Girl Wonder (5 page)

The water, coffee brown and gathering dust, was not exactly inviting. The air was hot, though, at least ninety degrees, and it wasn't even noon. The sky was a glaring shade of white.

I dipped a toe in dubiously. “Is it safe?”

“Charlotte! You can't be so afraid of everything.”

Just to prove that I wasn't a wimp, I jackknifed into the bay, making a huge splash—a fearless splash. The water was bathtub tepid and failed to cool me, but still it was wonderful to be buoyant. I kicked out a good ways, feeling more secure the deeper I went. It was the bottom I feared most—who knew what lurked in the mud?

Treading water, I watched my dad and brother set up the nets. Then, they too stripped down to their bathing suits and dove into the bay. Over and over, my father tossed James Henry backward off his shoulders. My brother shrieked with delight and flew through the air like a beach ball.

I remembered when Dad had done that kid stuff with me. I was pretty young—maybe five—when he'd shown me how to duck dive into the waves off Cape Cod. We used to camp there sometimes. Together we would swim out past the breakers, where my feet couldn't touch the bottom. Dad had said I must be part fish. No matter how cold it was, I would stay in the water for hours. Dad's admiration was worth a little hypothermia.

Now, after about an hour of swimming in the brackish water, we swam back in to check the crab nets. They came up empty, but the weird thing was that even the bait was gone. The last net, the one farthest out and closest to where I'd been swimming, was snagged. I yanked and yanked, but it wouldn't budge.

“Leave it,” Dad said, gathering up the buckets. “It's fine if we lose one.”

Whatever. We'd been studying pollution at school, and I was
not
going to be responsible for the death of the environment. Besides. I wanted to impress my father. I wanted to show him that I was strong.

The net finally gave. It was heavy, but rising.

And then—

Two beady eyes attached to a brown snout peered at me from the end of my tether. My net was ensnared in the jaws of an alligator. Its jaws weren't but two feet from my hands.

“Dad—”

My voice was just a squeak. I couldn't shout. I couldn't move. I was frozen. Paralyzed.

“I told you, Charlotte—”

Then he saw.

He was there in a flash, slicing the tether in two with the bait knife. The twine crackled when it broke. Bubbles arose from the gator's snout as it sank back into the murky depths. My knees buckled. Fear washed over me in waves.

This was by far and away the most afraid I'd ever been. It was the moment I realized my dad's judgment wasn't always sound.

My dad's judgment could hurt me.

This was what I wrote about late into the night.

On Friday, Miss Mason called us one by one up to her desk to discuss our essays. I wasn't worried. The one thing I knew I was decent at was writing. The teachers at my school in Florida were always saying things to me like, “You are your father's daughter, Charlotte. Talent runs in families.”

The guy behind me glanced over my shoulder on his way back to his seat. “What did you write about?” he asked.

I told him my alligator story. “How about you?”

“I wrote about this time in juvie when this guy held a knife to my throat.”

“You've been to juvie?” I asked.

He shrugged. “No. But it makes a good story.”

“Have a seat,” Miss Mason said authoritatively, when it was my turn to talk to her. In a matter of days she'd gotten a whole lot meaner. “Your essay is certainly very
creative
,” she said, making
creative
sound like a euphemism for
inappropriate
. “But I'm afraid it doesn't follow the five-paragraph format. I'm going to have to ask you to rewrite it.”

I suddenly understood why the kids on the regular track were always sleeping. They weren't missing much. If anything, they were sparing themselves.

At lunch, I couldn't stop ranting about the stupidity of all my classes.

“No child left behind,” Mimi said, making a face at the cafeteria smell. Today's special: spaghetti with meat loaf balls. “It means the teachers have to teach to the lowest common denominator. What can you do?”

“Bitch about it?” I grabbed a bottle of lukewarm orange juice and set it on my tray. “Is it so wrong to want a good education? I want to get into a good college, and I don't want to be behind when I start.”

“I guess I'm just more realistic than you,” Mimi said.

