Me, My Elf & I Page 7

  As the man hands around packets of information and chats with some of the girls who give him head shots and résumés, I see Bella enter the room. I notice that she’s changed clothes since lunch today and now wears a short, fitted green dress with flowing sleeves. She’s added a brown sash around her waist and a simple silver necklace with a leaf pendant. Right behind her is Chelsea. Everyone shrinks back and pales as those two girls stride across the room.

  “Hi, Mr. O’Donnell.” Bella lays her hand on the man’s arm.

  “Bella! ” he exclaims. She steps in for a kiss on the cheek. “I was hoping you’d make it. I spoke with Suzy at your agency and she said she’d courier over your portfolio.”

  “Oh good,” says Bella with a toss of her hair. “I didn’t have any left at home. I’ve been so busy with requests, lately.”

  “This is a great look, by the way,” the man tells her. “See girls,” he addresses the rest of us. “You could learn something here. Dress the part, girls, and dress the part correctly.” His eyes land on me but he points to Bella as if I should be taking cues on elfin behavior and style from a mean erdler girl like her.

  Instantly, I’m incensed. What is it with these erdlers and their silly stereotypes about who we are? Telling me I should look more like Bella—what a joke! My teeth grind together, my eyes narrow, everything in the room goes fuzzy, and I feel fire shooting up inside my belly. I bet if he knew there was a real elf in this room, he’d sweat right through his shirt he’d be so nervous. Which gives me an idea. I bring my hands together over my mouth and nose and breathe the heat of my body into my palms, then release it out toward that stupid troll who doesn’t know the difference between an elf and an elephant. It doesn’t take long for Mr. O’Donnell’s cheeks to turn pink, then red, and tiny beads of perspiration to prickle across his top lip and forehead. He sticks a finger into the collar of his shirt and tugs to loosen his tie.

  “Whew.” He takes off his suit jacket. “Did it suddenly get to be like a hundred degrees in here? Doesn’t this place have air-conditioning?” I can see sweat rings forming under his arms and I’m giddy with delight, at first.

  Bella and Chelsea saunter away from the suddenly sweaty man and head straight for me. I shrink back, afraid that I’ve been caught in the act of hexing. Why did I do it? But apparently I’m wrong, because Bella is smiling at me.

  “Hi, Zephyr,” she says sweetly and I’m shocked that she knows my name. “Anybody sitting here?” She lifts my bag from the chair beside me and sits down before I can say that I’m saving the seat for Mercedes. Chelsea slinks away. “By the way . . .” Bella leans closer to me and says, “I’m completely mad about what you’re wearing!”

  “You’re mad?” I ask, my heart racing. “I didn’t mean to make anyone angry.”

  “Not that kind of mad,” she says with a little laugh. “Mad in a good way. Like crazy. You know, the Mad Hatter, mad about you, mad for chocolate. Like that.”

  “Oh, well, thanks,” I sputter, because I’m so caught off guard by how nice Bella Dartagnan is being.

  “It looks handmade,” she says. “Really special.”

  “My grandmother made it, so I guess it is kind of special,” I say, and smile, thinking that maybe Bella isn’t as bad as Ari and Mercedes said.

  “It’s been the talk of every fashion victim today so you know that tomorrow a hundred girls are going to show up trying to dress exactly like you.” She rolls her eyes and shrugs. “But what can you do? Show an ounce of originality in this place and pretty soon even the janitors will be copying you. I gave up trying a long time ago because I got so sick of all the little Bella clones running around. Now I just show up in any old thing that’s comfortable. Jeans, flip-flops, a T-shirt, whatever.”

  When she says this, I feel silly for being so overdressed and I wish I could wear jeans and a T-shirt, too, but then I’d be copying Bella, which is exactly what she doesn’t like. “Sheesh,” I mutter half to myself. “It’s easier where I’m from. Everyone just wears the same thing.”

  “Oh God, how awful,” says Bella. “You had to wear a uniform?” Before I can explain, she’s on to a different topic. “Have you done an audition before?” she asks me while flipping through her info packet.

