by Yee, Lisa
I guess I’d better let my parents know she’s coming over or else they’ll be sure to embarrass me. The few times my father’s met people from school, I could tell he was uncomfortable. Actually, he’s uncomfortable with most people, unless he’s talking films, like with some of the Rialto regulars. Then he can go on forever and it looks like he’s actually having fun.
My mother’s pretty outgoing. She has her golf buddies, and she talks to strangers all the time. Now and then she even talks to strangers when they don’t want to talk to her. She doesn’t see their discomfort or their looks of pity, but I do. Sometimes I wish that my family was normal, and that my mother wasn’t blind, and that my father could go out without having a panic attack, and that I wasn’t invisible. But maybe that’s all about to change. Emily Ebers has noticed me.
I’m with my parents in the projection booth. My father has just dimmed the lights. Now he presses the button that makes the curtains part. As a preview for an early Hitchcock film, Blackmail, screens, I clear my throat. “Well, tomorrow a kid from one of my classes is going to come over.”
“That’s great, Marley. What’s his name?” Mom asks.
“Emily.”
“His name is Emily?” Dad says.
A smile alights on my mother’s face. “A girl is coming over? Oh, Marley!”
I feel myself turning red. “It’s nothing like that,” I insist. “We’re partners on a Home Sciences project, that’s all.”
“Well,” Mom says, “we won’t make a big deal about it, then.”
I wake up early the next morning. Even though Home Sciences is last period, I don’t want to be late for school. During P.E. we’re playing basketball. I break a new school record for free throws … ten air balls.
The day drags. I get punched once, spit on twice, and shoved into my locker three times. Still, nothing can bring me down. Today Emily Ebers comes to visit!
Suddenly, it’s sixth period.
“Looking good,” Mrs. Wilder says as Emily puts some finishing touches on the gown. “You two should do well at the fashion show.”
Emily beams. “You’re a good sport to wear this, Marley. Not many boys would.”
“That’s a masterpiece of understatement,” I answer, trying to sound like Cary Grant, the old-time movie star in Bringing Up Baby. He’s one of Mom’s favorite actors. My mother likes it when the actors have distinct accents, because she can visualize them better.
Emily is either too busy fiddling with the collar of the gown to notice my Cary Grant imitation, or too polite to mention it. I really can’t tell what our dress looks like since I’m wearing it.
I have no clue what Max and Ramen’s design looks like. They got permission to go outside and both are being supersecretive. As I survey the room, some of the other teams look panicked. One girl is almost crying as her partner laughs at their mess. It looks like it’s gone through the garbage disposal. Patrick and Troy’s garbage bags look exactly the same as the day they started — just two bags with two holes in it for their heads.
“Marley, am I still invited over after school today?” Emily asks as she stands back and looks me over.
“Affirmative!” I say too loudly.
“Should we walk together after school?”
The world stands still. Emily Ebers wants to walk home with me!!!
Wait.
The Gorn.
I can’t ask Emily to run through town, but if we walk the Gorn might beat me up in front of her.
“I have something I have to do right after school,” I say. This is true. I have to try to stay alive. “How about we meet in front of the Rialto at four o’clock?”
“That sounds perfect,” Emily says brightly. “I’ll see you then!”
The Gorn are so predictable. As they lumber down the hallway, all three grin and crack their knuckles. It sounds like the rhythm section of a band without any rhythm. I wave hello before I take off running.
My tormentors seem sluggish today. They must have had the school pizza for lunch. I speed up anyway. I want to get home in time to get ready for Emily. Coach Martin is standing outside the gym holding his stopwatch as I run past.
I’m not even out of breath when I get to the Rialto. Both Mom and Dad are puttering around the apartment. On the kitchen table is a bowl of Doritos and a plate of Mom’s oatmeal raisin cookies. When I open the refrigerator there’s Pepsi.
“Thanks, Dad,” I tell him.
“Don’t thank me, thank your mother,” he says, cocking his head toward her. “It was her idea.”
