The Encyclopedia of Me (9 page)

One thing that Charlotte said early on, when we first met her last year, was that Seb was probably never going to change that much, so it was actually going to be us who would have to change. This is just one more example of how Seb really has it made. No chores, no expectations, no changing, no compromising.

No
fair
, is what I say.

See also
Aaron-Martin, Sebastian (Seb); Autism.

A half-celebrity, half-“normal person” magazine that both Dad and Freddie Blue are completely obsessed with, copies of which flop listlessly on every surface of this house.

I was, in fact, lying on the Itchy Couch watching the sweat run in little rivulets down my maimed forearm, engrossed in an article about a certain royal celeb's bedroom furnishings, when Mom burst in through the kitchen door like her hair was on fire and the fire extinguisher was somewhere under my seat.

“Tink!” she shouted. “What are you
reading
?” she said, emphasizing the word “reading” so hard, she practically spat.

“Nuh. Thing,” I enunciated. The nothingness of what I was reading was practically visible, like an aura that is as blank as Lex's sentences.
Everybody
magazine wasn't READING material. It was SKIMMING material! Everyone knew that. I tossed the magazine on the floor, and she picked it up and cradled it for a minute in her arms before putting it down on the table.

I squinted. Something was definitely up.

“Where are the boys?” she said, hopping back and forth from foot to foot as though she desperately had to pee.

“Don't know,” I singsonged.

“Tink,” she said impatiently. “Tink, where is your dad?”

I pointed at the stairs to the basement. I can't believe she'd had to ask. If he was home and not on the couch, he was in the basement, whirring, clunking, and singing.

“I have the most exciting news!” she shouted, like she couldn't contain it.
58
“I want to tell everyone at once. Where did you say your brothers are?”

“MOM,” I said. “I don't
know
. I
like
not knowing. Then I can pretend I'm an only child! A dream come true!”

Mom kept talking as though I hadn't said a thing. “. . . magazine is going to do a story about our family,” she said.

“What?” I said. “What? WHAT?”

“
Everybody
,” she repeated. “
Everybody
magazine. Isn't that great?”

“Erfhvbla?” I said. I looked at the copies stacked up on the coffee table in a messy heap and then I looked back at Mom. I picked up the top one and looked at Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt and an assortment of orphans. Then I dropped it on the floor, where it landed with a sad-sounding smack.

AS
IF
WE WERE GOING TO BE IN
EVERYBODY
MAGAZINE.

She was obviously lying!

I wanted her to be lying!

But also I didn't! For a split second, I allowed myself to imagine that we suddenly became hugely famous and papa­razzi followed me to Cortez Junior and photographed my every move. Then I went ahead and wondered what kind of TV shows I'd get to be on and who my boyfriend would be. Maybe my first boyfriend would be famous! Way better than Kai! Maybe even Prince X!

Then I felt sad. Prince X probably
wasn't
better than Kai. I didn't want to be famous. And I hate looking at pictures of myself. My mouth always looks like I'm chewing something huge, like a gobstopper or an entire tomato. And don't get me started about my hair. If paparazzi followed me to school, I'd have to have good hair at least!

“It is the greatest thing ever!” said Mom. “Your dad is going to die of excitement!”

“How did this happen?” I whispered.

“Well,” she said, plopping herself next to me and wrapping me up in a hug like she used to when I was little. I wriggled away. “Because of me, of course. Someone at
Everybody
heard me on the radio, read the blog, and the rest is history! Of course, people are interested in our story and there are so many families like ours. And,” she added, “I'm sure it doesn't hurt that the boys are so photogenic.”

“Gak,” I said, which is what you say apparently when you are choking to death on the tidal wave of acid that has just unexpectedly slammed into your mouth.

“Of course,” she said, “you'll get to be in it too. I'm not sure they'll interview you, but you'll definitely be in the pictures.”

“No thanks,” I muttered. “I'd just wreck them.”

She laughed, even though I didn't mean it in a funny way. “It's a story about autism and how
families
cope,” she said. “And you are part of the family, Tink. Obviously. Boy, your dad will be thrilled, won't he? And Freddie Blue is going to be so jealous!” She elbowed me.

I elbowed her back. Hard. “What. Ev. Er,” I said, for the sake of saying something. Inside my brain, there was a loud scream of staticky noise, like a ringing in the ears by a million different off-key bells. It sounded like
dread
.

“Dread,” I mumbled.

Not that Mom was listening as she paced around the room, yelling, “BAX! BOYS!” every few seconds.

I tried to imagine how this was going to go. Badly, I could predict with 100 percent certainty. I would likely be edited out anyway. I shut my eyes and pictured someone at
Everybody
hard at work Photoshopping a potted plant over me, or perhaps an adorable photogenic puppy.

“More dread,” I whispered. “Extra dread. Dreadsome.” I patted Hortense, which I rarely do, and she meowed in a horrified sort of way and climbed down my leg, glowering at me from the floor.

“You aren't photogenic either,” I said.

“Oh, Hortense is so exotic,” Mom said. “I bet they put her in the picture for sure. We'll have to get you some great new clothes! Maybe get your makeup done professionally.”

Mom flew out of the room like a fairy with a drinking problem, knocking over a teetering pile of mail that we keep conveniently balanced on the newel post. I heard her pounding down the stairs to tell Dad. I have no idea why she didn't tell him first. It's really HIS dream come true, not mine. My dreams don't feature Lex and Seb looking into the camera with fake serious looks. Ugh.

