The (Almost) Perfect Guide To Imperfect Boys (23 page)

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I do. Um, well, so thanks for everything.”

They both stood. He hesitated for a second; then he threw his arms around her in a Maya-style squeeze.

It was excruciating to watch. But I did.

He bolted out of the office without even glancing in my direction. I sat there for a second, in shock.

In the same sort of sympathetic voice, Ms. Fisher-Greenglass said, “You okay, then, Finley?”

“Me?” I said. “Oh, sure, yes, perfect.”

And I zombie-walked out to the lobby area, where everyone was still waiting.

After dinner that night, I offered to help Mom give Max and Addie their baths. The way we did it was Mom and Max in the kitchen, me with Addie in the upstairs bathtub. It was surprisingly fun; I sang “The Eensy-Weensy Spider” while I was shampooing her wispy hair, and Addie loved it so much she kept demanding “AGAIN.” The amazing thing was, by the end of the bath she knew most of the words. And I had to admit that, for a two-year-old, my little sister was pretty smart.

As for Max . . . well, when Mom was finished with him, her T-shirt was soaked, but she was beaming.

“It works
so
much better one-on-one,” she said. “No more double baths ever again, I swear.”

“I'll help you with the baths, if you want,” I said. “I don't mind.”

Mom gave me a wet hug. “Thank you, Awesome Daughter,” she said into my hair.

After the Terrible Two were finally in their toddler beds, I closed my bedroom door. Mom and Dad were going to take my camera for a month, but starting tomorrow, so tonight I decided to take my own photo. A selfie, I guess you could call it. I wasn't even thinking about the yearbook—it was too late to submit photos, anyway. But I still wanted some picture of myself that wasn't generic. That wasn't just
Eighth-Grade Girl Smiling for the Camera
. That showed
me
, or at least how I felt right then. Even if what I felt was a muddled, tangled mess.

Because what if I wanted to remember it someday? This photo might be what I had instead of a memory.

I stood in front of my mirror for a long time, like fifteen minutes. But all I saw was a pool-noodle-shaped girl with too many freckles and boring brown hair.

What other people saw. Nothing hidden behind my eyes or underneath my skin. No secrets, no mystery, no weirdness.

I picked up my camera. Maybe if I zoomed in on myself I'd notice something shocking. Or if I used the wide angle I could get some sort of ugly/beautiful distortion.

I pressed the buttons. Then I looked in the mirror, watching myself press the buttons.

What I saw was myself, with a camera covering my face.

Click.

There it was. My self-portrait.

• • •

A couple of weeks later, I asked Ms. Fisher-Greenglass for Zachary's e-mail address. For some reason I couldn't explain, I'd decided to e-mail him my self-portrait. And as long as I was attaching photos, I sent him the four photos I'd taken on the stairwell after he'd (accidentally) noticed the
Life Cycle
and I'd (mistakenly) invited him to Chloe's party.

To go with the photos I wrote this note:

Hey Zachary,

I thought you might like to see these. I still don't know what I'm doing, but I guess I'm learning. Ish.

I'm sorry we ended on a fight. I still think your stepbrother's
mnemonic was dumb and that his view of girls was totally lame. But maybe the
Life Cycle
wasn't that different, so probably we're even in messing up. Anyhow, I hope we can be friends in the future.

I liked that last sentence. It didn't say,
Everything is fine between us, lalala,
because honestly, I didn't know if that was true.

But I did hope we could be friends sometime. So that part wasn't a lie.

The ending of the note was tricky. I didn't want to end it with “love,” because I didn't. “Talk to you soon” was out because I didn't know if we would. “Best” was too formal, “ciao” was too pretentious, and “sincerely” was too . . . I don't know. Unsmiling.

So in the end I decided on “See you, Finley.”

Because the funny thing was, when I looked at the stairwell photos, I realized I had.

• • •

A few days later, Zachary e-mailed back:

Hey Finley,

Thanks for the photos. They're great, although I have to say I look a little slimy. And green. But maybe I was
feeling sort of amphibian that day? It's possible.

It's okay here, and school is mostly pretty decent, considering it's school. I'm not sorry I came back to Fulton, but it was probably not the best idea to show up in the middle of the year, even with so-called “tips” from Kieran. Some things you have to figure out as you go along, I guess.

Anyhow, right now my plan is to come back to Fulton in the fall and start high school with everyone else. Restart, whatever. It will NOT be a CINCH. But my mom got another promotion, which means she won't be traveling all the time now, so both my parents say they're willing to give it a shot.

Not a hook shot, so don't worry.

Really sorry if I hurt your feelings, Finley. The truth is I've always thought of you in 3-D. So maybe next time send a hologram of yourself instead of a photo? Haha, joke.

See you in a few months. I'm usually pretty lazy over the summer, but if you e-mail or text, promise I'll answer.

—Zach

Zach,
I thought. He'd changed his identity again. But it sounded right—I couldn't say why, but he seemed like a Zach.

Zach. Zach Mattison.

For some reason, I was smiling.

Anyway, that's everything that happened in the past tense.

Now it's ten-thirty p.m. on September 2, the night before the First Day of High School. My clothes are all picked out, my backpack is empty, my phone is charged, my nails are polished, and my stomach feels like a tangled blob of flypaper. I'm hoping I won't get lost as I look for my classrooms; I'm hoping my teachers are as nice as Ms. Krieger and Ms. Fisher-Greenglass and not as evil as Hairy Hands. I'm hoping I see Maya at lunch, and Olivia and Hanna, too, that I make the basketball team, that I get to take photos for the newspaper.

Also: I'm hoping Zachary—I mean Zach—meets me in the library, the way we planned.

I want to see him from the beginning.

Barbara Dee
is the author of
Trauma Queen, This Is Me from Now On, Solving Zoe
(Bank Street Best Children's Books
) and
Just Another Day in My Insanely Real Life
(
Publishers Weekly
starred review). A former English teacher, she runs creative writing workshops for kids and frequently presents at schools and libraries. Barbara is one of the founders and directors of the Chappaqua Children's Book Festival. She lives in Westchester County, New York, with her family, two naughty cats, and a visiting hound dog named Dipper (who thinks all cats are squirrels). Read more about Barbara at
www.BarbaraDeeBooks.com
.

ALSO BY BARBARA DEE

Trauma Queen

This Is Me From Now On

Solving Zoe

Just Another Day in My Insanely Real Life

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ALADDIN M!X

Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Division