Boy Proof (12 page)

“Maybe I’ll have other plans for the summer,” I say. “I’ll be a high-school graduate and can make my own goddamned decisions about where I’ll be this summer. I might not go to college right away. I might not even go at all. I’ll be independent, and I would like to consider all the choices open to me.”

Mom doesn’t have an answer for that. She just slams the bedroom door shut.

I am so glad it’s Saturday and not a school day.

I make my way to the bathroom and take some aspirin and drink lots of water. If I cared, I would notice that I look like hell.

I slide in front of my computer and log on to the
Terminal Earth
site. There are ten new postings all about the party at the Cinematheque last night. They all say that Saba Greer was the nicest, most sincere, most loving person ever and that she had complimented all of their Egg costumes.

That seals it. Saba Greer really
is
a good actress.

I follow a thread on the message board that asks the question, “Any chance Saba Greer is gay?” I’m tempted to reveal that I know she is dating Lark Austin, but I resist.

“Well?” Rue is gooning at me, as always, trying to bond with me. “How was Saba Greer?”

“I thought you’d be swinging off the roof today,” Martin says.

“It was so special,” I lie.

I don’t want them to laugh at me for worshiping someone who sucks.

Martin puts his arm around Rue’s waist. It’s so tender it makes me want to barf.

“Hey, Thursday, New Bev,
Lord of the Rings
marathon. Wanna come with us?” Martin asks.

“A bunch of us are going, and we’re packing a picnic dinner,” Rue says.

“Sure,” I say. “I was going to go anyway.”

I almost tell them that my mom is going to play Hera in the Lark Austin movie. But I don’t. I know they really, really want to be the first people to know. They’ll read about it online. They’ll get the scoop soon enough.

I just don’t want to do any more talking about it today.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Victoria. You’re really falling behind.” Dr. Gellar has called me in for a special emergency meeting. She is actually worried about me. “You’re an exceptional student, but —”

“It’s not like I’m going to fail anything,” I say. “I don’t fail.”

“Well, it seems as though you are really struggling with math this semester.”

Dr. Gellar is trying to tell me that it’s okay not to be perfect. I almost bring up the valedictorian question. But I don’t. Because I don’t really want to hear about it.

“I’ll get a tutor. I’ll catch up,” I say. “I’m sure I can get someone to help me with trigonometry.”

Dr. Gellar nods. “All your applications are in?”

“Yes, they’re all in,” I say.

“Good. Do you know where you want to go?”

“I haven’t really decided about that yet,” I say. “I have to wait until I see where I get accepted.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t pull me out of the running yet, Dr. Gellar. I’m full of surprises.”

“I know you are, Victoria,” she says.

“Don’t forget. I’m going overseas for the next six weeks to prep for the new
Dracula
movie,” Dad says.

Dracula.
It’s a big deal. All those vampires. All that blood. All those delicate bat wings and eyeballs and pointy teeth. He’s been working hard on reinventing the way vampires look.

“Hey, Dad,” I ask. “How did you know that you wanted to be a special-effects guy?”

“It was the one thing that made me happy,” he says.

My heart skips a beat.

I pick up a piece of foam and start cutting it. I think best when my hands are working on a new project. All of a sudden, my mind is spinning at light speed.

This moment right here. Freeze time.

I am completely happy.

“Hey, what’s different about you today?” Max catches up with me in the school entrance. He’s hurried up to me from the parking lot.

“Nothing. I’m exactly the same,” I say.

“No. Something’s different.”

He looks me up and down. It’s a little chilly outside this morning. His black sweatshirt is zipped all the way up and he has a knitted black ski cap on. His blue eyes water a little in the wind, making their color even more brilliant.

“Are you wearing makeup?” he asks.

“No.”

“Did you dye your hair?”

“No.”

I pull my new thrift-shop ski jacket closed as we cross the school courtyard.

“Hey,” he says. Finally noticing. “Where’s your cloak?”

“At home,” I say.

There is nothing but bad news.

The news has me convinced that an asteroid is going to hit the earth. That a bomb is going to go off in some city and that there will be a nuclear winter. That the sun will explode. That the moon will lose its orbit. That a plague will wipe the earth clean. That we will all starve from bad farming. That a volcano will erupt. That there will be a massive earthquake. That the polar ice caps will melt. That people are going to turn into zombies. That
they
are going to get us.

There is nothing I can do about any of it.

The only thing I can do is get good grades. I have control, ultimate control, over that. The only thing I can do is apply myself. Cannot fail. Must do well.

Mental note: Don’t freak out.

I push open the door to the library, and Rue is there holding court with her books. Her fedora is on the table in front of her, and her hair spills over her shoulders like a medieval queen. I make my way over to her.

“You know I get bummed out when you say you’re going to come somewhere with Martin and me and then you back out at the last minute,” Rue says. “You always do that.”

She’s referring to the
Lord of the Rings
movies.

“Nah, I’m not backing out — I am going to be there anyway.”

“Oh, good!” she says. “So what’s up?”

“I have to ask you a favor.”

“A favor?” Rue says.

“Yeah. I need a math tutor. I’m having trouble with trig.”

The light from the library window makes twelve triangles on the table. The size of the triangles is changed by the curves of the hat and the lines of the books.

I bite my thumb. Maybe she’ll say no.

Instead, she wrinkles up her nose and purses her lips into a smile.

“I knew it! I knew one day you’d come to me for something!”

“So, you’ll do it?”

“Yeah,” she says. “How about here at one o’clock on Monday?”

“I’ll be here,” I say.

“I’m a real hard tutor,” she warns me. “I expect a lot. I expect results.”

“That’s cool,” I say. “I want to make the grade.”

The waves of a minor earthquake. They bottom out. They roll. They undulate. They are like my feelings, only with little painful spikes in them. Those spikes are like the minute second of happiness that I feel when the sun shines just right. Or when the sunset looks a certain shade of pink. Or like this moment, when I am holding the shooting script to
Terminal Earth
in my hands.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Martin says.

I really am excited,
I say to myself.
I don’t care if Saba Greer is a bitch. Egg still kicks ass. I still really like this movie.

“It looks great. I can’t wait to read it,” I say, even though I know most of it by heart. “Zach Cross looks really hot in the pictures.”