The Secret Talent (7 page)

“No, we're pretending to be at the party,” I said, “where there will be snacks.”

Ryan nodded. “Can we have snacks now, though?”

I was about to say something sarcastic but thought better of it. “Actually, that's not a bad idea.”

Luckily, the student lounge happened to have both a drink machine and a snack machine. I bought two different types of soda and one bag of chips and carried them back to where Ryan was waiting.

“Here you go,” I said, tossing him one of the soda cans.

Ryan made a face. “Grape? Gross!”

“Off to a great start,” I said. “If someone offers you something you don't like . . .”

He studied the can like the answer might be printed next to the ingredients. Then he held it out to me. “No thank you?” he asked.

“He can be taught!” I said, taking the can from him. “Now—”

Ryan swiped the other drink and the chips from my hands. “Thanks!”

“Nooo,” I said. “Those were mine, and I hadn't offered them to you.”

“Well, that makes you a rude host, doesn't it?” he replied.

In response I snatched the soda back and after a brief struggle, the chips, too.

“I didn't want them anymore, anyway,” he said with a disdainful sniff at the wrinkled bag. “They're all broken now.”

“Better the chips than your nose,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“Better be hip like the bros!” I said with a smile.

Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Anyway . . . what's next?”

I opened the chip bag. “Would you like some Doritos?”

Ryan peered in at the crumbled contents.
“You mean Dorito dust?”

I raised an eyebrow, but before I could say a word, he pasted on a smile.

“I mean, I'd love some.”

I tried to pour them into his palm, but Ryan plunged his entire fist into the bag. When he tried to withdraw his hand, his sleeve got caught. Instead of gently freeing himself from the bag, Ryan shook his arm up and down, pieces of tortilla chip flying everywhere.

At least Berkeley's party would have entertainment.

After I cleaned up the snack debris, we tried more polite conversation.

“People love to talk about themselves,” I said. “And they love to hear their own name. So ask them questions about their lives and try to use their name a lot.”

Ryan nodded. “So, Tim, what's Tim's favorite sport, Tim?”

I frowned. “That might be overkill.”

“Ryan is sorry,” he said.

I closed my eyes. “Why are you using your own name?”

“Because you're right. I like the sound of it.” He smiled.

By the time Uncle Theo came to pick me up, I kind of wanted to shake Ryan like a bag of Doritos. Our last lesson for the evening was how to accept and give compliments.

“I like your shirt,” I told him. “Now you say something nice about me.”

“You're smart to like this shirt,” he replied.

I stared at him. “Try again.”

Ryan squinted and rubbed his temples. “Hmmm.”

“It is
not
that hard to come up with something nice about me,” I told him.

Ryan snapped his fingers. “You're overly optimistic!”

I sighed and hung my head. I couldn't get out to the car fast enough.

“How was your project?” asked Uncle Theo.

“All I'm gonna say is that the payoff had better be worth it,” I said, buckling myself into the backseat of his car. “How was practice?”

“We learned a new dance today!” Gabby said, glancing back at me from the front seat. “I think you'll pick it up pretty quick, though.”

Uncle Theo nodded. “If we need to, we can stay a little longer at practice tomorrow.”

I winced. “Actually, I have to work on this project again.”

“Oh,” said Uncle Theo. Then he fell silent.

“I don't like it either, believe me,” I told him. “It's just going to take more work than I expected.”

A lot more work. On Tuesday, Ryan seemed to have forgotten everything I'd taught him the day before, so I spent half an hour reviewing
it . . . this time with imaginary chips. Then we sat in the media room and I made him watch a video of some of the classiest, sophisticated TV and movie characters I could think of.

“Look at the way James Bond moves,” I said. “He's got confidence.”

“He's got a watch that shoots laser beams,” said Ryan. “What guy wouldn't be confident with something like that?”

“Okay, so pretend you're wearing that, then,” I said, nudging Ryan to his feet. “And walk across the room.”

Ryan stood and instantly dropped into a squat, arm held straight out in front of him.

“
What
are you doing?” I asked.

“My watch shoots laser beams,” he said. “You really think I'm going to keep it close to my body?”

I groaned. “So why are you squatting?”

“A guy with a laser beam watch probably has enemies.”

“So do guys
without
them.” I gave him a pointed look.