I give Mom a huge hug.
I change into my clean VULCAN = VICTORY shirt, but then change back into what I wore to school. I wouldn’t want Emily to think I changed because of her. Then I comb my hair and then muss it up. Same reason. I check the clock. It’s 3:45 P.M. I am about to head down to the lobby, but first I need to write something.
“Hi, Marley!” Emily calls out. Her voice is almost more beautiful than the sound of the Enterprise going into warp speed, although, technically, something going into warp speed would not make any noise since there is no sound in space.
“YI’el!” I yell in Klingon. “Come in.” I just stare at Emily until I notice a short Asian girl next to her, looking at me like I’m a Klingon.
“Marley, this is my best friend, Millicent Min,” Emily says.
“Are you Mr. Min’s daughter?” I ask.
“Very astute of you,” she replies. I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic.
“Millie loves old movies, so I invited her to join us. I hope that’s okay with you.”
Emily could have said, “I want the Vians to torture you like they did to Spock. Is that okay with you?” and I would say yes.
“HISlaH, I mean, yes, I understand and it’s fine! Affirmative!” Man, why do I have to sound like a dweeb? “Er, follow me. Beep. Beep. Beep.”
I am acutely aware that I have way too much bounce in my step, so I try to adjust, but instead succeed only in shuffling my feet. Then I notice that my arms are swinging. Are they swinging too much? Shoot, I should have practiced walking!
I shove my hands into my pockets and lead them down the narrow stairwell to the Transporter Room. When I turn on the light, Emily gasps with delight. “Millie, look at all this … a throne!” It’s a captain’s chair, but I don’t correct her.
“It is pretty cool down here,” Millicent notes. I see her looking at my Benjamin Franklin jacket. “A place for everything, and everything in its place,” she says as she picks up the Franklin biography I’ve checked out from the library. It’s three days overdue because I want to reread parts of it.
“For every minute spent organizing, an hour is earned,” I say, quoting him back to her.
Our eyes meet for a split second, then Emily calls out, “Millie, come over here. Look at this gown! And these hats!”
A feeling of pride washes over me as Emily and Millicent run around the Transporter Room yelling to each other at each discovery. Millicent seems especially interested in the old playbills and photos. Emily likes the dresses and costumes best.
“Can I try this on, Marley?” she asks, holding up the sparkly gown I thought she’d like.
“Sure,” I tell her. “You can go into my mom’s piano studio. She doesn’t have any students right now.”
Emily leaves Millicent and me alone. Even though she’s small and skinny, Millicent Min makes me more nervous than the Gorn. I’ve heard that she’s some sort of superstar genius or something. I try not to make any sudden moves.
“Are you that girl who’s in high school?” I ask.
“There are lots of girls in high school,” she says. Her enunciation is even better than Ms. Vracin’s, my elementary school speech teacher. “But if you mean, ‘Are you the freakishly smart girl who’s supposed to be in seventh grade but is a senior in high school?’ Then yes. That would be me. You are correct.”
“I didn’t mean to be rude,” I say defensively. I wonder if she’s going to tell Emily
that I’m rude.
Millicent’s shoulders droop slightly, then she straightens up. “I’m sorry, but it’s just that so many people make fun of me. I thought that’s what you were doing.”
“I wouldn’t do that. Honest.”
She offers me a small smile. “No,” she says, “I don’t think you would. I really like all this stuff you have here. The Rialto is so remarkable. I’ve come here with my grandmother several times. My dad loves it here too.”
“Helloooooooooo … !” It’s Emily! “Well, what do you guys think?” She glides through the room in the sparkly silver gown. I gasp. I can’t speak, so instead I give her two thumbs-up, followed by the Vulcan sign with both my right and left hands.
I could stare at Emily all day, but Millicent insists on a backstage tour of the theater. She has a thousand questions.
“When was this built?”
“Is that the original ceiling?”
“How much is that Wurlitzer organ worth?”
“What kind of revenue streams does this theater generate?”
