Warp Speed (9780545543422)

by Yee, Lisa

My eyes are watering and everything is out of focus. I’m not sure what just happened, but something tells me that the earth’s axis has just shifted.

  “Marley? Marley, are you down there?”

  It’s Mom. I take a deep breath. “Yeah.” I wish Lavender were on the radio right now. Just listening to her can calm me down.

  “You’ve got a couple of visitors,” she says from the top of the stairs. “Come on up to the apartment.”

  I stand up. My legs are wobbly. As I head upstairs, I wonder who would be visiting me.

  “Well, there you are, Admiral Ackbar!”

  It’s Ramen.

  “Look!” Max cries. She’s beaming as she holds up a giant trophy. It’s almost as big as she is.

  “Why do you have that?” I ask. All of a sudden I realize how thirsty I am. “Did you win the race?”

  “No, doofus,” Ramen says, poking me in the chest. “You won the race! I accepted the trophy for you. It was cool standing there with everyone applauding. I could have stood there all day.”

  What? I shake my head. “But I didn’t even enter —” This isn’t making sense.

  “Oh, yes you did,” Max assures me. “We have it on tape. You were at the starting lineup. When Coach Martin counted to three, you took off with the rest of the runners. There are witnesses all up and down the route. We have video of you crossing the finish line way ahead of everyone else.”

  “I shot that,” Ramen says, puffing up. “It’s good stuff. Classic. I should be a professional cameraman. George Lucas is probably going to want to hire me. If you’re nice to me, I’ll put you in one of my movies.”

  “Why didn’t you stop after you crossed the finish line?” asks Max. She looks like she’s going to buckle under the weight of the trophy. On the very top is a tiger, mid-leap. “Coach Martin started running after you, but couldn’t catch up.”

  I collapse on the couch. “I don’t know,” I moan. “I didn’t mean to run in the race. It was an accident.”

  Ramen whistles and then takes the trophy out of Max’s arms and hands it to me. It’s heavy. “Well, that was some sort of spectacular accident then.”

  “I had no idea you were so fast,” Max says as she glances around the apartment. She stares at the poster of Roman Holiday with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn. For the first time I notice that with that short hair of hers, and that perky nose, she sort of looks like Audrey Hepburn. “Coach Martin says you shattered the school record,” Max notes.

  “Really?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  Just then, Mom comes in with some fruit and cheese. “Is that for us?” Ramen asks. “Because I’m starving.”

  As Raman scarfs up all the cheese, Max says to my mother, “Mrs. Sandelski, did you know that Marley won the Tiggy Tiger Turkey Trot?”

  Mom lights up. “He did what?”

  “He won the Tiggy Tiger Turkey Trot,” Ramen says through a mouthful of cheddar. “Is there more of this?”

  “I’m Marley’s friend, Maxine Cunningham. That’s his trophy,” Max says, pointing.

  Maxine?

  Ramen whispers to her, “Marley’s mom is blind.”

  Instantly, Max turns red. “Oh, I mean. It looks beautiful. Um, it’s really big and shiny —” She shakes her head and mouths to me, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Mom assures her. “I’m used to it. In fact, it’s flattering that people assume I am sighted. Marley, will you bring the trophy to me?”

  I get up off the couch and hand it to her. “Oh my, it’s heavy!” Mom exclaims. She smiles as she examines the trophy. “Marley, is this yours to keep?”

  “For a year,” Ramen jumps in. “But then I’m sure Marley will win it again next time.”

  “There isn’t going to be a next time,” I say.

  “Why not?” asks Max.

  “I just … I don’t want to race again. I didn’t even know I was running a race this time. In fact, I don’t think I did. It probably doesn’t count if you have no clue what you’re doing.”

  I’ve set the trophy in the middle of the Transporter Room, directly under the light. It really is impressive. There are several gold columns building up to the flying Tiger. The plaque reads:

  FIRST PLACE

  TIGGY TIGER TURKEY TROT

  RONSTER AWARD

  Ramen says I have to bring it back to school on Monday to get it engraved.

