Gilbert and Louis Rule the Universe: First Impressions (2 page)

I’m hungry so I head downstairs.
One thing you should know about me, I am always hungry.
One thing you should know about my mom, she is always on a diet.

Our house has two stories. My mom’s room, my room, and the TV room are upstairs.
The kitchen, which is attached to the dining room, and living room, are downstairs.
It’s not the
biggest house, but it’s just right for the two of us.
The only drag is that my mom and I have to share a bathroom.
She is always leaving her wrinkle cream on the counter and drying her bras over the shower curtain.
Totally
TMI
.

The good thing about having an artist mom is that she has given me artistic license when it comes to my room.
I did choose pink as the wall color, of course, but the walls are covered with tear-outs from magazines of hot guys and girls in cool outfits.
I was once inspired to paint some flowers on the wall
,
so in one corner there are some sorry looking daisies, but when I realized I couldn’t paint I put the brush down and moved my dresser in front of them.

The phone rings as I walk into the kitchen.
My mom answers.
Our kitchen is all retro-cool with a linoleum floor, a vintage stove, and black and white tiling on the walls.
There are two stools at the center island and most of the time you can find one of us there.
My mother is sitting there now talking on the phone.
She always uses this incredibly annoying high-pitched voice when she talks to her friends.
It makes me crazy.

“Really.
The
Deutchmans
?
Into the old Bailey house.
Are they German?
Jewish?”
she asks.

I weed around in the refrigerator.
Since my choices are cut carrots or cottage cheese, I decide to pass on both.

“A son?
How old?
Fourteen?”
My ears perked up.
“Well that is interesting...”

I stick around the kitchen pretending to continue on my quest for something to eat.
I open the cabinet doors, find nothing edible, and bang them shut.
My mom motions for me to quiet down.
I want her to get off the phone and tell me the news, but she is going on and on about her new diet and her amazing Pilates teacher.
I need to hear about this new fourteen year-old boy in our neighborhood, pronto.
Yes, that is interesting.

My mom finally hangs up the phone.
“Can I fix you a snack, honey?”

“Mom, there is absolutely nothing to eat in this house.”

“Sure there is,” she says as she opens the refrigerator door.
“Look, you can have some cottage cheese and carrots.”

Argh
.

I change the subject.
“So, who was that?”

“Oh, that was Mrs.
Welk
.
She told me that a new family moved into the Baileys' place up the block.”

“Fascinating,” I say in my most sarcastic manner, trying to hide my sincere interest.
The Baileys' house is, like, the nicest on the block.
It is a big brick number with a circular drive and one of those pools in the back where the water spills over the edge.
The inside is equally
exie
. It has a huge landing halfway up the staircase, humongous bedrooms, and a swinging door into the kitchen.
I know because I used to play with their daughter when I was in kindergarten.

I stand at the counter playing with the salt and pepper shakers. I am trying to shake the salt into the pepper and the pepper into the salt.

She goes on, just like I hoped, “seems they have son about your age. He is fourteen.”

“Great,
whatevs
.
Is he going to go to Piermont?”

I go to Piermont Middle School.
When I was born my parents moved us to the suburb of Piermont because the public school system is rated, like, in the top ten for the country or something.
I am not sure what exactly they are talking about since my
sixth
grade math teacher would regularly fall asleep during class and
the cafeteria totally sucks, but I guess the classes are small and the kids seem to follow the rules most of the time.
It is not like you see on TV where we have to go through metal detectors or kids are bringing guns to school or anything, so I guess that is good. The kids are okay if you don’t mind
being picked on or ignored on a regular basis—after all, it is middle school.
It is totally lame, but whatever, having a hot new guy would improve the circumstances.

“Stop it,” she says, regarding the salt and pepper shakers.
“Doesn’t sound like it; I think he goes to boarding school.”

