Girl Wonder (10 page)

She smiled slyly, hit the word icon on her computer, and retrieved a document. Unbelievably, it was an affirmative case. Something about hybrid cars and tax breaks.

“Where did you get this?”

“Maybe I wrote it.”

I looked at her skeptically. She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I have my resources. It doesn't matter where it came from. No one's going to care.”

“That Eliot guy?” I guessed.

“He's a nice kid,” she said, indirectly confirming my suspicion. “Look. It's a
mock
tournament tomorrow. It doesn't count. You're freaking me out a little. What gives? You need a little fun. Want me to call Neal? I'm sure he'd love to come hang out with us. Besides—you're obviously into him.”

“I don't like…it's not like…I mean, I don't like him—”

“Like, like, like,” she snapped. “You like him. He likes you.”

“You think?”

She nodded emphatically.

I bit my lip. “Does that bother you?”

She squinted at something on her computer screen. “Why should I care?”

“You guys went out. Isn't there like a friends-before-guys policy?”

She snorted. “That was
eons
ago. Neal's like a little brother to me.”

“He's our age,” I reminded her.

“Do you have to make everything so difficult?” she asked, faking exasperation. At least—I thought she was faking it. She wasn't really annoyed. Was she?

The day before the mock tournament, the coaches farmed us off to various classrooms to work on our speaking skills. Amanda skipped out on this debacle.

“Family emergency,” she explained to Claire, the girl in charge of us.

From the window next to my desk, I observed Amanda relaxing on a bench. She'd taken off her jacket and was using it as a pillow. Her hair was fanned out behind her like peacock plumage. Guys gawked at her as they walked across the quad.

And here I was stuck inside with a girl named Claire who dressed like a hippie and didn't shave her armpits. Now Claire was saying, “I used to throw up before rounds. You get used to it.”

Used to what? Speaking? Barfing?

“I have this fun little exercise to help us loosen up.”

For a moment I was worried she was going to make us do one of those kindergarten exercises where you shake your arms and legs.

What she had in mind was worse. She passed around a shoe box brimming with folds of paper and instructed us each to take one. “You'll have ten minutes to prepare a speech on the topic you draw.”

Mine read:
Public schools should install condom dispensers in their lavatories.

She had to be kidding me. She wanted me to talk about
sex
? In front of strangers?
Uh, I don't think so, Claire.

Amanda's voice carried across the campus. I gazed back out the window. She was chatting away on her cell phone. Whoever she was talking to was making her laugh. Now she stood up. She glanced around. She was trying to flag someone down.

“After each speech we'll do a few minutes of oral critique.”

Wait a minute. The guy walking toward Amanda—was that…Neal? What was he doing here? He was too advanced for conferences. Oh God! What if Amanda had said something to him about me liking him?

She wouldn't! Would she?

WOULD SHE?

“I'm starting the timer now,” Claire said.

My heart pounded while the minutes ticked away. I couldn't think. I doodled a palm tree. I doodled Neal's name. Somehow my palm tree morphed into a penis. I gave it a condom. Maybe I could show condom cartoons instead of giving a stupid speech.

Something hit the window. Looking down, I saw Amanda and Neal giggling.

That did it. “It's a girl thing,” I explained to Claire as I gathered up my things.

“Need a tampon?” she asked loudly. I wasn't fooling her any.

I waved good-bye over my shoulder, not bothering to turn around to see who was staring.

Stay cool, I reminded myself when Neal saw me. “You missed all the fun this week,” I said. I made
fun
sound vague and mysterious and arched my eyebrow in an Amanda-like way. Amanda was trying to get me to laugh by making horns above Neal's head.

He swatted at her. “You're like a pesky mosquito, Munger.”

“'Cause I make you itch so bad?” Her comebacks were always lightning-quick.

“What are you doing here?” I asked Neal.

Neal produced three tickets from his jacket. “Cloud 9, anyone?”

Amanda kissed hers like it was the winning lottery ticket.

“What's Cloud 9?” I asked.

“You've never heard of Cloud 9?” Neal asked.

“It's this amusement park just a short ways south of here,” Amanda said. “It's not like Six Flags or anything, but it's still fun.”