“You’re going to have to ask my dad the last question,” I say as I lead the girls upstairs to the apartment. “Mom, Dad, this is Emily and Millicent,” I tell them.
“Nice to meet you both,” my father says as he shakes Millicent’s hand.
“Hello.” Mom stands up to greet them. “Won’t you have some chips and cookies, and perhaps something to drink? We have sodas and lemonade.”
Emily and Millicent both want lemonade. Even though I would rather have a Pepsi, I have lemonade too. As Mom gets the drinks, I bring the Doritos and cookies into the living room. I wish our apartment looked nicer. The coffee table is all scratched and one of the legs is secured with duct tape, and Dad’s chair has stuffing coming out of the seat. The plaid couch, which has always looked ratty, seems a hundred times worse today. At least the vintage movie posters on the walls look good. There’s Roman Holiday, The Bicycle Thief, and Annie Hall.
“I love your theater, Mr. and Mrs. Sandelski,” Millicent says. “Is it on the National Register of Historic Places?”
My father nods. “It is, but still it doesn’t have federal protection from demolition.”
Millicent frowns. “It would be a pity if this theater were to go. My dad came here almost every day last summer.”
“He was my best customer! We could use more guests like him.”
“Mrs. Sandelski,” Millicent says, “Marley showed us the organ. He says you play it.”
“It’s true,” Mom tells her. “Our Wurlitzer has been here since 1925.”
I can see Millicent studying my mother. “Are you blind?” she asks.
“Millie!” Emily gasps. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”
Mom just laughs. “You’re very perceptive, Millicent. Yes, I’m blind.”
Emily turns bright red and clamps her hand over her mouth. Her eyes widen and she looks stricken.
“I thought so,” Millicent says, nodding. “I’ve studied Louis Braille, but haven’t mastered reading in Braille yet. I’m working on it, though.”
“Well, Millicent,” Mom says, “anytime you’d like to borrow some books, you’re welcome to them.”
“Thanks, I may do that,” Millicent says. “But right now I’m wondering if you could play the Wurlitzer for us?”
Mom brightens. “Well, I don’t see why not!”
Dad leads us downstairs to where the Wurlitzer stands.
“It’s bigger than I thought it would be,” Emily murmurs.
We are all quiet as my mother begins. Music fills the theater as she plays “Mr. Sandman.” She used to play that music for me when I was little. Emily turns to me and whispers, “I wish my dad could hear this. He’s a musician too. Marley, your mother is amazing.”
I nod. Emily is right. My mother is amazing and so is this afternoon. I wish it would never end.
I couldn’t sleep last night because 1) the Home Sciences fashion show is today, and 2) I will be parading around in a gown made of trash bags.
I doubt if Captain Kirk ever had an assignment this hard.
During P.E. Coach Martin pulls me out of the basketball game. I’m afraid he’s going to yell at me. Everybody else did. When I got the basketball I threw it to the open guy. Only, he was on the opposing team.
“Sandelski,” Coach Martin says, consulting his clipboard, “I timed you running yesterday. You went from the gym to all the way to the corner in less than six seconds.”
I shrug. That doesn’t mean anything to me.
“Sandelski, that’s fast. You’re fast. I think you have what it takes to be really good on the track team.”
I pause. It would be great to be good at something.
“Think about it,” Coach Martin says.
If anything, the Tragic Tree looks even more tragic than usual. Someone has trimmed it so that the branches are almost bare except in a couple of clumps.
“We are totally going to win the Home Sciences fashion show!” Max declares. She is so excited she barely touches her pasta.
“Is that true?” I ask Ramen. He’s standing in the mud poking at his noodles. The flavor of the day is Picante Beef. Even though it’s his favorite, he hardly ever eats it because it’s so spicy and he has a no-liquids-during-school rule to avoid going to the bathroom.
Ramen nods, but doesn’t seem too happy about it. “Yeah, it’s true. We’re going to win. Hey, what about you and Emily?” he coos. He’s got a noodle on his face, but I don’t bother to tell him.