On Wednesday afternoon, he remembered his basic manners, at least, but when I asked him to show up looking his best, he appeared in his regular school clothes with a bonus grease stain.

“Do you own any shirts with collars?” I asked.

“My pajama top,” he said. “Do you want—”

“No.” I pointed at his jeans. “How about any nice pants?”

“These are my nice pants,” Ryan said.

“But you wrote on them.” I studied a leg closer. “And drew half a bird sticking out of a cat's mouth.”

“Inspired by real life,” he informed me. “See, there was this chewed-up—”

I held out a hand. “Look at my face. Do I look like I want to hear more?” I had him sit in a chair. “Let's talk about reading people.”

Ryan grinned confidently. “That'll be easy.
My aunt has a subscription.”

I shook my head. “Not
People
the magazine.” I pointed to him and me. “People. You need to watch how they react to your behavior.”

“Why?”

“Because it'll keep you from getting punched.” I opened my arms. “Talk to me like you usually would, and watch my face. What are you doing for Christmas?”

Ryan scowled.

“Okay, see, that topic clearly makes you unhappy.” I gestured at his expression. “So I'll switch to something else.”

But Ryan wasn't ready to. “Let me guess. You and your family are gonna sit around the tree, opening presents by the fire while you laugh and hug.”

“Well,” I said slowly, “we don't typically light the tree on fire. But yeah, we'll open presents
and spend time together.” I shrugged. “Just a normal family Christmas.”

“Normal.” Ryan's scowl deepened. “My aunt has to work on Christmas, so I spend the day by myself. Guess we're freaks, huh?”

I shook my head. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“I usually get one or two presents. How many do you get?”

“Okay, now's the time to notice I'm uncomfortable.” I pointed to myself. “Could we talk about something else please?”

“You brought it up,” Ryan grumbled.

“And I wish I hadn't.”

Still, my incident with Ryan stayed with me, and at lunch on Thursday, I asked my friends, “Are you guys thinking about how much a gift costs before you suggest it? Some people can't afford much.”

Vanessa tilted her hand from side to side. “I'm
keeping it in Coach range.”

I wrinkled my forehead. “What does that mean?”

“Not too cheap, but not too expensive,” she explained. “Like a Coach wristlet.”

“I'm also keeping it in Coach range,” said Brooke.

At surprised looks from the rest of us, she grinned and said, “What I'd spend on a gift for my soccer coach.”

We all groaned, and I threw a cracker at her. She caught it in one hand and crammed it into her mouth.

Heather hadn't spoken up yet, too intent on devouring the fried chicken she'd just sat down with.

“You know, nobody's going to steal that from you,” I said as she gnawed a drumstick.

Heather blushed and held a hand in front of her mouth. “Sorry, but I skipped breakfast this
morning to get to choir practice early. And I really can't function without pancakes, eggs, turkey bacon, fruit, potatoes . . .”

“How are you not the size of Santa Claus?” marveled Brooke.

Heather smirked at her. “Anyway, to answer your question, Tim, I've been suggesting DIY gifts.”

“DIY . . . as in do-it-yourself?” asked Vanessa.

“Basically, homemade gifts,” Heather said with a nod. “Like jars of cookie mix ingredients or candles or T-shirts.”

“That's cool, but you're assuming the gift giver has the time and skill to make these things,” I said. At the injured look from Heather, I added, “Not that they aren't great ideas! I'm just saying, not many guys I know are going to want to sit around and make candles or T-shirts.”

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” she said.

“And,” I said, “you don't know how much
money they have to spend.”

“Fine,” said Brooke with a firm nod. “Every time we offer gift advice, we'll do it for three different price ranges: cheap—”

“Let's say
affordable
,” interrupted Heather.

“Affordable,” Brooke corrected herself, “average, and . . . What's a word for
expensive
that starts with
A
?”

“Aughhh!” I screamed. The others laughed.

“It's going to take longer to help people this way,” V said between giggles.

“I know,” said Brooke. “We'll just have to do the best we can.”

But she didn't look superconfident.

