How to Outrun a Crocodile When Your Shoes Are Untied (12 page)

“A large kangaroo can jump more than thirty feet with each jump.”

—Animal Wisdom

I used to get really nervous before getting a school picture taken. I'd take my hair out of its ponytail and try to style it in new ways, and I'd worry about what color shirt I should be wearing in order to bring the least amount of attention to any zits, blemishes, animal residue, or bad hair from my attempts at looking good. That was for one picture, that only my family would see, that would be displayed on the mantel of our fireplace for all eternity.

But this? This was so much worse.

Not only did I have to endure my grandpa's fancy-pants interview for the local news, but I was told it will be
syndicated
. Which means broadcast all over the country into the homes of thousands—no,
millions
of people dying to make fun of me.

What a perfect way to celebrate school being finished, right? Big-time wrong. What happened to the old days when Liv and I could celebrate with some girly magazines and chocolate lip gloss making sessions?

While Daz and I had taken Sugar on a tour of the lion exhibit, the whole news crew actually came into our home, which, let me tell you, was not what Mom had in mind. She ran around cleaning and dusting and wiping anything with a surface for hours before they showed up, and then when they did show up, they shoved everything we owned to the side of the living room and put our couch in the middle, along with three chairs crushed in around it. A huge spotlight beamed down on the whole scene, and someone had put a zebra print throw on the back of the couch. They wanted us to look like one big jungle-weirdo family.

“Okay, sweetie…hold still for one more second.” A makeup girl with dark eyeliner dabbed my chin with concealer for the tenth time. Apparently my zit was giving her team a run for its money. She squinted once more at me and finally nodded.

“I bet you're excited for your big debut!” She waggled her perm, and I tried to focus on not throwing up on national television. I had only gotten a glimpse of myself in the mirror before they shuttled me to the makeshift set, but what I had seen was not reassuring.

I guess they wanted to make my hair bouncier too because I had to sit inside a loud hair dryer for forty minutes with curlers and
then
they sprayed the you-know-what out of it with about ten kinds of hairspray. I should be in a musical on Broadway with this getup. For once, why couldn't I look like Sugar, with her “oops-is-my-hair-perfect?” charm?

Daz, however, had never looked more comfortable. He sprawled one arm on the back of the couch. “Hey—can I get another one of these, please?” He held up a cucumber sandwich and finger gunned a woman at a small craft services table they had set up outside our kitchen. She raised her eyebrows at him but didn't move.

I shoved him with an elbow. “Stop being such a dolt. It's a news segment. You're not Johnny Depp.”

He scoffed, swiping his hair back again. “He wishes. Hey, who's your friend?” He grinned and pointed at my concealed chin pimple.

“Shut up!” I smacked him on the back of the head.

I sat awkwardly in the chair as I tried not to touch my face or ruin my makeup. Grabbing my notebook, I flipped to the page where Sugar had given me some tips for going on television. I guess they must teach this stuff in Hollywood because she didn't seem nervous at all. With any luck, I could get through this with my dignity in one piece. Or at least, without it seriously maimed.

Sugar's Top TV Tricks to Looking Beautiful and Not At All Insane:

1.
Never look the camera head-on. If you do, people could notice that your eyes are lopsided. Sugar
assured
me that everyone has lopsided eyes, and ever since she mentioned it, I can't help but stare at myself in the mirror trying to figure out which one of my eyes has decided to slip off into the no-man's-land of my face. I think it's my left one. Stupid left eye. Or maybe it's my right eye that's too high?

2.
Don't fidget with your hands. You will look crazy. Sugar told me about one time when she fidgeted so much during a grape juice commercial audition that she spilled it all over her white dress. I'm pretty sure if there was grape juice within fifty miles of me right now, I'd probably find it and spill it all over me. Because I'm lucky like that.

3.
Pretend you're really,
really
interested in what your interviewer is saying. This one is super hard because sometimes interviewers are snooze-fest boring.

4.
When you're not talking, make sure you keep your mouth
closed
. Sugar said that if you don't, you will look like a baked trout.

Please God, don't let me look like a baked trout.

“Okay, everybody, can we get in place please? Where did the bird go?” The producer yelled at his crew. “We need the parrot in the shot!” He waved for all of us to crowd on and around the couch. Mom, Grandpa, and Sugar had the center cushions, while Dad, Daz, and I had the chairs to the left and right. An assistant raced across the room with Darwin's cage and placed it behind the couch, so the cameras got a clear view of him. Even my parrot looked less nervous than I was to go on television. In fact, he looked downright thrilled at all the attention, clicking his beak with glee and preening under the bright lights.

My face was already beginning to sweat from the heavy spotlight on us, but it got much worse as I adjusted myself toward the camera; a huge knot was growing in my stomach. I'd take a thousand posters of my butt all over school if it meant I didn't have to do this.

Can someone's lungs spontaneously stop working? Mine felt like they had shriveled up inside my chest. I sucked in another breath; it was like breathing Jell-O through a straw.

The cameraman positioned himself behind the camera, and all of the makeup artists scattered like roaches to the outside of the room. The knot in my stomach was twisting and turning like an angry python, and the palms of my hands were sore from my nails constantly digging into them.

“Now, this is going to be great. We've already gone over questions.” The producer nodded to Grandpa. “Shep, we're covering your book release, tour, your daughter, your next movie, and your grandkids—we good?” He flicked over a sheet on his clipboard and tapped it with his pen.

“We're good,” Grandpa said, wrapping his arm around the back of my mom's shoulders. He looked so relaxed. In fact, everybody looked so relaxed. What was wrong with my family that national television didn't faze them? I clenched my fists harder, hoping that my face wasn't melting off under the lights and that my hair wouldn't randomly catch a spark from all the hairspray.

