Authors: Kristen Chandler
Girls Don't Fly (4 page)
I say, “I’m a
doormat
now? Because I like clean clothes and hair?”
doormat
now? Because I like clean clothes and hair?”
“No, you’ve always been a doormat.”
I feel like I did when Brett hit me in the eye, but this doesn’t just ring my bell, it cracks it.
“You really think I’m a
doormat
?”
doormat
?”
“Come on, Myra. You’re a compulsive pleaser. You try to make ev-er-y-body happy.”
“What’s so wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Except that you can’t do it and people will treat you like crap. Other than that it’s pretty cool.”
I try to breathe. Erik is (was) always reminding me to breathe. I say, “Why did you call?”
“Just wanted to help.”
“I feel so much better.”
“Fine. But there’s a lot more like him, believe me.”
“There isn’t anyone like him,” I say. And then I put the receiver back in the holder. I don’t slam it down. I put it down politely. Doormats are like that. We like to keep the dirt under our rugs.
6
Irruption:
When a bird shows up where it doesn’t normally go.
Erik and I have only one class together this semester. Advanced Placement biology. Before you get the wrong idea about me I can explain. I’m the invisible student. I get good grades because I take easy classes and I hand everything in on time. I don’t talk in class. Most of my teachers have no idea who I am and that’s just fine with me. I like science, but I took the AP biology class because it fit in my schedule and because Erik is taking it and because, well, just because.
I’ve been planning to skip AP bio since three o’clock this morning. But I go. I’m not much of a sluffer. I sit in the back, next to Jonathon Hempilmeyer. There’s always a seat next to Jonathon because he can’t talk about anything but his horror movies and he has a big, germy nose ring. I actually kind of like Jonathon, except for the nose thing.
“How come you’re sitting by me today?” he says.
I stare blankly for a second. He probably knows I’ve been dumped, but I like to think that maybe he doesn’t. I attempt perkiness. “So do you make real movies, or just stuff with your phone?”
“Why, do you want to be in one?”
I laugh. “Just curious. What are they about?”
Jonathon’s nose ring wiggles when he talks. “Your black eye is cool. How do you feel about eviscerated intestines?”
Erik comes in. He avoids looking at me and of course I don’t look at him because I’m asking Jonathon an important question.
“What about intestines?”
“That’s my movie. It’s called
Sausage Girls
. Sixty minutes and you’ll never be the same.”
Sausage Girls
. Sixty minutes and you’ll never be the same.”
I hear Erik ask the girl in the tight T-shirt next to him for a pencil. She’s delighted to give it to him.
Ms. Miller stands at the front of class in her white lab coat. She’s always in a lab coat, no matter what we’re doing in class. Ms. Miller says, “Today we’re having a guest speaker....”
What I like about Ms. Miller is that she explains things without making fun of students. What I don’t like about her is that she always looks depressed when she hands back our tests, like we’ve personally disappointed her.
Suddenly Jonathon leans over to me and whispers, “Did you break up with Erik?”
I should have taken the seat by Alicia Smelinich.
Jonathon’s nose ring is tinkling with excitement. “No more Dream Team? Seriously?”
I keep my eyes glued on Ms. Miller and the guy at the front in the rumpled brown clothes.
Jonathon whispers, “Really?”
I look at Jonathon. I’m expecting him to be appropriately jaded. But instead his eyes are wide, like I just broke the news about the tooth fairy.
He says, “I mean he’s kind of uptight, but you two just seemed like you were perfect. You’re kind of wreckin’ my day here.”
I scoot in my chair so I don’t have to listen. Jonathon makes movies about body parts. He’s supposed to hate Dream Team romances.
“So what happened?” he whispers. “Did he cheat on you?”
I look ahead like I don’t hear him.
“It’s not like you aren’t smokin’ hot.”
If he keeps talking I swear I’m going to whack my face into the desk.
Ms. Miller says, “This is Peter Tree. He’s a graduate student at the University of Utah who specializes in evolutionary biology. He’s here to tell us about a project the university is sponsoring in this school district. I’d appreciate all of you giving him your undivided attention. That includes Myra and Jonathon.”
Everyone except Erik turns and looks at me—in case anyone hadn’t noticed I wasn’t next to Erik. Instead I’m next to Jonathon, getting busted by Ms. Miller.
“Okay,” says the biology guy with this low, serious voice, like he’s on the radio. He’s twentysomething, with longish red-brown hair and a scruffy beard, and he’s underfed, like he’s been on one too many campouts. But his eyes remind me of Carson’s. “What can anyone tell me about the Galápagos Islands?”
For a second everyone does a double take. The Galápagos what?
The biology guy unfolds a giant map and hangs it on the blackboard. There is a red circle around some little tiny islands out in the middle of the ocean next to Ecuador.
Biology guy, who clearly is missing a few screws, flips into this weird Einstein voice and points out the red circle. “Here are the Galápagos Islands,” he says.
After a moment of silence a few hyperachievers raise their hands. Of course the weird biology guy calls on Erik.
“They’re the islands that Darwin visited when he invented evolution.”
The biology guy goes back to being a grown-up. “Well, Darwin didn’t invent evolution. But he did write a very famous theory about evolution, using what he observed on the Galápagos Islands.”
Erik looks bugged, maybe even embarrassed. Like I say, Erik’s not as cocky as people think.
“So I’m here today to tell you about a program that will allow two high school seniors from this school district to travel to the Galápagos Islands for eight weeks this summer with our research team to study plant and bird life. We have been given a generous endowment from an anonymous donor to help pay for some less advantaged students to go learn about evolution, hands-on.”
“Less advantaged? What’s that supposed to mean?” says Erik.
