Rotten Apple (5 page)

Dear ED
,
Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m nervous. And extremely tired. I spent most of the night—gulp—reading one of my mom’s advice books. I hardly slept at all last night. I’m heading off to school now, so this is going to have to be a quickie. I get to see my Zen Crush! My hair, at least, is kind of having a good day. It’s still boingy—how did I get Aunt Hazel’s crazy hair and not my mother’s nice, sleek hair? So not fair!—but at least it’s not puffy. I can’t say so much for my father—the having a good night part—either. I heard him snoring in the spare bedroom last night, which means my parents are not even sleeping in the same room now! And that spare bed is so uncomfortable it makes camping in a tent on a bed of rocks seem like staying at a five-star hotel. I just wish my mother would treat him a bit better. He’s a good guy and has always stood by her. Why can’t she just see that he’s in pain and that his not even wanting to sleep in the same room as
her is not a good thing? Unlike me, my father actually wants to spend time with my workaholic mother. I don’t get it. But at least I got some advice from my mother’s book. Not like I’d ever tell her I read her book. And especially not like I’d ever admit to her that maybe I do need some advice. No, I don’t need “advice.” I just need some pointers. That’s right. I’m going to rename what I need “pointers.” I just need a few on as how to get my Zen Crush to turn into a Zen Relationship. According to the book, my first job is simply to talk to him. My mother calls this “baby steps,” one of those catchphrases she uses all too often, in my opinion. Then, once I talk to him, we can start having deeper conversations, which, according to my mother, should eventually lead me to asking him if he’d like to do something together, like join me for a movie. I can’t believe my mother has made such a successful career out of these “baby steps.” But if I’m going to start this new semester on the right foot, I’m going to have to put Plan Z (Plan Zen) into action. First step? Just talk to him without stuttering. I’ll kill you, ED, if you ever let it slip that I’m following Dr. Bee Bee Berg’s advice—I mean POINTERS. I will deny everything. I swear. Oh, crap, Crazy Aunt Hazel is honking outside. I’ve got to run. Baby steps … baby steps …

Okay, my first goal, thought Apple as she headed toward the spiral staircase, where she and all her friends hung out, will be to talk to Zen casually, not
to stutter, and not drop anything. And maybe to look him in the eyes. Baby steps, thought Apple, baby steps. All I need to do is ask him about something he’s doing. That’s it. How hard could that be?

She noticed that Happy, along with Hopper, Cooper, Clover, North, and a few other classmates, was already lounging on the stairs, which were right in the center of the foyer. There were other staircases in other parts of the school for getting between floors, but this middle staircase was where students who wanted to see and be seen hung out.

At first Apple couldn’t see any sign of Zen, but then her heart skipped a beat: Hopper leaned back laughing, and let Zen’s blond head poke out from behind, smiling that oh-so-adorable smile, with that oh-so-adorable dimple that made Apple blush immediately.

Apple was suddenly terrified, and thought about sneaking away. No, she thought, you
are
doing this. You did not stay up half the night wasting your time reading your mother’s book for the first time for nothing.

“Hey, Apple!” Happy said, patting the space on the stair next to her. “Come sit beside me.” Apple had no choice now.

“Where’s Brooklyn?” Apple asked, nodding hellos to her fellow classmates, trying to stay relaxed.

“Oh, she’s somewhere in one of the hallways doing some yoga, she’s so stressed over the Helicopter. And you think
your
mother is bad,” Happy said. It was true. Brooklyn’s mother was the complete opposite of her daughter, whose sole mission in life was to spend a year
upon graduation at an ashram, studying with a guru. They called Brooklyn’s mother “the Helicopter” because she was always hovering around her daughter, making demands. She was as high-stressed as Brooklyn was laid back. She always needed to know what Brooklyn was up to, every minute of every day.

“Well, I’d say it’s a toss-up,” Apple said. “Oh, there she is,” she added, her eyes resting on Brooklyn, who was lying in the middle of the floor as classmates literally walked over her body. “Oh my God, Happy. What is she doing?”

Brooklyn had just gotten up and folded herself into a back bend.

“God, it’s amazing that girl doesn’t have a boyfriend. What guy wouldn’t kill to be with a girl that flexible?” asked Happy, as they stared at Brooklyn.

“I wouldn’t kick her out of
my
bed,” piped up Hopper.

“Gross, Hopper!” moaned Happy and Apple in unison.

Brooklyn could stand on one leg, holding the other leg in the air next to her ear, without wobbling, for many, many minutes. She unfolded herself and went back to simply lying on her back in the middle of the hallway. It was a pose called Sivasana, a position Brooklyn always went into when she was feeling stressed out. She looked like a corpse, she was so still.

“Hey, get over here!” Happy yelled to Brooklyn.

Brooklyn picked herself up from her mat as if she was getting up from a nap, grabbed her purple yoga bag, and slowly came over.

“The past doesn’t matter. The future doesn’t matter. It’s all about the present,” said Brooklyn to herself, as she took a seat near her friends. “I will remain in the present.”

Unlike Happy and Apple, Brooklyn just couldn’t get good grades. Her attention span was about zero when it came to studying, because her plan was to move to India when she was old enough and study with the yogis, and she figured she didn’t need good grades for that. She spent more of her time at school doing yoga than attending class.

“I’m just trying to get to the state of Ananda,” Brooklyn sighed, which Apple knew, from past Brooklyn-talk, meant “bliss.”

“Good luck with that,” Happy said.

