The Encyclopedia of Me (2 page)

When people ask me what I am, I usually say, “I'm a human being.” Then when they say, “I mean, what RACE are you?” I say that I am
African
while fixing them with a patented look that I like to call my Are You a Racist? Face. Then I point out condescendingly that we are all African. I mean, think about it! Cradle of civilization? Look it up if you don't know what I'm talking about! Use the Internet. I'm sure you have access to it
5
and are free to use it with reckless abandon.

More about me: I used to think I was funny. At school whenever you are forced at teacher's gunpoint to describe yourself in five words, I would always pick easy things like “nice,” “biracial,” “smart,” and “ambidextrous.” And “funny.” Because I thought I was.

But, then, I found out that I wasn't.

See, I had one joke I liked to tell all the time that usually made people laugh themselves senseless.
6
Then I got this note from Freddie Blue Anderson on the magnet board in my locker. The note said: “That joke is embarrassing. I'm sorry. It's too babyish. I love you. And I'm only telling you this because you are my BFF, so don't get mad. AND DON'T CRY.”

Freddie Blue is too nice to come right out and say that I'm just not funny at all, but I can read between the lines. I am an expert at reading between the lines. For example, when Mom says, “You have such an unusual face. If you were taller, you could be a model!” What I know she means is, “You are not pretty enough to be a model.” Not that I'd want to be a model. I wouldn't! I can't imagine anything more boring or depressing, if you want to know the truth. But I'd like for it to be an option, and it isn't.

This is at least partly because of the Freckles. The Freckles are so dark, they look like a constellation of black holes. I realize it's hard not to stare, but staring is rude and you should know better.

My eyes are blue like Mom's. Just regular blue. Not anything anyone will ever compare to a lake or the sky or even a pair of jeans, unless the jeans are faded and drab.

And I'm short. Really short. So short that sometimes, depending on the chair, my legs dangle. The leg dangling is one of the major banes of my existence.

I just asked my dad what else he would tell people about me, if he had to describe me, and he said, “You're as sharp as a bag of tacks!”

“Dad,” I said. “Be serious.”

He scrunched up his face and scratched his head as though he was about to say something terribly wise. Instead, he said, “I'd tell them that you want a pony.”

“DAD,” I said. “I wanted a pony when I was FOUR.”

“How old are you now?” he said.

“Dad,” I said. “I'm almost thirteen.”

“Oh,” he said. “Do you still want a pony?”

“No,” I sighed. “Forget it.”

“I'm sorry, bunny,” he said. “I would tell them that you don't want a pony.”

“DAD,” I shouted. “YOU AREN'T HELPING.”

“Don't go off,” he said. “I'd tell them that you are the Peacemaker.” He hugged me. “And that you always smell like bubble gum.”

I pushed him away. “Great,” I said. “Very helpful. Thanks bunches.”

There is a lot of fighting in the Aaron-Martin household, and I can end it by holding my hands up in the middle of the room and screaming, “STOP IT!”
7
over and over again while holding my breath. Sometimes this causes me to fall over as my brain struggles desperately for air. Usually, when I fall, they stop. Which is what Dad means when he says I'm the Peacemaker.

“It's the Peacemaker,” he says. “We better stop before she dies!”

I hate that my dad calls me this. I do not want to be “the Peacemaker.” I especially don't want them to think it's funny. Or cute.
8

But mysteriously, sometimes (not always), they stop.

The fights are almost always about Seb. Seb — my brother — is the sun around which this whole family revolves. I'm one of the far distant planets that no one can see, like Uranus or Neptune — I forget which is farther away.

The thing that would probably surprise you most about me is that I love a tree. One specific tree, next door. The people there are away most of the time, so it's as good as mine. Freddie Blue says that it's cool to love a tree but that maybe I shouldn't tell too many people. I don't know what it is about that tree. I don't even know what kind it is; it's an unknown species. A mystery. Sort of like me.

I have twenty-six life goals. I keep them on a list that I have taped to the back of my closet door, so if I ever die horribly by being run over by a bus, you can take a gander at them. I will tell you that number seven on my list has to do with the tree next door.

