Hung Up (9 page)

Lucy:
Your muse?

James:
My source of inspiration.

Lucy:
So no cream pies?

James:
Absolutely not.

Lucy:
Huh. You sound like you’ve got a tricky palate. What’s your favorite dessert?

James:
My favorite dessert isn’t pie.

Lucy:
Figures.

James:
It’s cake. I love carrot cake.

Lucy:
You’re joking.

James:
This isn’t the sort of thing I’d joke about. I worship carrot cake. With extrathick cream-cheese frosting.

Lucy:
James Rusher, you are a total freak. Carrot cake? What self-respecting teenager prefers carrot cake to way-better cakes? Like German chocolate cake. Or devil’s food cake.

James:
Thanks for calling my self-respect into question and relabeling me a freak. I hope you have a good Wednesday too.

Lucy:
Thanks. And thanks for last night.

James:
You don’t have to thank me for that kind of stuff. I want to be there for you.

Lucy:
I’m not used to being with guys who say things like that.

James:
First, let’s not talk about other guys. Second, I’m not just saying things. I mean that.

Lucy:
Let’s talk later.

James:
Deal.

April 16, 10:56 a.m.

Lucy:
James, you’ll never guess what they’re serving in the cafeteria. Well, Hawaiian pizza and green salad with Hidden Valley ranch dressing, but that’s not the most interesting lunch component. They’re serving carrot cake! I don’t think this has ever happened in the history of Montpelier High School. Seriously. I was so shocked, I bought a piece and I wrapped it in napkins and I’m putting it in my locker and I’m going to take it home and freeze it and give it to you on Friday. Okay. Talk to you later. Carrot cake!

April 16, 11:18 a.m.

James:
It’s sounds like you’re putting that cake through an uphill battle. And cake doesn’t have any instincts of self-preservation. It’s cake. So if CeCe decides that she’d like to eat it, or if you get a craving for it, either of you should feel free to tackle it.

April 16, 7:24 p.m.

Lucy:
I can’t believe you don’t want the cake.

James:
I can’t believe that you can’t believe that I don’t want the cake.

Lucy:
But it doesn’t look like it’s been through a war. It’s held up really well. It’s in my freezer right now.

James:
If it lasts until Friday, I promise to eat it.

Lucy:
Oh, you’ll eat it.

James:
I’ve never been threatened with carrot cake before.

Lucy:
Get used to it.

James:
Are you being serious?

Lucy:
No.

James:
I’ve got a pile of homework. I have to finish a report on Teddy Roosevelt.

Lucy:
A big one?

James:
Just five pages.

Lucy:
What’s your focus?

James:
The Rough Riders.

Lucy:
You’re writing a report about Teddy Roosevelt and condoms?

James:
Are you trying to be funny?

Lucy:
I don’t think so.

James:
I’m writing a report about Teddy Roosevelt and his military role in the Rough Riders.

Lucy:
Do you need any help?

James:
What do you know about the first United States Volunteer Cavalry regiment during the Spanish-American War?

Lucy:
Very little.

James:
Then I think I’ll go it alone.

Lucy:
Call if you get stuck.

James:
Don’t worry, I will.

Lucy:
I’m not worried.

James:
Good.

Lucy:
Does this mean we’re not going to have our long talk?

James:
Do you want to have our long talk?

Lucy:
I’m feeling okay tonight.

James:
Then is it okay if we save it for later?

Lucy:
Like the carrot cake . . .

James:
Exactly. Just stick your emotions in the freezer and thaw them out for me later.

Lucy:
Are you telling me that I have emotional problems?

James:
Not problems. I’m just pointing out the obvious. Lucy Villaire, you’ve got emotions.

Lucy:
Yeah.

James:
Call me later if you want.

Lucy:
Enjoy writing about the Rough Riders.

James:
It won’t be that bad. I sort of like Teddy Roosevelt.

Lucy:
As much as Helen Keller?

James:
You need to lay off Helen Keller.

Lucy:
I didn’t realize I was on her.

April 16, 9:37 p.m.

Lucy:
I just found out that I don’t have shoes.

James:
How is that possible?

Lucy:
I mean for the dance.

James:
Just wear anything.

Lucy:
I can’t do that. It’s a dance, James.

James:
I know it’s a dance. I invited you to it.

Lucy:
I think I’m going to buy a pair of those pumps that you dye to match the dress.

James:
Okay.

Lucy:
You don’t have issues with those?

James:
Pumps?

Lucy:
Dyed-to-match shoes.

James:
No. I don’t have issues with dyed-to-match shoes.

Lucy:
That’s a relief.

James:
Just tell me the dye formula and I’ll match my pants to your shoes.

Lucy:
No respectable store would dye a pair of pants for you.

James:
Then I’ll do it myself in my bathtub.

Lucy:
You won’t.

James:
Don’t dare me, Lucy. I always rise to dares.

Lucy:
I’ll let you get back to your report.

James:
Did you know that the Rough Riders were a completely volunteer fighting force? They were a bunch of cowboys and Ivy League athletes and glee club singers and Texas Rangers and miners and Indians.

Lucy:
But they were trained, right?

James:
Yeah, they were trained in Texas and then they were transported to Cuba. And in the confusion surrounding their transport from Tampa, half the members of the Rough Riders were left behind, along with all their horses. The Rough Riders charged up Kettle Hill and San Juan Hill on foot.

Lucy:
We fought against Spain in a war? In Cuba?

James:
Yes. And the Rough Riders had a really high casualty rate. The highest of all the regiments in Cuba.

