Me, My Elf & I Page 14

  “What’s his band called?”

  “GGJB,” I tell her.

  “Never heard of them. What kind of music do they play?”

  “I’ve never heard them either, but he says it’s goth, gay Jew boy music.”

  Bella chokes and nearly spits out her frappuccino. “Goth, gay, Jew boy?”

  I’m not sure why it’s funny but I’m feeling so zippy from the frappuccino right now that I giggle. “I think that’s what he called it.”

  “So he’s gay? He’s not that girl’s boyfriend?”

  “Mercedes?” I ask. “That’s what I thought at first, too, but no. They’re just friends because she’s only allowed to date Puerto Rican boys.”

  Bella snorts a disbelieving laugh. “Why?”

  “Well, I guess her grandmother came over on a boat and she’s really religious.”

  “Oh my God, she’s racist,” Bella says.

  “Not racist,” I tell her. “It’s called something else. She keeps an altar in her bedroom with candles and fruit and other offerings to the spirits.”

  “Voodoo?” Bella asks, her eyes wide.

  “No, I think it’s called Santeria.”

  Bella shrugs. “Same thing.”

  We turn a corner and walk beneath a fortress of scaffolding up the side of a building. I move closer to Bella so we can squeeze past three guys in hard hats who stop hauling bricks to ogle us.

  “Hey sugar, what’s your name?” the tallest guy asks me.

  “Um,” I say, but Bella yanks my arm.

  “Ignore them.” She pushes past. “N.W.T.E.”

  “N.W.T.E.?”

  “Not Worth the Effort.” We step back into the sunshine, leaving the brick haulers hooting and laughing behind us.

  “So what else do you know about Mercedes?” she asks.

  “Not much,” I say, still trying to figure out what just happened, and how to steer the conversation back to the audition.

  “Really? I thought you were friends.”

  “We are!” I tell her. “But she can’t help me today because her grandmother is going to have a sea shell reading and buy some candles, so Mercedes has to babysit her twin sisters, who she calls the spawn of el Diablo.” I laugh because I love the way Mercedes says it.

  Bella nods, slowly taking it all in. “What about you, Zephyr?” she asks. “What kind of religion does your family practice?”

  “We don’t really have a religion.”

  “You must believe in something or are you an atheist?”

  “Well, I guess you could say that we believe in nature,” I tell her, simplifying things.

  “Where are you from?” She cocks her head nearly to her shoulder.

  “Just a little town in the upper peninsula of Michigan,” I say, because I have to be careful here. Everyone’s worst fear in Alverland is to be discovered.

  “What’s it called?”

  “Nothing you’ve ever heard of. It’s really really tiny and most of the people there are from the same clans, er um, families.”

  Bella bumps me. “Watch out. Dog doo.” She points to a smear on the sidewalk.

  “Gross!” I step around.

  “Are your parents related?” Bella asks.

  I watch the ground more closely. “Sort of. My mom’s great-grandmother and my dad’s great-grandfather were brother and sister, so somehow that makes them related but from a long long time ago so it’s okay.”

  “Sounds like a very interesting place,” says Bella.

  “Oh, it is!” I tell her. “I love it there. I mean, not that I want to go back or anything, because I’m totally in love with Brooklyn. New York ’s the best place ever, but I do miss Alverland.”

  She whips her head around to face me.

  “That’s what it’s called?” she asks. “Alverland?”

  I’m flustered. I shouldn’t have told her the name. “Um, well yeah, but you wouldn’t find it on a map or anything like that.”

  “Oh, please,” she says, looking away. “Every place is on Google Maps now.” We’ve made it back to school and she swings open the green doors. “You still want to practice?” she asks.

  “Absolutely,” I say. As we head upstairs to find an empty studio, I rub my temples.

  “I’m kind of regretting that frappie thing. What’s it called again?”

  “Alverland must be the only place on earth without a Starbucks,” she says with a snort.

  The buzzy feeling in my head has turned into a dull ache behind my eyes. “My head is starting to hurt.”

