by Don Calame
“That’s what she wants you to think,” I say. “She had me fooled too. At first. Actually, no, that’s not true. At first I thought she was mental. And then, all of sudden, she wasn’t. But now she is again. Probably tomorrow she’ll be fine. Who can tell? All I know is that she turns the crazy on and off like a faucet.” Plus, if Leyna finds out I’m seeing someone, my chances with her are shot.
Matt arches an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone’s a bit nutty.”
“You don’t understand. It’s like I was telling you on Monday. Evelyn’s got this switch in her head. A loony switch. And you never know when it’s going to get thrown.”
“Okay, so what did she do that was so insane?” Valerie asks.
“She grabbed my wrists. Hard. And she glared at me. And then . . . I don’t know . . . She was basically pissed off that she had to find out about the movie from Helen instead of me.”
“And?” Helen asks as we reach the bike racks.
“Look, it’s not what she said. It’s how she said it.” I turn toward Valerie and Helen. “It’s sort of like she was fighting off a demon possession or something. Her face changed color, and she was all twitchy, and then she started making this weird guttural sound.”
Matt laughs. “That sounds like maybe she’s a werewolf.”
“More like a Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde,” I counter.
“Listen,” Helen says. “Just because a girl gets upset with you doesn’t make her crazy.”
“We’re just more emotional than you guys,” Valerie adds. “If you’re going to be in a relationship, that’s something you’re going to have to understand.”
“Yeah, I get that but . . .” I sigh as I reach down and tug the yellow coil lock from my front wheel. “This wasn’t how a normal person gets upset. It was like . . . like she was thinking of doing a lot worse and was just barely able to stop herself from doing it. It was scary.”
Helen shrugs. “I’ve felt like that lots of times. You should be thankful she can keep her emotions in check. There are lots of people who don’t have that much self-control.” She eyes Coop meaningfully, but he just gives her his smarmy Cooper grin.
“All we’re saying,” Valerie explains, “is don’t do anything rash. Just give it a bit more time. You’re her first boyfriend, Sean. She’s figuring things out as she goes along.”
“I don’t know,” I say doubtfully. “I’m going over to her house tomorrow, so I guess I’ll just see how things go then.” I’m wrapping the coil lock around my seat post when I get a thought. “But, okay, let’s say she starts acting all unstable again and I do want to end things. I’m not saying I’m going to”— I rush to add this as both Helen and Val open their mouths to rebuke me —“but what would be the best way to break up with her without having her go ballistic and want to kill me?”
Helen laughs. “There is no best way. Any way is going to upset her.”
“Yeah.” I feel my ears get hot. “Okay, forget it. I’ll figure something out.”
“All right, look.” Valerie places her hand on my back. “If you actually do decide you’re going to break up with her, you have to do it right. Gentlemanly and gently.” Valerie motions to the curb. “Come on. Let’s sit down and we’ll go over the dos and don’ts.”
Matt and Coop exchange a look.
“Uh,” Matt says, smiling with only half his face. “Should we be concerned that you both seem to be so knowledgeable about breakups?”
“Girls just know girls, sweetie,” Valerie responds. “Nothing to fret over.”
The five of us take a seat, Helen and Valerie flanking me.
“First things first,” Helen says. “Don’t chicken out and do it over the phone. That’s the worst possible thing you could do. Anyone would flip out if they got dumped like that.”
Valerie nods. “That’s right. No phone, no text, no e-mail. If you’re going to do it, do it in person. And do it somewhere private. Not in her house where her family can hear.”
“Yes, good, okay,” I say, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. I try to control my growing excitement, but it’s difficult when I think about how this is all going to free me up to be with Leyna.
“Ask her to go for a walk,” Matt offers. “That’s how I’d do it.”
“Oh, now who’s the breakup expert?” Helen laughs.
Valerie arches an eyebrow at Matt. “So I guess I should worry now any time you ask me to go for a walk.”
“No, I — I was just saying,” Matt stammers. “For Sean . . . If I was Sean . . . Not . . . That’s not how . . . I mean . . .”