  I still can’t believe I won. But really, I didn’t. I wasn’t running toward the finish line — I was running away from the Gorn. Do they give trophies to cowards? I’ll return it to Coach Martin and he can give it to the real winner.

  “Marley?” It’s Dad. “Turkey time,” he says.

  I nod. I’m starving. Dad motions to my trophy. “Why don’t you bring that upstairs? That way we can all enjoy it.”

  My mother has prepared a Thanksgiving feast. Roast turkey, corn on the cob, stuffing, baked yams topped with roasted marshmallow, and a pumpkin pie for dessert. Over dinner, I keep glancing at the trophy. It looks out of place. It’s the only thing in our apartment that’s shiny and new and not falling apart.

  “So, Marley,” Mom says as she puts an extra helping of stuffing on my plate. “I didn’t even know you were entering the Tiger run.”

  “I didn’t either,” I say between bites of turkey. Dad always gives the drumsticks to me.

  My parents laugh. They think I’m joking.

  “I’m so proud of you,” my father says. His dimples are in full force.

  “Me too,” my mother adds. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. I haven’t seen them this happy in a while. I can’t help but smile back.

  Later, as I help Mom clear the table, my father pats his stomach several times and declares, “Patrice, you are a culinary genius!” He settles into his chair and flips through the TV channels, skipping the football games, and finally settling on a Godfather movie marathon. My mother joins him and I retreat to the Transporter Room with Emily’s Gamma Girl.

  I can’t believe how many ads for clothes and girl stuff they have in this magazine. Everyone is happy, unlike my Star Trek fanzines where doom and gloom are the prevailing themes. I turn to the “perfect boyfriend” article. The guy sort of looks like Stretch, only not as handsome. What is it about the magazine guy that makes girls think he’s the perfect boyfriend?

  The article says, “Seth takes care of his appearance. His hair is cut short the way the girls like it.”

  That’s what girls like?

  “Here, this is for you,” I say, handing Coach Martin the trophy. I’m sort of sorry that I have to give it up, but it’s the honorable thing to do.

  We’re standing in the middle of the basketball court, just the two of us. There’s still half an hour before school starts, but I didn’t want to carry the trophy around with me all day. That would be weird, like the way Stanford carries his basketball with him.

  “Great! I’ll get it engraved with your name on it,” Coach Martin says, taking it from me.

  “No, no …” I try to explain. “It doesn’t belong to me.”

  “Sure it does, Sandelski, you won the race. You won by a long shot. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

  He doesn’t understand. “But I didn’t mean to win the race,” I insist. “I didn’t even mean to run in it. This belongs to someone else.”

  Coach Martin stares at me like I’m speaking another language. He takes off his baseball cap and scratches his head. What? Have I slipped into Klingon again?

  “Listen up, Sandelski. You won fair and square.” His voice is getting louder as he speaks. I feel like I’m shrinking. “You were clearly the fastest kid out there — you broke the school record! That means something. You’re the winner, whether you like it or not!”

  Is he mad that I won? That it was me and not one of his jocks? When I don’t respond, he lets out a long sigh. His face softens. “Marley,” he says. He doesn’t sound mad anymore. “Son, you earned this trophy. No one’s giving it to you just to
be nice. That just doesn’t happen in sports. You deserve this. So can you at least be gracious and accept it?”

  My heart is pounding so fast I can’t talk. I nod. That trophy. That giant trophy belongs to me? I’ve never won anything before, unless you count last year when some kids in homeroom made a list and wrote: “Marlon Sandski — Biggest Nothing.”

  But this trophy … this trophy is mine.

  Later, during P.E., I prepare to get decimated in soccer. But the odd thing is, I don’t get decimated. I just keep moving, I just keep running, and I’m safe. I don’t touch the soccer ball, but no one touches me. No one trips me, or body slams me, or pushes me. A bruise-free P.E. period. That’s a first.

  After lunch, as Ramen, Max, and I head to class, I look around the school. Then it hits me. I am the fastest one here. I ran faster than anyone in the Tiggy Tiger Turkey Trot. I stand up straighter. Suddenly, I see Emily Ebers. She spots me from across the lawn and comes running over. Her hair is all fancy, like it’s wrapped around her head or something. It looks nice.