“What about the tournament?” I asked, scanning the schedule for tomorrow. “Don't we have to prepare tonight?”

“Would you quit obsessing about that stupid thing?” Amanda groaned.

“You're doomed anyway,” Neal said, “with Amanda for a partner.”

“I remember why I hate you now, Fitz!” She pretended to strangle him.

“Don't leave me alone with her!” Neal begged, trying to get away.

They
were
like brother and sister.

Amanda glared at me meaningfully. “C'mon, Char. The boy wants you—”

“I'll go,” I practically shouted before she could incriminate me further.

“Let's make a pact,” Amanda said. “We have to ride every ride at Cloud 9.”

It was almost midnight. Lying on a park bench, Amanda clutched her stomach. “Make it stop.” Amanda, it turned out, had a low tolerance for roller coaster rides. This was the first indicator I'd had that she wasn't invincible. Maybe. Plus, she'd stuffed herself with funnel cake and cotton candy. “Ugh.” She leaned over to puke.

I grabbed her hair.

Neal jumped back to avoid being splattered. “There goes the cotton candy.”

“We should get her home,” I said.

Amanda flapped her hand to get our attention. “But the Vortex! We have to ride the Vortex.”

“You're crazy, Munger,” Neal said.

Amanda pouted. “We made a
pact
!”

“You're not really in a condition to ride anything,” I said gently.

She sniffed. “Fine. You two go. I'll wait here.”

“We can come back some other time,” I suggested.

She waved us away, in charge even when sick. “Go!”

The Vortex was a type of Gravitron—one of those circular rooms that spins around and around and relies on centrifugal force to hold you in place. It was lit up like a Christmas tree and looked just like a flying saucer. We didn't have to worry about lines this late in the evening. The operator said he'd keep us turning a few extra minutes since we were his last ride of the night.

The lights went off. The room began to spin. We all started to scream.

“Look at me,” Neal said. With great effort I moved my head. Everything was a blur. “What's the weirdest place you've ever been kissed?” he asked.

Just then the floor began to fall away. We were pinned to the wall like flies. I started to laugh, then hiccupped instead. Embarrassed, I tried to cover my mouth, but I couldn't move my hand. Neal was strong, however. Defying a force greater than gravity, he mashed his lips to mine.

Amanda was sleeping in the passenger seat of Neal's Toyota Prius. It was two in the morning. Neal had kissed me! The world felt surreal—everything was alive and breathing in this entirely new way.

The tournament, however, now less than six hours away, was a growing knot of fear in the back of my neck. Neal glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “There's a party in Belltown. There will be dancing. You want to go?”

He was asking me to choose between two impossible things: him or my future. With an ache in my heart, I shook my head. “I can't. But I really want to.”

“That's what I figured. I thought I'dask.” He reached backand gave my leg a little squeeze. “I think it's cool how much you care about doing well tomorrow. You're going to be great at debate.”

Amanda, who had been sleeping in the front seat, suddenly snapped to attention. “Dancing? Did somebody say something about DANCING?”

Back at the room, she stripped out of her clothes and changed into a fresh outfit right in front of Neal. He clapped his hands to his eyes. “Do you have
any
sense of modesty?”

“Sense?” She wadded up her puke-stained shirt and tossed it in the trash, frowning as if she'd had nothing to do with its condition. “What I sense is that you're peeking, Fitz. Nakedness is the most natural state. It's people who make it weird. Besides. Need I remind you that you've already seen me naked?”

My stomach dropped. He had?

Neal uncovered his eyes. “That time we went skinny-dipping? That doesn't count!”

“It counted, all right,” she said. “You were just too stupid to know it.” Amanda twirled around in tight jeans, a silver blouse, stilettos, and shoulder-dusting earrings. “How do I look?”

“Like a disco queen,” Neal said. “But I think it's an eighties party.”

She waved her hand. “People will be too drunk to care.”

Sitting on my bed, a pillow in my lap, I tried to act like I was having fun. Amanda narrowed her eyes to slits. “I can tell you're worrying about tomorrow,” she said to me. “I'm telling you to stop!”

“I'm getting a migraine again,” I lied. “I should sleep.”

