the clock. He just had to endure Gavin for another hour and then they’d be heading back to Orange County.
“You suck at this,” Gavin said as he mowed down half a dozen soldiers. His score was twice Theo’s.
“When’s your mom coming back?” Theo asked. He was sorry the moment he heard his own words. He already knew the answer, but he just wanted to rub it in, hurt Gavin a little.
“Six weeks,” Gavin said without any emotion.
Gavin’s mom had caught the whole political activist bug from Grandma. She married some guy who was a big shot in the Peace Corps. But a year after Gavin was born, her husband took off to do some rescue work in Thailand after a hurricane. He never came back. He didn’t die, he just preferred going from disaster area to disaster area rather than raising his son. He still sent e-mails from all over the world. Theo didn’t know whether Gavin ever responded. They never talked about him.
His mom was in Kenya, installing “smart” hand pumps in villages. She’d explained the project to Theo once. “Millions of people in Africa get all their water from hand pumps—you know, the kind you see in westerns when the cowboy rides up to the farm and asks if he can have some water, then sticks his head under the faucet and starts pumping. The problem is that they break down a lot. About a third of the pumps are broken at any given time,” she’d said. “My company invented a mobile data transmitter that gets implanted into the pump handle. When the pump doesn’t work, it sends a text message, and we go and fix the pump.”
Theo admired Aunt Talia. She was actually doing something to make the world better. Not just talking about fame and fortune, like her son, Gavin.
Gavin suddenly broke the silence. “This is her last trip. She said she misses me too much and she doesn’t want to turn into my dad. We Skype a lot.”
“That’s good,” Theo said, suddenly feeling bad for Gavin. Not to mention himself. At least Gavin’s mom would be coming home eventually. Theo wouldn’t be so lucky.
As if sensing Theo’s change of mood, Gavin spun and glared at him. “None of this matters anyway. When my songs catch on, I’m going to be outta here, living in some big white mansion in Beverly Hills. Maybe I’ll let you come visit, take a dip in my pool with all the hot chicks. Swimming suit optional.” He laughed as nastily as he could.
“Yeah, right,” Theo said. “Your ‘music.’” He said “music” like he was saying “unicorn.”
“Got some tight tunes, son. You’ll see.”
“If your songs are so tight, why not play some for me right now? Go ahead. Right now.”
Gavin’s chest swelled with anger, and Theo wondered if he was going to punch him. Theo hoped not, because those arms were massive. And he was already sore from the beating he had taken playing basketball with Gavin’s friends.
Gavin turned back to the game and rebooted it. He played silently by himself while Theo watched the clock for his dad to come take him away.
“THAT wasn’t so bad, right?” his dad said on the drive home. “A little face time with family didn’t kill you.”
“It was okay,” Theo said. He hoped that would be enough for his dad. He really didn’t feel like talking about Gavin.
“So, T-bone,” his dad said, “what’s the best thing that happened yesterday? I forgot to ask last night.”
During the school week, Marcus always asked at dinner, “What’s the best thing that happened to you today?” That way he kept up on Theo’s life in school.
The question wasn’t a surprise to Theo. What was a surprise was what popped into his head.
Crazy Girl.
He thought of her walking next to him at the court, spinning the ball on her finger. Calling him Sasquatch (which actually was kinda funny, though he’d never admit that to her). The way she took that slap from Motorcycle Guy without crying, then stood up and fearlessly kicked him right in the shin.
“Son?” his dad prompted. “Too many choices?”
“Huh?”
“About the best thing that happened.” He shook his head the way adults do whenever they want to say, “Teenagers. What airheads.”
Theo was about to give his dad an answer he would find acceptable, like playing basketball, or getting an A on an algebra quiz. Girls weren’t something he talked about with his dad. Too embarrassing. Sometimes Marcus would ask, “Any girls you think are cute at school?” Theo always shrugged. “Really?” his dad would persist. “No one? Not one girl in the entire school is attractive to you?” Theo would shrug again.
