How to Outrun a Crocodile When Your Shoes Are Untied (14 page)

“A group of crows is called a murder.”

—Animal Wisdom

Sunday morning felt like I'd somehow stepped onto an alien planet.

This time last year, Liv and I spent the whole day at the mall, eating banana splits and buying funky hair clips with our allowance. Now, I was staring at the ceiling and gearing up for what was probably the biggest day of my life. And possibly the most embarrassing.

It's crazy how stuff can change so fast.

I felt like I was suffocating when I crawled out of bed. At first, I thought it was the hippo stench of the zoo wafting through my window. But the feeling continued while I was in the shower and even when I poured my bowl of Wheaties. When I looked out the window hoping for rain, there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. It was cool-breeze–hot-sun-beautiful out.

I clicked on my computer and checked my e-mail.

Nothing. I pushed the thought of Liv from my mind. She had no idea today was a big day for me; there was no reason to think she'd e-mail on her vacation. I felt a smidge stronger when I realized that Bella would be in the crowd. How funny that she'd gone from “that girl with short hair” to a real friend in such a short time.

I'd gone over my notes about a hundred times; the index cards were smudged at the edges with last night's shake and shampoo from my morning shower. I knew everything about the animals I would be talking about, including how to hold them safely and avoid any embarrassing escapes or lost digits. Mom, Dad, Bella, and even Daz had helped me run through it a bunch of times, so nothing would come as a surprise. Nothing helped the tight, twisting feeling inside me.

How to Conquer Public Speaking without Looking like a Moron

1.
Stand up straight. Nobody likes a sloucher, and it's easier for your voice to carry if you're standing tall. Plus, you'll appear better looking. You may not look like a model, but you'll avoid any Quasimodo comparisons.

2.
Breathe. Seriously, I know that I wasn't likely to forget this, but if I don't breathe the entire time, we're going to have bigger problems.

3.
Only look above people's heads. That way they will think you are looking at them, but they won't be able to freak you out by making waggly eyebrows or stink eyes at you. Fat chance—I'm pretty sure even the top of someone's head could freak me out at this point. Especially Zack's head. Or Ashley's. Maybe I should stare at Bella the whole time? I wish Kevin was coming, then I could focus on him and not feel like a loser. Oh, and despite popular belief,
don't
picture anybody in their underwear. It will only lead to blushing and/or puking.

4.
Speak clearly and slowly. If you need to slow down, count in your head.

5.
Watch your hands. You don't want to get bitten by a croc, do you? The last thing you need is to lose a finger.

I checked myself out for the last time in my bedroom mirror. Bye-bye, lovely anonymous brown uniform. Hello, bright green. The shirt made me look like a limesicle, but I ignored the urge to throw it in the lion pen and adjusted my name tag.

“Questions about our wildlife? Please ask me! I'm Ana.”

I held the safari hat my mom had given me in my hand. It felt like a grenade, ticking away the last seconds of my social life. I had tried it on earlier—I could
so
not rock that look.

“Hey, Ana, good luck today.”

I jumped. Daz had interrupted my panicking. He was standing in my doorway with his milk snake wrapped around his neck.
He
would probably find this stuff easy, wouldn't he? I gulped down a spasm of jealousy.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” I mumbled.

“I'm sure you'll kick butt today,” he continued, clearing his throat.

I snorted. “Thanks, here's hoping.”

“Mom wanted to know if you felt like going over it one more time. We have some time…” His snake had started to slither its way up to his ear, licking the air with its bright red tongue.

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Be right there,” I said. I took another deep breath and gripped my desk chair, wondering how fast my heart could hammer before simply collapsing from cardiac arrest or something. I was about to go over my lines one more time alone when there was a faint knock at the door.

“Um, Ana?”

A dark head of hair peeked in. Kevin. He looked nervous for some reason and eyed the floor like it was made of lava. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Hi, Kev,” I said, trying not to chew on my lip. “What's up?” My heart made a little leap that he had even come today at all, even if he couldn't stay for the big disaster.

He took a few steps inside my room, then grinned at the fraction notes that I had taped to the wall over my desk. The ones he'd written for me, of course. I still hadn't had time to take them down.

“I wanted to wish you good luck.” He ran a hand through his hair, and I noticed that he still had some equations or something written on his palm.

I shrugged, hating the buildup to this awful presentation. “Thanks,” I muttered. “I really want it to be over, that's all. I hate all this.” I waved my hands in front of me and picked at my limesicle shirt.

“I think you'll do great. Just ignore everybody, especially Ashley. She likes to mess with people, but if you don't let her get to you, you'll be perfect…” He trailed off. It seemed like there was more he wanted to say. I raised my eyebrows at him. Was he all right? He shook his head quickly, like he was figuring out a tough equation inside his head. Knowing Kev, he totally was.

“Ha, right. I think it would be a lot easier if I were Grandpa. Or even Daz. He's been totally chill about everything these past couple weeks,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Hey,” he said. “I don't see him wearing a green shirt today. Just be yourself.”

I fidgeted, smoothing down my shirt again.

“I got you something,” he said quickly. “A little present. For doing this. I mean, you can have it even if you don't do the presentation. Plus, you always let me use your locker for my robot stuff, so I was thinking…well, it's something for you. I thought it might make you happy…” He looked at my shoes.

I didn't know what to say. As my brother's best friend, Kevin had been in my room a hundred times (normally tagging along with Daz while he tormented me), but the way his hair fell over his eyes made me feel awkward. Like it was weird for him to see my socks on the floor and the color of my bedspread. I tried to kick my pile of scrapped art project attempts under my desk with my shoe.