I picked up the phone, pressed Freddie Blue's number, and listened to it ring. Her voice mail came on, and I didn't leave a message. I called back again. And again. Finally, she answered.

“Oh, hey,” she said.

“Why didn't you answer?” I said. “I have some news.”

“Do you?” she said. “Can you hang on? I'm on the other line.”

“No!” I said, but she'd already cut over. I listened to the silence for about ten seconds before I hung up. I lay back down on the Itchy Couch. It itched. I glared at Hortense and tapped her with my foot. She purred.

“I'm not being nice,” I told her. “I'm in a terrible mood.” I stared out the window. The sky was so blue, it was insulting to my grumpiness. I could see the roof of Kai's house. Kai. I sighed.

KAI.

Wait!

Freddie Blue NEVER puts me on hold. We have a deal! We wouldn't put each other on hold! UNLESS!

Unless we were talking to a boy!

I got up and ran to the window, as though I'd be able to see Kai talking on the phone (if he was). All I could see was reflections in the glass.

“Argh,” I said, and kicked the wall. What if he saw the list? What if he had called her to confirm?
59

Kai and Freddie Blue. What if they were RIGHT NOW talking about their mutual like for each other? What if they were Liking each other on Facebook? What if they were IN LOVE?

I mean, sure, she could have been talking to someone else. But I couldn't overcome the thought. It was like the thought was a hungry seagull and I was a tiny crab trapped on an expanse of sand. And just like that, my silly crush on Kai was swallowed by a noisy, annoying seabird.

I stomped up to my room and flung the door open, like there might be someone in there who cared. Of course there wasn't. AND my bed was in completely the wrong place.

“IDIOTS!” I shouted, in case my brothers Dumb and Dumber were somewhere where they might hear me. I lay down and waited for FB to call back. It wasn't until I really started to think about the photo shoot, though, that I realized something.

The problem with the whole
Everybody
thing wasn't going to be me. It was going to be
Seb
.

Because photo shoots involve cameras.

It was going to be a huge FAIL. Because when Seb says, “No more pictures,” he isn't going to change his mind. At least, I doubt it. He once changed his mind about something. ONCE.
60

Mom would be crushed! Dad would be destroyed! And I would never be famous! So the whole thing would be filed, once again, under
S
, for “Seb Didn't Want To So We Didn't.”

I laughed out loud.

“DREAD,” I shouted, not that anyone was listening. “DREAAAAAD.”

See also
Aaron-Martin, Sebastian (Seb); Autism; Celebrities.

The lofty position celebrities enjoy, i.e., being stared at in Starbucks and photographed in unattractive sweatpants. People who are in
Everybody
magazine are either already famous or they gain fame just by being in the magazine.
61

When Freddie Blue finally called me back, I told her about the photo shoot, and then I said, “So if I get famous, will you still be my friend?”

Then there was this long silence. I knew she was there because I could hear her breathing. I laughed. “Freddie Blue, seriously! Answer!”

She sighed. “I guess,” she said.

And that was it. Just like that. “I guess.”

My heart fell into my stomach. I could practically feel it disintegrating in the acid. My stomach gurgled.

“What?” I said. “I was kidding, FB. We aren't going to be famous, except maybe at school for five minutes, because people forget and don't care about stuff like that. Or else something dumb will happen and the whole thing will be totally embarrassing and no one will ever forget, but I'll have to move to the south of France and change my name to Alphonsine Le Noir to escape the humiliating shame of it all.”

She didn't laugh. I could practically hear her shrugging. “Can I call you back?” she said.

“No!” I said.

“Oh,” she said. “OK. It's just that I don't have much to say.”

“Freddie Blue?” I said. “Are you OK? You're being totally weird.”

“I'm fine,” she said. “It's just that . . .”

“What?” I said. I thought she was going to say Kai, so I interrupted. “Look, if it's about Kai, you can have him. I don't even like him!”

She giggled. “Tink,” she said. “I know I can have him. If I want him. I haven't just quite decided yet. It's hard to know what to do. We haven't been back to school yet. What if I say yes to Kai and then it turns out he isn't pops? I can't have an unpops BF!”

“Unpops?” I said. “Um, is that a word?”

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah, I've been hearing it from some of my other friends.”

Other friends?

“Like who?” I said.

She giggled again. “You sound jealous or something. Don't be idio, Tink. When I'm at Dad's, you know, I don't just sit and stare at the dead fish floating around in his fish tank.”

“That's so grot,” I said. “Why doesn't he flush them?”

“I don't know,” she said. “They're falling apart now anyway. Fish corpses disintegrate really fast. The other fish have practically eaten the dead ones clean away.”

It was only when I hung up that I realized we spent more time talking about fish than about
Everybody
. And isn't
Everybody
bigger news?

Doesn't fame count for more than dead fish?

And who are these other friends?

Everything that is happening to me lately feels like a dream, and it's not really a good one, more like one that isn't quite good but isn't bad enough to wake you up either. I keep hoping for some sort of reprieve that involves realizing that I have been in a coma since the Boarding Incident, and it will all go away when I finally wake up. (Except the good bits, of course.)

Feel free to pinch me. Not that a coma sufferer in the history of comas has ever been woken by a pinch before, but maybe that's just because no one's ever tried.

See also
BFF; Celebrities;
Everybody
Magazine.

People who are fickle are people who change their minds all the time about everything, like maybe one day they like chocolate ice cream the best and the next they like only mint chocolate chip; or one day they have a crush on their neighbor, and the next, poof! GONE.