Number two is “Don't be weird, dorky, or geeky. At least when anyone is looking. BE NORMAL.”

The most embarrassing one is thirteen: “Get a boyfriend before FB. The Boyfriend Race is on!” Not only is it embarrassing, but Freddie Blue is my BFF! I should be happy if she has a boyfriend first. I shouldn't even care! But I do. Maybe I'm a kind of terrible person. I seem nice enough on the outside, but it's possible that deep down inside, I'm all shriveled up like a raisin, dark and chewy.

I hope not.

I'm not going to tell you the rest of the twenty-six. They're private and I'm already so embarrassed that my face is likely to melt and slide right off my skull, leaving me as blank-headed and terrifying as a horror movie ghoul. And that would be no way to end this entry, would it?

Lex Aaron-Martin is my oldest brother, aged fifteen and three-quarters. Mom wanted to give him a Russian name because it reminded her of ballet. We do not call Lex “Sasha” for pretty obvious reasons, i.e., he won't let us. He was born a full seven minutes before my other brother, Seb, who was stuck.
9
Do not start thinking about what this means if you do not want to throw up repeatedly into the back of your own mouth.

There is very little that is interesting to say about Lex, except that he is good-looking according to all sources, if you consider Freddie Blue Anderson and the casting directors of last Christmas's Gap commercial to be “all sources.” Like most teenage boys, Lex enjoys armpit farts and panting pointlessly after girls too pretty to care about him. He is on most sports teams and has an entire shrine of trophies devoted to his greatness. Needless to say, Lex goes to Prescott.

Lex is a big fan of everything in the world and is often shouting, “OH, MAN, THAT IS SO ______!” Or “Dude, that's seriously ______!” He doesn't feel it necessary to fill in the blanks. That is Lex. He has blanks and doesn't care. ­Actually, his blanks are kind of his defining characteristic.

If you ever tell him I said this, I will hire a hit man to rid the world of you and your big mouth, but Lex can be awesome. He takes care of Seb when Seb can't be taken care of. Not that Seb needs to be taken care of, it's just that Lex does it anyway. He may be dumb as a bucket of beach rocks, but he's got a heart of gold.

Lex often smells of something bad, such as Axe Body Spray or boy sweat. I cannot decide which is more disgusting.

What else can I say about Lex?

Exactly nothing, that's what.

Seb is Lex's twin, also aged fifteen and three-quarters, also ostensibly “good-looking,” although much messier than Lex due to his refusal to cut his hair and his tendency to wear his explosive 'fro in a bun, making him look like a telephone pole sporting a large bird's nest. (It's a big bun.)

Seb does not have a middle name. (Neither do I, for that matter.) He is not good at sports, and he is autistic. Yes, Seb is autistic.

Gasp!

Twins!

And one is autistic and one is not!

Let's discuss that, if by “that,” I mean, let's not discuss it anymore because if I have to hear about it again, I may just be reduced to stabbing myself violently in the eye.

Being around Seb is like being in a soundproof booth, except the opposite of that. You may be under the mistaken impression that people with autism are quiet, but you would be wrong.
10
Seb talks so loudly that I sometimes admit that I've wished I could slap a muzzle on him, just to make it STOP. I'm sorry if that sounds awful. It's just that I'm not always in the mood and sometimes I have a headache. It's not his fault, but it's as if he can't hear himself, so he just gets louder and louder in lieu of saying something that people actually want to listen to, meaning he does not stay on topic, ever.

Seb dislikes cameras with a violent tidal wave of “dislike” that borders on “scary rage.” After he and Lex were in the Gap commercial, he suddenly decided that cameras of all kinds were soul-stealing monsters and never again could one be pointed in his direction! (It was very convenient that this change of heart happened AFTER he became semi-famous, and not before.) And so now, if he sees a camera, he releases a meltdown of epic proportions, the likes of which the world has never seen.

