How to Outrun a Crocodile When Your Shoes Are Untied (9 page)

Ignore them. Just
ignore
them.

I inspected myself in the spotted bathroom mirror one more time and chanted a mantra to get me through the afternoon. I couldn't miss Ms. Fenton's class. I was going to hand in my project no matter
what
was plastered all over the school.

I splashed cold water on my face one final time. My eyes looked almost back to normal, and my nose wasn't red and runny anymore. I could do this.

I stepped out of the bathroom, heading straight for my locker. The world felt different now that everyone knew I was related to Shep Foster. Like the spotlight that was normally shined on him now swung over to me, blinding me with burning light. Ms. Fenton's classroom hushed the minute I walked in. Everyone turned to stare at me, and it seemed like the air was being sucked out of the room. I kept my eyes down and beelined for my bench, where Bella was now sitting.

She gave me a small smile.

Thankfully, Ms. Fenton spoke up. “All right, my little turnips! Time to hand in your True Selves projects! I'm giving you a free period for the rest of the hour to catch up on any work you might have missed during your last week.”

The class murmured with excitement.

“You're
welcome
!” Ms. Fenton said, her voice sounding like her usual happy self. I couldn't help but be jealous of her. She
never
seemed to have a bad day and didn't seem to be afraid of being at the front of the room getting attention all day.

I dropped off my project at the front, as Ms. Fenton sorted them into piles of paintings, sculptures, and mixed media pieces like Bella's. She gave me a weird look when I handed her mine, but it was probably because she'd recently seen my photocopied butt on a locker somewhere. A niggling feeling followed me back to my desk as I sat down, the dark lines of the charcoal clinging to my mind. Usually when I handed in a project for Ms. Fenton, I felt a charge of satisfaction. Like I'd done something that made even me proud. But this time? Something gross and icky was swirling inside of me.

Bella looked up at me. “Bad day, huh?”

I grimaced. “The worst.”

“Is Shep Foster really your granddad?” She didn't ask in a mean, taunting way. More like she was actually interested.

No hiding it now. My mouth felt like it was filled with cotton balls. “Yeah. I have to be on TV.”

Those words did
not
sound good coming out of my mouth.

Bella nodded slowly as she put together the pieces. “Ouch.”

“I know, right?”

We sat there like that for the rest of the hour with our books open, pretending to do some work. But really, we just talked.

“Ana, would you mind staying a moment?” Ms. Fenton touched my elbow on the way out of art class. After such a downer day, I couldn't wait to get home and away from everyone's prying eyes.

“Hmm?” I avoided the stares of other kids as Ms. Fenton lead me to the side of the room, but still managed to catch Bella's worried eyebrow scrunch as she left.

“I wanted to talk to you for a moment.” Ms. Fenton sat cross-legged on her desk, pulling my poster board toward her. I sat beside her.

“Do you not like it?” The swirls of doubt began to mix in my stomach. I knew something felt
off
when I handed it in. But I wasn't sure why. Looking at it now, I wanted to tear it from her hands and throw it in the garbage by the door.

She shook her head. “It's not that, Ana. I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it. You see, it doesn't
feel
like it's you, you know?” She lifted the poster, outlining some of the areas with her fingers. Her eyes were narrowed. “The animals are well done, and I understand your choice to use charcoal, but…” She paused. “You seem so
colorful
in real life! I understand that animals are a huge part of your life, but the art you've made before used to be so vibrant and lively. And the way you've drawn yourself here in the corner? So tiny. You're literally barely in this collage. And who is this way over here?” She touched the second stick figure. “I know you must be feeling weird without Liv around.” She lowered her voice.

There's an understatement.

“I guess I want to see that you're okay. If you're happy with this, that's fine. I just wanted to give you another chance. If you wanted it.” She set the poster down again.

My lungs felt squished, like I couldn't get in a full breath. I
hated
the feeling that Ms. Fenton wasn't happy with my project. Like I was disappointing her. The more I looked at my poster, the less I liked it. Embarrassed tears pricked at my eyes.

“What do you think?” she asked, peering over at me. She was smiling, but I could see the concern in her eyes. “Is this really you right now?”

