Cloudy with a Chance of Boys (19 page)

“Hey,” I said softly. I was so nervous it came out like a mouse squeak.

He looked up, and for the first time, I noticed his deep gray eyes, not his glasses.

“Oh. Hey.” He pulled out one ear bud. Then he looked down again, tapping the end of his pencil on his notebook. “Did you know that out of four hundred and fifty-six Bob Dylan songs, the word ‘cloud’ shows up a total of twenty-three times? ‘Wind’ shows up in fifty-five of them. ‘Rain’ is in forty of his songs, and ‘sky’ appears a whopping thirty-six times.”

“I did not know that,” I said.

“Hurricane, lightning, thunder, and flood are in there a lot too. But I haven’t counted those yet.”

He ran out of stuff to say. I just stood there, afraid to speak in case my voice came out all shaky again.

“It’s very scientific,” he went on, trying to fill the awkward pause. “I’m making a graph. You know, for my Earth Science report. But I already told you that, didn’t I?”

Finally, I went over and slid my back down the wall next to him, chin on my knees. “So, I had to come find you. I was worried that maybe you had tofu cookie poisoning or something.”

Wire Rims let out a laugh. “Nothing like that.”

“So, you’re just going to hide out here, huh? Backstage? Until they come to remodel the auditorium and somebody finds you back here all cobwebby and covered in dust bunnies and your face looks all bony like that skeleton from
Psycho
. . .” I sucked in my cheeks to show him how he’d look as a psycho skeleton from not eating for, like, a year.

“I have three peanut butter crackers.” He held up a half-eaten package of bright orange crackers. “Sorry, I ate the Fruit Roll-Up.”

“Forget starvation. The artificial coloring or the salmonella will kill you first.”

“You’re seriously weird, you know that?”

“I know. You know what else I am? Starving. I’m missing lunch right now.” I was hoping he’d want to go to lunch, and everything could go back to being normal.

Instead, he offered me a cracker. “Death cracker?”

I shook my head. “Thanks anyway.” For the next few minutes, the only sound was Wire Rims munching on crackers. I couldn’t tell if he was still mad.

“So, how long were you planning on hiding out back here?” I asked.

“At least the rest of the day. Maybe the rest of the week. Depends on Bill and Harry.”

“Who are Bill and Harry?”

“Work guys. They haven’t busted me yet.”

I zipped and unzipped the pocket of my backpack. Nervous habit. “You can’t just keep cutting Earth Science, you know — you’ll end up right smack back in detention.”

“Detention’s all right. Detention is for cheese weasels. And I’m, like, the world’s biggest cheese weasel.”

“You’re not a cheese weasel. I freaked, okay? It’s me, not you. Don’t be mad. I’m sorry. I’m so embarrassed.” I put my head down on my knees. I wasn’t sure what else to say. All I could do was be myself.
To thine own self be true.

I stared a hole in the floor in front of me. I couldn’t look at him. “But, I guess, I mean, I like you, Owen.” My face turned twenty shades of red. “Can’t we just be friends? Without any weirdness?”

He looked across at me and grinned.

“What?” I couldn’t help smiling. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Ya-huh. You’re grinning like the Grinch when he stole Christmas.”

“Is that a simile or a metaphor?” he teased.

“I don’t know. I don’t care! Just tell me what I did.” I picked up his notebook and swatted him with it. “C’mon. Tell me what’s so funny.”

“Nothing, it’s just, um, you called me Owen.”

MUSTACHE AND ALL

Starring Alex

Me:
(Backstage, dressed as Tybalt.)

Scott:
(Dressed as Romeo; paces and mouths Shakespeare; rapidly twirls and untwirls cord from his shirt.)

Me:
Hey, you. How do I look?

Scott:
Like I want to kill you!

Me:
Ha, ha. Funny. So, dress rehearsal? Can you believe it?

Scott:
Oh, I can believe it. I’ve been dreading this night for a long time.

Me:
What?
(Touches him on arm.)
Stop pacing and look at me for one second. I’ve never seen you this nervous. What’s wrong?

Scott:
Forget it. It’s nothing. It’s just . . . hard to talk about.