  “No,” I admit.

  “You picked a great first one. This guy, Mr. O’Donnell, is a total sweetheart. So easygoing and nice. I’ve worked with him a bunch. Some of the casting agents that show up here are such assholes.”

  Now I feel even worse for giving Mr. O’Donnell a heat wave. What a stupid, stupid thing to do in front of all these people! I could get myself in so much trouble. I also feel bad for assuming that Bella is evil and that she doesn’t like me. My parents have always told us that people who are unkind are usually just uninformed and intimidated by what they don’t understand. Not that Bella would ever be intimidated by me, but maybe the other day when she was so mean, it was because she didn’t know me. Plus I did take her by surprise when I plopped my tray down in front of her and made her boyfriend laugh. I don’t really know what it feels like to be confronted by an outsider. So maybe my parents are right—if I’m kind to her and show her my true self, she will be kind to me and show me her true self.

  “My friends told me that you’re a super-successful actress. I bet you’ve worked really hard at it,” I say.

  Bella watches me for a few seconds as if uncertain, but then she says, “You’re right, I do work hard. Most people around here don’t understand that. They think I get all my acting gigs by magic.” I snort a little laugh when she says this because, believe me, if magic worked like that, I wouldn’t be sitting in this audition either. “But the truth is,” Bella continues, “I’ve been working my butt off since I was six years old.”

  As I listen to Bella, I kind of like her. My dad says that erlders are different than elves because they have all kinds of different personalities rolled up into one. He says you have to get to know the whole person before you decide what they’re really like, but they’ll only show you one side at a time. So maybe how she acted in the cafeteria and on her blog is only one side of her and really she’s very nice.

  “Do you want to be famous someday?” I ask.

  She blinks at me a few times without answering and I wonder if that was the wrong question to ask. Maybe she’s already famous? But then she looks away from me, back down to the packet on her lap, and says, “I just love acting. I don’t care about fame.”

  Mr. O’Donnell is in the front of the room ready to start. Poor guy has nearly soaked through his shirt. “You girls hot?” he asks, pushing up his sleeves and mopping his brow with a soggy tissue. Several girls giggle and I feel terrible for what I’ve done. I try to think of a way to remedy the situation without getting myself in a deeper mess but then the door opens and Mercedes bounds into the room.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she says to him. “I had a costume fit—Yikes!” She jumps back when she realizes how sopping wet he is.

  “No problem. Just take a seat.” He motions to the chairs, flinging droplets of sweat across the girls in front of him. They all flinch and cower, clearly grossed out. Oh dear, I’ve created such a disaster. I can’t do a drying spell because that would be too suspicious, plus I can’t think of one anyway. I could probably stop him from sweating, but I just can’t quite remember the counterspell to the heat wave I put on him. I have to try something, so I cup my hand around my mouth and curl my tongue into the shape of a straw, then try to suck the heat back into my own body.

  Mercedes sees me and grins but then stops abruptly when she sees that Bella is sitting beside me. She knits her eyebrows together as if to ask me what’s going on. I just shrug helplessly as she finds the only empty seat on the other side of the room. When I look back at Mr. O’Donnell, he’s shivering. He picks up his suit jacket and puts it on.

  “Okay,” he says, his teeth chattering. “Let’s get started.” He wraps his arms around himself and rubs his shoulders. “Man, it’s cold all of the sudden,
isn’t it? Did that A/C kick in or what?”

  Uh-oh, too strong. I’ve made things worse and now I’m getting hot.

  “Mr. O’Donnell, are you okay?” Bella asks. “You don’t look so good.”

  “You know, I don’t feel so good. I must be coming down with a cold or the flu or something. I might have to postpone this.”

  “Here, let me help you.” I hop up and walk over to him. I place my hand on his arm then lead him to a chair. I concentrate on evening out his temperature with mine while we’re touching. I’m not good enough at casting spells yet to get it right from across the room. “Is that better?” I ask, putting my face close to his so that my breath will enter his mouth and nose and get both of us back to normal.