And despite my efforts with Ryan, neither did he. While my friends and I ate, I saw him do his best James Bond swagger to a nearby table with his lunch tray, but his movements were wooden and stiff. When he sat he kept pushing hair out of his eyes while trying to lean casually on one
elbow and eat a hamburger. At first, he started to stuff it into his mouth, but then thought better of it and cut it with a knife and fork. When he brought the fork up to his mouth, the bun, meat, and vegetables fell to pieces.

Normally, I would've laughed, but since my future rode on Ryan passing for cool, I cringed. Maybe he'd feel more confident inside if he looked better outside. Unfortunately, I'd already done what I could in that area.

But I was sitting across from someone who could do more.

When the bell rang to end lunch, and my friends and I were heading for Journalism, I held Vanessa back a second.

“Hey,” I said, “I need a favor. Can you keep a secret?”

CHAPTER

I
t's never a good start to a conversation when you have to restrain someone from throwing their shoe. But when V found out what I needed and why, instantly there was a small wedge heel in her hand and murder in her eyes.

“Where's that greasy little rodent?” she asked, scanning the cafeteria for Ryan.

“V, stop!” I pulled her arm down. “You can't hit him with your shoe.”

She looked down at it. “You're right. He'll ruin it. I should've brought my old sneakers.” Vanessa dropped her weaponized wedge and slid her foot
back into it. “You need to go to Mrs. H . . . or the principal.”

“I can't. And neither can you.” I pointed at her. “You promised.”

“That's before I knew what I was promising!” V pouted. “That was exactly how my brother, Terrell, got me to eat fuzzy cheese.”

“Look, if you help me, I'll make it worth your time,” I said. “How much do you charge for a male makeover?”

“I can't take your money,” she said. Then her eyes brightened. “But I
can
‘accidentally' shave off Ryan's eyebrows!”

“No,” I said.

“In that case it's twenty dollars.”

I gave her a look, and she sighed.

“Fine. I'll do it for free because it's you. But Ryan's going to be a tough customer. Tougher than most. On top of his bad attitude, he looks like he styles his hair with bacon grease.”

“I wouldn't put it past him,” I said, remembering Ryan's bedroom.

We headed for Journalism, and I could see the wheels turning in V's brain.

“You know I can work miracles on the outside,” she said, doing a full-body flourish, “but his insides need it too.”

I nodded. “I've been teaching him manners and a little culture. When I'm done, he'll be oozing awesome from his pores.”

“Gross.” V wrinkled her nose.

I didn't mention that the goal was to make him the coolest guy in sixth grade. Otherwise Vanessa would never stop laughing. Instead in a quiet voice I said, “Remember, though. This is just between you and me.”

That afternoon when Uncle Theo picked Gabby and me up for dance practice, he was surprised to find two other kids waiting with us.

“More dancers?” he asked, nodding at Ryan and Vanessa.

Ryan gave a loud, derisive laugh. “Not on your life.”

Vanessa smacked him on the back of the head, all the while smiling at Uncle Theo. “We're working on a group project with Tim.”

It was actually my idea. This way, Ryan could get his makeover and Vanessa could watch him to make sure he didn't sneak off to get more dance footage of me.

Uncle Theo raised an eyebrow at me. “But you have dance practice.”

I nodded. “I'm still going. I just need to swing by the house first to pick up a few things. Is that okay?”

Uncle Theo nodded and held open the passenger door. “Let's get moving! We've got a lot to work on.”

As he drove, Uncle Theo glanced at Ryan and Vanessa in the rearview mirror. “Vanessa I know,” he said, “but I'm afraid I don't know your other friend.”

“That's Ryan Durstwich,” I said.

“Ryan Durstwich,” said Uncle Theo with a smile. “It's nice to meet you.”

“Thanks,” Ryan mumbled.

The kid was confident when he was tormenting me, but scared of adults? Maybe I could just hire Uncle Theo to be my bodyguard.

We sped home, and I flung open the car door so Vanessa and I could jump out.

“Hurry!” Uncle Theo called after us. “The
hasapiko
won't dance itself!”

“Man, I wish he'd quit saying things like that,” I mumbled as V and I rushed into the house. “What do you need from here exactly?”

“Everything,” she said with a laugh. “You sprang this on me at the last minute, and I don't
exactly have guy's grooming tools or clothes. Unless you want to put Ryan in my six-year-old brother's overalls.”

I paused at the staircase. “Well . . .”