Val smiles and puts her hand on Matt’s knee. “Just kidding, mon amour. You can relax.” She turns back to me, suddenly all business. “A walk is a good idea. And make sure to choose your words carefully. Don’t go blaming her or pointing out her faults. Even if she asks you what she could have done better. It’s a trap. Avoid it like the plague. Let her friends be the ones to give her advice.”
My mouth’s drying out. This is a lot to keep track of.
“It’s sort of lame,” Helen adds, “and completely transparent, but saying that it’s you, not her, is the best way to go. It’s good to be honest and truthful if you’re trying to make the relationship work, but if you’re absolutely sure you want to end things, there’s no point in hurting her any more than you’re already going to. Just shoulder the blame and tell her she’s great. Doesn’t matter if she sees right through it — it’ll soften the blow.”
“And then get ready for anything,” Valerie says. “You might get silence, tears, anger, a tantrum. Whatever it is, let her have her moment. Take what she gives you and don’t fight back.”
“What if she attacks me?” My throat starts to close up. I can see the whole thing playing out in my mind: Evelyn springing at me like a feral cat, scratching my eyes out, biting hunks of flesh from my neck. “Am I not supposed to defend myself?”
“You can’t hit a girl, dude,” Coop says. “That’s an epic code violation. Just wear some shin guards. And a chest protector. And a cup. Definitely wear a cup.”
Sheeshkabob. I chew on my tongue like a rabid dog as I try to remember where my old Little League equipment is. “I don’t know if I even have a cup anymore.”
Helen laughs. “I seriously doubt it’ll come to that. She’ll probably just cry.”
Valerie pats my arm. “It’ll be fine. Just know that if you do break up with her, there’s no going back. Even if you decide later that you made a mistake. So make sure it’s what you really want before you go down that road.”
I look at Val’s hand on me and think of Leyna touching my arm in Drama.
Oh, it is what I want.
No question in my mind.
INT. ROCKVILLE ZOO LABORATORY — DAY
All sorts of animals — dogs, cats, ferrets, a parrot — are in cages on the shelves in the background.
DR. SCHMALOOGAN, a mad scientist with crazy eyes, works with test tubes and beakers on a lab table. He mutters to himself as he mixes this with that.
DR. SCHMALOOGAN
Just need to get the right combination. If this works, then I’ll be the most famous zoologist in the world!
Two MEN IN GRAY SUITS storm into the lab. Dr. Schmaloogan looks up from his work.
DR. SCHMALOOGAN
How dare you come into my lab? Who are you?
What are you doing here?
MAN IN GRAY #1
Are you Dr. Schmaloogan?
DR. SCHMALOOGAN
Who’s asking?
Man in Gray #2 flashes a badge shaped like a jungle cat.
MAN IN GRAY #2
We’re from PUMA: Protective Union of Most Animals.
MAN IN GRAY #1
It’s come to our attention that you have been performing immoral acts on the zoo animals under your care.
DR. SCHMALOOGAN
That’s a bald-faced lie. I’ve only been conducting board-approved experiments.
MAN IN GRAY #2
Is that so? Did the
board approve of you attempting to graft an elephant penis onto a hippopotamus?
DR. SCHMALOOGAN
For your information, that hippo was in a tragic pool-filter accident. I was simply attempting to —
MAN IN GRAY #1
Were you not also involved in the creation of a virus meant to increase the intelligence of chimpanzees?
Dr. Schmaloogan casually slides his beakers behind a large test-tube shaker.
DR. SCHMALOOGAN
I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.
MAN IN GRAY #2
I’m afraid it’s you who will be leaving, Dr. Schmaloogan.
Man in Gray #1 pulls out a pink piece of paper and hands it to Dr. Schmaloogan.
DR. SCHMALOOGAN
What is this?
MAN IN GRAY #1
You are no longer an employee of the Rockville Zoo. Just be thankful that no charges are being filed. Please collect your things and leave the premises.