When Seb is talking to you, his eyes ping-pong around the room like those tiny rubber balls that will continue to ricochet off walls for ten minutes after you throw them really hard at the ceiling.
Ping, ping, ping, ping, ping.
If Seb had a sound track, it would have a lot of pings. He's like an orchestra of pings. He pings in ways you can't even imagine! He is a conflagration of unique PINGS!
Ping!
He does art!
Ping!
He remembers everything!
Ping!
He is unpredictable!
Ping!
He's awesome!
Ping!
He sucks!
Ping!
He's my brother!
Ping! Ping! Ping!

Seb is really hard to explain to people, and I get tired of trying.
11
He is just my brother and as much of a pain in my side as Lex, who is not autistic, something I don't think about much either. I wouldn't think about autism at all if Mom and Dad were ever able to stop arguing about Seb's “treatments.” Which is not actually Seb's fault, if you think about it.

Seb frequently smells as bad as Lex, but different. This is mostly because he staunchly refuses to shower more than three times in a week. If you are ever not sure which twin you are dealing with, breathe deeply. If your senses are kickboxed into an eye-watering stupor by the stinging stench of cheap cologne, it's Lex. If they curl up and die due to the overwhelmingly hideous moldy pong of sweat, combined with the antiseptic, lemony zing of hand sanitizer, it's Seb. Easy, see?

See also
Aaron-Martin, Sasha Alexei (Lex).

As an alternative to peppering your life with terrifying things you must force yourself to do, you can have a small boring life in which nothing happens and you end up sitting on a park bench, shouting bitter insults at passing kids.

Yawn.

I, Tink Aaron-Martin, choose ADVENTURE! This is at least partly because I want to be a writer and I read somewhere that if you never do anything, you'll never have anything to write about, and your book will bore people to sleep.

In the interest of research, I just called Freddie Blue and asked what she thought of when she heard the word “adventure.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “I don't know,” she said. “Adventure. Adventureadventureadventure. Ad. Ven. Churrrrrrrr.”

“Freddie Blue,” I said. “Please. Just answer.”

“OK,” she said. “Why are you asking me this? It feels like homework. And I'm pretty sure we're on summer break?”

“I'm doing research,” I say. “For a book. I'm writing an encyclopedia.”

“Tink,” she said. “Tink. Don't get weird on me again, kiddo.” She calls me “kiddo” as though she is my elderly ­maiden aunt from Ohio. It's bothersome, but I let it go because she's my BFF. Sometimes you make allowances.

“You are not my elderly maiden aunt from Ohio,” I said.

“Oh, you're so funny,” she said. “I didn't say I was! Don't be ridic.”

“It was implied,” I said.

“Was not,” she said.

“Just answer the question,” I said. “Like the first two things that come into your head when I say ‘adventure.'”

“OK, fine.” There was a long pause. I could hear her chewing. It was quite nauseating.
12
“So,” she said. “I consider it adventurous to either go to see a horror movie at the Cineplex after paying to see an animated thing about robots and then being so scared we have to stay up all night watching YouTube videos about pranks that go wrong so we can try to forget the awfulness of the movie. We should do that tonight, by the way. Can you sneak out? Or . . .” There was another pause and more slimy-sounding chewing. I gagged and pretended I was just coughing. “Climbing Mount Everest!” she said dramatically. “IN HIGH HEELS.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I'll let you get back to your eating and vigorous chewing now.”

Freddie Blue is a very adventurous person. She is the Queen Bee of All Things Adventurous. Like last week. It's not Freddie Blue's fault that my mom overreacted so massively to the fact that Freddie Blue's mom called the police to report us missing. We weren't missing! We were merely innocently playing on the trampoline in her neighbor's yard!

We had been in the tent, it's true, but the ground was wet, which made sleeping impossible and cold. We were shivering! We needed to move around to ward off hypothermia! The trampoline was springy and dry and completely free for us to use.
13
We didn't know that when FB's mom looked outside, she saw the open flap of the tent with no one inside and panicked. We didn't hear her shouting our names. How could we have? We were listening to iPods at top volume while competing to see who could jump the highest with our legs awkwardly (and painfully) bent and stuffed up into our pants!