The Encyclopedia of Me (24 page)

“She's actually OK,” said FB. “She's nice. She's had a really crummy life and stuff, once you get to know her . . .”

“FB,” I said. “I don't want to know her. She is my Worst Enemy Ever!”

“I know,” said FB. “But I like her.”

“Oh,” I said. We stayed on the phone like that for a few minutes. I could hear her breathing. I lay back on my bed. “How was school?” I said.

“Ugh,” she said. “So much homework. You missed a lot. You're never going to catch up, except you're so smart, you will.”

“Um, thanks,” I said.

“Brainiac,” she said.

“You're a brainiac too,” I said. “Gifted school, remember? They didn't let you in for having good hair.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Look, I have to go. I'm sorry about Lex. Give him a kiss for me, OK? I just . . . I have to go. I'm glad you called me.”

“Bye,” I said.

I don't know if I felt better or worse. I lay down on my bed to try to decide, and I accidentally fell asleep. I guess Mom was right, sometimes tragedy just makes you sleepy.

See also
Autism; Ellery, Charlotte; Haywire; Respite Care; Tipping, Chair.

A tree. My tree. Kai's tree.

Unknown because I don't know. I sort of don't want to know, to be honest. It's always been the Tree of Unknown Species. If I knew what it was, I'd have to think of it differently, like once you find out someone's name, they seem different than when they were just a stranger, like just the blue-haired boy.

I love the tree. The way it stands there and has stood there forever, seeing all this stuff that is tragic and also stuff that is stupid and stuff that is great and stuff that is funny and stuff that is exciting, and still just stands there, growing more leaves and getting bigger and more and more beautiful and turning colors and losing leaves and growing them back.

That might sound stupid. Probably I'll go back later and cross it out, but for now I'm going to leave it in because I really do love that tree.

If you promise not to tell, I'll admit that on my goal list, I have “sleeping for one night in the tree.” I don't know if I'll ever do it. It probably wouldn't be safe. I just like the idea of it, and the secretness of that.

It's sometimes good to have secrets.

See also
Aaron-Martin, Isadora (Tink).

This gentleman is single-handedly responsible for the bad reputation of ukuleles. He should look more ashamed than he does.

A musical instrument that looks like a tiny guitar and makes everyone who plays it look like they have freakishly large hands.

It is not a lie to say that anyone who plays a ukulele is automatically cooler than someone who does not play the ukulele. It's just the truth, squared.

Prince X just happens to play a ukulele. The tabloids say that this makes him the laughingstock of royalty. But he is not a laughingstock to me.

See also
Aaron, Baxter (Dad); Prince X.

Named after the totally famous ballerina, Galina Ulanova, the Ulanova Academy is a ballet school that cranks out pretty dancers for companies across the nation. And oooooh, boy, are they ever proud of that. Pictures of their successful grads are stuck on every wall that isn't a mirror.

And there are a lot of mirrors.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the studio. Right away, I was bowled over by the smell. It was like smelling a memory, or actually like smelling every memory I had of ballet. Ever. It was a lot.

A bunch of other kids were already there, stretching pretentiously at the barre while admiring their lovely posture in the mirror.

“Hey,” I said to a couple of girls. One of them smiled and nodded. The other just looked down at her perfectly pointed feet. Everyone was so OMG-totally-serious, it made me want to do something ridiculous, make faces or start hip-hopping or something. Anything. It was just so . . . ugh.

I looked in the mirror. Now that I was embracing the Afro, I refused to glue it down in any semblance of a bun and it stuck out all over, grandly and proudly. So I saw this row of tall white girls with immaculate buns and straight backs. And me. Short. Slightly square-shaped. Not white. And with all these wild curls jumping out all over.

I smiled. It was sort of awesome.

I went over and picked up my bag and walked out of the room, undoing the ribbons on my shoes as I went and letting them drag behind me down the street. Then I ran, hair fluffy in the wind and my feet feeling every bump on the pavement.

I was never going back. Never.

I'd tell Mom later. Maybe not today, but soon. I mean, she had a lot to deal with, with Seb and everything.

I took the shoes off and threw them in the garbage. I probably shouldn't have done that; they were expensive. But letting go of them and watching them fall down into the mess of food wrappers and empty bottles felt like the best thing I'd ever done for myself.

I spent the rest of the hour at the beach, then went home, prepared to lie. But luckily, I didn't have to because Seb was haywire again.

And that took care of that.

You know, Galina Ulanova's mom was a ballerina too. AND she was Russian, so it's not like she had so many choices. I wonder how badly she wanted to rip her own pink slippers off and run away. I wonder if she'd be happy for me, for finally just saying “NO.”

See also
Afro; Ballet.

