I didn’t know what it meant. The storm inside me had passed. Just dry husks of thought left on the ground.
“Maybe I’m thinking of him. Maybe I want him to win. Maybe I want him to win fair and square, that’s all.”
Mi-Su just stared. She knew it was all bull-crap.
BT finally spoke: “All I know is, you meatballs wouldn’t stand a chance if this game had more railroads.”
Tabby was perched on BT’s shoulders. She pointed down at me, sneered, “Meatball!”
When I went to bed all I could think was: You jerk. What makes you think she’ll want to kiss you back now?
PD108
Strange territory for me: the after-snap. I still feel myself vibrating. Humming. When I think about it, one minute I’m embarrassed, the next minute I’m—what? Excited? Thrilled? I mean, feeling myself lose it like that—I wonder if it was anything like BT’s plunge down Dead Man’s Hill: off the edge of self-control and down the slippery slope of my own words. Scary. Wouldn’t do it again. But kind of OK with having done it that once.
And surprised that the whole world seems to be OK with it, too. No announcement over the PA this morning: “Calling all classes! Please note that on Saturday night at around nine o’clock Will Tuppence snapped….”
BT was perfectly normal in school today, like it never happened. He came at me before homeroom: “Yo, Will! Check this out.” And showed me a handful of change he found with his father’s new detector. I had been toying with the idea of saying “Sorry about the other night,” but I could see there was no point. He would have said, “What are you talking about?”
So he’s letting me off the hook. Fine. But here’s the twisted part: now I’m a little mad at that. Why? Because by ignoring my bad behavior he throws it back in my face. Because he refuses to care about anything. How do you deal with somebody who can’t be insulted?
So what the heck do I want? I think I want him to forgive me. But that will never happen, because you can’t forgive unless you first give a crap.
I finally got to Mi-Su at lunch. I steered her to an empty table in the corner. (BT usually sits with us, but he left school before lunch. Took a half-day. He does that sometimes.) Somebody called: “Check it out—Tuppence and Kelly.” Mi-Su smiled (dazzling), laughed (smile on wheels), stuck out her tongue at the caller.
We sat down. I jumped in: “I was a jerk the other night.”
She pried the plastic lid off her salad. “Just the other night?”
“Funny girl.”
She went straight for the radish. She crunched it. “Did you tell him?”
I picked at the clear wrap on my egg salad sandwich. “Well, actually, I was sort of going to, and then when I saw him this morning he was so, like, Who cares? Like, it’s today now. It’s like he never even noticed.”
I caught a whiff of radish breath. “He didn’t.”
I unwrapped my sandwich. “I feel like the villain.”
“Hissss.”
“I was thinking about this—”
“You’re always thinking.”
“The thing is, that’s not why I get mad at him.”
She crunched the second radish. “If you say so.”
“Hey”—I jabbed half a sandwich at her—
“maybe I care more about him than he cares about himself. Ever think of that? Ever think that when I bust his chops it’s—”
She finished the sentence: “—for his own good. I know.”
“So?” I said. “Is that so bad? Is it so bad to want him to amount to something? Look at him. He goes down hills and messes up clocks. What kind of life is that?”
She sipped her orange juice. Orange juice and radish. Sicko. “What I think is, we have this conversation about once a month.”
“Sorry,” I said. “So, shoot me for caring.”
Now she was looking at me funny.
“What?” I said.
“It just occurred to me. Out of the blue.”
“What?”
“You never laugh out loud.”
“You’re off the subject,” I told her. “And you’re crazy, too. I do so laugh out loud.”
She studied me. “I don’t think so. I’ve known you most of my life. If you did, I’d know it.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
She shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted, as if I was standing in sunlight far away. “No, I don’t think so.” She brought back her normal face, smiled. “Anyway, I think you should just stop caring. So much.”
“Huh?”
“He’s got parents for that. Just be his friend.”
“I am. He’s my best friend. That’s what this is all about.”
“You have a funny way of showing it. And anyway, you’re not caring. You’re meddling.”
Am I? Is she right?
“Don’t you care about him?” I said. And instantly wished I could take the words back. They covered more territory than I meant. Would she think I was thinking of the star-party kiss?
But she was cool. Impy. Mi-Su. She plastic-forked salad into her mouth, chewed, stared at me, fingered the amber sea horse at her throat, grinned. “Of course.”
What did she mean by that?
“So?” I said. Whatever that meant.
“So,” she said, munching, “I’m along for the ride.” The bell rang. She laughed, pointed at my sandwich. “You never took a bite, you moron.”
The Big Snap has knocked me off my planning for the kiss. I need to refocus.
PD109
Along for the ride…along for the ride…
PD110
Looking in the mirror. Smiling. Laughing out loud.