Ms. Miller steps in front of the class. “What Mr. Tree is trying to say is that this school district has been notably lacking in its science scores. Some people at the university would like to help turn that around.”
“By sending us to an island?” Jonathon says. “When should I pack?”
“You might want to read the fine print first,” says the biology guy. “Candidates have to attend a ten-week prep class held on Saturday mornings at the Great Salt Lake Marina and then write a research proposal. We roll at six a.m. sharp.” The whole class groans on cue. The biology guy just smiles. “Then applicants are selected on the basis of the proposal, just like research fellows are given money for grants based on the fertility of their studies.”
“You have to be fertile to win?” says the tight shirt next to Erik.
Obviously the biology guy’s not used to talking to high school students. Over the laughing he says, “You choose something you’d like to study there and explain why it’s important, and then make a proposal explaining your objective. Fertility is optional.”
Ms. Miller says, “It’s a scholarship program.” Which is a boring enough way of putting it that we all stop laughing.
Peter Tree drops his voice another octave. “But like I was saying, the trip is subsidized, not completely funded by the school. You need to raise one thousand dollars. But the upside is you get college credit for the eight weeks in paradise.” He makes a face like a ghoul. “Those are the provisions of the donor.”
Whatever, weird biology guy. Wrong school. I wonder what the moneybags donor was thinking. If he or she wanted to “advantage us,” he or she should have figured we wouldn’t be lying around in money.
“What kind of fund-raising?” asks Alicia Smelinich. “Like selling cookie dough or something?”
“That’d be a lot of cookie dough.” The biology guy laughs. “But I suppose you could do it that way. There aren’t a lot of rules about the fund-raising, since this is the first year. You just have to have the money before you submit your project on May first. The trip is in July.”
“May is less than three months,” says Jonathon.
“Eighty-three dollars a week,” says Erik.
“It’s a lot to ask, I know,” says the biology guy. “But it’s also a great opportunity.”
“So Mr. Tree, could we just have our parents come up with the money?” says David Marquez from the other side of the room. His parents both work at General Cooper and are about as likely to come up with the money as they are to give away gold bullion at Halloween.
“The foundation hopes the students will raise their own funds, but they don’t require it.”
A thousand dollars for a science trip? Obviously he isn’t talking to us. Kids around here don’t just pull that kind of money out of their pockets. Except Erik. He’s sitting there like he’s just found five aces in his deck. And why not? His dad makes that much money before lunch every day.
A year ago I could have covered the whole thing, but that was before I started trying to dress like Erik’s friends and I wrecked Moby while backing out of the grocery store parking lot. Now I have a grand total of two hundred and thirteen dollars in my bank account, and six neatly ironed ones in my wallet.
The biology guy says, “So anyway, here’s a little video about the trip. In case you’re curious. And even if you aren’t, the video shows you a little about the islands and why they’re so important. Plus, they’re hot. Literally.”
A few people laugh again. Mostly people start talking about other stuff, like what a weirdo this guy is.
“Class,” says Ms. Miller. “Let’s be quiet so we can watch the movie.”
Jonathon leans over to me. I can see a speck of brown on his teeth. “A thousand bucks? Yeah. That’s fair.”
I nod. Since when did fair have anything to do with anything? At least it’s going to be dark for a few minutes and I can drift off into my own torture chamber while Erik plans his next great adventure. Too bad he and Tight Shirt can’t win the competition together so he could borrow her pencil, or whatever, for the whole two months.
Ms. Miller’s voice slices through the room. “Class, you may now shut up.”
Everyone goes silent.
The movie starts off with drums and a smoking volcano and then flashes to seething waves and black lava beds, then to mangrove forests, ocean caverns, and fog-fringed mountain peaks. The narrator says something about the islands being a microcosm for the earth’s development. I put my head down on my desk.
Jonathon bumps me. “Check it out.”
I lift my head up. In spite of wanting to dissolve into a puddle I can’t help but watch. The water is so blue. One of the blue-footed boobies nearly flies into the camera. Its aqua feet scale over rocks. I hear Erik say, “Get out! Wouldn’t you love to go there?”
His new buddy giggles. “Oh, sure.”
I stare at the movie. I’m having a hard time swallowing. I tell myself to breathe. I think about Erik going to this place while I stay here and rot, and then I have to concentrate on the movie to keep from totally losing it.
After a minute or two I let the music and the panoramic ocean shots wash over me. It’s hard not to. Not only is the water amazingly, perfectly blue, the sky is perfectly pink. The rocks are perfectly jagged. The tortoises are perfectly old. The sea lions are perfectly playful. Even the scientist leading the expedition looks perfect in her little explorer gear.
The narrator says something about “the cruel but essential element of change.” The scientist lady talks about how the islands were born from violent changes in the earth’s core and now everything from the albatross to the algae exists largely because of these changes. And for some weird, deeply self-absorbed reason, the longer I watch, the more this is all freakishly interesting to me.
I’m probably just feeling insane, but before I know what is happening to me I’m bonding with every lizard and lava rock. My brain is swallowing seawater. The scientist says something about it being a place that is new geologically, because of all the volcanic activity. It’s like a younger miniversion of the earth. Its isolation makes it uniquely suited to Darwin’s discoveries and all the other discoveries that have come after. The narrator butts in and says, “It’s a place where we can study the birth of things, and a place where animal and plant life can teach us secrets about all life. One cannot help but feel that this is a place to begin.”
The camera shows a marine iguana hurling itself off the rocks into the sea to find food. His thick shadow disappears into the water, where he’s thrown against the razor coral. Sea lions harass him. The tide flips him in all directions.
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