  “Marley!” Emily says, grabbing my arm. “Congratulations, I heard you won the race.”

  She’s touching me.

  “He broke the school record,” Ramen informs her. “I was there when it happened.”

  Max stands off to the side.

  “Well, I’m not surprised,” Emily gushes. “Everyone says you were the fastest ever. Oh! I have to go!” As she takes off, she turns around and yells, “Congrats again, Marley!”

  Ramen and I don’t talk. We just watch her disappear into the cafeteria like Captain Kirk transporting to an unknown planet.

  “What’s the big deal about her?” Max asks.

  “She’s a girl,” Ramen says, letting out a sigh.

  “I’m a girl,” Max reminds us.

  “Not like that you aren’t.” Ramen sighs again.

  As the two argue, I wonder about Emily Ebers. I mean, she cried when she thought she hurt my feelings, and then she hugged me. She’s always smiling at me and saying hi in the halls, and she practically begged me to listen to a radio show that plays love songs. And now she made a special trip to the outskirts of school to congratulate me. Plus, she touched my arm.

  Could it be possible that Emily Ebers likes me? Naw. Maybe? Emily Ebers?

  All day, kids who have never noticed me before say hello as I walk down the hallway. Some even put up their hands to high-five. Even Dean Hoddin and James Ichida say hi. I wasn’t prepared for this. I feel awkward at first, but after a while I’m starting to get used to it. It’s nice. Really nice. Win a race, become a someone. Is that how it works?

  The Gorn are nowhere to be seen after school. Maybe they heard that I won and are finally going to leave me alone. Today was a good day. One boy even said, “When we have relay races in P.E., I want to be on your team.”

  “I want to be on your team.” No one’s ever said that to me before.

  I could get to like this.

  There’s a big history test coming up. Ms. McKenna is letting us know about it by doing one of her infamous raps. She’s making her way up and down the rows of desks, snapping her fingers like the Jets, a gang of tough guys in West Side Story who are really good singers and dancers, only she doesn’t have their rhythm or moves.

  There’s a big ol’ test.

  You can do your best.

  The night before get some rest.

  Sha boom, sha boom!

  Study, study a lot

  About the Civil War and battles fought

  And remember what I taught.

  Sha boom, sha boom!

  Some kids are laughing out loud. Others are frozen, like they can’t believe what they are hearing. Digger looks at me and smirks.

  I know that I can totally ace the test. Plus, McKenna says there will be bonus questions, so there’s a chance I may do even better than 100%.

  The next morning, Digger is waiting for me at the corner. It looks like he has a cigarette dangling from his mouth, but when I get up close I can see it’s just a Tootsie Pop. I hand him the homework. “I didn’t know you were a runner,” he says. “How come no one’s ever heard of you?”

  I just shrug.

  “Listen, I’m going to get McKenna to change our seats. I’ll fix it so I’m next to you.”

  “Why?”

  “The test?” he says, looking at me like I’ve morphed into a neural parasite. “The big test?”

  A car backfires, startling me. Digger doesn’t even blink.

  “What about the test?” I ask.

  “I’m going to copy off your test,” he says matter-of-factly. “So you’d better study. We want to do well.”

  I feel my jaw tense. “What if I don’t want you to do that?”

  “This is not about what you want.” Digger looks down the street at the Rialto, then bites into his Tootsie Pop. “Hey, is there a decent movie theater around here? It sure would be nice if there was one, instead of a crumbling theater, don’t you think? I wonder if I should have a talk with my father.”

  I say nothing as he crosses the street.

  The rest of the day is business as usual. Ramen and Max argue. Coach Martin bugs me to join the track team. Ms. McKenna acts weird. Ms. Klein discusses the importance of plot. As Mr. Jiang talks routers, I check out everyone’s hair. Ramen looks like a Wookiee with his big, brown bushy hair. Max looks like a boy with her short black hair. Troy’s hair looks like one of those magazine pictures, only of a girl. Patrick wears dreadlocks that make him look cool, even if he is into Star Wars. And Mr. Jiang doesn’t have a whole lot of hair at all.

