The Encyclopedia of Me (7 page)

“Oh,” he said. “I saw a thing about autism at my old school. There was a kid with that and he traveled around and talked about it. He was OK. He was a decent boarder.”

“Cool,” I said. “Seb doesn't. Travel, I mean. Or skateboard. He
has
one. He just doesn't like it.”

“I mean, this kid was just . . .” he continued. “He was just sort of regular but then he had this whole movie he was in, a documentary or whatever, and in the movie it was all about how he freaked out in, like, train stations. Does your brother freak out in train stations?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I don't think he's ever been in a train station.” I started to laugh. “Where is there a train station? That's so random!”

He smiled. “This kid was from Chicago or something.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, Seb freaks out about cameras. Maybe it's the same. I haven't seen that movie. I kind of get enough of autism at home. You know. Too much, really.”

Suddenly, it was like the bubble of awkward that was holding us in burst open and all the fresh air rushed back in. I took a big breath. It felt good.

“I'm just going into 7-Eleven for a quick sec,” I said. “Wait here.”

“OK,” he said. He got on his board again and started hopping on and off the sidewalk.

I bought an
Everybody
magazine and two Cokes. I couldn't very well sit and enjoy a Coke if he didn't have a drink. When I gave it to him, he sort of lit up, and when he did, I noticed that he has really interesting eyes. They were golden brown with a lighter ring around the middle.

“Hey, thanks,” he said. “You're, like, awesome.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I'm not awesome!”

He shrugged. “I don't know you very well yet, but so far I think you are.”

“You do?” I said.
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My heart plinked in my chest like a rock falling into a bucket. Did he like-like me? I really needed to talk to FB, and fast. But I also wanted to hang with Kai. I wanted him to stay.

“The Coke's no big deal,” I said. “My mom gave me ten dollars to make her coffee.” I did not mention the eggs. It seemed too complex to bring up.

We found a good spot on the beach in a circle of logs, and we propped some logs up over the top like a shade. I'm terrible in the full sun. My freckles go crazy. Well, crazier. They're already crazy.

We sat and talked for a long time. I didn't get a chance to read
Everybody
at all.
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When we got to Kai's house, he waved and jumped up the stairs in one bound, then slid down the railing on his board and fell over. I don't think he hurt himself because he got up really quickly and ran inside before I could go and see if he was OK.

“See you,” I called, even though he was already inside and the door was closed.

I was in such a good mood, I didn't even notice that to get back at me for the missing Wii, Seb and Lex had rearranged my bedroom so when I threw my bag on what is usually my desk, it spilled its sandy contents out all over my bed.

Oh, they're so funny. A brilliant future in comedy awaits them! But only if the entire world accidentally loses all its IQ points in a mysterious and top secret alien attack.

See also
Autism; Boarding, Skate.

Cortez Junior is my school, named after the Spanish conquistador
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Hernando Cortez, who apparently was the person responsible for ending the Aztec empire. I'm really not sure why he has so many things named after him, as ending an ­empire as amazing as the Aztecs' does not seem like something you should be rewarded for, especially when you think about the cool Aztec stuff they built before he marched in with his army and killed them all.

Cortez is a school like any other, I guess, but I have never been to any other school, so what do I know? It has classrooms and hallways and motivational posters on the wall that say things like “STRIVE” and “EXCEL,” which are regularly vandalized by disenchanted students in ways that make no sense. For example, someone wrote “
OW
” over the “EL” at the end of “EXCEL,” so now it says “EXCOW.” Hilair! But not really.

The only difference between Cortez and other similarly depressing places is that, like I've mentioned, it is a school for “gifted” children. We have been “gifted” with the chance to attend Cortez Junior, which is the kind of gift you would like to return to the store to exchange for an iPod, only to find out that the gift is handmade and can't be returned.

We do not wear uniforms at Cortez, but we do have jackets that we have to wear to team events. The jackets are an unhealthy shade of purple and have the crest of the school on the back. Under the crest, it says
CORTEZ SCHOOL
, then under that it has
FINDING EXCELLENCE: COGITO ERGO SUM
.
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However, due to a horrible design flaw, after a few washes the small letters fade away, leaving the wearer with a jacket that says — I couldn't make this up if I tried —
CORTEZ SCHOOL, F E C E S
.
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Cortez is a series of small, randomly colored buildings that, from the street, looks like a rainbow that has been stepped on by a giant. Last year, I was in the green building — Cortez Elementary (CE) — and this year I will be in the yellow building — Cortez Junior (CJ). Eventually, I guess I will be in the orange bulding, Cortez Senior (CS). Is that something to look forward to? I am undecided. The orange building IS the newest, so I suppose it will be the best.

It's going to be very strange to be the youngest kids in the building again, after being the oldest last year. Freddie Blue says this is a good thing because there will be older, more interesting, and much cuter boys there. I'm not the least bit intimidated by the hugeness of CJ because I know that me and FB will be going together, so everything will be an adventure. A super-awesome, fun adventure.

I just know it.

See also
Anderson, Freddie Blue; BFF; Bullies.