EXT. ROCKVILLE HIGH SCHOOL — DAY
JACK HARRINGTON and STACY PETERS hang out on the bleachers at the football field.
JACK
Don’t you wish that something exciting would happen for once in our life?
STACY
I thought last night was pretty ex —
Suddenly there’s a knock on my bedroom door. I stop typing.
“I’m busy.” I clench my eyes, trying to remember the next thing I was going to write.
“It’s Nessa,” a girl’s voice says from the other side of the door.
“Cathy’s not home,” I say. “I think she’s working today.” I glance at the Death Star clock over my bookcase. Only an hour before I have to leave for Evelyn’s.
“I know,” Nessa says. “That’s why I’m here. Open the door. I want to talk to you.”
Ugh. I don’t need this right now. I have to get this script written.
“One sec.” I save my Word file, then cross the room to open the door, and there’s Nessa — in full ghoul makeup — standing in the hallway. “What’s up?”
She cocks her head. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“I’m kind of in the middle of someth —”
Nessa brushes past me and steps into my bedroom. She looks down at the floor, surveying all of the donated baby stuff. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually been in your bedroom before.” She turns her head and shoots me a coy smile. “At least not while you were home.”
“You think I don’t know that you and Cathy go through my stuff when I’m not around?”
Nessa laughs, running a finger along the partially built crib. “Just a few times. Let me tell you, we got bored pretty fast, Sean. No porn magazines under the mattress. No pot or cigarettes tucked in any of your jacket pockets. Not even a journal with angry diatribes about how your sister and her best friend sneak into your room and look at all your shit. What’s up with that?”
“Sorry to disappoint. So, what do you want?”
She slinks over and stops just a few inches from me. “Do you mean right now or in the grand scheme of things?” Her breath is warm and smells like Good & Plenty.
I take a step back. “You said you wanted to talk to me? What about?”
“Here’s the thing.” Nessa reaches out and casually closes my bedroom door. “I guess . . . I’ve always just thought of you as Cathy’s little brother.”
“Except that we’re twins, remember? Same age.”
“Yeah, no, I know.” She smiles, her eyes cast down. “It’s weird, I just . . . seeing you in your band . . . It was like . . . I don’t know. I saw you differently is all. I can’t really explain it.”
I glance over at the door. “Why’d you shut that?”
“Your mom’s home.” She laughs. “I told her I needed to talk to you about Chemistry.”
I give her an are-you-serious look. “You and Cathy are in AP everything. My mom knows I’m not in AP anything.”
Nessa shrugs. “She didn’t seem to notice.” She takes a step toward me, closing the gap again. Her licorice breath is warm on my face. “Look, why are we talking about your mom? That’s kind of a mood killer, don’tcha think?”
I take another step back and find I’m up against the wall, pinned between the closed door and the footboard of my bed. “What mood?” Jeez Louise, she’s acting bizarre. More bizarre than usual. Whatever this is, I bet Cathy’s behind it.
Of course, that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve got a wizard’s staff trying to make its presence known in my boxers right now.
“Okay, look.” Nessa shakes her head. “I’m not saying this the right way. I think what it is . . . Seeing you playing the keyboards so confidently . . . It was the first time I sort of considered you . . . separate from Cathy. Does that make sense?”
“Sure. All right. Sounds good.” I turn my head, plotting an escape route over the bed. “Look, I’ve got to get back to work, so —”
Then, out of the blue, Nessa puts her hands on my face, turns my head toward her, and leans in to kiss me.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I wiggle free from Nessa’s grasp, leap onto my bed, scramble across the covers, and roll off the other side. “What the hell’s going on?”
Once upon a time, way back in seventh grade, I would have offered up my first-edition Star Wars comics for the chance to get a kiss from Nessa. But that was a long, long time ago. In a galaxy far, far away. Before Nessa and all of her friends were assimilated by the Borg.
Right now the only person I want a kiss from is Leyna, despite what the fully extended lightsaber in my jeans might be saying.
