The Pages Between Us (8 page)

But that's not why I'm writing. You want to hear all about Live-Action Role-Playing—LARP Club. You might be disappointed that today's adventure did not include people dressed up like mutant lizards with weapons. That's
combat
LARP, and this group voted last month that they would focus the semester on
theater-style
LARP. Yes, there are different kinds of LARP. And I didn't even know LARP existed until we started this club thing. Also, LARP is the worst word to say over and over again. Try it! LARP, LARP, LARP, LARP . . .

Sorry, now you can't stop saying it, can you?

So there I was, all ready to smoosh Orcs with a foam
sword, and instead I was given the attached sheet for my “character.” And we did this whole murder mystery where we were at some heiress's wedding on a remote island. I was assigned the Cat Lady, who dies in the first five minutes, because I'm new.

There wasn't a script. We just got our character info and the Game Master (aka Mr. Gupta) presented scenarios and we went from there. But here's how the story started. To give you an idea. And as you can see, it took me a while to understand how the staying-in-character part works.

GAME MASTER: You are exclusive guests at the Vanderbeens' secret wedding. For reasons unknown, the pilot flew away after the ceremony. You don't know if or when he will return. Do you still hold the wedding reception, or call for help? Begin.

BRIDE (FELICITY) (
wails
): Why is he ruining my wedding day! This is my special day! MINE!

CAT LADY (
Me. I know, I finally do something outside of the animal shelter and it still involves felines!
): And you also
brought special people here too, special people who seem like they aren't connected, but they mysteriously are. Sorry, Mr. Gupta, was that too much foreshadowing?

GAME MASTER: Don't break character, Cat Lady. And call me Game Master.

CAT LADY: Sorry. Uh . . . oh, I miss my cats. I hope I see them again!

BRIDE (
stepping in front of me, like we're on an actual stage and she's trying to block me
): Oh, woe is me! I am the star and my dreams are shattered.

The rest of the LARPers sat there for a little bit, seeing who was going to talk next. I was about to tell the bride about the time my cats got fake married, or this other time when a neighbor's vengeful cat tried to murder her mother-in-law . . . but then the groom spoke.

GROOM: I'm sorry. You're pretty. Let's go eat cake.

Then they pretended like they were eating cake. They didn't even really chew that much.

DOCTOR DIPPY
(played by another guy I don't know. This club was filled with guys I don't know. Isn't it funny how many people we don't know at our school, people who may make GREAT party guests?)
: I hope we aren't here for too long. I have surgery tomorrow. I'm putting a monkey brain in a baby.

MILES FLEMING, FAMOUS DIRECTOR: And my new movie starts production this week! Angelina has a very small window to film because she is having a baby.

ME: I really, really miss my cats. . . . Hey, what if Doctor Dippy took out the monkey brain and put it in the groom? That would be kind of funny, right? Hey, groom. Pretend like you're a monkey, then admit you're also the son of a billionaire oil tycoon who—

GAME MASTER: Piper . . . Cat Lady. You need to let the role-players create their own characters. You focus on you.

It went longer, of course. And guess what? I loved it! Who'd have thought? The actual role-playing wasn't the fun part. I liked writing the script more. And directing is so me. It made me incredibly excited to get the cast set for my own birthday! If I was Game Master, things would have been bananas.

I want to host my own LARP sometime and use some of my subplots from playing Barbies with Andrea . . . I mean,
babysitting
Andrea. I should start adding brain surgery into my bag of ideas. Also monkeys.

The only UN-fun part was when the grouchy Game Master said Cat Lady had been eaten by a polar bear. Where'd the polar bear suddenly come from? And how did a polar bear get on a tropical island anyway? So many plot holes.

The problem with casting birthday party guests at LARP is that we weren't allowed to talk to anyone out of character. But I did get a chance to talk to the bride, Felicity, for a little bit after. And I think you'll agree the convo equals total success. . . .

ME: Wow, you're really good at crying on cue.

FELICITY: Thanks! I stare in my mirror for hours and think of sad things and it helps.

ME: Seriously? That's so cool.

FELICITY: I totally liked your coma idea. If LARPing doesn't work out, you should think about being a director.

ME: Do you ever do any acting outside of LARP?

FELICITY: Tons. Drama Club is amazing too. You should come!

ME: What about . . . a life-situation kind of LARP? Like if I had a birthday party, and wanted you to pretend to be someone else the whole time.

FELICITY (
tilts her head
): Like . . . a birthday clown?

ME: Or a tragic heroine who is down on her luck but about to write an amazing
New York Times
best-selling novel. And also has an evil twin?