She grinned and elbowed me. “Come on, we have to hurry! The pico de gallo won't dance itself!”

We started in my bedroom, where V raided my closet and picked out a couple shirts. It made my skin crawl thinking of Ryan wearing my things, but I held open a duffel bag and she threw them in. She started for my dresser, but I grabbed her shoulder.

“I am
not
letting him wear my pants,” I said.

“One pair,” she coaxed, opening the drawer. “It's for the greater good.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. “But remind me to burn them later.”

She nodded and shoved a pair of pants into the bag. “On to the bathroom!”

V darted off and I followed, but before I could even make it through the door, she dropped a handful of products into the duffel bag. I pawed through them and pulled out a stick of deodorant.

“Hey! He can't have this!”

She gave me a tight smile. “Yeahhh. You might change your mind after tonight.”

“Gross.” I dropped it and made a face. “This better be worth it.”

The sound of a car horn honking carried up the stairs, and V tugged at my sleeve. “Okay, we're done! Let's go.”

We were back in the car in less than two minutes, and Uncle Theo eyed the duffel bag. “Must be a big project,” he said.

V nodded, glancing sideways at Ryan. “A massive undertaking.”

Ryan scowled but stayed quiet.

When we got to the studio, Gabby held me
back for a second while the others headed for the door.

“You can fool Uncle Theo, but you can't fool me,” she said. “What's really going on?”

I sighed. “I'm having Vanessa give Ryan a makeover so he can get into Berkeley Dennis's party.”

My sister looked as if I'd just announced I was competing for Miss Universe.

“Why on Earth would you help him? He's a jerk!”

“Shh!” I started walking toward the building. “I'm just trying to do something nice, okay? It's the holidays.”

She shook her head. “You're not telling me something. Normally, you don't want anyone to know you're a dancer, but it's okay for
him
to know it?” Gabby gestured at Ryan and made a disgusted face. “This isn't gonna end well.”

“He won't say anything,” I said. To myself I added,
As long as I do whatever he asks.
“He promised, since I agreed to help him.”

Gabby studied me. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“If there was something to tell, I would,” I lied.

When she realized she wasn't going to get anything else out of me, Gabby sighed and opened the door. “I just hope he isn't rude while we're dancing.”

“He won't be,” I assured her. “Vanessa will keep him busy.”

As if to prove my point, V was walking around Ryan and jotting stuff in a notebook.

“You're taking an awful lot of notes,” commented Ryan.

“There's an awful lot that needs work,” she responded. V turned to me. “We're gonna need a complete overhaul on this one.”

“Tim?” Gabby pointed at her watch. “We've
got to get changed and on the floor.”

I nodded to her and told V, “Just do what you can.”

“You got it,” said Vanessa. “Where can I work my magic?”

“The storage room where we keep our equipment is pretty empty.” I led the way down the hall and pushed open a door. “Sorry, it's kind of small.”

Vanessa glanced at the ceiling and grimaced. “Not the best lighting either, but it'll do.”

“Tim!” Gabby said in a more insistent voice.

I waved to V. “I'll see you guys later. Good luck!” I closed the door and hurried down the hall with Gabby.

“Do you think Vanessa's going to be okay in there with him?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

I snorted. “Are you kidding? I think Ryan should be more afraid.”

Gabby and I did a quick change in the bathrooms and joined the other dancers in the studio. We were a couple minutes late, but neither the choreographer nor Uncle Theo commented.

About two minutes into the first song, I saw a streak go past an interior window. When I turned, it was gone.

“Timotheos, focus!” Uncle Theo called. Everyone else was facing the opposite direction.

I turned just as something else rushed past. I didn't dare look back in case Uncle Theo called me out again, but I realized I could see the reflection of whatever was happening if I glanced in the mirror.

A couple seconds later, the streaks were back, and I could actually see what they were now.

Ryan was racing down the hall with a towel flapping around his neck while Vanessa chased him, yelling something I couldn't hear. I could see a comb in her hand.

I chuckled to myself and kept dancing. Ryan had wanted a makeover. . . .

A minute later he was dashing past again, this time with Vanessa right behind him, waving a pair of scissors.

“Uh-oh,” I muttered.