Me:
Hey, it’s me. We’ve been through dress rehearsals tons of times. Are you worried about your lines? Afraid you’ll screw up the sword fighting? I know you’re going to do great. We’ve practiced it, like, a hundred times.

Scott:
I wish. Nope. It’s not the sword fighting.
That
I have down.

Me:
What, then? If you tell me, maybe I can help.

Scott:
Um, no, you’re, like, the last person who can help.

Me:
(Frustrated.)
Fine.

Scott:
Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just . . . well . . . Jayden.

Me:
Oh, no. What about Jayden?

Scott:
(Shakes head.)
This is so embarrassing!

Me:
What?

Scott:
I have to kiss her!

Me:
(Pauses, takes deep breath.)
So? You guys have practiced this, right?

Scott:
No!
That’s just it! Every time we rehearsed the scene, something happened, you know, to interrupt us. Like, she got fogged! And Mr. Cannon never got back to it.

Me:
But tonight’s the real thing. You have to go through the whole play just like it’ll be on opening night.

Scott:
So, I was wondering . . . do you think you could maybe, like, be standing by with the fog machine again?

Me:
Um, I think once was enough on the fogging thing.

Scott:
Too bad. I gotta think of something!

Me:
Scott. You’re an actor. You’re Romeo. Romeo has to kiss Juliet. Or there wouldn’t be a play. The show must go on, and all that junk.
(Wait!
What am I saying?)

Scott:
Do you think Romeo could kiss her on the hand?

Me:
Sorry. No. C’mon, she’s not
that
bad.

Scott:
Oh, yeah? If you don’t mind swapping spit with a Flutternutter.

Me:
Fluffer
nutter
.
Marshmallow stuff? Like you put on a sandwich when you’re a kid? Never mind.
(Holds out pretend sword.)
En garde!

Scott:
(Laughs.)
C’mon, be serious? You gotta help me.

Me:
How?

Scott:
Like, give me some stage directions or some ideas on how to get through this.

Me:
I’m not going to
help
you kiss Jayden Pffeffer!

Scott:
You mean
Juliet.

Me:
Fine.

Scott:
Okay, so what should I do? If I want it to look real and everything, I mean.

Me:
Okay, first, don’t think about Jayden.
(Think about me!)

Scott:
Done.

Me:
Just think about Juliet, and how Romeo would feel, and try to be in the moment, ya know?

Scott:
Okay . . .

Me:
Then, um, well, let’s see. If it was me, and I was hoping for the perfect kiss, you know? I’d say, pretend kind of like you’re slow dancing . . .

Scott:
Okay, you lost me there. You know I don’t dance.

Me:
Yes, you do. I’ve seen you.
(Takes left arm and lifts it.)
Just put your left hand on her shoulder, like this, and then, maybe touch the back of her hair with your other hand.
(Puts hand to back of head.)
Then pull her close to you . . .

Scott:
Like this?
(Pulls me close, closes eyes, and . . . we kiss!)

Me:
(Whispers.)
Perfect.
(Takes in breath. Opens eyes.)
Minus the mustache, of course.
(Straightens mustache.)

Scott:
(Cracks up laughing.)

Me:
Was it . . . awful? The mustache, I mean.

Scott:
Kind of like kissing Santa Claus.

Me:
(Playfully punches him in the arm.)
Thanks a lot, mister! Some Romeo. Sure, kiss me now, but kill me later.

Scott:
No, seriously, thanks. It’s good practice.
(Lowers voice.)
In case I’m ever in a play where I have to give mouth-to-mouth to a yeti.

Me:
(Cracks up.)
Thanks a lot. Now, go out there and knock ’em dead. But first, one more little piece of advice.

Scott:
Yeah, great. What is it?

Me:
Whatever you do, when you’re about to kiss Jayden . . .

Scott:
Yeah?

Me:
Just picture a yeti!

Scott:
(Cracks up.)
A green-eyed yeti, you mean.

Me:
Now go. Good luck! I mean, break a leg.
(Pushes Romeo through curtain onto stage. House lights dim.)

Me:
(Steps into the wings backstage. Hands go to my lips — not to straighten my mustache this time. Sound disappears. Thinks. Remembers. To self: For just a moment, one perfect moment, I got to be Juliet.)