My curiosity got to me. “What is it?” I smiled and willed the unfamiliar burning in my cheeks to stop.

He jerked his eyes up to me. “Right,” he said, reaching back outside the door and into the hall. He pulled back a small paper bag and half handed, half thrust it into my hands. It was light and flat, with the brown paper crumpled at the top like it had been opened and closed over and over again.

A grin took over my face as I unrolled the top. Something flat was inside. I couldn't hide my delight as I pulled it out: a leather journal, beautiful and brown, was embossed with my name. It looked a lot like Grandpa's old sketchbook, except with no stains or tattered corners.

He spoke before I could. “I see you writing and sketching a lot at school. In that crummy notebook.” He pointed at my desk, where a stack of my books had toppled onto my exam notes. Sure enough, my notebook was on top, sitting next to Grandpa's; I couldn't imagine getting through the past couple weeks without it to help me hide from the Sneerers. I was sort of floored that Kevin even noticed.

“Kev—that's so nice.” I put the bag down and ran my hand across the surface of the book. “Ana” was embossed in gold, written in an old style of calligraphy. The pages were a light butter yellow. It looked like the kind of book that anything would look epic in. Already I was thinking about what to write on the first page.

He grinned. “No lines either.” He grabbed the top of the journal and opened to a page. “I noticed you don't use them too much when we were making math notes.” He smiled gently.

“Hah! Excellent.” I bit my lip, embarrassed. “This is really great…” I tried to think of a way to thank him, but my words seemed garbled in my mouth. “Thanks so much,” was all that came out.

He seemed happy with this and rolled back on his heels. I looked down at the journal again, but it was only because I was too uneasy to look him in the eyes.

“So you have to go fix your mom's computer now?” I asked. My fingers traced the cover of the journal. I didn't want him to leave but knew that saying it would probably put him on the spot. Since when were there specks of yellow in his eyes?

He furrowed his brow and peered down at me. “Nah,” he said, giving me a small smile. “It can wait. I don't want to have to wait for the movie to come out to see how you did.”

I laughed, but the flutter in my stomach was going full tilt. The thought of him in the audience somehow made me feel safer. He waved a quick good-bye and headed back to Daz's room, where I could only assume the two of them were going to enjoy their future lack of movie appearances in leisurely joy.

I will never understand boys.

As I trudged down the stairs to the kitchen and my waiting parents, my face began to tingle, this time out of fear. I wanted nothing more than to escape into my room for the rest of the day to sketch in my new journal, but I wasn't that lucky.

In the kitchen, my parents looked so relaxed. Mom handed me a glass of water. Grandpa was already outside “working the crowd” (his words, not mine), so Sugar was here for moral support and sitting with my parents, filing her nails.

“Okay, so,” I announced, “you guys mind if I do the introduction once more? To make sure I've got it?” I took a deep breath. Already I could feel a loud rushing in my ears, like there was a whole ocean inside my head trying to crash out.

My mom smiled. “Of course, honey. We're all ears.” She clasped her hands together and set them in her lap. Dad looked up from his coffee.

“All ears!” Darwin cackled in his cage.

I tried to remember what the index cards said—stand up straight. Breathe. Something about reptiles. Then, as quickly as I could envision the cards in front of me, they disappeared. There were too many eyes on me. All the stupid rules about where to look and how to talk were gone. I couldn't even picture the animals I'd be working with. Monkeys? Koalas?

I lurched forward, leaning on the counter. I could feel it happening already.

The tiny seedling of bravery felt like it was withering away inside of me.

I was completely blank.

My parents and Sugar stared at me, probably wondering why my mouth was open and nothing was coming out of it. The room spun as Ashley's sneer and Zack's smirk popped into my head, tangled up with memories of that horrible day in kindergarten when I'd embarrassed myself so much it
hurt
. Suddenly I felt like crying. My hands, which were so still a moment earlier, began to tremble.

Then the weight from the past two weeks came crashing over me, nearly making my knees buckle. Liv not wanting to come home. Ashley.
Zack.
The poster of my butt. The look on Kevin's face after my television mishap. So many reasons to run and hide.

And now I was putting myself out there
again
. I must be seriously messed up. Psych ward, puffy walls, straitjacket messed up, like I see in the movies.

“I can't do this, you guys,” I broke down, stammering. “I—I completely forget everything.” Tears stung at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them out. The room was swimming in front of me as I grappled to stay vertical.

Mom leaped up from the table, giving Dad the eye to come and join her. They both wrapped their arms around me. Sugar frowned empathetically and touched her hand to her chest.

“Oh, darlin'…” she whispered.

I wanted to disappear I felt so stupid. Why couldn't I just be a regular kid, looking forward to summer with my best friend and stupid movies and a
non-zoo house
with non-famous relatives without this stupid lime-green shirt on? It felt like someone was crushing my heart with their fist.

“Honey. Of
course
you can do this! You're getting cold feet! It's natural. Normal.” Mom stroked my hair. It made me feel about three years old, but I was too strung out to pull away.

“Normal!” I shrieked. “Mom, I'm
anything
but normal!”

My dad piped in, looking hurt. “Hey, what's that supposed to mean?” he said, backing away to let my mom handle the hugging portion of the intervention.

I glared at them. I didn't want to make things worse, but I couldn't help it. I wanted to lash out.