PD111
plink…plink…plink…
PD113
I’m at the top of a hill. Dead Man’s Hill. Black Viper wobbles beneath me. Wind whistles. I’m scared. Nothing but air beneath me. I want to go back but I can’t. Something pushes me. I spill off the edge, I’m heading down. I can’t stop. There’s nothing to hang on to. My body drags back while my toes point straight down like a ballet dancer. Black Viper’s wheels are stuttering, skipping. The wind is screaming. I can’t stop. The wheels lose contact. I’m surfing space. Black Viper goes drifting off, like a jettisoned fuel tank. I’m falling…falling…the wind is screaming…Wally ate a potato every day…Wally ate a potato every day…
I opened my eyes.
Tabby was straddling my chest, wearing her snooty I-can-read face, saying over and over, “Wally ate a potato every day.”
I bucked, I swatted, but she was faster. She flitted from the bed like a grasshopper. On the way out the door she bumped the bookcase. My chess trophy tottered, toppled, crashed to the floor.
The pewter King Arthur lay by himself, broken off at the ankles. I cradled it in my hand. The only trophy I’d ever won.
PD118
The trophy is fixed. I got it back from Hicks’ today. It’s not on the bookcase by the door anymore. It’s high. On top of my dresser.
I put a hook-and-eye lock on my door. I use it at night.
PD119
Valentine’s Day! Perfecto! That’s when I’ll do it.
I’m drawing up a plan.
PD120
Saturday. The dormer. BT and me.
He had to take his little twin chipmunks to the dentist. Then they came here. They were all playing in Tabby’s room, the three of them shrieking beneath us.
We sat on the floor, eating hoagies from the deli. BT pointed to the wedding gifts. “When are you gonna open them?”
I shrugged. “Me? Never. Maybe nobody ever will. Or maybe some archaeologist someday.”
He wagged his head. “Crazy.”
“Why?”
“They’re both dead, right? The newlyweds?”
“Yeah. Andrew and Margaret. Long dead.”
“So open them.”
“They’re not mine. They’re like a memorial. It’s a family tradition to not open them.”
“Open them.”
“No.”
He reached. “I’ll open them.”
I slapped his hand away.
“If they were in my house—”
“Yeah,” I said, “I know.”
“I’m surprised Tabby hasn’t ripped into them.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I am, too. It’s a mystery.”
It seemed impossible that the shrieking below could get any louder, but suddenly it did, followed by stampeding footsteps. Three miniature girls burst into the dormer. The first, one of the twins, raced bawling into BT’s arms.
“Tabby tripped me!”
“She stold Ozzie,” gushed Tabby. “I had to stop her.” She was hugging her octopus.
“Where’s it hurt?” said BT.
“I don’t know!” wailed the twin. Her arms collared BT’s neck, her face was buried under his chin. I’d never heard such screaming. I kept looking for blood. Tabby and the other twin were gaping.
BT cradled her like a baby, rocked her. He was perfectly calm. “I think I know,” he said. He pulled up her pant leg. “I think it’s right here.” He kissed her knee. “That better?”
She nodded. She stopped bawling. He tickled her. She laughed. A minute later the three of them were shrieking again in Tabby’s room.
PD127
Eighteen days till Valentine’s! I work on The Plan every day. It’s almost ready.
PD128
Planning…
PD129
Planning…
PD130
THE PLAN
Inspired by the words of Mi-Su Kelly:
“The stars. The place. The night.”
I. The Place
A. Smedley Park
1. Picnic grove
II. The Night
A. Speaks for itself
III. The Stars
A. First Option (Clear Sky)
1. Real (Polaris, Sirius, etc.)
B. Second Option (Cloudy Sky)
1. Not real (See V-B)
IV. Extra Credit
A. The Moon
V. Equipment/Materials
A. Thermos
1. Hot chocolate
B. Paper Stars
1. Possible supply sources
a. Lily Pad Art Supplies
b. Staples
c. Rite-Aid
VI. The Bait (at school, February 14)
A. “I’m taking my telescope to Smedley Park tonight. Try to see the Horsehead Nebula. Want to come?”
VII. Procedure
A. Walk with her to Smedley Park after dinner
B. Set up scope
1. Fail to find Horsehead Nebula
a. On purpose
C. Drink hot chocolate
1. Share cup
2. Romantic
D. Words
1. “Hey, I guess we’re having our own little star party here, huh?”
2. “Know what we need? More stars!”
E. Dump paper stars over our heads
F. Words
1. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”
G. Kiss
PD132
I bought stars today at Lily Pad. Little gold ones, like I used to get on my spelling quizzes in first grade. I also bought hot chocolate. Microwavable. With little marshmallows.
PD133
This is the month! Thirteen days and a wake-up.
PD136
The more I look at The Plan, the more I see what it doesn’t cover: What happens after the kiss? How will she react? What will she say? I keep coming up with new possibilities. All day long I hear her voice in my head:
“Oh, Will!”
“Will…I didn’t know you felt that way about me.”
“Those stars did the trick!”
“I wish you hadn’t done that, Will.”
PD137
“You Romeo, you.”
“Mmm…yummy.”
“I’ve had better kisses from a puppy.”
PD139
One week!
PD140
“Will…wow! Who have you been practicing on?”
“Kiss me again, you fool.”
“Not bad—but you’re no BT.”