I won't bore you with a description of what an umbrella is, because I'm sure you know. I have no idea who invented the umbrella. Are you curious? Here, I will look it up for you in the real encyclopedia, which Seb did bring back inside, but dumped unceremoniously in the front hall. I moved them back to the living room, where they belong.

Well, so much for that. No one knows who invented it, although someone named Jonas Hanway seems to be taking credit. He hardly sounds like an ancient Egyptian, and the ancient Egyptians used umbrellas. Smells like a big fat fish of a lie to me.

The Spanish teacher at Cortez Junior.

Spanish teachers should have Spanish names, no? And NO teacher should have a name that is so easy to laugh about! Right? Right!

So the detention wasn't my fault.

On my first day back at school after the tragedy,
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Freddie Blue plopped herself down right next to me in Spanish, which happened to be my first class of the day. “Tink!” she said. “I'm so glad to see you, kiddo!”

“Are you?” I said. I still hadn't worked out from that call if we were friends again or not, or BFFs or just acquaintances who were friendly or . . . what. “Why?” I glanced around to see if Kai was there yet. (He wasn't.)

“Because,” she said. “BECAUSE. What do you mean, why? Duh. I was worried about you all weekend and stuff.”

“Really?” I said. “Thanks.”

“Shh,” she says. “Mrs. Underpants is looking at us!”

Mrs. Underpants! And before I could stop it, a tidal wave of uncontrollable laughing burst from my mouth!

“Girls!” Mrs. Underall clapped her hands.

“Yes?” said Freddie Blue.

“No talking!” said Mrs. Underpants. I mean, Underall. “You haven't been listening to a word that I say! What is your name?”

“Freddie Blue,” said Freddie Blue. “Tink here had a family tragedy. Her brother ran over her other brother in the car and I was comforting her because she was so sad.”

“She's laughing,” said Mrs. Underall.

I stopped laughing. I was pretty shocked that Freddie Blue just announced all that to the class. I felt myself blushing, like I should be the one who was embarrassed. Someone coughed. I looked around and noticed that Kai had come in sometime when I wasn't looking. My heart jumped. He gave me a look that either said, “Why didn't you tell me?” or “Wow, your family is weird!” Or really it could have meant anything. I had no idea.

“Well, Freddie Blue,” said the teacher. “You and your friend there will see me after school for detention, yes?”

Freddie Blue rolled her eyes at me and slumped down in her chair. I shot her a not-yet-patented Tink Aaron-Martin Stare of OMG, Did You Seriously Just Tell Everyone My Business? but she just grinned and winked. I didn't know what to feel. I snuck a look over at Stella, who was naturally right next to FB. She was wearing the ugliest brown sweater I'd ever seen. She glared at me as if I were a large tarantula climbing up the hairs on her leg, which were showing in her too-short pants. She really did take ugly clothes to a whole new level.

I glared back. Then I reverted to “devil-may-care” and gave her a cheeky grin. She half smiled back and then looked confused. Well, we're all confused. Why should she be any different?

Freddie Blue and I will be serving out our detention as Aardie the Aardvark at the weekend game against the Prescott Lion. She gets the first half, I get the second. As if I didn't have enough problems. I walked out without another word to her.

I'd really had enough of Freddie Blue Anderson.

See also
Aardvark; Anderson, Freddie Blue; BFF; Cortez Junior; Devil-May-Care Attitude; Spanish.

The little dangly bit at the back of your throat.

“Uvula” was Seb's first word. That is a piece of trivia that will come up in your life never again, so I am sure you will never forget it and it will take up useful room in your brain where you should be storing something like the square root of 144.
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See also
Aaron-Martin, Sebastian (Seb); Autism.

Vertigo is the feeling that you get when you're afraid of heights. It's like being dizzy, but not really. It's more like the feeling that you're going to fall over. Sometimes I get vertigo when I'm sitting on the Itchy Couch writing, and somewhere far away in the house, Seb starts to go haywire. It's weird because I'm already sitting. How can you fall when you're sitting down? But when you have vertigo, it feels like you have to lie down flat like a starfish to avoid spinning off into the sky.

See also
Couch, Itchy; Haywire.

I am a Virgo. People who are Virgos are born sometime around now. Like, as in today. Yes, it is my birthday! I will stop writing right now so you can stop reading and come running into the room singing and carrying a cake! Unlike anyone else I know in my real life!

No? That's OK. Don't feel bad. I still like you anyway.

Other Virgos I know include, but are not limited to:
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Freddie Blue Anderson.

Her birthday was yesterday. My birthday is today.

Our joint birthday party is on Saturday.

Which is only a problem because we haven't talked about it. At all.

I sighed.

“What's up, Frecks Pecks?” said Lex, rolling awkwardly into the living room, where I was sitting on the Itchy Couch. He knocked over Mom's poor lamp and a side table on his way. He may be a super-athlete, but he was really no good in a wheelchair.