“What do you mean?” I asked. My stomach felt suddenly cold.

She handed the cashier a crumpled five-dollar bill. “My grades aren't the best. But there's not too much I can do about it now. I'll probably live at home for a couple of years, get a job, and go to a community college. Then—who knows?”

“Don't you want to try to go to someplace good?” I asked, sitting down at the empty end of a long table.

She frowned at the expiration date on her milk carton. “What I want is to be able to eat lunch without getting sick.”

We ate quickly before the cafeteria filled up. Then Mimi took me to the back of the school, to a courtyard that was surrounded on three sides by a brick wall. The overgrown hedges on the inside gave the place a private feeling.

“Welcome to the Maze,” she said, moving quickly through various throngs of kids. “When the weather's nice, this is one of the few perks of being a regular-track student. The Maze is off-limits to GATEs.”

My eyes widened. “That seems illegal. Can a school really do that?”

“Oh, it's not an official thing,” she said, leading me over to a sunny section of the wall. “In case you haven't noticed, GATEs are kind of hated by the rest of us. They know it too. The security guards don't monitor the Maze too much, so GATEs are afraid to hang out here.” She threw her backpack to the top and climbed up. I hesitated for a minute. The wall was steep and crumbly. Mimi laughed and reached down to give me a hand. “You can do it. Promise.”

Scrambling to the top, I took in the view. There were mountains everywhere, their summits as jagged and pointy as knives. The air smelled wonderful—like earth and pine trees. “This is more like it!”

“Those are the Cascades to the east,” Mimi said, pointing. “The mountains to the west are called the Olympics. Have you heard of the Olympic Peninsula? It's where
Twilight
is set.” She eyed me speculatively. “Jacob or Edward?”

“No-brainer. Edward.”

“Hmm. I go back and forth.”

I made a face. “Jacob's just too…werewolf.”

“But Edward is so
mopey
. Plus, he's kind of snobby.”

“He has good taste!” I protested. “What's wrong with having standards?”

A loud laugh echoed through the Maze. Looking down, I saw a flash of pink. Amanda Munger was immersed in a crowd of tough-looking skater guys. They were like puppies in her presence. She was flirting with them in that you-can't-have-me kind of way—which only made them want her more.

I turned to Mimi. “She's a GATE. Why does she get to be here?”

“She's Girl Wonder. The rules don't apply to her.” Mimi's cell phone started ringing—the first evidence I'd seen that she maybe had a life. She pulled it out of her purse and glanced at the number. “Hold on. I'll just be a sec.”

While Mimi talked—she seemed very irritated with whoever was on the other end of the line—I slid on my sunglasses and studied Amanda. She was laughing again. It was such a wonderful, joyous sound—uninhibited and completely natural. I wished I could laugh like that.

“Ugh!” Mimi said, tucking her phone back into her purse. “My mom is such a drunk. She's about to go in to work and she couldn't find her keys.”

“Does Amanda have a boyfriend?” I asked, though I was sure she must. I imagined he would be a god. I wanted to know just how good she had it.

Mimi looked disappointed. She'd wanted me to take the bait about her apparently depressing home life. “Why are you so interested in Amanda all of a sudden?”

“She's a character,” I said, trying to tone down my enthusiasm. “That's all.”

Squinting into the sunlight, Mimi stared off at the Olympic Mountains. “The weather's supposed to be nice this weekend. Maybe we could go on a hike somewhere. I could probably borrow my mom's car. We could even go to Forks and do the
Twilight
tour.”

I bit my lip, considering this. Mimi wasn't actually that bad. But was I really ready to commit to a friendship with her?

“I've got family plans,” I finally said.

“No big deal,” Mimi said, though it obviously was. She dug into her backpack, trying to hide the fact that I'd hurt her feelings. “You know, I think I'm going to head back in. I need to print something in the computer lab.” She hopped down off the wall. “See you around.”

I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what. How did you tell a person that they were
just a nobody
? How did you tell a person that you didn't want to be
just a nobody
by association? Was I wrong to want something better for myself? Was I wrong to want to swim with the big fish?