Amanda tossed me the green bottle of Excedrin. “Problem solved!”

Neal came to my defense. “The girl doesn't feel well, Mandy. Give her a break.” I searched his eyes for some acknowledgment of our kiss. He squeezed my shoulder in this friendly way that could have meant anything. “Drink water,” he said. “You're probably dehydrated.”

“I'll talk you up,” Amanda whispered to me before leaving the room.

Would Neal mention our kiss to her? Feeling like a little kid who has to stay home while the big kids get to do fun grown-up things, I waited until they disappeared into the darkness. Then I logged on to Amanda's laptop. Could I learn everything there was to know about alternative energy in the approximately four hours that remained?

Control your thoughts. He's just a guy.

He was the only guy who counted.

What's the weirdest place you've ever been kissed?

Now I had an answer.

Neal had kissed me.

Neal. Neal. Neal.

Outside, there was a distant rumble of thunder. Heat lightning lit up the campus, giving it this gothic look. Around three a.m., the wind picked up. It started to rain. The thunderclaps grew louder. The sky was now alive with electricity. I opened my window to smell the ozone. Treetops whipped around in circles as if they were possessed. Suddenly there was a deafening boom. Everything went dark. The next morning the tournament was canceled due to a citywide power outage.

I'd stayed behind for nothing.

T
he next Friday, Amanda invited Neal to see a movie with us at an art house theater downtown. I still hadn't told her about our kiss. For one thing, I suspected it was in bad form to have been making out with a boy while your friend was lying sick on a park bench. For another thing, I wasn't entirely sure if Amanda would approve. She and Neal went way back. Would she think I was good enough for a guy she'd been involved with—even if it was only a silly middle-school thing?

Since our night at Cloud 9, nothing more had happened between Neal and me. But then, we hadn't been alone together.
These things take time
, I told myself.
Be patient.

Though I was pretty picky about the books I read, all I really wanted from a movie was for it to make me forget about my life. I was a sucker for even the god-awful ones. The movie Amanda had chosen for us to see was
Ordinary People
. It had won the Oscar for Best Picture in 1980. “It was Robert Redford's directorial debut,” she told us as we waited in line for tickets.

“Redford,” Neal said. “Is that guy even still alive?”

“Have you been to the Sundance Film Festival?” Amanda asked, not answering his question. “I go every year.”

Neal made a face. “Sundance is for neophytes.”

“It's a cool scene,” Amanda said, tossing her pink mane. “Last year I met Matt Damon.”

“Good for you,” Neal teased. “Did you give him a blow job?”

Amanda punched him in the arm. “For your information, he complimented my hair. He said it was
incandescent
.”

Trying to think of something to contribute, I said, “I like looking at the Sundance catalog.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “That thing? It's so
pretentious
.”

“It's nouveau riche,” Neal said.

Luckily, we were walking into the theater, where it was dark and neither of them could see my consternation. I envied how easy they were with each other and themselves. I envied how easily everything came for them. I wondered if I'd be that way if I'd grown up incredibly wealthy and in one place—without the added baggage of a learning disability. Because they assumed good things were in store for them, good things inevitably happened to them. It was a formula that I failed to grasp. Formulas were mathematical, though.

“We should sit in the back,” Neal suggested, steering me to a seat. “It makes for a more panoramic experience.”

“I get the aisle,” Amanda said. “Because I have long legs.”

“I get the middle,” Neal said. “Because I'm a guy, and what guy doesn't want to be surrounded by cute chicks?”

“Hot,” Amanda corrected him. “We're
hot
chicks.”

Ordinary People
was about a family coping with the loss of their eldest son. I thought it was a moving film—tragic but ultimately redemptive. There was no disguising my tears when the credits rolled.

Afterward we went to the coffee shop above the theater. The chairs were the old movie kind with red velvet on the seats. Amanda ordered a regular coffee and dumped in a ton of cream and sugar.

“You want some coffee with that?” Neal joked.

“Leave me alone. This is the way they drink coffee in New Orleans.”

“We're a long way from New Orleans, baby.”

“Maybe I've got Cajun ancestry,” Amanda said, pouting a little.

“That would explain your craziness.” Now it was Neal's turn to order. “I'll have a doppio,” he said to the barista. “Ristretto.”