  “Oh believe me,” says Bella. “There are worse letdowns than caffeine.” She peeks in the windows of the small practice studios. “You’ll be back for more soon enough.” We find an empty room and throw our bags down. “Oh, look at that. We’ve got only ten minutes left until the bell,” she says.

  Even though my head is throbbing, I sit on the edge of a desk and ask, “Can you give me a few quick tips?”

  Bella positions herself in front of me. “Of course. I said I’d help you, didn’t I?”

  I have to admit that in some ways Bella is very kind, and she’s very pretty. I see why people like her, or like to hate her anyway. If she’s your friend she’ll probably do a lot for you—like take you out for a frappewhatsiwhosit, or pull you away from N.W.T.E. brickhaulers, or stop you from stepping in dog poop. And if she’s not your friend, you probably want her to be and maybe you get jealous that she’s not.

  “Mostly you want to be really calm and say your words slowly and clearly because you tend to talk fast,” Bella tells me. “Don’t do a lot of movement with your arms or your head. Just keep your body super still. Almost kind of stiff, but not stiff in a bad way. Stiff in a professional way. You know what I mean?”

  I shake my head. “No, I really don’t.”

  “Okay, watch.” Bella stands up very straight and tall and presses her arms to her sides. “The new ELPH camera is so easy, it must be magic,” she says in a flat, clear voice.

  “Don’t you want to sound a little more enthusiastic?” I ask.

  “Sure, if you want everyone to know you’ve never done an audition before.”

  “No, I mean, it’s just that I’d think if someone wants to sell something, they’d want more excitement.”

  “Oh, right,” says Bella. “Well, see, the thing is at an audition, they just want to hear your voice and see what you look like. Later, they’ll give you directions about how to sound and how to act if you get the part. So at first, it’s like a blank slate. They want nothing. You stand still and say the words. Get it?”

  “Okay,” I say. “I can do that.”

  “You try,” says Bella.

  I jump down and stand up straight. I hold my arms against my sides like Bella told me and I say very clearly and slowly, exaggerating each word. “The new ELPH camera is so easy it must be magic.”

  “But you’re smiling,” she points out.

  “No smiling?” I ask.

  “Remember,” she says. “Blank slate.”

  I nod and try again, this time keeping my face as empty of expression as I can, which isn’t hard since my head is aching. “The new ELPH camera is so easy it must be magic,” I say loudly but without any gusto at all.

  “Yes,” says Bella with a big smile. “That was perfect.”

  The bell rings. This day is finally over. I don’t know whether it’s been good or bad or just plain weird.

  “Do you want to practice again before the audition?” I ask Bella.

  “I’m kind of busy,” she says. “But I think you’ve totally got it. Don’t even worry about it. The worst thing you can do is overpractice because then it becomes stale.”

  “Thank you so much for helping me,” I say, following her to the door. It worked! I got her to tell me what she knew. Then I feel a huge pang of guilt as I remember my kiss with Timber. Would she be so nice to me if she knew? For a brief moment, I consider telling her, but I don’t know how I’d say it. And anyway, Timber is the one who shou
ld tell her. Then again, since it was nothing special, I guess she’ll never know. “Well, thanks again! That was really super nice of you,” I tell her, and I mean it.

  She pauses and looks back over her shoulder. “My pleasure,” she says with a smile before she slips through the door.

  chapter 9

  MY CAFFEINE HEADACHE has finally gone away and now I’m starving. I find one of my Mom’s homemade granola bars that I stashed inside my locker and I start to devour it. While I’m scarfing it down, Mercedes’s aunt, Ms. Sanchez, stops by. “Hi, Zephyr,” she says. “I’ve been hoping to catch up with you. I sent you an e-mail to stop by my office but I hadn’t heard back from you.”

  “An e-mail?” I ask, kind of embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a computer at home.”

  “You can use the school’s computers, you know. That’s what they’re here for,” she tells me.

  I swallow the last of the granola bar, then ask, amazed, “There are computers here?”