FELICITY: Sure. I guess. There are no small parts, just small actors.

SO FELICITY IS IN!

Ugh, I'm such a McChatterson! So anyway, LARPing was awesome. And if Felicity doesn't end up making the cut, maybe she's someone we could be friends with—if we ever want another friend.

But I'm okay if that “if” never happens.

Tomorrow! French Club! Which means . . .
MACARONS
!! (Or croissants. Or even baguettes. I will be happy with any pastry.)

Piper

Grateful for: Da Bruise (not the actual bruise, just the name I came up for it), retelling events to you like it's a movie,
macarons
, Flynn being potty-trained, the way the name Felicity feels when you say it. Try it. Fill-is-it-eee.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Piper gets her LARP on!

Piper,

Don't worry about my parents reading our emails. I know they did this whole family email account because they took a class on Protecting Your Child in a Modern World, but they're both so busy that they never log in.

I love that you pretended to be a Cat Lady . . . all to cast your birthday party attenders. YOU'RE MY HERO. I'm so impressed you stayed in there and totally committed to that role.

I'm not going to make it to another club tomorrow because I'm going to stay out of school one more day. No, my bruise and toe sprain aren't THAT much of a medical emergency, but Dad wants to keep an eye on them.

Not seeing you again at school is downright depressing, but get this! Dad and I are going to spend the entire day together having a movie marathon and playing chess
games where he will—without a doubt—beat me. I've never won a game against him.

I'll give you a report on how it goes tomorrow by email since you are still the Keeper of the Notebook.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Olivia's Day Off

As predicted, my dad beat me every chess game.

I get the feeling he wishes I would win, but I just get so overwhelmed by the bishop that I can't seem to figure out how to get myself out of a jam.

“It's a metaphor for life,” Dad said after I lost for the third time. “You use your primitive instinct to methodically build a position, then you analyze your opponent and move in for the kill.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “You mean
the win
. Speaking of wins . . .” She was in the middle of finishing the buttercream decoration on her football-shaped Rice Krispies Treats.

The “big game” is this Saturday and the house is already covered in University of Georgia decorations: red-and-black streamers, cups, plates, balloons, and several banners that say, “HOW 'BOUT THEM DAWGS!” Jason used to help her decorate because he loves any football game.

But she didn't need much help this time because it was only the Clemson game. When they play Florida, she goes full-throttle with the party favors and she practically shudders with excitement as she spins around the house getting ready.

Mom's enthusiasm for Georgia football is equal to her enthusiasm for asking prying questions about my life. Her pep about life in general is sort of exhausting sometimes. I
want
to tell her about my life . . . I just wish it would happen in some cool, dramatic moment, like in the movies. Eye contact . . . knowing glances . . . a hand squeeze . . . and then me spilling my heart. You know, movie material. It's not as satisfying to answer a series of questions when she asks them with the same amount of excitement that she uses when questioning the waiter about ingredients in the sweet potato casserole. (She's very particular about casseroles.)

Today Mom wore her “regular” bulldog earrings, but on Florida game day she wears her special silver bulldogs. She had them made—special order—by our local jeweler. “Because our rivalry with those Gators is so huge, it requires
sterling
silver,” Mom always says. (Note to aliens—I know this doesn't make a lot of sense. Just go with it. That's my strategy.)

I tasted Mom's football Rice Krispies Treat. “Awwfum!” I said, giving her a thumbs-up. Tasting her party food is really the only interaction I have with her on game days, since I know exactly zero-point-zero about football. Dad doesn't know anything about it either. Which I totally love about him.

We sat down to dinner and Mom was still wearing her apron with the big
G
on it. Dad made an attempt to get this whole football fascination of hers. “You know, the Romans used to arm gladiators for the entertainment of the audience. So I can understand the appeal.”

“Football isn't just entertainment.” She passed a casserole around and winked at me. “It's an institution.”

I had no idea what she meant, and sometimes it feels like none of us understand each other. It's like we're orbiting each other, but we're all on different planets.

So there we sat.

Dad with his newspaper.

Mom with her bulldog earrings.

And me with a sprained toe I got from trying to practice conversation, something I was failing at with my OWN FAMILY.

Jason seemed to be the glue that pulled us all together. Now that he's not home, my parents talk mostly about him, and I don't talk much at all. Mom's latest concern is his eating habits at college. Is he only eating Top Ramen? Is he getting enough vitamin C? They discuss this
every night.
Like I said, the three of us are missing our glue.

But man, that casserole was good . . . loads of fried onions. Maybe casserole can be our new glue?