This is not my couch. Those are not my brother's feet. (But it is exactly what my brother WOULD have done if I'd tried to take a picture of the ACTUAL couch for your viewing pleasure: SHOW OFF.) Like the rest of the pictures in this book, I “borrowed” this one from the Internet, because REAL encyclopedias all have useful illustrations. If this picture was a scratch and sniff, it would smell exactly as awful as my brother's feet, and you would be forced to burn the book and endure a nasal cleansing ritual involving ­lemons and boiling water in order to survive.

List of boys who we have crushes on, but unlike the Boys We Wouldn't Touch With a Ten-Foot Pole List, for some misguided reason this one
is
actually written down.

Freddie Blue currently has seven boys on her Crush List.
Seven
. However, her list is also full of crossings-out and arrows and add-ons, which does detract slightly from the prettiness of the page. It includes a bunch of older boys who don't know she exists, as well as the likes of Wex Stromson-Funk. (“What?” she said. “Why are you all mad and rolling your eyes? He's mean as a pit viper, but he's cute. That's all I mean by it.”) At one point, Jedgar Johnston was even on her list, even though now she says that she was kidding when she wrote it and that his association with Ruth Quayle makes him the least pops boy in school.

Freddie Blue's list has recently been updated in capital letters at the top with the name “KAI.” Not the worst, as in the worst choice. But the worst, as in the worst for me. When I saw his name there, my heart stuttered and then stopped entirely. She saw me looking and she said, “Whaaaaaaat, you don't like him, do you?”
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“No!” I said. “You have him! I thought you didn't like him, though, because he's too nice?”

“I changed my mind,” she said, waving her hand in the air like she was brushing off a fly.

I felt sick. “OK,” I said. And just like that, I decided to stop my crush clear in its tracks. I refused to compete with my BFF. And I couldn't win, even if I tried. Against FB? Never! I'd only HAD the crush for a few days! What a waste.

Ergo, my Crush List was blank. A VERY long time ago, I wrote Shane Dubois on my list, which has now been crossed out so thoroughly, there is a hole in the paper. He was OK looking and had great teeth. But when Shane found out,
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he stuck a charming note on my locker that said, “I love you, I love you, I love you. NOT.” Oh, that was so funny. I laughed so hard about that! What a jokester! Except the part where it wasn't the least bit funny and I did not laugh.

I also did not speak to Freddie Blue for five days afterward, and did not entirely forgive her until she got a baby picture of Shane Dubois from his mother, who happens to teach French at our school, and blew it up to poster size and added a bubble above his head that said, “I wear diapers! I'm Shane Dubois!”

Before Shane, I also — and I hate admitting this but it's true, so I have to — had a small potential-crush on Wex ­Stromson-Funk. But! That was ONLY because Freddie Blue was working hard at the time to convince me that he was only mean to me because he was in love with me. It didn't take long to figure out that she was just being nice and that actually he hated me. Which was fine, because I hated him too. I only would have liked him if all the bullying had been a way of masking the pain he felt of having a terrible unrequited love for me. Then I
might
have made an exception.

Keep in mind, that happened when I was eight. I didn't understand much about love back then.

Under pressure, I just wrote Brendan Carstairs, because he's nice enough — kind of a smiling guy who is always in the background but never stands out, sort of like wallpaper with a not-too-ugly pattern — and would never laugh at me if he found out about the list, but he's so boring that I'm really mostly lying by putting him on the list at all.

See also
Bullies.

The opposite of light. Well, obvi.

I hate the dark. I'm not scared of it, I just don't like it. (I blame Freddie Blue. Freddie Blue enjoys films that involve people in bikinis being killed brutally while at summer camp.)

When it is dark, because my house is farther up the hill than Kai's, I can look down and see into his family's TV room. Not that I'm spying on him. I am not. Don't even think that! I can usually see only the TV, not the people. When I watch, it sort of feels like we are watching TV together, even though I can't hear the sound or really even see what show he is watching. I haven't seen Kai since we went to the beach, but I know he is still alive because there is the TV — I can see it right now — showing either a sporting event or a movie, I can't really tell which.

I wonder if he is watching it, or if it's his dad or his mom, taking a break from their fighting, which I imagine goes on all the time.

I wonder if he is going to hang out with me again.

I wonder a lot of stuff. Most of it has nothing to do with the dark, so I now return you to your regularly scheduled program of alphabetical facts, currently in progress.

An attitude that says, “I just don't care what you think about me and what I'm doing, and the devil doesn't care either.”

Grandma used to say that I should always have a devil-may-care attitude. This means that I should never let anyone see when I'm upset. If I ever have a rock band
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or a line of clothes
52
or even a record label or a small yacht, I will call it “Devil-May-Care.”

The devil may care if Kai is cute. The devil may also not care.

Drop Mac Park is the neighborhood skate park. It's also got a playground and grassy field, but it's mostly a big cement pit with slopes and walls. Graffiti artists go crazy on all that concrete. The kids at Drop Mac Park are mostly from the big public school or Prescott. I guess “gifted” kids aren't as into boarding as everyone else.