PD141
I was tense at Monopoly tonight. All the usual little things—Mi-Su calling me “sicko” because of my anchovies and extra sauce, BT yapping he’s “wheelin’ and dealin’”—seemed a little different, dipped in glitter, like this is our last Saturday-night Monopoly game before the world changes—again. I remembered Mi-Su’s words when the proton died: “Nothing will ever be the same.”
I watched BT move the tiny iron around the board, and suddenly the question occurred to me: Am I cheating on him? How much do I really know about him and Mi-Su? Mi-Su says it was the night, not BT. Is she telling the truth? Even if she is, what about BT? Was it just the night and the stars for him, too? Or was it Mi-Su? Has he been thinking about Mi-Su just like I have? Has he discovered the back of her neck, too?
PD142
Something could have happened.
But didn’t.
Around seven o’clock tonight the doorbell rang. It was Mi-Su. I don’t know why, but I was shocked. She just stood there smiling: black coat, bright red knitted hat with bunny-tail tassel, matching red mittens, matching red nose from the cold, just standing there smiling at me, breaking the world record for adorableness. I didn’t think—I just did. I reached out and grabbed her and kissed her right there on the front step….
Hah! I wish.
Mi-Su really did come to the door, but it was only a kind of second me—Shadow Me—that reacted that way. Real Me just stood there, because making a move now wasn’t in The Plan and there were still three days to go. Real Me smiled back at her and said, “Hi. What’s up?” and she made a face and said, “Geometry. I hate it. Can you help me?” and Real Me said, “Sure, come on in.”
She stayed for a couple of hours and we did her geometry, and most of the time we were alone in the basement and sometimes her face was only inches from mine, and Shadow Me kept kicking Real Me in the shins and hissing, “Kiss her…kiss her now!…” but I stayed with The Plan, and when I went to bed the pillow whispered in my ear, “You blew it.”
PD143
“Nice try, for an amateur. Come back and see me in a couple of years.”
PD145
Along the flagstone walkway that goes from our driveway to the front door, there are bushes. I was coasting down the sidewalk after school, about a block from home. Tabby’s school bus stopped and out she popped. She trudged up the driveway, her backpack hugging her like a baby monkey. She was almost to the front step when suddenly the bushes moved and out popped Korbet Finn. “Happy Valentine’s Day!” he shouted and planted a nose-deep kiss in her cheek.
Tabby recoiled, snarled, “That’s tomorrow, lugnut!” and shoved him back into the bushes.
Uh-oh. Was this an omen for tomorrow—The Big Day?
I’m going to chicken out. I know it. I’m terrified. My atomic watch is ticking off the seconds. I can’t do it. I don’t like not knowing what comes after Plan Part VII-G. In chess, you don’t make a move until you know how your opponent will counter. I’m going to chicken out!
PD146
The night was clear. No clouds. The stars as good as they get around here. Even the moon showed up, but just a thin toenail clipping, not bright enough to drown out the stars.
I set up my scope. Couldn’t find the Horsehead. (Aw shucks.) Let her try. No dice. Her disappointment was no act. “Poopy!” she said. I don’t know why, that just tickled me. We drank hot chocolate from the same thermos cup. The red plastic cup matched her mittens and hat. I had been afraid she would say, “Didn’t you bring a cup for me?” but she didn’t.
When we finished the hot chocolate, I screwed the cup back on and walked a couple of steps away from her and pretended to gaze up at the sky and said, “Hey, guess what?”
“What?” she said.
“I think we’re having our own little star party here.”
After I said it I didn
’t breathe, because I was sure she was going to say, “Are you kidding? This isn’t even close to a real star party at French Creek. So don’t get any ideas, pal.”
But she didn’t.
She looked at me. She looked at the sky. She held out her arms as if welcoming the stars to come down. She said, “Well…yeah…you’re right.”
I reached into my pocket (where I had dumped the paper stars before I left the house). I walked over to her. Even with the real stars up there, I was going to use all my ammo. I swallowed hard. “Know what we need?” I said—croaked, actually.
“What?” she said dreamily, looking up.
I froze. My hand was in my pocket and the stars were in my hand, but I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak.
And then she seemed to come out of her trance and her face was turning toward me and her mouth was opening to say something and suddenly I was doing it—holding my fistful of stars over her head and letting them fall and blurting way too loud, “More stars!”
And “Happy Valentine’s Day!”
And kissing her.
So hard that my teeth clacked into hers. I backed off and it was soft and OK and her shoulders were in my hands and I only knew what I could feel because my eyes were clamped down shut. When I finally pulled away and opened my eyes, I was surprised to see that hers were closed, too.
I braced myself for her words—Please don’t wisecrack, I prayed—but she said nothing. She just smiled. And kissed me again.
We were halfway home when I realized I had left my telescope behind and we had to go back for it.
PD147
On Fridays the first time I see Mi-Su is in second-period Spanish. I’m always there first. I take a seat toward the back. She’s always one of the last to come in. She looks for me, smiles, waggles her fingertips and takes a seat in the first row, even though there’s usually an empty seat beside me.