  “Of course,” she says with a kind laugh. “Every student has a school e-mail address and when you’re a junior you even get your own laptop.” My mouth must have dropped open because she smiles and says, “Really!” Then she gently takes hold of my wrist. “Come on, I’ll show you the computer lab.”

  We walk past classrooms and studios full of after-school clubs and kids rehearsing for upcoming performances. I’m jealous and can’t wait for my first audition. “Why did you want to see me?” I ask Ms. Sanchez.

  “Just to check in. Is everything going okay?”

  “I guess so,” I say, not sure what you’re supposed to tell a guidance counselor. I mean, should I mention that I kissed Timber but he acts like it was no big deal? Probably not.

  “I heard you’re going to audition for the ELPH camera ad.”

  “Yeah, I’m excited. Bella was helping me today.”

  “Excellent!” Ms. Sanchez says. She pats me on the back. “You’re making a lot of friends quickly and getting involved. That’s what I like to see.”

  “Thanks,” I say, feeling pretty good about myself.

  We get to the student lab, which is a room behind the library with at least fifty computers. Students fill about half the seats. I can’t believe it. I’ve never seen this many computers before in my life. The library in Ironweed has just three and compared to these sleek, shiny machines, they look like they were built by ape people during the Paleolithic era.

  “Hi, Kenji,” Ms. Sanchez says to the guy sitting at the computer in the front of the room. “Can you please show a new student how to log on to her school e-mail account?”

  He removes his earphones and looks up from his screen, where cartoon people run around blowing up things. I have to keep myself from staring because this guy, like everyone here, looks so different from what I’m used to. He’s got thick, black shiny hair buzzed short on the sides but long on the top with the ends dyed bright blue so that it flops over his head like the soft wing of a tropical bird. His cheekbones and chin are sharp, as if his face were chiseled out of a smooth piece of wood. Except for his lips, which are full and soft and round. I think of Timber’s lips on mine and I look away. My cheeks get hot and probably as red as a cardinal’s tail.

  “This is Zephyr Addler,” Ms. Sanchez tells Kenji.

  His eyes stay on me for a moment, then he says, “So you’re Zephyr.”

  I nod, uncertain what that means.

  “This is a bit new to her,” Ms. Sanchez says. “So you might need to spend some time explaining things.” Now I’m even more embarrassed. Not only am I blushing over Timber but now Kenji knows that I’m a complete computer moron.

  “No prob,” Kenji says, then nods to the chair beside him.

  After half an hour, I tell Kenji, “You’re very patient.” He’s shown me how to use e-mail, instant messaging, and the Web. “And you explain things so well. I thought computers were frustrating before this.”

  “Nah,” he says. “It’s all easy once you know the basics. And you’re a quick study.”

  “I still don’t understand about blogs, though,” I admit.

  “You mean how to set one up?” he asks.

  “Why would I need to set one up?”

  “Anybody can have one.”

  “Do you?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s it called?” I ask.

  “Samurai Son,” he says as he types. “That’s also my IM name and my gaming handle. But anyway, I doubt you’d think my blog is interesting unless you’re into gaming.”

  I look at his screen. It’s filled with weird cartoon people with huge eyes in warrior costumes. “Did you do the drawings?”

  “Yeah. It’s anime, Japanimation style,” he says, pointing to the characters. “I’m really into manga.” When I hesitate, he quickly adds, “Japanese comic books.”

  “I’ve never seen a Japanese comic book,” I admit, probably sounding even dumber than I feel.

  He shrugs. “Not everybody has.” He closes his blog and clicks back onto the screen where the cartoon people are blowing things up. “You all set now?”

  “I think so,” I tell him.

  “If you have trouble or think of any other questions, just ask.” He puts his headphones on and returns to his game.