Lucy:
Well, they were miners and glee club singers.

James:
I don’t really like reading about war, but I think history is pretty mind-blowing. I like reading about the survivors.

Lucy:
Do you like history as much as Clay as an Art Form?

James:
You’re jealous of my clay class, aren’t you?

Lucy:
Of course.

James:
Maybe I’ll make you something.

Lucy:
I don’t want anything sexual.

James:
I wasn’t planning on sculpting you a vagina.

Lucy:
I can’t believe you just said the word “vagina.”

James:
You just said it too.

Lucy:
I think it’s time to say good-bye.

James:
You’re very delicate when it comes to discussing anatomy.

Lucy:
I know.

James:
That’s not a criticism. I can work with delicate.

Lucy:
Good to hear.

April 17, 6:56 a.m.

James:
You must be in the shower. Or maybe you’ve gone to get your shoes dyed. I finished my report about the Rough Riders. You know, most of the kids in my class hadn’t even heard of the Rough Riders. I think that explains a lot about our country. Lucy, sometimes I think
I want to move somewhere else and live my life there, where people are more in touch with all the ways their country has struggled. Like the Czech Republic. Have you ever thought about that? Living somewhere else? Call me later if you want.

April 17, 7:10 a.m.

Lucy:
I wasn’t in the shower. And I wasn’t getting my shoes dyed either. I was picking CeCe up for school. She built a diorama of Robert Browning’s poem “My Last Duchess.” It uses a considerable amount of toothpicks, tongue depressors, cellophane, and small twigs. It also involves a triple-A battery. Hers is a very fragile diorama. I mean, it isn’t the sort of thing you can take on the bus or set in the backseat while you drive yourself to school. It’s the kind of project you have to hold on your lap while your best friend drives twenty miles per hour over Vermont’s potentially diorama-wrecking hills. But I didn’t mind, because it’s an awesome diorama. Have you ever read that poem? It’s about murder. It’s actually told from the point of view of the murderer. Until CeCe said this, I had no idea. I thought it was a poem about a painting. I thought the speaker of the poem was the same as the person who wrote the poem. But that’s not the case. Because Robert Browning apparently never killed anybody. I bet if the title
said that it was told from the point of view of the guy who murdered the duchess, a lot more people would read it. Nobody reads poems anymore. I think it’s because of the lousy titles. Wow. What a long message. Talk later.

April 17, 10:42 a.m.

James:
It’s lunch. No carrot cake. And no diorama around to look at either. I have to be honest, Lucy. Diorama making strikes me as a fourth-grade activity. What are they teaching you at East Montpelier? Hey, I’m bored. You should call me.

April 17, 11:15 a.m.

Lucy:
A guy who plays with clay and churro dough for high school credit should not judge people who build dioramas.

April 17, 3:23 p.m.

Lucy:
You’ll never guess what happened today.

James:
Somebody blew up your school.

Lucy:
That’s not funny. In fact, I don’t even think you’re allowed to make jokes about bombs and schools anymore. Public or private.

James:
Are you going to turn me in?

Lucy:
Let’s drop this.

James:
Okay.

Lucy:
The thing that happened today is diorama related.

James:
CeCe dropped her diorama.

Lucy:
Yes!

James:
Did it break?

Lucy:
Are you kidding? Of course it broke. It practically exploded.

James:
Did this happen before or after it was graded?

Lucy:
Before.

James:
Ouch.

Lucy:
It’s okay. The diorama project was pass/fail. CeCe threw herself into it for personal reasons. Her mortal
enemy, Ginny Loomis, had chosen the same poem for her assignment. CeCe didn’t want to be second best.

James:
Did everyone build a diorama? Did you build a diorama?

Lucy:
Yes.

James:
How come you didn’t tell me about your diorama?

Lucy:
I knew you’d mock it.

James:
Come on. That’s not fair. I might have teased you a little, but that’s to be expected.

Lucy:
I guess I’m just sensitive.

James:
That’s one word for it.

Lucy:
Hey!

James:
I want to hear about your diorama. No joking around. I promise.

Lucy:
Okay. Mine wasn’t elaborate like CeCe’s.

James:
Sounds like hers had structural issues anyway.

Lucy:
You said no joking around.

James:
I meant about
your
diorama.

Lucy:
Well, I figured you meant all dioramas.

James:
Sheesh. I had no idea you had such serious hang-ups regarding craft projects.

Lucy:
One more insensitive comment and I’m hanging up. Don’t push me, James Rusher. I’ll do it. It only takes a push of the thumb.

James:
Okay. Don’t hang up. Keep your thumb where it is and tell me about what you built.

Lucy:
Well, it had to be about a poem.

James:
So what lousy title did you choose?

Lucy:
I don’t think that all poems have lousy titles. When I said that, I was just thinking out loud.

James:
Go on.

Lucy:
The subject had to be a poem written during the Victorian Era. I chose “Goblin Market” by Christina Rossetti.

James:
I think I’ve read that. It’s about two girls, right?

Lucy:
Yeah, it’s about these two sisters, Lizzie and Laura, who get tricked by a group of Goblin men.

James:
Goblin men are always trying to trick innocent sisters with alliterative names in poems.

Lucy:
Alliterative?

James:
Alliteration is when consonants are repeated.

Lucy:
I know what alliteration is. I’ve just never heard the word “alliterative.” Whatever. So the Goblin men trick Laura into cutting a piece of her hair and giving it to them as payment for this magic fruit. Then she eats it and gets really sick. I mean, she starts to die. And so Lizzie has to risk her life to go and get more fruit.