What do you guys talk about at dinner? I mean, when you
all are around to sit down and eat. I still think you have the numbers in your favor when it comes to aloneness. The twins are by your side constantly, and they are so cute. And they need you. Isn't it great that your family NEEDS you?

Anyway, I hope when you went to French Club today it ended up having lots of castable members—and people for me to practice the art of conversation with.

I'm putting together a plan for how to approach Jackson when I see him at LEGO Club. I call it “My Plan of Attack.” Too aggressive?

My optional title is the 2-3-73 Plan.

I figure if I say TWO intriguing things . . .

Followed by THREE flirty gestures . . .

The odds of him realizing that I actually LIKE HIM will run at about seventy-three percent.

I don't have any actual math to back that up—it's just more of a hunch. Anyway, those are my working titles. I will create
some flowcharts to plan this out in greater detail. Planning ahead is one of my few strengths.

See you soon (bruiseless and with a pinkie toe that works),

Olivia

Grateful for:

1. The visual of that guy in LARP actually saying the words “I'm putting a monkey brain in a baby”

2. The fact that medicine has advanced so much that putting a monkey brain in a baby is probably possible (though not all that practical for the baby)

3. That my bruise is still visible so I have a conversation starter if needed

4. YouTube videos that teach you how to become a better chess player

5. That casserole Mom made

We need a rule. No missing school two days in a row. You think one class together isn't a big deal, but that one class is the best part of the day. And after the second day of not having someone to share details with, not having someone to meet with during locker breaks, you start to feel a little sad faced. ☹

And by you, I mean me. Because YOU, Olivia, were home today and
I
was in class.

Anyway, I was ☹. You are my favorite person, and I wanted to see you. But the good news is, it's Friday and hopefully you are recovered enough this weekend that we can get together. We absolutely MUST strategize, since LEGO Club is on Monday. I'm actually a little nervous for you. Not that you should be nervous.

I mentioned LARP to my parents and my dad said, “Oh, that's perfect for you, Pipe.”

And I was, like, “Um . . . thank you? Are you being serious?”

Mom nodded. “Think of the live nativity our family puts
on every Christmas. You've been writing and directing that since you were three!”

Which is true. Remember the anxiety I had about the twins' birth and not being sure who should be baby Jesus?

Then Dad said, “And look at all those videos with your brothers that you put online. Maybe you can film your LARP Club and stick it up there too. Everyone loves watching the stuff you come up with.”

I would be embarrassed to put my name on the patchy plot-line our group came up with last week, but it's not a bad idea.

Also, they didn't say LARPing was dorky or anything, and listened and laughed when I explained that between volunteering at the shelter and my LARP character, I may develop a cat allergy.

I like my dad's laugh. And my mom's attention.

There, I said it.

But back to today. Fourth period. Super bizarre events occurred. In math class, Joel Lamier stopped at my desk during group time and said, “Hey, do you need your pencil sharpened?”

“I'm using a mechanical pencil.”

“If you ever do, I'm a really good sharpener. I get the point super pointy.”

“Thanks, but I'm . . . pointy enough.”

And then Joel looked nervous talking to me. Actually nervous. I wondered if he had to go to the bathroom and had already used up his two free passes this year because he just kept standing there. “So . . . your brother is Luke Jorgensen, right?”

I wanted to say, “Yeah, that's why we have the same last name.” But I controlled myself. Joel's pencils might be sharp, but he isn't. It didn't seem fair to throw him sarcasm. Maybe he can play Cornelious McDougerson, a very rich but rather daft gentleman who never quite understands a joke. Or he could wear a cardigan and fluff his hair and be a rugby player who got hit in the head one too many times.

“Cool,” Joel said. “I just joined his volleyball club, High Impact? He's really good. Like hits the ball straight down every time.”

“Yeah, I guess.” It is so weird having people know you because of your siblings. You probably don't get it because Jason is so much older. But here I have pretty Talin and athlete Luke, and who am I? Oh, yeah. I have a pretend cat allergy.

“No, he's amazing.”

“He played varsity as a freshman, and he said that's a big deal,” I said. “Although he always thinks he's a big deal.”

Joel laughed. I was being serious, not funny. Maybe I will put him in our party audience and he can do all that fake
laughter they have on sitcoms. “Hey, Ryan. Come over here. This is Luke Jorgensen's sister.”

Then Ryan came over, and they started asking me all these questions about Luke. And then Brittan Tanner came over because she's “going out” with Ryan.

“Are they boring you with sports?” she asked.

