At the end of school I found Gabby and asked her to remind Uncle Theo to come back for me.
“You know he’s not going to be happy about this,” she said.
“I know, but I’ve got a project to work on. And school’s the most important thing in my life.”
“Yesterday you said pie was the most important thing in your life,” Gabby said with a frown. “Right before you ate the last piece.”
“I meant pi, the number we use in math,” I informed her. “Me eating blueberry pie at the time was just a coincidence.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” she said with a smirk.
If only she knew.
I waited in the student lounge, hoping Ryan wouldn’t show up, but a few minutes later, there was a burst of noise from the hallway as he opened the door and walked in.
“Let’s make this quick,” Ryan said. “I don’t like being at school any longer than I have to.”
“Fine,” I said, approaching him. “We’ll start with social skills. Lesson one.” I held out my right hand, and Ryan recoiled.
“Did you pick your nose or something?” he asked.
I sighed. “No, that’s something you’d do. I’m trying to shake your hand.”
“Oh.” Ryan reached out and shook it.
“Now, we try polite conversation,” I said. “How’s it going?”
“None of your business,” he shot back.
I closed my eyes. “I’m not asking a personal question. I’m simply asking how you are.”
“Oh,” Ryan said again. “Let’s start over.”
I offered him my hand, and he shook it.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Pretty good,” he said.
Then we stared at each other.
“Now, you ask how I’m doing,” I coached.
“But I don’t care how you’re doing,” said Ryan.
“It’s the polite thing to do,” I said. “Even if you don’t care.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Fine. How are you doing?”
“Pretty good. Hungry, though. I hope they have good snacks here.”
Ryan widened his eyes and glanced around. “There are snacks?”
“No, we’re pretending to be at the party,” I said, “where there will be snacks.”
Ryan nodded. “Can we have snacks now, though?”
I was about to say something sarcastic but thought better of it. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”
Luckily, the student lounge happened to have both a drink machine and a snack machine. I bought two different types of soda and one bag of chips and carried them back to where Ryan was waiting.
“Here you go,” I said, tossing him one of the soda cans.
Ryan made a face. “Grape? Gross!”
“Off to a great start,” I said. “If someone offers you something you don’t like . . .”
He studied the can like the answer might be printed next to the ingredients. Then he held it out to me. “No thank you?” he asked.
“He can be taught!” I said, taking the can from him. “Now—”
Ryan swiped the other drink and the chips from my hands. “Thanks!”
“Nooo,” I said. “Those were mine, and I hadn’t offered them to you.”
“Well, that makes you a rude host, doesn’t it?” he replied.
In response I snatched the soda back and after a brief struggle, the chips, too.
“I didn’t want them anymore, anyway,” he said with a disdainful sniff at the wrinkled bag. “They’re all broken now.”
“Better the chips than your nose,” I mumbled.
“What?”
“Better be hip like the bros!” I said with a smile.
Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Anyway . . . what’s next?”
I opened the chip bag. “Would you like some Doritos?”
Ryan peered in at the crumbled contents. “You mean Dorito dust?”
I raised an eyebrow, but before I could say a word, he pasted on a smile.
“I mean, I’d love some.”
I tried to pour them into his palm, but Ryan plunged his entire fist into the bag. When he tried to withdraw his hand, his sleeve got caught. Instead of gently freeing himself from the bag, Ryan shook his arm up and down, pieces of tortilla chip flying everywhere.
At least Berkeley’s party would have entertainment.
After I cleaned up the snack debris, we tried more polite conversation.
“People love to talk about themselves,” I said. “And they love to hear their own name. So ask them questions about their lives and try to use their name a lot.”
Ryan nodded. “So, Tim, what’s Tim’s favorite sport, Tim?”
I frowned. “That might be overkill.”
“Ryan is sorry,” he said.
I closed my eyes. “Why are you using your own name?”
“Because you’re right. I like the sound of it.” He smiled.
By the time Uncle Theo came to pick me up, I kind of wanted to shake Ryan like a bag of Doritos. Our last lesson for the evening was how to accept and give compliments.
“I like your shirt,” I told him. “Now you say something nice about me.”
“You’re smart to like this shirt,” he replied.
I stared at him. “Try again.”
Ryan squinted and rubbed his temples. “Hmmm.”
“It is not that hard to come up with something nice about me,” I told him.
Ryan snapped his fingers. “You’re overly optimistic!”
I sighed and hung my head. I couldn’t get out to the car fast enough.
“How was your project?” asked Uncle Theo.
“All I’m gonna say is that the payoff had better be worth it,” I said, buckling myself into the backseat of his car. “How was practice?”
“We learned a new dance today!” Gabby said, glancing back at me from the front seat. “I think you’ll pick it up pretty quick, though.”
Uncle Theo nodded. “If we need to, we can stay a little longer at practice tomorrow.”
I winced. “Actually, I have to work on this project again.”
“Oh,” said Uncle Theo. Then he fell silent.
“I don’t like it either, believe me,” I told him. “It’s just going to take more work than I expected.”