He’d perfected a variety of elaborate shrugs so expressive they could be a language all their own. “Are you just scared of talking to them?” his dad would ask. Shrug Number 8 (translation: Maybe a little). “You just have to ask them about themselves. What are their hobbies? What bands do they listen to? You play the guitar, so ask them if they play an instrument.” Sigh and shrug Number 14 (translation: If you keep talking about this, I’ll leave the room).
“What was the best thing that happened to you yesterday?” Theo asked his dad, hoping to dodge his own answer.
“Easy,” Marcus said. “Same as every day. This. Hanging out with you.”
Theo groaned. “We need to start another jar,” he said. “The TC jar. Too Corny. Every time you say something too corny or too emo, you pop a dollar in the jar.”
His dad laughed. “Too emo. Gotcha.”
Marcus turned on the radio to an oldies station and sang along with the Eagles’ “Hotel California.”
Relieved that his dad had stopped prying, Theo stuck his hand into his backpack for his Aca-lympics study notes. He’d have to study every spare moment if he was going to have time for Coach Mandrake’s master plan. As his fingers dug into the backpack, he found a CD wrapped in notebook paper. Handwritten on the disk was Songs, Vol. 1.
“What’s that?” Marcus asked.
“I think it’s Gavin’s songs.”
His dad laughed. “Really? I thought that was an urban myth, like albino alligators and healthy doughnuts.”
“Me, too.” Theo studied the disk. “And so low-tech. He could have just e-mailed me the song file.”
“I guess he wanted it to be more private. Not something on a computer that anyone could access.”
Theo felt his scalp tingle. Was his dad talking about Theo looking at the dating profile? Did he know? Theo looked at his dad’s face for some sign but saw nothing.
“Let’s play it,” Marcus suggested.
“I’ve got to study, Dad.” Theo wasn’t in the mood for even one more second of Gavin, especially after feeling like he’d finally escaped.
“I’m curious. Aren’t you?”
“Not really.”
“He put it in your backpack for a reason, son.”
“Fine.” Theo sighed and stuck the CD in the player. Gavin started singing.
This is not the same old song
Kids in the backseat while the parents get along
“Huh,” his dad said, sounding surprised. “Not a bad voice.”
This is about how to stay alive when
The kids are in the backseat and there’s no one drivin’.
Marcus nodded appreciatively. “I like the way he rhymes ‘alive when’ with ‘drivin’.’ Unexpected.”
Theo made a grumbling sound.
When the first song was over, they listened to the other three.
Theo hated to admit it, but Gavin’s voice was pretty good. Worse, his songs were also pretty good. If he was honest, Theo thought the songs were really good. One song was about missing his mom. Another was about the plight of the poor in Africa. Another was about neighborhood life in L.A. They all had catchy tunes, but they were also touching. Theo had expected harsh hip-hop about chicks, guns, and violence. He hadn’t realized Gavin had this side to him.
“Sorry, T-Rex,” his dad said sympathetically.
“What for?”
“I know you and Gavin have always butted heads. Now the little punk goes and writes these terrifi
c songs. That’s got to burn you up.”
“Do I seem that shallow?” Theo asked.
“We’re all that shallow sometimes. Part of human frailty.”
“I’m glad they’re good,” Theo said. He’d said that just for his dad’s sake. He knew that’s how he should feel. What he actually felt was anger and jealousy.
He ejected the CD, stuck it in his backpack, and started studying for the Aca-lympics.
But his mind kept wandering back to Gavin’s music. Apparently there was more to his cousin than bragging and showing off.
Then Theo thought about what Gavin had said to him when they were leaving the basketball court. Was he right about Theo playing just hard enough not to look foolish? Why was he playing basketball? For his dad? Did he think it would help his dad get over his mom faster? And why did he start the Aca-lympics? Was it because it made his mom proud? Or was it because Brian had talked him into it? Theo couldn’t even remember.
This, more than Gavin’s talent, was what was making him feel jealous: Gavin had found something he loved, and he was doing it for no one but himself. Did Theo do anything he cared enough about to fight for a win?