“No . . . just asking about my brother.”

“Oh, I hate talking about my brother.”

“Me, too,” I mumbled. Although I love talking about the twins. And this was the first time that being related to Luke seemed like a good thing.

Then she laughed. It was like a regular comedy club. Mrs. Dudley had slipped out to the bathroom, otherwise we wouldn't have had that kind of freedom to yak it up.

“I like your scarf,” Brittan said.

“Thanks. I knitted it.”

“Shut up! You can knit? That is so cool.”

And then I smiled. I can't remember the last time I had that much attention. It was almost overwhelming. Good overwhelming, like we were on the same page, not Bethany-Livingston-exclamation-point overwhelming.

“So do you think Luke would ever come play with us?” Joel asked. “We have sand courts in the neighborhood.”

“I could ask him.”

Then Mrs. Dudley walked in and told everyone to quiet down and go back to their seats. Ryan scribbled his number on a scrap of paper. “Text me if he's down. Thanks, Piper. That's cool of you.”

Olivia, I have never talked to Ryan or Brittan. Joel is nice to me, but Joel is nice to everyone. The conversation was so weird, just one person after another joining in, and they all had nice things to say. And it felt . . . normal. Unusual, but normal at the same time. Like I really could invite them to my birthday party and I actually think they would come and be excited. And even if they didn't want to play certain characters and were just, like, regular people that . . . might be cool. Although I might need to force Luke to be there too. I'm not sure how this works.

Then, after school, I was hanging in the hallway, waiting for French Club to start. I could smell food in the room . . . bread, so I was totally right about the baguettes thing. Related: do they have an Italian Club at our school? Because:

I was just standing there when I saw blogger Bethany. I almost ran in before she saw me, but then she called my name.

“Hey, Piper!”

Too late. I turned around slowly.

“Hey! Tessa told me that you hooked her up with Danny. He's so cute.”

“I guess.”

“I would never even have the guts to talk to a boy.”

“Uh . . . sure.” I just kind of stood there, waiting for her to get to the point. In my experience, that's how a conversation goes. You do small talk for a second, then get to a topic—either asking something or sharing something. But Bethany didn't really do that.

“Are you going to Drama Club?” she asked.

“No, French Club.”

“Oh, you should totally join Drama Club, P!” She actually shortened my name to one letter. “We have so much fun in there, and you'd be so good at it.”

“How do you know?” I asked before I could stop myself. But seriously, how does she know what I'm good at?

“Because you're so good at speaking up in church class. I get so scared when the teacher asks questions, and you just pipe right in with the right answer all the time. Hey, get it?
Pipe?
”

I don't think she was making fun of me, but I couldn't tell for sure. “That's funny.”

She laughed. “Anyway, come sometime. I'll see you at Souper Saturday next week, right? My mom is making my favorite tortilla soup.”

“Yeah, I'm bringing my friend, Olivia.”

“Perfect! 'K, bye.”

I don't even know what happened. It's like I was wearing some people-attracting perfume. Which was in an episode of
Love and Deception.
Or have you ever heard the expression “jumped the shark”? (Sorry to bring up sharks.) It's when a show just kind of spins out of control. That's what today felt like.

I'm trying to figure out the character motives. Those boys talked to me because they worship my brother. And Brittan worships Ryan. And Bethany . . . I'm still not sure if I'm her church project. But . . . it was kind of nice. I really think Bethany would come to my party too. I'm almost halfway to filling up the guest list, and that's with taking off pretend ones like Trigger and the CVS cashier.

And, I don't know. Talking to people? About, like . . . random things. I don't totally hate it.

But don't tell anyone I said that.

I went to French Club after. I'll tell you all about it this
weekend. I have extra math homework to do because I didn't get my problems done in class.

And my mom said you can come over for another late-over. (I keep telling her she can just call it “Olivia coming over.” She doesn't have to keep calling it a late-over just because you never stayed all night when we attempted “sleepovers” at our house.) We can discuss what you'll wear at LEGO Club on Monday. Mom will even get us treats as long as we watch the twins while she runs to the grocery store. So text me a list of some fancy food you like, unless you want Goldfish crackers and applesauce. And don't even think we're going to order spinach pesto pizza again. Pepperoni. It's the American thing to do.

Night!

Piper

Grateful: that my brother finally did something useful for me (even if he doesn't know it), baguettes (they were warm!), pencil sharpeners, my mom really explaining my project in English so I can understand (even though she's busy and the birthday party is already the nicest thing any parent has ever done EVER), and HAVING YOU BACK ON MONDAY OR ELSE