A lot more work. On Tuesday, Ryan seemed to have forgotten everything I’d taught him the day before, so I spent half an hour reviewing it . . . this time with imaginary chips. Then we sat in the media room and I made him watch a video of some of the classiest, sophisticated TV and movie characters I could think of.
“Look at the way James Bond moves,” I said. “He’s got confidence.”
“He’s got a watch that shoots laser beams,” said Ryan. “What guy wouldn’t be confident with something like that?”
“Okay, so pretend you’re wearing that, then,” I said, nudging Ryan to his feet. “And walk across the room.”
Ryan stood and instantly dropped into a squat, arm held straight out in front of him.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“My watch shoots laser beams,” he said. “You really think I’m going to keep it close to my body?”
I groaned. “So why are you squatting?”
“A guy with a laser beam watch probably has enemies.”
“So do guys without them.” I gave him a pointed look.
On Wednesday afternoon, he remembered his basic manners, at least, but when I asked him to show up looking his best, he appeared in his regular school clothes with a bonus grease stain.
“Do you own any shirts with collars?” I asked.
“My pajama top,” he said. “Do you want—”
“No.” I pointed at his jeans. “How about any nice pants?”
“These are my nice pants,” Ryan said.
“But you wrote on them.” I studied a leg closer. “And drew half a bird sticking out of a cat’s mouth.”
“Inspired by real life,” he informed me. “See, th
ere was this chewed-up—”
I held out a hand. “Look at my face. Do I look like I want to hear more?” I had him sit in a chair. “Let’s talk about reading people.”
Ryan grinned confidently. “That’ll be easy. My aunt has a subscription.”
I shook my head. “Not People the magazine.” I pointed to him and me. “People. You need to watch how they react to your behavior.”
“Why?”
“Because it’ll keep you from getting punched.” I opened my arms. “Talk to me like you usually would, and watch my face. What are you doing for Christmas?”
Ryan scowled.
“Okay, see, that topic clearly makes you unhappy.” I gestured at his expression. “So I’ll switch to something else.”
But Ryan wasn’t ready to. “Let me guess. You and your family are gonna sit around the tree, opening presents by the fire while you laugh and hug.”
“Well,” I said slowly, “we don’t typically light the tree on fire. But yeah, we’ll open presents and spend time together.” I shrugged. “Just a normal family Christmas.”
“Normal.” Ryan’s scowl deepened. “My aunt has to work on Christmas, so I spend the day by myself. Guess we’re freaks, huh?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I usually get one or two presents. How many do you get?”
“Okay, now’s the time to notice I’m uncomfortable.” I pointed to myself. “Could we talk about something else please?”
“You brought it up,” Ryan grumbled.
“And I wish I hadn’t.”
Still, my incident with Ryan stayed with me, and at lunch on Thursday, I asked my friends, “Are you guys thinking about how much a gift costs before you suggest it? Some people can’t afford much.”
Vanessa tilted her hand from side to side. “I’m keeping it in Coach range.”
I wrinkled my forehead. “What does that mean?”
“Not too cheap, but not too expensive,” she explained. “Like a Coach wristlet.”
“I’m also keeping it in Coach range,” said Brooke.
At surprised looks from the rest of us, she grinned and said, “What I’d spend on a gift for my soccer coach.”
We all groaned, and I threw a cracker at her. She caught it in one hand and crammed it into her mouth.
Heather hadn’t spoken up yet, too intent on devouring the fried chicken she’d just sat down with.
“You know, nobody’s going to steal that from you,” I said as she gnawed a drumstick.
Heather blushed and held a hand in front of her mouth. “Sorry, but I skipped breakfast this morning to get to choir practice early. And I really can’t function without pancakes, eggs, turkey bacon, fruit, potatoes . . .”
“How are you not the size of Santa Claus?” marveled Brooke.
Heather smirked at her. “Anyway, to answer your question, Tim, I’ve been suggesting DIY gifts.”
“DIY . . . as in do-it-yourself?” asked Vanessa.
“Basically, homemade gifts,” Heather said with a nod. “Like jars of cookie mix ingredients or candles or T-shirts.”
“That’s cool, but you’re assuming the gift giver has the time and skill to make these things,” I said. At the injured look from Heather, I added, “Not that they aren’t great ideas! I’m just saying, not many guys I know are going to want to sit around and make candles or T-shirts.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she said.
“And,” I said, “you don’t know how much money they have to spend.”
“Fine,” said Brooke with a firm nod. “Every time we offer gift advice, we’ll do it for three different price ranges: cheap—”
“Let’s say affordable,” interrupted Heather.
“Affordable,” Brooke corrected herself, “average, and . . . What’s a word for expensive that starts with A?”
“Aughhh!” I screamed. The others laughed.
“It’s going to take longer to help people this way,” V said between giggles.
“I know,” said Brooke. “We’ll just have to do the best we can.”
But she didn’t look superconfident.
And despite my efforts with Ryan, neither did he. While my friends and I ate, I saw him do his best James Bond swagger to a nearby table with his lunch tray, but his movements were wooden and stiff. When he sat he kept pushing hair out of his eyes while trying to lean casually on one elbow and eat a hamburger. At first, he started to stuff it into his mouth, but then thought better of it and cut it with a knife and fork. When he brought the fork up to his mouth, the bun, meat, and vegetables fell to pieces.