“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I just . . . I couldn’t help myself. I don’t know what came over me. Please don’t tell Cathy, okay? She wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh, so I’m supposed to believe Cathy knows nothing about this?”
“You think your sister would be cool with me wanting to make out with you?” Nessa laughs. “Doubtful.” She points to one of the daggers hanging on my wall. “Cool main gauche. I don’t remember seeing that last time I was in here.”
“I got it for Christmas.” I look at her suspiciously. “How do you know what that is?”
“A Renaissance parrying dagger. I’m a big fan of sharp objects. I’ve got a few knives myself. So.” She spins around and makes her way toward my desk. “What were you so busy with that you didn’t want to answer your door?”
“Nothing. It’s not —” I reach out to stop her but it’s too late.
“I didn’t know you wrote, Sean.” She’s bent over and peering at my laptop screen.
I don’t know if she’s giving me this view of her butt on purpose, but either way the stretched-tight pockets on her black jeans have me mesmerized.
“A horror movie. Cool.” Nessa glances over her shoulder. “Are you taking Mr. Coozman’s creative-writing class?”
“It’s not for school,” I say, my voice an octave higher than normal. I clear my throat and force my tone deeper. “It’s just something I’m fooling with.”
“Okay, well.” Nessa glances back at the computer. “Would you mind if I offered a little constructive criticism?”
“I know, it sucks.” I walk over to the desk and shut my laptop screen.
Nessa places her hand on top of mine. My knees buckle, but I catch myself.
“The first thing any writer will tell you,” she says, “is that self-flagellation is no way to get the juices flowing.”
“What?” I pull my hand away, feeling my face go hot. “No, I don’t . . . I don’t . . . do . . . that.”
Nessa grins. “Beating yourself up. Not beating yourself off, silly boy. And on both counts you’re lying.” She lifts the laptop screen up and slides into the chair. “You mind?” She gestures at my script on the screen. “I’m an expert on all things horror.”
I step back and shrug. “Sure. Go ahead.” It’ll give me time to cool off and remind myself that she’s not actually a girl
-girl, just Cathy’s annoying other half.
“Okay, let’s start with your evil doctor.” Nessa puts her fingers on the keyboard and starts to type. “At least, I assume that’s who he is, yes?” Nessa looks up at me and I nod. “Good, okay, well, right now he’s coming across as a bit of a dork. You don’t want that. You want him to be charismatic. Maybe even a bit misunderstood. So that you’re almost rooting for him. Think Count Dracula. Hannibal Lecter. Or even Mr. Freeze.”
“You root for the bad guys?”
Nessa flashes a quick grin. “You’re not ultimately rooting for them. But if you can add that level of enigmatic complexity to your villain, then your audience gets that much more invested. Of course you still want him to be menacing, but with an undercurrent of allure.”
Nessa’s talking and typing at the same time. Amazing. I can’t even read a book and eat at the same time. And what she’s saying sounds pretty impressive, too, even if I’m not entirely sure what it means. I lean in close and watch her transform my script.
A half hour later, she’s rewritten the entire beginning of the movie — along with the two audition scenes I’ve been struggling with — and it’s all a billion times better than what I had.
“Okay, I get that you know your horror movies,” I say, flipping through the printed script pages. “But how do you know how to write so well?”
Nessa shrugs. “I’ve always liked writing. As long as it isn’t for school.” She laughs at this. “Back in sixth grade, me and Michelle Audette almost got held back because we had this contest to see who could write the longest story by the end of the year. We hardly did any of our schoolwork. Just wrote like crazy and then read our stories aloud to each other at lunch. I think hers was called ‘The Witch Trials.’ And mine was ‘SPPS.’”
“What’s that?”
“The Secret Psychic Princess Society, of course,” Nessa deadpans. “It was such a blast. Well, until our parents got called in for an ‘urgent’ conference with Mr. Provost. Anyway.” She pushes the desk chair back and stands. “I should probably get going. Remember now, not a word to Cathy about . . . you know.”