Boy Proof (16 page)

I always
thought
I was lonely, but now that no one is talking to me, I really know what lonely is.

In English class, Max is still sitting right next to me. I can smell him. I think he smells good. I want to reach over and touch his arm and make him turn to look at me. But no matter how much I jiggle in my seat and make noise, he just keeps looking straight forward.

Today, I swear, I am going to fix it. I am going to say something.

“Can I borrow a pen? Mine is out of ink,” I say.

Max doesn’t answer. He continues working on his essay.

“Max, please talk to me.”

Max doesn’t answer. He’s hesitating, though. I’m wearing him down.

“Max, I’m really sorry,” I say. I really am sorry. I miss Max Carter. I miss my old loner life. The one that was full of people.

He leans back on his chair and dips his hand into his bag and gets me a pen. He still doesn’t say anything. But it feels like progress.

The only way that Jacques will let me continue helping him out with the makeup is if I continue on as an elf extra. My one-day elf stint has stretched into over a month of after-school work. Good for the wallet and good for my makeup training. It’s the only thing that is keeping me sane now that no one is talking to me.

I cut out of the set for
Trouble at Santa Land
and head toward the commissary for dinner break.

I have to do my homework.

I order a latte from the girl behind the counter and then sit down and look at the math problems I’ve been assigned. They don’t make any sense to me. The numbers blur in front of me. I have coffee rings on my loose-leaf paper. Instead of doing my homework, I begin to trace out dinosaurs and flying saucers with my pencil.

I’m thinking. I’m thinking. I don’t know what the answer is. I need help. I fucked up badly when I lost Rue as my tutor. I’m so stupid. I have no one to turn to and it’s my own fault. I’m all on my own. I’m not as smart as I always think I am.

I sip on my latte. I’m buzzed from all the caffeine. I’m trembling and quivery inside. I want to concentrate on the proof.

All I can think about is how I’m going to fail trigonometry. I’ve definitely lost my spot as valedictorian. At this point, I’ll probably have to go to summer school. I’m not going to get into a good college, and I’m never going to show Max Carter or anyone else that I can be friendly.

I must be crazy. I’m talking to myself.

Too much coffee has made me have to pee. I go to the ladies’ room and relieve myself and then, to torture myself, I order another half-caf latte.

On my way back to the table, I see a tall, dark man leaning over my notebook, scribbling in it.

“Hey!” I yell. “Hey there, what are you doing?”

The man turns around and looks at me. I move toward him in slow motion, in disbelief. My brain is frozen, but my feet know what to do. They keep moving.

It’s Zach Cross. It’s Uno. Zach Cross from
Terminal Earth
has been scribbling in my math notebook. My feet move me back toward my table and I sit down.

“I just found the mistake you made,” Zach Cross says to me.

“What?” I say.

“You see, you used the wrong table here. That’s why you’re off,” Zach Cross says. He looks at me sideways, suddenly noticing my costume. “What are you?”

“I’m an Awkwardly Tall Elf,” I say. Then I jingle the bell on top of my hat.

“Oh,” he says. “Cool.”

Then, undistracted by my ridiculous costume, probably because he has worn more ridiculous getups than mine, he helps me with my trigonometry homework.

“Oh!” I say after about twenty minutes. “I think I get it.”

He smiles. He is more beautiful in person than in the movies. He punches my shoulder, like we’re friends.

“I thought you were in New Zealand,” I say.

“I am. I had to come back and do some looping for my last film,” he says.

“Are you gay?” I say.

“What?” Zach Cross says.

“Everyone says you’re gay,” I say. “I don’t care if you are. It’s no big deal.”

“I’m not gay,” he says.

“Are you stupid?” I say. “’Cause that’s another thing everyone says as well.”

He sets his mouth into a grim line. He furrows his brow. He turns his perfect movie-star eyes on me, and says, “I’m not a man of many words, but I understand math.”

“Saba Greer is dating Lark Austin,” I say.

“You can’t believe what the tabloids say,” Zach Cross says.

“I met them at the Cinematheque with my mom,” I say. “They were holding hands.”

I lean back on my chair and nibble on the piece of cake that Zach Cross has bought me, and something dawns on me.

“Hey, Zach,” I say. “I’ve got a problem that you can help me solve.”

“More math?”

I explain to him what happened with the Science Fiction and Fantasy Club and my holding back on my mom being Hera in the Greek Mythology trilogy. “So, I need some inside dirt on
Terminal Earth,
” I say.