  Then there’s my hair. It is getting really long, and it really bugs my mom that it covers my face. Plus in Gamma Girl magazine, none of the guys’ hair is as scraggly as mine. Maybe it’s time for a haircut.

  “Hello, Marley!” Mimi says, smiling as I walk into Salon Ferrante. “I haven’t seen you running all week.”

  “I, uh, I don’t run every day,” I tell her. Her gold lipstick is very distracting. “Um, can I get a haircut?”

  “Of course!” she says. Her high heels click in the floor as she walks toward me. She’s dressed all fancy, like the models in Gamma Girl. “I was hoping you would ask me someday.”

  My mother usually cuts my hair. I know that sounds weird, but she knows what she’s doing. Mom has always said that if I ever wanted a professional haircut, she’d give me the money. I know it’s expensive here, but, well, I want to look good … for Emily. That’s why I’m at Salon Ferrante.

  “How much is a haircut?” I ask.

  “How much do you have?” Mimi asks. I take out $30 from my pocket and show her. “What a coincidence — that’s exactly what a cut costs here!” I notice that there’s a small sign on the desk, and it says that haircuts start at $40. Mimi sees me eyeing the sign and explains, “Today we’re having a ten-dollars-off special.” She sits me in a chair and says, “What’s it going to be?”

  I show her the Gamma Girl. Mimi studies the photo of Seth the Perfect Boyfriend. “You’d look good with that cut.” She runs her hands through my hair. “You may need a light body perm though,” she tells me.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a chemical treatment that will give your hair more oomph,” Mimi explains.

  “I don’t want oomph,” I protest. “I just want a haircut.”

  “Do you want to look like that boy in the picture?” she asks. I nod. “Then, Marley, you’re going to need a little oomph. But don’t worry, oomph won’t cost you anything extra.”

  Oh man, this perm is the smelliest thing ever. I am sitting in the chair with curlers in my hair and a stink all around me from the chemicals when I spot … oh no! Stanford Wong is strolling by dribbling a basketball. He stops and looks in the window. For a moment our eyes lock. Mimi waves to him and he rushes away.

  By the time she gets the curlers out and washes my hair, I’m ready to leave. But she’s not finished with me yet. As she brandishes her scissors I watch the tufts of my hai
r float down to the floor.

  Finally, Mimi is done. She circles around me and grins. “Marley, are you ready to see your new look?” I give a weak nod even though I’m not sure I want to see this. There is so much of my hair on the floor that I wonder if there is any left on my head.

  Slowly, Mimi swivels my chair around until I am facing the mirror. “Okay, open your eyes,” she says.

  I make a strangled sound. Is that really me? I don’t believe it. Is that really me? My hair is so much shorter. It looks sort of thick and wavy and stands up where it’s supposed to, like Seth the Perfect Boyfriend’s hair. It doesn’t look like me. Is that really me? I wonder if Emily will like it.

  When I get home, my father is wiping down the concession-stand counter. He smiles broadly. “Looking good! Go let your mother know you’re home,” he says. “She’s going to want to know about your movie-star haircut.”

  I try not to grin, but all the way home I kept looking at my reflection in store windows and admiring my hair. It does look good. It doesn’t look like me.

  Mom’s doing yoga in the living room. “Marley?” she asks. “Did you get that haircut?”

  “Yes,” I tell her. I know she’s going to want to feel it, so I sit down next to her. She runs her hands through my hair and smiles. “I like it,” she says, giving me a hug. “It’s so nice. It shows off your handsome face.”

  I push her hand away. “Aw, Mom.”

  Even though I’m not a big fan of Brussels sprouts, dinner tasted especially good tonight. As I work on my model of the USS Enterprise, I listen to Lavender on the radio. A man has called in and is saying, “I just met her but I feel like we’ve known each other forever. So far, we’re just friends, but in my heart I know that she’s the one for me.”

  “That’s wonderful, Brian,” Lavender tells him. “It’s about time we started listening more to our hearts than our minds, don’t you think? And just for you, Brian, I’ve got a special song. It’s by REO Speedwagon and called ‘Can’t Fight This Feeling’ …”