“HE’S lying,” Tunes said, pointing at Theo. “Do you concur, Doctor?”
“I concur, Doctor.” Daryl nodded. “The boy has a serious case of Big Fat Liar-itis. And I’m afraid it’s spreading. Like peanut butter on a cracker.”
“Like tomato sauce on a pizza.”
“Like dog poop on a shoe.”
“Is there a cure, Doctor?”
Daryl shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not. It’s terminal. Unless, of course, he decides to tell us the truth. That’s his only chance to live. Do you concur, Doctor?”
“I concur,” Tunes said.
Tunes and Daryl stared at Theo as if waiting for him to confess to selling nuclear secrets to China. Tunes and Daryl were big fans of the actor Leonardo DiCaprio, so they were constantly, and annoyingly, quoting his movies. (“I concur” came from Catch Me If You Can, in which Leo played a teenager pretending to be a real doctor and kept repeating “I concur” to other real doctors because he saw a doctor on a soap opera say it. Unbelievably, it worked.)
“You guys are idiots,” Theo said.
“I do not concur,” Daryl said.
“Nor I,” Tunes said.
Daryl and Tunes high-fived each other and laughed.
“What do you think, Brookenstein?” Tunes asked. “Is our boy Theo a terminal liar?”
Brooke Hill was slouching at a desk on the other side of the classroom. She was studying a fat book on colonial American history. She wore a fuzzy black sweater with multicolored sequins that formed a large, elaborate B on her chest, a little like Superman’s uniform. Everything she wore was fancy and glittery and expensive. She was the richest person in the school, the prettiest person in the school, and also the smartest person in the school. She looked up at Tunes’s question, scanned all three boys as if looking at a display of repulsive insects, and returned to her reading.
These were the members of Brain Train, Orangetree Middle School’s Aca-lympics team. The elite squad of straight-A eggheads and social shadow dwellers.
Gary Sanchez was called Tunes because he could identify almost any song ever written within the first few notes and quote all the lyrics. Didn’t matter what kind of song—pop, classical, musical, opera, rap (even novelty songs like “Purple People Eater”)—he knew them all. He was also an accomplished pianist who had already given a concert of classical music on a real stage for a paying audience. But he wasn’t all I’m-into-Beethoven-so-I’m-cool. He and Theo had jammed a few times in Gary’s garage, with Theo on guitar and Gary on keyboard (and Brian on the sofa), playing some down-and-dirty rock and roll, like Bruce Springsteen and Van Halen. After graduating from Orangetree, Gary was going to attend the local high school for performing arts. Naturally, his specialty on the Brain Train was the performing arts, including everything from music to stage to ballet. (Yes, even ballet, though Theo and the guys promised not to tease him about that. Too much.)
Daryl Tran was the team’s math genius. He sometimes caught mistakes that Mr. Fielding, the algebra teacher, made in solving equations. In fact, he was so brilliant that Mr. Fielding didn’t even mind when Daryl corrected him in front of the class, as if it was an honor, like Mr. Fielding was a weekend golfer getting a tip from Tiger Woods. Daryl was also taking an advanced calculus course at the local community college. He told the guys that the college girls in his class sometimes hit on him, but no one believed him, because whenever a girl came within five feet of him his face broke out into a rain-forest-level sweat. His parents owned a small Vietnamese restaurant that Daryl worked at every day after school. Sometimes the guys would visit him there and his parents would give them all free food. They seemed happy (and surprised) that Daryl had any friends at all.
Brooke specialized in American history, geography, and current events. She was the only member of the team who covered more than one subject. She didn’t socialize with the rest of them. Once they’d invited her along to Daryl’s restaurant. She’d snorted and walked out of the room as if they’d asked her to take off her clothes and run down the hall singing the national anthem. The weird thing about Brooke was that, although she was smart and rich and attractive, she didn’t seem to have any friends. Not one. Not that people didn’t try. Especially all the popular Bees (short for wannabes) that buzzed around her looking for an invitation to her mansion, where, it was rumored, she had an enormous swimming pool with a waterfall and slide, and a Jacuzzi as big as the pool. For some reason no one could figure out, Brooke ignored everyone.