Really? Some
richy
-rich boy who goes to a posh boarding school moved in up the street from me?
Sweet.
Still, I play it cool.
“I’m going to go to 7-Eleven to get some real food.
Later.”

“Did you finish your homework?”
my mom asks.

“Sure,” I lie.

“Don’t spoil your dinner,” my mom says with a sly smile.
She knows she has my attention.

*   *  
*

As I walk out the door, I immediately call Gilbert.
Her phone goes to voicemail.
Her mom is so annoying about making her turn it off when she is doing her homework.
Gilbert’s parents are really strict.
Like her curfew is still nine o'clock at night on weekends and she isn’t allowed to go
over to someone else’s house if their parents aren’t there, even though they leave her home alone with her brother all the time in the afternoon.
Parents are so weird.
Her mom and dad live together but her dad is always out of town on business or something.
I think I have met him exactly twice in my whole life.
Every time I see him he calls me Lola.

I send Gilbert a text:
911.

I walk the four blocks to 7-Eleven to get some nourishment.
As I walk, I fantasize about this new kid.
Anyone new in Piermont is cause for major excitement.
I already know all the boys in my grade and they are so lame.
They are a bunch of immature morons who think burping and fart jokes are the height of comedy.
Maybe the new guy is different, maybe he is incredibly good looking and mature and likes to read and see movies with subtitles.
Maybe he will see me and fall madly in love and come serenade me outside my window.
We will spend all our time together looking into each other’s eyes and holding hands.

I know, I know.
I have seen too many romantic movies, but you never know.

As I push through the outdoor with a protein bar and some red licorice, I run into Mrs.
Welk
, the neighbor who was just on the phone with my mom.
Her daughter Melinda is the one who wore the horrendous outfit to school that day—well, really every day. When we were little Mrs.
Welk
was always trying to set up play dates with Melinda and me, and I was always trying to weasel out of them as her mom didn’t allow any plastic toys in the house, which meant absolutely no
Barbies
.
When you are eight that is, like, so important.

“Leah, how are you?”
Mrs.
Welk
says.

“I’m great, Mrs.
Welk
.
Thanks.
How are you?”

“Oh, fine.
Did you hear about the new family that moved in next door to us into the Baileys' old house?
I hear they have a son.
Ralph.”

“Ralph?”
I repeat.

Wait, Ralph is a fat boy’s name.
Anyone named Ralph cannot be rich, hot, or boyfriend material. I mean, it’s another word for puke.

“I saw him outside earlier today and he looks like he might be a good catch for one of you girls!”

I laugh, “I will keep my eye out.
Bye.”

“Bye,” Mrs.
Welk
says as she walks into the store.
To take the opinion of Mrs.
Welk
?
Who knows what her idea of a good catch is?
I mean her daughter, Melinda, still wears braces and is on the debate team.
Please.

This changes everything.
A fat boy named Ralph who Mrs.
Welk
thinks is a good catch. There will be no handholding, no foreign-film watching.
The bubble burst.
I totally lost interest.
My phone rings.
It is Gilbert.

“Hey, what’s up?”
I answer.

“What do you mean ‘what’s up?’
You'
re the one who sent me the 911,” Gilbert says.

“Oh, no biggie, I heard a boy moved in up the street, but it’s
not
big deal.
I’ll call you later.”

“Is he cute?” Gilbert asks.

“According to Mrs.
Welk
.”

We both laugh.

“Later.”

“
Lates
.”

Chapter 2

Tuesday, November 3

Today’s horoscope:
Spend some quality time with people you love.

I had almost entirely forgotten about the whole incident by the next day.
Gilbert and I were done with school and since both our mothers work we have at least a couple of hours to hang out un-chaperoned and do nothing.
Being a
latch key kid
definitely has certain advantages.
Like right now, instead of doing our homework we get to sit on the front step of Gilbert’s house making daisy chains and eating French fries from Giant Burger.
Giant Burger fries are totally worth the calories.
Trust me.