“What about us?”
“How’s your entry?” Max asks. “Not that you stand a chance against us. No one does. What will Emily be wearing?”
“A gown,” I mumble, “but I’m going to be the one wearing it.”
“YOU’RE WEARING A GOWN?” Ramen shouts.
“Shhhhh, YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE SO LOUD!” I shout back. I quickly glance around to see if anyone is looking at us. No one is. No one ever is. “Yeah, I’m going to wear it. So what? Big deal. Emily was the main designer, so I have to model it.”
“Aaaaah,” Max says as she spears a shrimp in her pasta. “It must be true love!”
“Shut up,” I say. “She’s just my design partner. There’s nothing between us.”
I hope I’m wrong. There’s no one else in the universe I would wear a gown for.
By the time we get to sixth period, I’m so sweaty from nerves I think I’ll drown.
“Marley,” Emily says as she helps me into the gown, “would you mind blotting your face?” She hands me some tiny tissues from a Kleenex packet. I’ll need more than this to save me.
I glance around the room. There are trash-bag creations everywhere. Troy and Patrick look normal wearing theirs. I’m not sure where Max and Ramen are.
The door swings wide open and Principal Haycorn struts into the room, followed by Ms. McKenna and her entire sixth-period class. I notice that the kids closest to Haycorn are holding their breath. He is particularly odorous today.
“Ah, our celebrity judges!” Mrs. Wilder announces. “Ms. McKenna and Principal Haycorn, you sit up front. Others, please try to find a place.”
I panic. No one told me that there would be another class here. There’s a lot of jostling as everyone squeezes into the room. This must have been what it was like at the Roman Colosseum when crowds considered it good sport to watch someone get devoured by a lion.
Finally, Mrs. Wilder takes out an old CD player and hits PLAY. “Let the competition begin!” she announces as the music starts.
One by one, Mrs. Wilder calls the teams up to the front. All the desks and chairs have been parted in the middle to create a runway. When Patrick does some sort of spacey bunny hop down the aisle, Troy announces, “Our creation is titled, ‘Our Creation.’ We have explored the humanity of man and the universe, and decided that we all belong in garbage bags.”
Next up is a girl with braces. She spits when she speaks and Ms. McKenna has to wipe her face. “We created this ultramoder
n version of pajamas and a bathrobe,” says the spitter. Her partner struts up and down the runway, clearly enjoying herself.
When it’s our turn, Emily steps up to the podium. Even from the back of the room, I can tell she has really good posture. “Marley and I call our design, the ‘Glamour Gown’!”
I’m frozen. She signals for me to walk down the aisle. I can’t move. Emily keeps motioning me forward. I keep shaking my head. It was one thing for me to be a mannequin while we were designing this, but it’s something completely different to flaunt it in a fashion show in front of another classroom.
“Marley,” Emily hisses, “come on!” She turns toward the judges. “Excuse me, I need a moment with my model.” She rushes back to me. “What’s going on, Marley? Are you okay? You look pale.”
“I can’t move,” I say through gritted teeth. Oh wait. I can move. My left eye has started to twitch. Lovely.
All my life I’ve been invisible. It even says so in the front of my lost Captain’s Log. That’s my word for this year. Invisible. Only now all eyes are upon me. Why? Because I am frozen in the back of Home Sciences wearing a garbage-bag gown.
“Marley,” Mrs. Wilder says impatiently, “we really do need to move along.”
Finally, I run up to the front of the class. My dress makes swishing noises. I almost trip on the hem. Everyone laughs. I try to hide behind Emily as she reads off an index card. “We took our inspiration from the high fashion and high glamour of Hollywood. Marley, would you step forward and show them our design?”
Instead of stepping forward, I duck under Mrs. Wilder’s desk. The laughing starts up again and turns into a roar. Principal Haycorn has to yell to get everyone to quiet down. Emily lowers her head and mumbles, “Well then, I guess we’re done.”