I shrugged. I wanted to tell her that my true self was a mess right now. That I wasn't brave no matter what I did, and that my stupid project didn't matter. But I knew I couldn't say that to her. She was way too nice and didn't deserve snark from me. The tiny line between her eyebrows when she glanced at me made me want to cry. All I wanted to do was stop looking at my ugly, dark project with my tiny stick person and get out of there. It wasn't me, was it? I couldn't get my mouth to work.

“Tell you what,” she said when I didn't respond. “I don't have to have your grade in until next week. If you want to try again, you can get it to me by the dance on Monday. I'll be a chaperone, so you can find me there. Sound good?”

I nodded, grateful for a quick way out of this conversation. My skin felt like it might catch fire I was so ashamed. “If you do stick with this one, do I have your permission to display it with the others?”

I snatched the project from the desk. There was no way I wanted people seeing it, my true self or otherwise. “Um, no,” I said. “If that's okay. I'm going to, um, keep it for now. I'll get something back to you soon.” I rolled up the poster with shaky hands and stuffed it into my backpack. I'd have to think of something else. Just looking at this one made me feel sick.

She hopped off the desk and followed me out the door. “Have a good night, Ana!” She called out as I scurried down the hall.

I didn't think it was possible to feel worse than I had after my butt became front-page news. But this day was turning out to be one big low after another.

“A chimpanzee can recognize itself in a mirror.”

—Animal Wisdom

Tap
tap
tap.

The sound of fingernails on glass made me drop my pen onto my homework and shuffle over to the window of my new room.

Argh!
“Can I help you?” I asked, squinting against the bright sun. A group of six or seven teenagers were standing outside my window, obviously thinking I was part of an exhibit. “The lion exhibit is around the other side, where the sign is!” I slammed the window shut, mumbling to myself. The smell of hay and dampness wafted in after me.

It was official: we'd been living in the zoo for one day, and I was already sick of it.

Top Three Things about Living in a Zoo That You Don't Realize until You Move In:

1.
No matter how many pillows you pile over your head, you will not be able to drown out the sound of lions grumbling
all
night
long like they're noisy guests on a late-night talk show that's filming in your backyard.

2.
In a normal house, if you hear screeching, it means something
bad
is happening. In the zoo, if you hear screeching, it just means it's feeding time at the African Birds Pavilion. Those birds are squawkier than the Sneerers playing dodgeball.

3.
Despite what I thought, the zoo is actually a great place to disappear. Who's going to look at me when they can look at zebras? Or giraffes? Or polar bears? It is an anonymite's
dream
here.

That didn't mean there weren't some things I had to get used to. So far, I'd had six random groups of zoo visitors tapping on my window,
and
the resident pelicans that have free rein of the area have decided to strut around like they own the place, attacking me with their floppy beaks whenever I leave the house. I was already regretting picking the larger room. It was also the one with the cross breeze from the hippos.

Barf.

Slogging into the kitchen for some homework fuel of milk and cookies, I nodded to Mom at the kitchen table and ignored Daz, who was running upstairs with a hedgehog in his hands. This house was much smaller than our normal one, so there were still some boxes of unpacked dishes and cutlery left on the floor. I grabbed a glass from an open box and made for the milk as Darwin chattered at me from his cage.

As soon as I sat down across from Mom and started to scarf down my Chips Ahoy! she took her opportunity to pounce.

“Have you thought any more about what we talked about?” She peered up from her papers. Funny how she said “we” talked about it when really it was all her. Did she know about my secret hairbrush iguana incident and the reason I went to see Grandpa? There was no way she was
that
sneaky.

“No, Mom. I didn't.” I dunked my cookie, swiping at a dribble of runaway milk with my sleeve. Now was not the time to look immature.

Must. Think. Assertive.

“I already told you, I don't want to do any presentations.” My throat felt thick just to say it, like I was trying to swallow bitter medicine that I couldn't get down. But it was better this way. I couldn't keep pretending it was possible. I
wasn't
like Grandpa in that old picture. I let the sound of the lions carrying on outside fill the room.

“Well, I know you
said
that. But I thought that maybe you could be persuaded.” She looked up at me with a sly grin.

I hiccupped, sending milk from my fingertips onto her papers. She ignored it and kept on talking.

“I've spoken with the director of education—Paul is his name—about the possibility of you leading a small presentation about some of the reptiles here. You don't have to say yes, but, hun, he seemed very interested. That sort of thing would look great on your school record, not to mention it might open up other opportunities for you here that don't involve muck work. There's even a small group coming on Sunday that would be perfect for you to start with.” She put her papers down and eyed me.

I nearly gagged. “
This
weekend
?! Mom, I told you, I like the muck work. It means that nobody notices me and I can be invisible for a while. Anonymous.” As soon as the words tumbled out, I realized I should have stayed quiet.

“Anonymous?!” she said. “Why on earth would you want to be anonymous?” Her brow knit together with concern. “Ana, sweetie—you have a real gift! You are a beautiful and talented girl. You know a lot about these animals, and it would be wonderful for you share that with others. You also happen to have a very unique set of skills that other kids your age don't—that should be a good thing. You know how to handle them, and you're so comfortable with them, hun. I don't see why you're so worried about standing out. If you like teaching people about animals, that's exactly what you should do!” She looked confused, like she'd forgotten what school was like. What
people
were like. What fear felt like. Who cared what I
wanted
to do? What mattered was what I
could
do.

“Mom, I told you I didn't want to!” I snapped. “I'm not
like
you! I'm not perfect! I'm not brave! I'm not good at
any
of the things you are! And the last thing I want to do is prove it to the entire world!” My eyes burned with tears as I avoided looking at her.

She didn't respond, but the wounded look on her face made my heart clench. I wanted to pull the words back into my mouth. What was it about mothers that made them able to get to you? Seriously, all she had to do was look at me all concerned-like with her mom eyes and I wanted to bawl. She touched my hand.

“Sweetie, you are cut out for anything you want to do. I saw how relaxed you were with that little girl. You were confident! I think that if you gave it a try, you might find you really like it…” She spoke quietly, still holding my hand. Already the echo of my voice when I yelled at her was running through my head on repeat. I was such a jerk.

Guh
.

“Fine,” I mumbled.

As soon as I said it, I regretted it, and she was on me like a lion on steak, giving me a huge hug. Darwin joined in by clicking his beak happily.

“Oh, Ana! I'm so excited for you! You're going to be great. I'll help you every step of the way!” She clapped her hands together and beamed like she was watching the happy ending to a sappy movie.

What have I done?

Top Motherly Tricks: A Marvel of Science or Black Magic?

1.
Mothers are capable of not only making daughters feel guilty, but also doing so without saying a single word.

2.
If your mother believes you can do something, you start to believe she may be right. Even if this goes against every single shred of evidence provided from the real world.

3.
The only thing worse than suffering a mother's wrath is suffering her disappointment. In you. Sometimes I think Mom is a lot like the lions she studies. Super strong and proud, but when she's disappointed—man, that is one bitter lion of disappointment.

4.
Even if you are 100 percent against an idea, your mother will somehow make it happen. What's worse is if she suspects that you're
not
100 percent against it, because then she will
really
drag it out of you and you'll have no choice but to give in.

5.
In the event above, you will not realize you have walked into a trap until it is too late.

“What's going to be great?” Daz jogged into the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of milk.

“Ana's decided she'll do the presentation.” Mom grinned at him with enthusiasm. She turned to me abruptly. “In front of a small group, of course,” she added, nodding to me and then shifting gears instantly. “
Daz
, I'm sitting right here. Would you please pretend that you don't drink out of the carton in front of me?”

He didn't respond but very dramatically leaned down to reach for a glass in a box. “Happy, Mother?” He poured a full glass and downed it in one über-gulp. “Way to go, Ana. Breakin' out of the old shell, huh?” He smirked at me.

My exhausted shoulders tensed up, realizing that he could use this against me very easily. My insides began to churn. “Don't you even think about telling anybody, okay? Promise? Especially people at school.”

He winked, pouring himself another glass, but Mom shot a warning squint at him. “Daz…it is your sister's decision who she does or doesn't tell. Don't ruin it for her. We're proud of her, so let's not push her too far,” she said.

“
Yes
, yes. All right. Scout's honor.” He held his hand out, parting his fingers into the Vulcan salute.

I threw a paperclip at him. “That's
Star
Trek,
you nimrod!”

He shrugged, digging a shiny white iPod out of his pocket and inspecting the earbuds.

“Okay, you two,” Mom said, scooping up the rest of the paperclips. She disappeared off to her office, muttering about how she could have adopted. I looked around for more ammunition, but Daz had already made a pointy paper airplane from a tourist map of the zoo. It jabbed into my forehead before I could block it.

“Knock it off!” I yelled, reaching over to whack him with my notebook. He ignored me and opened the fridge again, yanking another carton to guzzle from. “I've got a lot on my mind,” I said.

Already I could feel the panic start to rise again, like bubbling magma under my skin. It was bad enough that Mom had gotten me to agree to the presentation. But first, I had to make it through the week.

“Hey, loser,” Daz said, craning his neck around mine to see what I was doing. “You know where we keep the corn syrup? Or red food coloring?” He poked through the boxes on the counter. “Why don't you put the nerd book away for a minute and help me out?” His smile went from sneaky to his attempt at genuine, which was the creepiest one of all, because you knew he wanted something. Milk was still dribbling down his chin.

“No thanks, loser,” I retorted, closing my book before he caught a good look at my Mom-as-lion sketch. I didn't need more teasing today. “And where did you get that thing, anyway?” I pointed to the iPod in his hand. New toys for Daz always meant something suspicious was going on. “It looks brand new.”

He shook his head dismissively, ignoring my question.

“Come
onnn
,” he said with a drawl. “There's a group of eighth-grade girls from the school across town here, and I'm going to pretend Oscar's on the loose from his exhibit and ‘save them all.'” He made bunny quotes in the air and puffed his chest out.

“Oscar doesn't have an exhibit here. He's your stupid pet,” I said, rolling my eyes.

His smile widened. “Exactly!”

“You are disgusting, you know that? Nobody's going to believe that your snake has escaped from an actual cage here…” I trailed off, realizing as I said it that that was exactly what was going to happen if Daz played his cards right. And when it came to causing havoc, he usually did.

“You're seeing the genius of my plan now, I see.” He crossed his arms over his chest, giving me an appraising look.

I shook my head. “Not a chance,” I said simply.

He frowned. “Okay…want to help me scare some parents by the Canadian tundra exhibit?” His face lit up again as he reached around and pulled a plastic Wolfman mask from his back pocket.

I tried to do the Brooke one-eyebrow-lift move. “Not today,” I said, poking at the mask with my pencil. It was seriously terrifying, and I made a mental note not to ever fall for it if he used it against me. “Mom's going to freak if she sees you with that thing,” I added.

He ignored me. “All right. I've been saving this one, but I've got this wicked recording of Mom's lions,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Want to be my spy in the girls' bathroom and see how fast they tear out of there, thinking there're lions on the loose in the can?!” His eyes twinkled.

I blinked at him. “Where do you come up with this stuff?!” I exclaimed, slamming my pencil down. Go figure that I get to sit here dreading everything, while my brother, who shares 99.9 percent of his stupid DNA with me, gets to relax and goof off all day like the zoo is his personal theme park.

“Oh, my dear sister,” he said, sneaking a look toward Mom's office then leaning over to open a cupboard filled with bags of crickets for his snakes. He grabbed three of them and sauntered to the front door, pulling the Wolfman mask over his head. The bloody fangs and fake fur stuck out at bizarre angles. “You'd be surprised how much space is up here in the ol' noggin,” he said with a muffled voice, poking the top of the mask with his finger. “'Specially when you forget about stupid stuff like school,” he said, muffled through the plastic. The toothy mask disappeared out the door, followed by the surprised chirps of crickets.

Why do I get the feeling that despite being such a dolt, my own brother has it all figured out? How can that be? I mean, he puts peanut butter on his bologna sandwiches. Surely that can't be a sign of enlightenment?