Hadn't I been raised to
aspire
?

I stayed where I was until the bell rang, watching Amanda hold court. Her smile permeated every aspect of her being, from her glittery green eyes, to the tilt of her head, to the laid-back stance of her body. She was, indeed, Girl Wonder.

I
t was Friday night—James Henry's birthday. In just a few minutes we'd be leaving the house to meet Milton and his mother at a restaurant called Tres Amigos. Crazily, they'd accepted my brother's last-minute invitation. When I'd found this out, I'd tried to convince my mom that I had tons of homework to do. She'd informed me that staying home was not an option.

“Time's up, kiddo,” she said, knocking on the bathroom door. “We need to leave pronto. I'm sure you look fine. This is Seattle. Anything goes.”

“I'm ready,” I said, stepping out into the hall.

“Oh dear,” she said, staring at my face. “You look—”

“Scary?” James Henry suggested, coming up behind her.

“I think I look nice,” I said defensively. “And you just said
anything goes
.”

“That's not exactly what I—”

“We're going to be late!” Dad shouted from the kitchen. “Let Charlotte make a fool of herself if she wants.”

Gee, Dad—glad you've got my back.

I gave myself one last once-over, and frowned. So maybe I had gotten a little carried away with the black eyeliner and the bloodred lipstick. Maybe the new boots I'd picked up after school today were just a hair on the I'm-going-to-kick-the-shit-out-of-you side. I was trying out a new look, an I-go-to-a-scary-school-so-don't-mess-with-me look.

The horn honked. There was no time to wash off the makeup. I wiped my lips on the back of my hand. There. That was better. I slid on my sunglasses, popped a piece of gum into my mouth, and joined my impatient family in the car.

Tres Amigos sat on the shore of Lake Union. The lights of the boats glittered like phosphorous in the inky darkness. An energetic vibe permeated the restaurant. Everyone seemed to be in a jovial thank-God-it's-Friday mood.

Milton and his mom had already arrived. After introductions were made, Mrs. Zacharias said, “There's a half-hour wait. I put down our names on the list.”

“I'm so sorry we're late,” Mom said. “Traffic…”

“It's Charlotte's fault,” James Henry chimed. “She took forever getting ready.”

My face flushed. Milton raised an eyebrow. “It's dark out,” he said. “You can probably take off your sunglasses now. Or are you trying out for the Secret Service?”

“Light sensitivity,” I muttered. “Happens whenever I get migraines.”

Mrs. Zacharias clucked her tongue. “You poor thing. You should be in bed.”

I liked Mrs. Zacharias. She seemed kind and warm and wasn't stuffy in the least—unlike Milton, who was wearing khaki pants, a blue oxford shirt, and a blazer with the Barclay crest. What was he trying to prove, anyway?

Mom was looking at me like I was an alien species. “Since when do you get migraines, Charlotte?”

“Since always,” I said, gritting my teeth.

“Bullshit,”
James Henry coughed into his hand.

“Here,” Mrs. Zacharias said, holding out a bottle of aspirin. “I always carry it around with me in case of emergencies. Gas-X too.”

Now it was Milton's turn to blush.

To hide my smirk, I tapped out a couple of aspirin and tossed them down without water. Wasn't aspirin supposed to be good for the heart? I just hoped it wouldn't upset my stomach. I was not about to ask Mrs. Zacharias for her Gas-X.

“Can I get anyone anything from the bar?” Dad asked. “A round of margaritas?”

“I'd like a martini,” James Henry said in a British accent. “Shaken. Not stirred.”

Everyone laughed. My brother. Wasn't he just a riot?

Right after Dad returned from the bar, the hostess approached with a stack of menus. “This way, please,” she said, leading us back to a large circular booth by the window. Scooting in, I got sandwiched between my brother and Milton—who smelled like minty shampoo.

“So really,” he whispered, “what's the deal with the shades?”