Normally, I would’ve laughed, but since my future rode on Ryan passing for cool, I cringed. Maybe he’d feel more confident inside if he looked better outside. Unfortunately, I’d already done what I could in that area.
But I was sitting across from someone who could do more.
When the bell rang to end lunch, and my friends and I were heading for Journalism, I held Vanessa back a second.
“Hey,” I said, “I need a favor. Can you keep a secret?”
CHAPTER
6
Jekyll & Hyde
It’s never a good start to a conversation when you have to restrain someone from throwing their shoe. But when V found out what I needed and why, instantly there was a small wedge heel in her hand and murder in her eyes.
“Where’s that greasy little rodent?” she asked, scanning the cafeteria for Ryan.
“V, stop!” I pulled her arm down. “You can’t hit him with your shoe.”
She looked down at it. “You’re right. He’ll ruin it. I should’ve brought my old sneakers.” Vanessa dropped her weaponized wedge and slid her foot back into it. “You need to go to Mrs. H . . . or the principal.”
“I can’t. And neither can you.” I pointed at her. “You promised.”
“That’s before I knew what I was promising!” V pouted. “That was exactly how my brother, Terrell, got me to eat fuzzy cheese.”
“Look, if you help me, I’ll make it worth your time,” I said. “How much do you charge for a male makeover?”
“I can’t take your money,” she said. Then her eyes brightened. “But I can ‘accidentally’ shave off Ryan’s eyebrows!”
“No,” I said.
“In that case it’s twenty dollars.”
I gave her a look, and she sighed.
“Fine. I’ll do it for free because it’s you. But Ryan’s going to be a tough customer. Tougher than most. On top of his bad attitude, he looks like he styles his hair with bacon grease.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” I said, remembering Ryan’s bedroom.
We headed for Journalism, and I could see the wheels turning in V’s brain.
“You know I can work miracles on the outside,” she said, doing a full-body flourish, “but his insides need it too.”
I nodded. “I’ve been teaching him manners and a little culture. When I’m done, he’ll be oozing awesome from his pores.”
“Gross.” V wrinkled her nose.
I didn’t mention that the goal was to make him the coolest guy in sixth grade. Otherwise Vanessa would never stop laughing. Instead in a quiet voice I said, “Remember, though. This is just between you and me.”
That afternoon when Uncle Theo picked Gabby and me up for dance practice, he was surprised to find two other kids waiting with us.
“More dancers?” he asked, nodding at Ryan and Vanessa.
Ryan gave a loud, derisive laugh. “Not on your life.”
Vanessa smacked him on the back of the head, all the while smiling at Uncle Theo. “We’re working on a group project with Tim.”
It was actually my idea. This way, Ryan could get his makeover and Vanessa could watch him to make sure he didn’t sneak off to get more dance footage of me.
Uncle Theo raised an eyebrow at me. “But you have dance practice.”
I nodded. “I’m still going. I just need to swing by the house first t
o pick up a few things. Is that okay?”
Uncle Theo nodded and held open the passenger door. “Let’s get moving! We’ve got a lot to work on.”
As he drove, Uncle Theo glanced at Ryan and Vanessa in the rearview mirror. “Vanessa I know,” he said, “but I’m afraid I don’t know your other friend.”
“That’s Ryan Durstwich,” I said.
“Ryan Durstwich,” said Uncle Theo with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Thanks,” Ryan mumbled.
The kid was confident when he was tormenting me, but scared of adults? Maybe I could just hire Uncle Theo to be my bodyguard.
We sped home, and I flung open the car door so Vanessa and I could jump out.
“Hurry!” Uncle Theo called after us. “The hasapiko won’t dance itself!”
“Man, I wish he’d quit saying things like that,” I mumbled as V and I rushed into the house. “What do you need from here exactly?”
“Everything,” she said with a laugh. “You sprang this on me at the last minute, and I don’t exactly have guy’s grooming tools or clothes. Unless you want to put Ryan in my six-year-old brother’s overalls.”
I paused at the staircase. “Well . . .”
She grinned and elbowed me. “Come on, we have to hurry! The pico de gallo won’t dance itself!”
We started in my bedroom, where V raided my closet and picked out a couple shirts. It made my skin crawl thinking of Ryan wearing my things, but I held open a duffel bag and she threw them in. She started for my dresser, but I grabbed her shoulder.
“I am not letting him wear my pants,” I said.
“One pair,” she coaxed, opening the drawer. “It’s for the greater good.”
“Fine,” I grumbled. “But remind me to burn them later.”
She nodded and shoved a pair of pants into the bag. “On to the bathroom!”
V darted off and I followed, but before I could even make it through the door, she dropped a handful of products into the duffel bag. I pawed through them and pulled out a stick of deodorant.
“Hey! He can’t have this!”
She gave me a tight smile. “Yeahhh. You might change your mind after tonight.”
“Gross.” I dropped it and made a face. “This better be worth it.”
The sound of a car horn honking carried up the stairs, and V tugged at my sleeve. “Okay, we’re done! Let’s go.”
The Secret Talent Page 7