“What's a doppio?” I asked.

“It's for purists,” Neal said, making a face at Amanda.

“It's for dopes,” Amanda quipped. “You'll hate it, Char.” She ordered a coffee for me. “My treat.” She fixed it the way she'd fixed hers. “You can afford the calories. Trust me. You've been looking a little gaunt lately.”

Neal led us to a table by the front window. “Someone was crying,” he said, elbowing me in a teasing way.

“That poor kid…The one who lives, I mean. Blaming himself for his brother's death. His mom blaming him too. She was awful.”

“I wanted to cry too,” Amanda said, “out of boredom. That was like a
Lifetime
after-school special. Ugh.”

“I thought the acting was good.”

Considering this, Neal took a sip of his doppio. “The performances seemed really dated to me. But as a rule I don't like movies that try to manipulate my emotions.”

“Guys always freak out when stuff makes them cry,” Amanda teased. “God forbid someone might think they're gay.”

Neal stared at her pointedly. “Trust me. I'm not gay.”

“What a waste of time,” Amanda said, pouring more cream into her coffee.

“Can you believe
Ordinary People
beat out
Raging Bull
for Best Picture that year?” Neal asked. “C'mon! We're talking about Martin Scorsese's finest work.”

“I liked
Cape Fear
a lot,” I said.

“Oh, Char,” Amanda said, exasperated. “Really?”

“What was wrong with
Cape Fear
?”

“
Cape Fear
was Scorsese's most commercial film,” Neal explained. “But I'll admit—it wasn't bad for what it was. And Juliette Lewis is a babe.”

I wanted to hug him for coming to my rescue. I wanted to kill Juliette Lewis for being a babe.

“You know what?” he said, studying me. “You look like Juliette Lewis.”

“I see that,” Amanda agreed. “You both have really big lips.”

Neal bumped my knee under the table, sending an electric surge of hope through my body. “She's got a dark streak too.”

After we'd finished our drinks, we started walking back to Amanda's Jeep. Amanda wanted to go to this bar she knew of over in Ballard. “My brother Keith worked there,” she said. “They know I'm his sister. They won't check our IDs.”

“Keith walked on water,” Neal explained to me. “He and my brother were pals. He's just one of those people you have to like.” He smiled as if remembering something particularly crazy.

How much easier would life be if you had a cool older brother to pave the way? To help you figure out what to do and say and how to act? To help you figure out who to be?

“I haven't seen Bailey in years,” Amanda said. “How is he?”

“He's chasing this born-again virgin down in Eugene,” Neal said, rolling his eyes.

“Why's he wasting his time?” Amanda asked.

“Bailey's not sure if she's serious or if it's all a big hoax to make him super horny. If she does cave, think how mind-blowing the sex will be after all that build-up.”

Amanda snorted. “That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.”

“Or maybe she's a genius. Bailey has started talking about wedding rings.”

We all grew quiet once we got into the Jeep. The top was down, and the sound of the wind made talking impossible. It was nice, though, not having to talk. Trying to keep up with Neal and Amanda was exhausting.

The bar, we discovered a short while later, had gone out of business.

“Just my luck,” Amanda groaned.

“Whatever!” Neal laughed. “You're the kind of person who makes her own luck.”

“That I am,” she agreed.

Whatever had happened between Neal and Amanda in middle school seemed to be water under the bridge now. They were friends. Good friends. I wasn't jealous of their friendship. I wasn't. I swear I wasn't.

Amanda liked the idea of having adversaries—which meant that she was finally starting to take debate seriously. When Mr. Peterson talked, she paid attention. She took notes and raised her hand a lot.

I still hadn't made any more progress with Neal. With all of his extracurricular activities, he was super busy. But he smiled at me a lot, smiles that were loaded with hidden meaning, smiles that were meant for me and me only, smiles that kept me hoping.

One Friday afternoon in mid-October, Mr. Peterson reminded us that our first big tournament of the fall—held at Whitman College in eastern Washington—was less than a week away. “I expect all of you to devote your weekend to preparing for it,” he'd said.