“So really,” I whispered back, “what's the deal with the uniform?”

In a normal voice he said, “I'm in a service club. Every other Friday we visit a nursing home. We're required to wear our uniforms. Our faculty adviser says it makes old folks feel important if you dress up for them.”

Mom beamed at Milton. “How wonderful that you volunteer.”

Mrs. Zacharias smiled proudly. “The residents just love him. Barclay places a strong emphasis on giving back to the community.”

“We've been impressed with the school so far,” Mom said.

“How do you like Shady Grove, Charlotte?” Mrs. Zacharias asked. “I have to say—some of the kids that go there look pretty tough.”

“Charlotte's in the gifted and talented program,” Dad said, sliding into the booth with drinks.

Mom and James Henry exchanged glances.

“It's a school within a school,” I mumbled, staring down at my hands. My nails were bitten to the quick.

Thankfully, our waiter swung by just then, sparing me further humiliation. He set down our chips and salsa, and then told us the specials. Mom and Mrs. Zacharias both ordered the taco salad. My brother asked for the fajita special. “It's my birthday,” he told our waiter. “Just in case you do free desserts.”

Milton ordered the chicken enchiladas. “Go extra heavy on the hot sauce.”

Dad ordered the chile relleno and another round of margaritas, even though the ones he'd just gotten were still mostly full.

“I'll have a tostada à la carta,” I said when it was my turn.

“That's all you're eating?” my mom asked.

“I'm not that hungry.”

Mrs. Zacharias smiled sympathetically. “Headaches can do that.”

“All this talk about headaches is
giving
me a headache,” my brother said.

More laughter ensued.

The waiter left, promising to return shortly with the margaritas. The grown-ups became immersed in talking about a recent political scandal. Milton accidently bumped me with his arm. I wondered if he worked out a lot. His muscles, while not bulky, were solid. James Henry pulled out one of the protein packets that he carried with him everywhere like a security blanket.

Milton gave him a questioning look.

James Henry stirred the ingredients of the packet into his chocolate milk. “I'm sick of always being the shortest kid in my class.”

“I get that,” Milton said. “But being short can have its advantages. Take snowboarding, for instance. Having a low center of gravity will help you a ton, especially in the beginning, when you're falling a lot.”

“What's this about snowboarding?” my dad asked.

“I'm thinking of joining the snowboarding team,” James Henry said. “You said it was good to have athletic activities, that college admissions officers like to see that kind of stuff.”

“I'm not sure we can afford snowboarding—” Mom began.

“Margot,” Dad interrupted. “I'm sure we can come up with the funds.”

Mrs. Zacharias turned to Milton. “Did you realize that you were having dinner with a famous author? Mr. Locke was called
the heir to Jonathan Franzen
in a recent book review.”

Mom sniffed. “I think
famous
is a little bit of an overstatement.”

“Who's Jonathan Franzen?” Milton asked.

“He won the National Book Award a few years ago,” Dad said.

I dipped a chip into thesalsa. “He's the guy who dissed Oprah, right?”

Dad frowned. “The media really manipulated that story—”

“Shit!” I exclaimed suddenly as a big glob of salsa slid down the front of my shirt. Everyone at the table went instantly mute. Dad glared at me. Mom shook her head. James Henry and Milton were trying not to laugh. “I meant to say
shoot
just then,” I mumbled by way of an apology.

“I think swear words are warranted on occasion,” Mrs. Zacharias said kindly. “And you do see a lot of swear words in poetry these days.”

“I guess that means I'm very poetical,” Milton said.

Everyone cracked up at this. Ha-ha, hilarious.

“Back to snowboarding…” James Henry started.

“Oh. Right.” Milton glanced up from his cell phone. He'd been reading a text. Was he popular at Barclay? Weird as he was, it seemed like a stretch. But then, at private schools you could get away with being a little eccentric. “I meant to tell you—you don't have to pay for lift tickets if you're on the snowboarding team.”

Dad nodded thoughtfully. “Snowboarding. I like that idea.”