“Hey, Apple,” said Hopper. Hopper was a walking, talking ad for Calvin Klein underwear—he was that good-looking. And he had the ego to match. He was munching on an apple. Apple knew what was coming and shook her head before he even started to speak.

“Do you happen to know what kind of apple this is?” Hopper asked, smirking at her.

“God, you’re really an idiot, Hopper,” Happy shot over her shoulder. “You know you’re the only one who thinks you’re clever, right?”

“Well, at least I didn’t ask her about her apple pie,” Hopper said, laughing.

“God, grow up, Hopper,” Apple said. “How old are you, anyway? As if we couldn’t make fun of your name, little frog.”

“Come on, Apple. How is that pie of yours?” Hopper pressed.

“You only wish you could get near her apple pie,” Happy threw back.

“Happy!” Apple shrieked.

“Hey, I’m just sticking up for you,” Happy said to her.

“What about you, Happy—are you interested?” Hopper asked, winking. Happy just rolled her eyes.

“How about you, Brooklyn?” Hopper said.

Brooklyn, unlike Happy, started to laugh. She glanced at her friends. “I’m sorry. But Hopper is kind of funny,” she said, putting a hand over her mouth. “Sorry!”

Thankfully, Hopper had moved on, to torture some other students with what he considered his “sense of humor.” It was amazing what you could get away with when you were so good-looking. But not as good-looking as Zen, Apple thought, sneaking a glance at Zen, who was reading a car magazine.

“So, now that that moron is gone, tell me, did you find out what the shows are this week?” Happy whispered to Apple. “And how I get on the show?”

“Um, yeah. I said I would, and I did. You owe me that pair of jeans now! And you’d better give them to me soon. Okay, what were they again? There’s one on ‘Torn between Two Lovers,’ um, and ‘Men Who Mooch Off Their Women’ … oh yeah, and ‘Sperm Bandits.’”

“Oh my God. These shows sound so amazing! I can’t wait!” said Happy, who then glanced over at Apple. “Oh, sorry, Apple. I mean, they just sound interesting, that’s all.”

“Really? They sound kind of like variations on the same themes Dr. Bee Bee Berg has been rehashing for the past eight years,” Apple said.

Apple had spent enough time overhearing Guy and her mother discuss possible show ideas over the years that she could practically have scheduled a season of shows herself, she thought. She knew that having a broken heart bites, and that mending a broken wrist takes less time then mending a broken heart. She had learned that there seemed to be seriously millions of smart, accomplished women who were incredibly stupid when it came to choosing men. She had learned that people really do just suddenly fall out of love. Most of all, she had learned that no matter what horrific events are happening in the world—like bombs going off in major cities, children being kidnapped, tourists being murdered—no one cared more about anything than they did about their own love lives, or lack of them. Which was why
Queen of Hearts with Dr. Bee Bee Berg
was always the top-rated show in its time slot and her books were best-sellers.

“So how do I get on?” Happy asked, grabbing both of Apple’s hands excitedly.

“Well, for that, my friend, you have to get in Guy’s good books,” Apple explained. “He’s in charge of the guests. People send him e-mails and pitch him show ideas. If he likes them, then it’s as simple as that.”

“Hmm,” Happy said. “Interesting. I had no idea it was Guy who did that. I guess I’ll just have to hang out at your place more often to suck up to him, or start composing a really good show idea.”

As Apple half-listened to Happy go on about how excited she was to watch her mother’s show after school, she tried to eavesdrop on the conversation that
Zen was having with Hopper, who had come back to the stairs. They were sitting two steps above Happy and Apple. It was time to make a move. Apple’s mouth suddenly felt very dry, as if she had been in the desert for days.

“Hey, Zen,” Apple started, looking up. “How are you today?”

She couldn’t believe she’d just done that. She felt so proud starting up a conversation with her crush. She even tried to look him in the eyes.

“Oh, hey, Apple,” Zen answered. “So I guess you recognize me today?”

Apple felt her face starting to turn red. “Yes, of course I recognize you. I guess I was just a little surprised to see you yesterday. And I was tired, too.”

Okay, this was good, thought Apple. We’re talking. It’s all about baby steps. Zen looked as sweet as he had the day before, Apple thought. His loosely curled blond hair was now almost shoulder-length, and he looked as hot as the characters on
Minors in Malibu
. He looked
yummy
.

“Don’t worry, Apple. I didn’t take it personally,” Zen said, giving her that half-smile. That dimple, thought Apple, is going to be the death of me.

“What are you guys talking about?” Happy asked.

“Oh, nothing. So, Zen, how was the Land Down Under really?” Apple asked him, moving on. “It must be so weird to be back here after so much time.”

“Well, I went surfing almost every day, like I said. That was pretty cool,” Zen said.

“Fun!” Apple said, and then her mind went blank.

Think, Apple, think. Think of something to say to him, on the same subject. Just say anything to keep up this conversation. Do not have a repeat of yesterday.

“Well, I like to swim,” Apple said. When she thought about surfing, she thought about water. And when she thought about water, she thought about swimming. And that was it! God, she was lame.

Just then, thank God, the first bell rang. There was a mad rush of students gathering their bags and notebooks to head to the first class of the new semester.

Okay, that didn’t go exactly as planned, Apple thought, as she stood up and looked at her timetable. That was far from an easy-breezy conversation. And does an actual conversation have to last more than twenty seconds? But the day is still young. There should be plenty more opportunity to cozy up to Zen.

“Come on, Apple. We both have math right now. Let’s go,” Happy said, grabbing her arm and leading her away.

“Um, I guess I’ll see you later, Zen?” Apple called out.