“And, Jane—can I call you Jane? And, Henry? We're covering some of your childhood and your own hopes for the zoo, m'kay?” More tapping on his clipboard.

Mom nodded, straightening herself out and testing out a smile for the camera. With the professional makeup job, she looked almost as pretty as Sugar (only with a lot less skin showing, obviously). Even Dad's mustache was trimmed.

“And, kids.” He looked at both of us in turn. He had to check his clipboard for our names. “Daz? Ana. Just act natural. No big deal. You'll be fabulous. Smile, keep your chins up, and try not to look at the camera. Only Josie or each other, okay?”

Josie was the redhead news anchor that would be interviewing us. I'd seen her before on TV; she was always shoving her chest out like she was trying to purposely pop one of the ivory buttons on her blouse. The thing they don't tell you about these people is that “television makeup” is actually quite scary up close. The blush of her cheeks looked almost neon.

She was pulling bits of hair away from her face and fluffing it around her forehead in the mirror when she heard her name. “Ready to go?” she chirped.

The producer nodded, and she skittered over to her chair facing us. She turned to make sure that her profile was perfect for the camera and gave us all one last smile. “Here we go!” she said.

Keep
it
together, Ana.
I swallowed down the bitter taste that was making its way to my throat and forced my face into what I hoped was a casual smile. Do casual smiles twitch? How should I hold my head? Should I stick my chin out like Josie? Or tuck it close to my chest like Sugar? The cameraman began counting, “In five, four, three.” He motioned with two fingers, then one, then pointed to Josie, who jumped in right away with typical Josie flare.

“Welcome back, everyone. Today I am so,
so
excited, because I get to meet one of my all-time favorite people.” She cooed at the camera, emphasizing her point with her hands. On the couch and chairs, we all sucked in a breath at the same time, like we were about to dive into the deep end of a pool all at once.

“We've got Shep Foster here,” she said, fanning herself with her index cards. “As well as his beautiful family and current girlfriend.”

Sugar bristled at the word
current
, but Grandpa squeezed her shoulder. I could feel Josie's eyes on me, and I was already dreading anything and everything she could ask me directly. Would I actually have to speak? What if the panic kept coming? This was going to be everywhere, and already I could feel the prickle of sweat under my armpits. I should have worn another shirt. Can the camera tell that I'm sweating so bad? Is my face shiny? Will Zack be able to tell? How can Daz be sitting there so calmly?

Shoot!

I had just looked right at the camera. Lopsided eye! Had I been doing that the whole time? Why won't my eye stop twitching? I'm going to look like an awkward serial killer sitting here twitching and sweating with a record-breaking zit.

Josie went on, “Of course, Shep needs no introduction. You've seen him everywhere—he's starred in countless documentaries, reality television shows, and most recently you've seen him on an international book tour, promoting his third book,
Wild
Thing
…”

My mouth was completely parched. This was it. I was on television. Any hope I had of crawling under a rug of invisibility until I finished high school was gone faster than a bag of crickets in Daz's room.

If people could make my butt famous at school, imagine what they could do with this.

I started to count everything that I could see without turning my head. I had to focus on calm things before I had a heart attack. Things that do not throw up or accidentally swear on television or spontaneously bawl.

8: the number of sandwiches left over on the craft services table

4: microphones hanging over, around, and beside me

11: the number of times Josie has reached over to touch my grandpa's knee

11: times Sugar has crossed and recrossed her legs

3: number of spontaneous lion roars heard through the window, causing the producer to look like he was going to pee himself

0: things I've eaten in an attempt to keep my stomach empty, hopefully to delay embarrassing bathroom issues, some but not all of which include barfing

14: times Dad has touched his mustache

0: the number of times I've blinked in the last three minutes. I should probably blink now.

“That's so exciting, Shep! And how wonderful for your granddaughter to be continuing this sort of work with such passion—and at such a young age!” Josie trilled.

5: number of…Wait.

What?!

I didn't realize my mouth had been open until I snapped it shut. What did the redhead just say? I jerked my head to Daz, who was watching at me like he was expecting fireworks to shoot out of my ears. His eyes were wide and a shocked but amused grin was on his face. He let out a breath with a slow whistle and started picking at his fingernails.

Grandpa was still in the middle of talking animatedly, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, she's a wonderful presenter. I know she'll do a great job tomorrow, so you wait 'til you see her in action! She takes after my daughter, you see. Janie's always been a natural with a crowd.”

I've never been hit with a ton of bricks, but when his next words stampeded out of his mouth like a rogue elephant, I knew exactly what it must feel like.

“I've already spoken to my crew, and we're filming her presentation for my movie.” He looked at me admiringly.

I couldn't believe it. I'm not just saying that either. I really couldn't believe that he'd said that. I must have misheard him. Because there is no way my grandpa—no—no way my
mother
would agree to putting her terrified daughter in front of another camera for the single most petrifying event of her entire life.

Right?

Holding my breath, I slowly turned to look at her. She avoided my eyes, but I could tell the news was a surprise to her as well. She straightened herself up again and had on the poker face she wore whenever Dad disagreed with her. All business. Meanwhile, my face was growing hotter by the second.

“And what about you, Ana?” Josie tilted her head sideways at me with interest. “It must be exciting getting to follow in your grandfather's footsteps! Featured in a big movie! You must be delighted?” She held the microphone to my face.

My mind went blanker than Rayna's during an English test.

To this day, I have no idea why I said what I said. Maybe because it was the first word that popped into my head. Maybe I was so worried that my life started to flash before my eyes, and his yellow polo shirt was still stuck in my mind like some sort of fluorescent beacon of hotness. Maybe I should just be thrown in the monkey pen outside and live off bananas for the rest of my life, because when I leaned forward toward the microphone, terrified, I uttered the only thing I could.