“Did you see the Olympics last year?” Mrs. Zacharias asked.

“Maybe I'll be the next Shaun White,” James Henry exclaimed. “I could get sponsored!”

“Maybe you should actually try snowboarding first before you start signing autographs,” I said, but nobody heard me because at that moment our food arrived. It came sizzling and in a cloud of smoke, thanks to James Henry's fajitas.

Coughing, I fanned the air. Milton asked for extra salsa. My dad ordered another round of margaritas. Too caught up in contemplating my parents' sudden descent into alcoholism, I failed to notice that our waiter had brought me the wrong dish.

“Is everything okay, Charlotte?” Mom asked, noticing my expression.

“Fine as wine,” I said.

Seeing as how I'd already caused one scene tonight, and how I was causing a stir just by wearing my sunglasses, it seemed wise not to draw any more attention to myself. Even though the food before me smelled fishy and was puce. More for show than out of hunger, I picked at my rice and beans.

“Want some of mine?” Milton whispered.

To avoid answering him, I took a sip of my Cherry Coke.

“All you have to do is say ‘Yes, Milton, I would love some of your big enchilada.'”

Coke came flying out of my nose and mouth. Again, everyone stared.

“I'm perfectly fine,” I said. “I just swallowed wrong.”

“No thanks,” I hissed to Milton, when everyone had gone back to eating.

“C'mon.” He bumped me with his shoulder. “You seem so serious tonight. I was just trying to get you to lighten up a little. Help yourself to anything you want off my plate. There's enough for a dinosaur here.”

So now I was uptight?

“I'm fine,” I said icily.

“Suit yourself. Char Char.”

“I will,” I said. “Mushroom boy.”

He grinned. “Actually—it's mushroom
man
.”

After dinner, our waiter brought James Henry a brownie sundae. The entire restaurant staff gathered around the table to sing a Mexican birthday song. Milton plugged away at his phone…probably making snide remarks about the embarrassing people he was with.

“Don't forget to make a wish!” Mom exclaimed.

Right as James Henry was blowing out the candle, my father's cell phone rang.

“It's New York,” he said, rising from his seat. “I have to take this.”

New York
was code for
Meeghan
.

The bill had been settled and still my dad wasn't back. Mom was trying to act relaxed about it, but you could tell by the way her foot was jiggling that she was none too pleased. Feigning a yawn, she stood up. “I think it's my bedtime. But it's been so good getting to know you both.” She squeezed Milton's shoulder. “I'm grateful that James Henry has such a nice guy to mentor him at Barclay.”

“I'm sure he'll be mentoring
me
,” Milton said.

“Whatever, dude.” James Henry rolled his eyes, trying to hide his pleasure at the compliment.

“We'll have to do this again sometime,” Mrs. Zacharias said as we reached the door. “I hope you feel better soon, Charlotte. Feel free to stop by the house sometime. We're neighbors, after all.”

We watched them walk to their truck—a gray Toyota Tacoma. Milton got in the driver's seat. He waved at us as he drove out of the parking lot.

“He's a good egg, that one,” Mom said thoughtfully.

“I don't like eggs,” I remarked.

“Eggs have lots of nutritional value,” James Henry said. “Give them a chance.”

“I'm going to remind you of that when I crack an egg over your head,” I said.

We finally found Dad wandering up and down a dock behind the restaurant, still deep in conversation. He got off the phone when he saw us approaching. Mom didn't even try to hide her anger.

“That was very rude of you to disappear like that.”

“It's my
career
. I have to be available.”

“Oh, you seem plenty
available
!” Mom said.

Dad rubbed his brow. “Margot—I can't do this right now.”

“You're drunk!” Mom snapped.

“You're drunk!”

James Henry glanced at me. “Maybe Charlotte should drive us home,” he said.

“Um,” I stammered.

“I don't think—” my father began.

“Excellent idea,” Mom said, tossing me the keys. “You'll be fine.”

James Henry crossed himself. “May the Force be with us.”