  “Hmm, yeah,” he says after a few seconds. “That is better. Maybe I just needed to sit down for a minute.”

  I pat his arm and smile, relieved.

  “What’s your name?” he asks me.

  “Zephyr,” I tell him. “Zephyr Addler.”

  “Thanks, Zephyr,” he says, then stands. “Now, let’s get started.”

  I walk back to my seat and notice Bella staring at me with her jaw clenched. “Clever,” she leans over and whispers to me. “He certainly won’t forget you now.” She has a smile on her face, but her words do not sound friendly.

  “Is that a bad thing?” I whisper back to her, but she’s turned her attention to Mr. O’Donnell. I try to catch Mercedes’s eye, but she’s also focused on him, as is everyone else in the room. I decide to do the same thing.

  As I listen to him describe the audition process, I realize that there’s so much more to performing than I thought. Bella’s right, it’s hard work, and I’m afraid that I’m going to make the biggest fool of myself if I do this. I look over at Mercedes again. She catches my eye and winks this time. She’s obviously counting on me. I have the sinking feeling that if I don’t come through for her, I’ll go back to being that sniveling lost girl that I was on the first day of school. I steal another glance at Bella. She’s perfectly poised. There’s no way I can compete with her. I hold my face in my hands and wonder how I’ve managed to get myself into so many messes in such a short time.

  chapter 5

  ARI AND MERCEDES are waiting for me outside the classroom after the meeting is over, but Bella grabs my arm before I leave the room. “So what’d you think?” she asks. “Are you going through with the audition?”

  “I guess so,” I say uncertainly. “Can’t hurt to try, can it?” I add, hoping to convince myself.

  “Unless you totally blow it,” she says with one eyebrow arching up. “You don’t want to start out on the wrong foot with these casting agents. Once they think you suck, you never get another chance.”

  “But you said Mr. O’Donnell is so nice.”

  “Nice, yeah,” says Bella. “Stupid, no. He’s not going to waste his time on people who can’t act.”

  My stomach churns. “My friends Ari and Mercedes said they’d help me.” I point to them.

  Bella glances their way, then she says, “Maybe we can run lines together sometime. You know, help each other out.”

  “Really?” I nearly jump up and down I’m so excited that Bella is offering her help. “That would be so nice of you! And I’m sure you’ll like Mercedes, too. You guys could come over to my house, or maybe we could go to the park . . .”

  Bella wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “Uh, no. I mean the two of us help each other. Three people don’t work. Someone always ends up feeling left out.” As she says this I see Timber lingering by the door. At first, I think his wolf grin is for me and I start to smile and wave, but then I realize that he’s come to get Bella. I quickly look away, flushed and flustered by my mistake. Without saying good-bye, Bella is out the door, arm looped around Timber’s waist.

  “What was that all about? ” Mercedes is by my side.

  “You have some secret strategy you aren’t telling us?” Ari asks. “Know thine enemy or something? ”

  “What? ” I ask, afraid it’s obvious that I’m crushing on Timber.

  “Bella!” says Mercedes impatiently. “Why are you suddenly so chummy with her? ”

  “And what were you guys talking about? ” asks Ari.

  “She sat next to me,” I tell them. “Said maybe we could run lines together. Actually, I think you’ve misjudged her. She’s really very nice.”

  Ari and Mercedes shake their heads in unison. “Girl, you’re bent,” Mercedes tells me. “If Bella Dartagnan is being nice to you she’s either high or she wants something from you or she’s planning something.”

  “Maybe you just don’t know her very well,” I point out.

  “Right,” says Ari. “And in the three days you’ve been at BAPAHS, you’ve become soul sisters? You have no idea what you’re dealing with, Zeph.”

  Mr. O’Donnell calls my name. I turn around to see him packing all the other girls’ portfolios into his briefcase. “Did you give me your résumé and head shots? I can’t find them.”

  “Er, um, well,” I stutter.

  “She’ll have it for you next time,” Ari tells him. “She just moved here so she has to update the résumé and get new pictures.”

  “That’s fine,” says Mr. O’Donnell. “But don’t forget. You can’t audition without them.”