“Your mom is Ursula Denton?” Zach asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m Victoria.”

I don’t say I’m Egg.

“I had your mom’s poster on my wall when I was a kid. I was in love with her,” he says. “I’ll dish the dirt for you. You can share with your friends, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

Then Zach Cross begins to tell me some gorgeously heavy secrets about the new
Terminal Earth
movie.

A homeless man sleeps outside of the school every morning. Sometimes I give him change. Or I give him an apple. Or I give him a mean, awful look and say, “Go away.”

But today, something seems different. Normally he is an invisible citizen. But today, his dirty face reminds me of those birds slicked with oil.

I take my camera out of my bag and take his picture as he shuffles off with his blanket. I capture him as he carefully unhooks his dog from the bench that he calls a bed every night. I follow him as he panhandles for some change that might bring some food to his belly or some wine to his surely rotting gut. I focus on his blackened fingernails and yellow teeth. His scarred face. His over-sunburned arms. His gentle eyes. His wild, peppered, dark hair. His missing tooth.

I bring the proof sheet into the
Melrose Lion
meeting.

Max Carter looks up at me as I enter the meeting. Nelly has her head leaning on his shoulder. I can imagine that this is the way she places herself on him after wrestling with him on the bed.

I push an envelope of photographs that I took that morning toward the center of the table.

“I brought something in,” I say. “I thought we could use it as a social commentary piece.”

“Max and I do commentary,” Nelly says. Nelly has become as frigid toward me as everyone else has. Her nice-girl skills only extend so far.

“I didn’t write a story. I took some pictures,” I say.

I push the envelope into the middle of table. Max starts to reach for it.

“Maybe we should take a look,” Max says.

My chest tightens with a hopeful feeling.

“I’m student editor. I have final word,” Nelly says, turning to me with those smart eyes of hers. “Just hand in what we ask you to.”

Ms. Dicostanzo sweeps into the room.

“Sorry I’m late. The traffic is so horrible since they’ve started widening all the streets in Hollywood,” she says.

Everyone looks at me. They all know I could play the Dicostanzo card. I could force Nelly to look at my proof sheet. I could get her to consider accepting something for the
Lion
that wasn’t planned. We all know we’re supposed to work as a team.

I pull my manila envelope back and stuff it in my bag.

“Did you share something with the group?” Ms. Dicostanzo asks me.

“Nah, it was nothing,” I say.

Mental note: Always know when to keep big mouth shut.

Out of the corner of my eye I almost notice that Max is about to speak up for me.

But then again, maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

New tactic: Be friendly.

I smile big and I say hello to twelve people today in the hall.

“Hello, Rue.”

“Hello, Martin.”

“Hello, Hasan.”

“Hello, Nelly.”

“Hello, Max.”

“Hello, Katrina.”

“Hello, Damon.”

“Hello, Jessica.”

“Hello, Ignacio.”

“Hello, Tamara.”

“Hello, Sid.”

“Hello, Christina.”

No one says hello back. But I don’t care.

“You’re not welcome,” Rue says.

“Yeah,” Hasan says.

“According to the bylaws of our club, I can return as a member in good standing if I supply a piece of information as good as the one I withheld.”

Martin looks up from his copy of
F/X
magazine. I have captured his attention.

“Technically, yes. But in this case we won’t accept any inside information from the Greek Mythology trilogy,” he says.

Everyone mutters in agreement. Mr. Padilla wants me back in the club, I can tell. He waves his hands like a conductor for everyone to sit down and come to order. Then he motions for me to enter the room.

“Let’s hear what Egg has to say,” he says. This makes me smile.

“I have insider information on
Terminal Earth,
” I announce.

“No go, Egg,” Martin says. “We all know that they are shooting parts two and three back to back.”

“Yeah,” Rue says. “And we all know that there is a superhighway chase in Tachon City. Martin downloaded the pictures from the Internet two days ago.”

Martin raises his finger in the air to present himself as if I don’t know that it’s him.

“Okay, but do you know that Uno has a sister, who he finds in the abandoned city of Tachon?” I say.

I could have heard a pin drop in the room.

“And do you know that Egg’s child was buried at the beach at Konkar and that she can never have a child again because she was one of the only people that survived the white plague in its first incubation?

“And did you know that Uno is going to save his unborn child with a new female character named Trillia, but not without a great personal sacrifice?”

“Where did you hear all of this?” Rue asks in disbelief.

“I can’t say. My sources are confidential.”