The next day I rode my bike over to Amanda's on the Burke-Gilman Trail. Neal and Diego were coming over to the Mungers' house as well. Diego was Neal's debate partner, and the four of us were going to pool our research. Amanda was tackling the research part of debate with surprising enthusiasm. “It's like being a detective,” she'd told me.

I knew Amanda wanted to work for the FBI or the CIA someday.

As Amanda and I sat on the island counter in the kitchen, I began to feel restless. “Has Neal had many girlfriends?” I asked, chewing on my thumbnail.

Sucking on a Jolly Rancher, Amanda said, “Most of the girls he's dated have gone to private schools. They're usually the prissy type, if you know what I mean.”

Most?
Most
sounded like a lot. And no, I didn't know what she meant.

“Any idiot can tell he thinks you're cute,” she said.

“Cute in a good way? Or cute like a little kid?” My heart raced, waiting to hear what she'd have to say. Amanda was smart about guys—smart about everything, for that matter.

She popped another piece of candy into her mouth and bit down hard. “I'm not going to dignify that with an answer,” she said. “Don't you know—the secret to getting boys to like you is to
know
they think you're hot shit?”

“It's amazing you look so great,” I said. “Your diet is a mess. You think Mountain Dew is a rational meal replacement.”

She chuckled at this. “I believe in the three C's: Cigarettes, caffeine, and candy.”

“That's a screwy belief,” I muttered. “But you're doing something right.”

“I'm doing everything right,” she said, hopping down from the counter to answer the door.

A moment later, Neal and Diego walked into the kitchen dragging huge crates. “Files and files of evidence,” Neal explained, seeing my eyes widen with dismay. How did he have the time to do so much work and research? “I've got tons more at home. In my bedroom.”

“I'll bet,” I said, wrapping a lock of hair around my finger nervously.

“You should see it sometime,” he said with a pointed look.

Wait—did he mean his debate evidence or his bedroom?

“We'll take the elevator up to my dad's office,” Amanda said, leading us to a part of the house I'd never seen before. “He's away again on another top secret medical mission.” She said this tongue in cheek, but you knew she thought that the sun rose and set on her dad.

Dr. Munger's home office was enormous, as big as the entire first floor of my house, and was fully equipped with a high-speed copier, a fax, several computers, a minibar, and a small kitchen. The perimeter was lined floor to ceiling with hardback books. In one of the corners there was a life-size human skeleton.

“It's real,” Amanda informed us. “My dad uses it to scare off kids at Halloween.”

“I prefer my skeletons to stay in the closet,” I joked, at once pleased with myself for having actually said something witty, and creeped out because THERE WAS A CORPSE IN THE ROOM!

“I want to hear more about your skeletons,” Neal said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Who is Charlotte Locke?”

I tried not to shiver at his touch. And his question. I felt like an impostor. Deep down, I knew I was not who he wanted me to be.

The paintings on Dr. Munger's walls were of the abstract variety—the kind that usually made me feel stupid because I never understood what they meant or what feeling they were supposed to stir.

“Those look like Clyfford Stills,” Neal said.

“We studied that guy in Art History, right?” Diego asked.

Amanda laughed. “They ARE Clyfford Stills. My grandfather had them commissioned.”

“Yeah, right,” Neal said. “Clyfford Still is one of the most famous artists of the twentieth century.”

Amanda crossed her arms. “He was friends with my grandfather, okay?”

Diego stood before the painting. “Didn't we see some of his stuff on that field trip to the art museum?”

“That's right,” Neal said. He turned to me. “Have you been to SAM yet?”

“Sam?” (And was I the only person in the room who hadn't heard of Clyfford Still?)

“The Seattle Art Museum.” In a low voice I thought might be just for me, Neal added, “We'll have to go sometime.”

Katherine looked in on us once and brightened when she saw Neal. “It's so good to see you again,” she said. “You used to be such a fixture around here. Can I get you a snack?”

When Neal shook his head, Katherine smiled at me. “I'd love to get my hands on an advance copy of your father's next book. What's the status?”

Her friendliness made me nervous. I liked her better in ice queen mode.

“He just got a two-book deal with Random House,” I said, hating myself for saying it because, although it was true, I'd said it to impress everyone. “His new book is due out next fall.”