“Sorrysorrysorry. Sorry I’m late!” Brian burst into the room, panting and sweating. “What’d I miss? What’d I miss?” He clumsily ran into a desk, knocking it into a couple other desks. “Owww!”
The final member of Brain Train. Specialty: literature and art.
“You didn’t miss anything,” Theo said. “Mr. J isn’t here yet.”
Brian collapsed into a seat. “Excellent.”
“Wait a minute,” Tunes said with a grin. “You did in fact miss something. Something very important. You missed Theo here telling us all about the brutal fistfight he got into at the park. Broken teeth were flying everywhere.”
Daryl laughed. “Yeah. He Chuck Norris’d some poor Asian kid. Sounds like a hate crime to me. Do you concur?”
Tunes nodded. “I concur.”
“He’s even got a bruise on his cheek to prove it. Show him your war wound, Theo.”
Theo sighed and turned his cheek toward Brian. The red splotch wasn’t as bright as it had been two days ago, but it was still visible. Like a bug bite. From a tiny, tiny bug.
“The guy must have had marshmallows for fists,” Daryl said.
“You sure that isn’t rouge?” Tunes said. “My sister puts that on to make her cheeks red.”
“Your sister looks like a clown,” Daryl said.
“I concur,” Tunes said.
“Wait a minute! Wait. A. Minute,” Brian hollered. “You were in a fight?”
“Not just a fight,” Tunes said. “He also came to the rescue of a hot girl—”
“I didn’t say she was hot,” Theo interrupted.
“It’s implied,” Daryl said.
“And,” Tunes continued, “he confronted some sinister goon on a motorcycle.”
“I think I read that story in Artemis Fowl,” Daryl said. “Only this guy had magical powers. Did your guy have magical powers, Theo? Did he levitate the motorcycle or make cheese appear out of thin air?”
“What kind of cheese?” Tunes asked.
“Muenster is the traditional favorite of wizards and warlocks. Witches, on the other hand, prefer Tyrolean gray. From Austria.”
“Fascinating,” Tunes said.
They high-fived again and snickered.
“Pay no attention to these morons,” Brian said. “The only adventure they have is putting rubber bands on their braces
. What really happened?”
Theo told him. When he got to the part about Motorcycle Guy hitting Crazy Girl and Crazy Girl kicking him back, Brooke looked up for a moment. Without any change in expression, she returned to her reading.
“I told you that park was dangerous,” Brian said. He looked at the others. “I told him. You never hang out where guys play sports. Their testosterone is already at dangerous levels. Add competitive sports into the mix? Recipe for violence.”
“We should Yelp the park,” Tunes said. “Warn people to stay away.”
Theo wondered why he had bothered to tell them. At first, he’d been prepared to explain how he got his bruise, figuring they would ask him about it. But the bruise was hardly visible, so no one had. He went ahead and volunteered the story anyway while they waited for Mr. J. Which meant he was kind of proud of what had happened. He wanted them to know. Why? It’s not like he actually did anything. He didn’t confront Motorcycle Guy. He didn’t save Crazy Girl. He didn’t punch Asian Kid. But something had happened.
Something unpredictable and scary.
And he’d been there. In the middle of it.
“I can’t believe you didn’t call or text me about it,” Brian said.
Theo was surprised to see that Brian was hurt. Probably because they usually told each other everything as soon as it happened. They’d been doing that since they were old enough to speak (and exaggerate). But, for some reason, Theo had wanted this to be just his story for a while. He’d wanted to savor it, examine it, try it on and see how this new Theo—the one in the middle of danger and drama—suited him. The only other drama in his life had been his mom’s death, and after that everyone saw him as Poor Theo. He’d hated that. Bright eyes turning sad the moment he entered a room. This new Theo, taller and more daring, fit him better. Or at least he wanted it to.
Sasquatch in the Paint Page 6