  I sit down at an empty computer and quickly log on. First I check my school e-mail account. There are twenty announcements about upcoming auditions and performances. I want to go to every single one of them, but I have to get through this ELPH audition first. Next I try instant messaging. First I try Ari, but an automatic message pops up that reads, “2 Busy 4 U. Try me l8er.” I figure he must still be rehearsing with GGJB. I try Mercedes, but she’s offline, probably busy with the spawn of el Diablo. I’m about to log off when I get an idea. Maybe I could instant message Timber. Kenji showed me the school address book online where people list their e-mail addresses and IM names. After a few tries, I find it and look up Timber.

  As soon as I type TLC94 into the “To” box, I get nervous. What am I going to say? An even better question is why am I bothering to say anything? Mercedes told me to let him make the first move, but what if he doesn’t? Or what if he’s waiting for me to make the first move? Plus, just because he told Chelsea that the weekend was nothing special doesn’t mean he really feels that way, right? I mean, Chelsea is Bella’s friend and if he doesn’t want Bella to know about what happened, then of course he’s going to keep it a secret from Chelsea. If nothing else, I need to tell him that I don’t want to do something hurtful. Bella was nice to me today and it’s not very elfin of me to kiss her boyfriend behind her back. I hunt and peck on the keyboard and write this message:

  —Hi Timber. Zephyr here. Are you there?

  I wait, my heart pounding and my palms prickly with sweat. After a few seconds, a box pops up.

  —What up, Z. Cool 2 get yer message. What r u doin?

  —I’m in the computer lab at school. Where are you?

  —Coffee shop. “Studying” ha-ha. Not really, tho.

  I type “Are you having a frappie drink at Starbucks?” with my heart racing. Could he be with Bella? I send the message.

  —LOL! U crack me up.

  As always, I have no idea what I’ve said that’s funny. The odd thing is that having this computer screen between us makes me feel bold so I type in, “Why is that funny?”

  We trade messages quickly.

  —1) I don’t like Starbucks and 2) real men don’t drink frappuccino.

  —What do real men drink?

  —U’d have to ask a real man, ; [)

  I giggle quietly. This is fun. Then I type in “Okay, I’ll ask my dad.” After I send my message, the screen stays still for a moment and I wonder if I said something wrong. Did I make him mad? I thought we were having fun. Being goofy. Teasing each other. He’s the one who started it. Oh, come on, come on, come on! I stare at the screen wishing another message would pop up and wondering if something is wrong with this stupid machine. Did my message get l
ost in the sky? Then, suddenly, there’s his answer.

  —Yer dad’s cool. I like yer family. The park was a blast.

  I’m so relieved that I nearly fall out of my chair. Plus, I’m excited. I read the message again. The park was a blast. A blast means that it was something special. Not nothing special. So he did have a good time. I peck out my response:

  —I had fun, too! My family thinks you’re fantastic. Anyone who can sing is okay in their world. And you can really sing!

  I send this, then I wish I hadn’t. I’m gushing again. Being too nicey nice. Not at all taking Mercedes’s advice. And I sound like a little kid. Not cool. I don’t know the abbreviations and slang words they use or how to add all those little funny smiley faces to the end of the message. He must think I’m a total and complete idiot so before he can respond, I send another message, this one sarcastic.

  —Guess that ensemble class paid off for you.

  But then, this pops up:

  —Very funny. I cd sing b4 ensemble, ya know? I did have a record deal back in the day.

  I’m afraid that I’ve hurt his feelings. This is the problem with typing instead of talking. He can’t see my face or hear my tone. I guess that’s when a little winking head bouncing at the end of my message would come in handy.

  —Oops, sorry. I was trying to be sarcastic. Guess it didn’t work.

  —Sarcasm from u? Nah, doesn’t work cuz the thing I like about u is that yer real.

  My heart does a little dance in my chest. He likes something about me! I want to stand up on my chair and yell Yippee! Of course, I don’t. Even I know that that would be the wrong thing to do in a computer lab. But then I remember the reason I sent him a message in the first place. I’m not sure how to say it, so I just type what I’m thinking.

  —I feel bad about what happened in the park.

  —Y?

  It takes me a second to realize that he means “why.” I try to sum up how I feel, but it’s hard. So instead, I ask, “Does Bella know?” A few seconds later this comes back: