The Cannibals (6 page)

“Maybe we could work that into the script,” he said. “I mean, what could be worse than cannibal vampires?”

Ms. Stuart looked doubtful. “I don't know, Alex,” she said. “If the vampires eat their victims, there won't be any new vampires. That's the problem.”

“I see what you mean,” he said. “We can work that out later. Tiffany, it's been a pleasure.”

I shook hands with them again—but not with Principal Brown; he looked like he wanted to bite off my fingers—and floated out of the office on a golden cloud.

Me!
In a real Hollywood movie! Maybe even helping to write the script!

Unfortunately, Dean Schmitz ran out of his office and grabbed my arm.

“I sent for you a half hour ago!” he said. “Where have you been?”

“I'm sorry, Dean Schmitz, but I can't talk now,” I said. “When is the next school board meeting?”

“Right after the holidays,” he answered. “Tiffany, do you intend to graduate with your class or are you planning to stay on as a janitor?”

“I'm sorry, Dean Schmitz, but I have to go home.”

“Oh, please don't tell me it's cramps again!” he blared. “You have more cramps than the entire NFL.”

I couldn't believe it! Why not blab it all over the whole school so
everyone
can hear?

I leaned close to his hairy ear and whispered, “Clots.”

He reared back as if I'd spit at him.

I ran into Campbell in the Senior Quad. “Did you hear the news?” I asked.

“What news?” he said.

“About the movie they're filming on campus!” I said. “Isn't it great?”

“I guess.”

Sometimes I have to wonder about Campbell. I mean, I know he lived in LA and everything, but you'd think he'd be happy that I'm finally getting my big break.

“I'll probably get a part, being a model and all,” I said. “They'll need people with experience and talent.”

“Modeling's not exactly a talent,” Campbell said. Then he started—it was
horrible
—going through all these poses.

“Look, I'm running in place,” he said. “Now I'm laughing.” He threw back his head and grinned. “Now I'm thinking: Hmmmm.” He frowned and cupped his chin. “Now I'm waving to someone. Now I'm throwing a football—”

In the two months we've been going together, I have
never
been so angry at him.

I said, “I'm sorry you think my whole life is such a joke.”

“I don't. It's just that I've done that number.”

“You never told me you modeled.”

“Yes, I did,” he said. “It just got too absurd.”

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“I like to smile when I feel like smiling. Not when somebody tells me to,” he said.

Sometimes I think Campbell tries to get too deep. Why can't he just relax and
enjoy
life?

He offered to walk me to math, but I explained that I had to get home right away; I had
tons
of work to do before the next school board meeting.

“What kind of work?” he asked.

I promised to tell him later. And even though he'd ticked me off with all those silly poses, I kissed his cheek to show there were no hard feelings.

My dad was using the computer when I got home, but I explained that I had an urgent school project. I just can't say enough about the Internet. It is truly the gateway to the future. I know it got poor Wally into trouble—I wonder how he's doing—but it puts the whole world at your fingertips. It's like going inside God's brain.

Plus, computers make writing so fast and easy! In the old days, people had to use typewriters or even pencils, and that could take forever.

So here is something very important I want to say to all of my future readers: These days, you have
got
to be computer literate. The computer is a
very
important tool. Stay in school, study hard, and go to college. And whatever you do, learn
marketable
job skills. Like Miss Jones says, “He (or she) who fails to prepare prepares to fail.”

Even if you're planning on a career in show business like I am, let's face it: Dreams don't always come true. So if you want to act or model, ask yourself, and be honest: How beautiful or handsome
am
I, really? Lots of people apply to model at Macy's who, truthfully, don't stand a chance. You want to just go up to them and say, “Don't take this wrong. I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but this is
never
going to happen.”

It's sad.

In no time at all surfing the Net, I'd collected a wealth of information—Remember: She who fails to prepare prepares to fail!—showing how much money a movie company typically pumps into the local economy when it chooses that town for a location: how many residents are employed as carpenters, caterers, extras, et cetera; the number of hotel and motel rooms the movie people rent, not to mention all the meals they eat in restaurants;
plus
the money from all the tourists who later flock to the famous town to see where the movie got made. Sometimes the movie company even makes
permanent improvements
that the people in the town get to keep!

The track regraded? The cafeteria repainted? A new school board meeting room?

Barbie and Kendall called, but I couldn't talk; I was on the phone with the chamber of commerce.

Chapter Eight

It's funny how, when things are really boring, you've got all the time in the world for your journal, but nothing to talk about; and when things are going really
good
you're too busy to get it all down.

Oh, well, that's life!

We had a very Merry Christmas, in
spite
of the fact that my brother left the front door unlocked and Grandpa took off and we couldn't find him. The police brought him back in time for Christmas dinner, but he was having trouble eating and it turned out he was wearing somebody else's teeth! Daddy got mad and called the home, and they got mad at
him
and said that Grandpa's been stealing
everybody's
teeth; they found a whole
pile
of them under his pillow. So now they have to figure out whose teeth are whose, which apparently is a big honking mess.

Luckily, Grandpa didn't seem too upset; he kept gnawing on a turkey leg until my mother couldn't stand it anymore and brought him a bowl of ice cream.

It being the holiday season, 1-800-YOR-MAMA was extra busy, so my father asked my mother to take some calls. Which she wouldn't, of course, even though it was Christmas. So he changed his voice to an old lady's again, which works out amazingly well since the callers do most of the talking.

I got some really nice gifts: clothes, music, books, a new TV, et cetera, even though my mother had
insisted
that we were cutting back this year because the holiday has become a
spending orgy
. She says that people have way more stuff than they need, and we should give everything to the poor. Like a homeless person needs a TV set. I know my mother means well, but sometimes she doesn't think things through.

I gave Campbell a bottle of this fabulous new, very expensive aftershave called Urge. So he wouldn't think I was being cheap, I “forgot” to remove the price tag. Fifty dollars. He gave me a piece of paper that showed he'd donated ten dollars in my name to an organization that rescues abandoned pet ferrets. Later, when The Girls asked what he'd given me, I smiled and said, “I'd rather not say.” Which was true.

I did not forget my poor darling Wally. Apparently he's developed some kind of allergy to manioc, or manatee root, or whatever it is he's been eating, so I sent him some Turns in Christmas colors, insect repellent, an honorary
Cannibals
sweatshirt, and the fashion layout from the
San Francisco Chronicle
, starring yours truly in the Macy's Holiday Magic Show.

If only he could've been there! That would've really cheered him up! The Girls and I have never looked more elegant, more “swannay,” as Mr. Margo, who's in charge of the fashion shows, said. Even Shelby looked stunning, in spite of the fact that she's been hitting the pork rinds pretty hard lately. Also, her legs looked like she'd given them a
mohawk
! I realize that we were wearing long gowns, but you'd think she'd have enough
pride
in herself to do a thorough job of shaving! I mean, nobody sees your underwear, either, but don't you feel better when it's clean?

But the holiday season wasn't just an endless round of parties, fashion, and fun. There were school papers to write—I have
got
to get mine done!—Christmas shopping; organizing support for
Scream Bloody Murder
; and last but not least, singing Christmas carols at a local nursing home. Definitely
not
my grandpa's; he always says the darnedest things to me. Like, “Midge, tell Fred to get the lead out!” I love him and all, but that's really unnerving.

Our Christmas caroling visit was a trying, but extremely worthwhile, experience for me and The Girls, even though Ashley completely freaked out when an old lady in a wheelchair grabbed her and wouldn't let go.

“Omigod,” she sobbed when she finally stopped screaming. “They should film the movie here! This place is creepy!”

I explained to Ashley that there is nothing “creepy” about getting old; that's simply what happens when people let themselves go. She said, “Well, couldn't they just wear Face-Its or something?” Face-Its are these little adhesive strips that pull up your skin like a mini-face-lift. Most people wear the invisible flesh-tone kind, but others prefer the “bold mode” that sparkle with color and glitter.

I explained to Ashley that it was a little late for Face-Its at the nursing home. For one thing, they'd have to be industrial strength. And for another, wouldn't it look a little weird if everybody there was
smiling
? I mean, what have they got to smile about? They're practically dying! I wish my mother would use Face-Its, but she won't, even though they'd make her look ten years younger, especially if she'd wear more scarfs. Her neck looks like Toby the Turtle's.

So The Girls and I really got into the spirit of giving, which is why it bugs me that some people think teenagers care only about themselves. Which isn't true. And even though I've got so much on my mind: modeling, the movie, Campbell, Wally, school, et cetera, I can never let it show on my face. My job as a model is to radiate poise and beauty—and, of course, make the clothes look great.

Something I'd like to say right now to all those people like Campbell who think that modeling is a joke: Try running up a fake staircase in an evening gown, then holding up your skirt so your designer shoes will show. Or posing for photographs for hours while you're facing a fan so it looks like the breeze is blowing your hair. The fan completely dries out your nasal passages. You have to go home and soak your nose.

So don't tell
me
that being a model doesn't take talent! It takes much more than beauty and talent—it takes the will to survive.

I'm back. This phone never stops ringing! Everybody's so excited about the school board meeting tonight. Campbell called to see how I was feeling, then got in a big tizzy when I told him I'd put him on speakerphone so I could videotape us talking. He said I should've asked his permission, that I'd violated his privacy and his constitutional rights. You'd think I was working for the CIA! You can't even see him, only me, so what's the problem? He made me promise to edit him out, but my fingers were crossed and I know he'll thank me later.

Maybe I was being a bit crabby myself. The truth is, I'm a little nervous about the school board meeting. I'll have to get up and make a presentation in front of all those people—including the movie people, kind of like an audition—but also because—and this is the part that kills me—my
mother
, the president of the Teachers' Association, is leading the protest
against
the movie! Talk about when worlds collide.

When it became clear that we were on different sides, I was afraid she'd take it out on me at home and maybe ground me for a year or act real stinky. But after several bitter arguments at the dinner table, we agreed to not discuss the matter anymore. I just hope she's not a bad sport when my side wins. Which I know we will. I've done my homework, I've made the phone calls. All the numbers are on my side. She just keeps talking about the “commercialization of education”—as if it was a real bad thing! Like when she tried to stop the Pepsi company from donating shirts to our football players. So
what
if the shirts say “Drink Pepsi”? It's not like the players have it tattooed on their heads!

My mother is so naive sometimes. I just hope that what happens at the meeting tonight doesn't crush her.

Scream Bloody Murder
! Our team wins! I hate to say it, but we
smushed
her!

Usually the board members refer to my mother as “Beth,” and it's all very friendly and informal. But tonight, things were different, maybe because the place was
packed
, with kids and parents spilling into the hallway, and the TV and newspaper reporters I'd called.

The Girls and I wore our
Cannibal
sweatshirts, and a bunch of kids were wearing the fake ones. It took all my self-control not to rip them off.

The board members were acting stiff and self-conscious, and they called my mother Ms. Bennett-Spratt. And for reasons I will
never
understand, my mother hadn't even fixed her hair; just piled it on her head like a bad hat. She was even wearing the same dress she wore to school today! I mean, I wasn't expecting an evening gown, but didn't she realize what was at stake?

When it was her turn to speak, she talked about the prevalence of drugs, violence, and sex in our culture, and how the teachers don't feel we should sell out our campus just so somebody can make a fast buck. She went on and on and
on
about the importance of education.