  “Okay, I won’t,” I tell him, but truthfully I have no idea how to get those things. This is when I wish I’d studied more magic with my grandmother before we left Alverland. About the only thing I can do is hex people to mess with their appearance and bodily functions. I won’t know how to conjure things up or change my own form for another twenty years, especially at the rate I’m going.

  Ari nudges my arm. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered,” he whispers.

  Before Mr. O’Donnell leaves I ask, “Are you feeling okay now?”

  “Strangest thing, that,” he says, shaking his head. “Must have been something I ate, but I feel fine now.” He clicks his briefcase closed and heads out the door. “Thanks for asking.”

  Once he’s out of earshot, Mercedes pretends to wave good-bye, then fans her hand under her nose and says, “Smell ya later!”

  “You’re so immature,” Ari says, but we both laugh anyway.

  Turns out, Ari totally has a plan for my portfolio, but not one I’m entirely comfortable with. After school he takes pictures of me in the park with his digital camera and now we’re in his bedroom, him at the computer and me on the floor between his bed and his desk. His cat, Ari Jr., is curled up on my belly, purring happily as I scratch behind his ears. “You don’t understand, Ari. I can’t lie,” I tell him.

  “It’s not lying, Zephyr,” he says impatiently. “We’re just exaggerating a little bit.”

  But it’s impossible to explain that for me, there is no difference. Elves don’t lie. We just don’t. Honesty is in our nature. As is kindness. And for those elves who go against their intrinsic goodness, there are serious consequences. Or at least I think so. It’s never happened since I’ve been alive, but I’ve heard that some elves become dark and have to leave Alverland. Sometimes I think parents just made up the idea of Dark Elves to keep kids in line, kind of like the bogeyman, but you never know.

  “Look, Zeph.” Ari turns toward me. The late afternoon sun streams through the big window behind him, exposing a corridor of dust floating lazily in the still air. It’s funny what you can see in the clear, strong light. So far, Brooklyn has felt like one big shadow to me. “I have to write something down on this résumé. You heard the guy, you can’t audition without a portfolio.”

  “What’s wrong with this being my first audition?” I stare at stickers of planets and stars on Ari’s ceiling and I miss the night sky in Alverland, which is so open that you can see galaxies. Here, you’re lucky to catch a fleeting glimpse of the moon and one star through all the blaring city lights.

  “But most people start with amateur stuff, not a real audition for a professional gig,” Ari explains. “Weren�
��t you ever in a show or school play or onstage with your dad in Michigan? Or is that against your religion there?”

  Ari Jr. stretches his front legs, digging his claws into my belly, then hops off and struts around the room. I roll to my side and prop my head on my hand. “Where do you think I came from?” I ask Ari, slightly amused. “It’s not like we don’t put on plays or sing or have fun there.”

  “I don’t know,” he answers. “I’ve Googled your dad like a million times trying to figure out where you guys are really from, but it’s kind of a mystery, which is cool.”

  “What’s Googling?” I ask, imagining some kind of fancy, high-powered binoculars.

  “Jeez, and you wonder why I think you grew up in a hole in the ground. Come here, I’ll show you.” He picks up his laptop and flops down on his bed, where we can sit side by side on top of his messy covers. After typing in some words, a screen comes up with the word “GOOGLE” in colorful letters across the top of the page. He keys my dad’s name into a little box, then a huge list appears with “Drake Addler” highlighted in bright blue over and over. “You can click on any of these Web pages and read about your dad,” he tells me.

  “Whoa,” I say. “That’s so weird. How does the computer know so much about my dad?”

  “Because he’s kind of famous,” says Ari.

  I bump him with my elbow. “No, he’s not. You’re teasing me again.”

  “Yeah, Zeph, he is.” Ari turns toward me and flaps his arms around as he talks superfast about my dad. “I mean not like totally famous. I wouldn’t like him if he were. But he’s got a huge underground following. I’m talking humungous, which is so much cooler than being popular because your record label paid a zillion dollars for your CD to be on an iTunes download list.”