Ryan reappeared from the opposite direction and stopped in front of the studio window. I could see his reflection in the mirror, waving his arms wildly to get our attention. Several of the dancers, who'd seen him too, stopped and turned to stare.

Vanessa had a pair of scissors poised over Ryan, but when she realized we were all watching, she tucked them behind her back and smiled.

“Tim . . . ,” Uncle Theo said in a warning voice.

“Sorry,” I said, dancing toward the door. “I told them to keep busy until I could join them.”

I ran into the hall and closed the studio door behind me. “What the heck is going on?”

Ryan, wild-eyed, pointed at Vanessa. “She tried to kill me with a comb and scissors!”

“I was trying to cut his hair!” said Vanessa. “He needs to be made over from head to toe, and I was
not
going to start with those.” She grimaced and pointed at his grubby sneakers.

“Where's your certificate from haircutting school?” Ryan demanded.

The two of them started yelling back and forth, getting so loud I was afraid everyone in the studio would hear them over the music.

I put my fingers in my mouth and whistled.

Vanessa covered her ears. “A simple ‘Hey, V' would've worked.”

“Sorry,” I told her, turning to Ryan. “There's nobody I'd trust more with my hair than Vanessa. You're going to have to be okay with change if you want to be the coolest guy in sixth grade.”

“Ha!” Vanessa quickly clamped a hand over her mouth when Ryan glared at her. “I mean, of
course you can be.” She held up her scissors and snipped the air with them. “But that starts with a haircut. And then we move on to the eyebrows.” She produced a pair of tweezers from her pocket.

Ryan gave me a horrified look, and I shrugged. “You gotta do what the makeover guru says.”

I walked back into the studio, but inside I was doing a high-kicking happy dance.

I jumped into the routine as if nothing had happened, and thankfully, neither Vanessa nor Ryan appeared in the window again. But when class was over, Uncle Theo pulled me aside.

“Is everything okay? You've been very distracted the last week or so.”

I nodded. “There's just so much to do before the holidays. Last-minute projects . . . you know.”

“Well, please try to focus. Remember, we've got a dress rehearsal coming up.”

“I'll be ready,” I promised.

He and the others went to change, and I
sneaked down the hall to check on Vanessa and Ryan.

“How's it going in there?” I asked, knocking on the door.

Vanessa poked her head outside, hair even more askew than normal, but her eyes were shining, even with a huge bump on her cheek.

“Don't tell me Ryan did that,” I said, pointing.

She shook her head. “I was trying to calm him by juggling some lipsticks, and then I accidentally tripped over a chair.
But
I think you're going to be impressed with the final results.”

I crossed my arms. “I hope so.”

Vanessa stepped into the hall, being careful to conceal Ryan, and did a drumroll against her legs. “I present to you the new and improved Ryan . . . uh. . . What's His Face!”

She opened the door and gestured to it with a flourish.

Ryan stepped out in a pair of my pants, a
button-down shirt, and a tie. His hair had been trimmed and spiked a bit, and he moved with confidence, leaning against the wall like a
G
Q
cover model. I hated to admit it, but Ryan could pass for good-looking.

“V,” I said. “You should win an award.”

Vanessa giggled and hugged herself. “It was actually pretty fun once we came to an understanding.” She bumped Ryan with her hip.

Alarms immediately went off in my head. Earlier V had wanted to kill him with her shoe, and now they were acting like best buddies.

“What exactly did you guys talk about in there?” I asked, looking directly at Ryan. “And by that, I mean ‘how did you brainwash my friend?'”

“Oh stop!” Vanessa pushed me. “Ryan's actually a nice guy. He apologized for everything and was really open to change once we got started.”

He smirked at her, but the way he did it was almost smooth. Not his normal jerky sneer. “I
have to admit, you were right about the eyebrows.” He reached up and groomed one with the tip of his finger. “Well, done, V.”

I cocked my head to one side.

They were on a nickname basis?

Vanessa beamed and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Show Tim the etiquette stuff I taught you.”

Ryan leaned forward and extended his hand to me with an easy smile. “Ryan Durstwich. Thrilled to meet you.”

“Uh . . .” I shook his hand. “You, too.”

“That's an impressive grip you've got. Reminds me of this wrestler I saw—”

“Nope.” Vanessa cut him off. “
Wrestlers
are not in a gentleman's vocabulary.”