Everything I Know About You Page 10

  At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about. How was baking bread the same as making popcorn? It wasn’t. One took forever; the other didn’t. I had no patience for anything that made you wait, so after that, every time Dad preheated the oven, I managed to slip away from the kitchen. Pretty soon Dad got the message that I wasn’t a baker and had zero interest in anything but the eating part.

  I never thought about this conversation, which had happened approximately one million years ago. But that morning at the Air and Space Museum, I remembered what Dad had said about making popcorn—how it seemed like a sudden explosion but really wasn’t. What made me think about this was watching Spider. As soon as we entered the museum and bought our tickets, he transformed: pop. Out on the street, he was quiet and nervous, the way he always was; inside the museum, it was as if he’d spontaneously combusted. He ran upstairs ahead of everybody into the Apollo room and began explaining everything there in a loud, enthusiastic voice: The Skylab 4 command module. The lunar roving vehicle. The F-1 engine.

  “Dude, you’re like some NASA supergeek,” Marco told him. “How do you know so much about this?”

  Spider beamed. “I just read a lot.”

  “Yeah, but how do you remember all those details?” It was like Marco wondered if Spider had a secret method he could share with him. Like he wished he could be as smart as Spider. Where had this come from all of a sudden? It was weird.

  “I have a cool book I brought for the bus ride,” Spider told him. “When we get back to the room, I could show it to you.”

  “Awesome,” Marco said, grinning. “Hey, you know how this thing works?” He pointed to some control-panel thing in the Skylab 4.

  And Spider said some theories about what it could be for. What was going on here? Had Spider undergone some kind of secret personality transplant? Of course not, I scolded myself.

  But if he hadn’t changed suddenly, dramatically, like a kernel of corn in a hot frying pan, had he been changing all along . . . and I hadn’t noticed?

  And Marco also, for that matter? That could explain the strange phone call Spider had heard in the bathroom. Well, not explain it—just explain how Marco could care that someone was crying. Whoever it was.

  And why he was being so nice to Spider. Which I had to admit he was.

  “Isn’t it incredible?” Mr. G was by my side as we headed to the next room to see the 1903 Wright Flyer. But I couldn’t tell what, exactly, he was referring to—the exhibit, the whole museum, or Spider’s behavior. So I just made a “yeah” sort of sound.

  Then I heard my voice ask: “Mr. G, why do people get obsessed with things?”

  “Good question,” Mr. G said. “But you tell me, Tally. You’re obsessed with math, aren’t you?”

  “Me?” I looked at him. He wasn’t even my teacher; how much did he know about me, anyway? “I’m not obsessed with it. I just like it.”

  “Fair enough. But why?”

  He couldn’t possibly be talking about Marisa or Bio-dad. So maybe he was asking about all the unknown variables in the Me equation. “I don’t know! It’s just how my brain works.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m guessing it’s the same with any obsession. You develop an interest in things that click with your particular way of thinking. And why your brain works that way, who knows. Could be genetic, could be environment, very likely a combination of the two. Anyway, it looks to me like your friend has found his subject.” He looked over at Spider, who was telling Marco something about the Wright brothers.

  “Nah,” I said. “Spider’s interested in a lot of things. He flips around all the time.”

  “Until he finds a subject that’s his subject, with a capital S. And then, watch out, world.”

  Mr. G smiled and walked over to Sydney and Shanaya. His smile annoyed me. It was the same sort of smile as the one he’d given me at the Vietnam Memorial—and it was like he was implying we both knew something, even agreed about something, when it came to Spider. But what, exactly, were we agreeing about? And how could he—Spider’s teacher for just a few weeks at the start of the school year—know my best friend as well as I did?

  Although, how well did I know Spider, really? I mean, he was choosing Marco over me, at least right now, here in this museum. Maybe Sonnet was right about the way Spider felt; maybe he really did think I treated him like a baby.

  And wished I hadn’t come here. So he could have time with Marco by himself.

  The thought kicked me in the stomach.

  Ugh.

  How come I didn’t see all that before?

  I’m an idiot. A total, massively idiotic—

  “So you like this place?” Now Ava had wandered over to me.

  “Yeah, it’s really fascinating,” I said. “Don’t you think so?”

  “Not especially. I get bored fast in museums.”

  “Then why’d you vote to come here?”

  Ava shrugged. “Everyone else wanted to come. And I didn’t care one way or the other.”

  I looked at her. Maybe that beige sweater did wash her out; her skin looked like uncooked oatmeal. “So what do you care about?”

  “Me?” She grabbed her hair in a ponytail. Then she opened her hand, and the ponytail went free. “If I tell you, you’ll just make some snotty comment.”

  “No, I won’t, Ava. I promise.”

  “Okay, fine.” She looked at me through her pale eyelashes. “You know those magazines in our room? I care about those.”

  I stared. “You mean those fashion ones? Why?”

  “Because the articles are really smart and funny. And my dream job is to write for them someday.”

  “Cool,” I said, because it seemed like the thing to say.

  “I’m not a math nerd like you, Tally. I’m a fashion nerd. And I refuse to hear you say anything negative about that.”

  “Well, I’m not, okay? I just didn’t know that about you.”

  “Right. And now you do.”

  We didn’t say anything for a few seconds. It was awkward, but not in a bad way.

  Then I heard my voice. “Can I ask you a question, Ava? How come you didn’t go on the Kennedy Center tour?”

  “I told you. I’ve been there already.”

  “But just on the general tour, right? This one was special.”

  “Yes, maybe, but it’s still just a bunch of dressing rooms.”

  “Although they might meet the cast of Hamilton, which would be pretty amazing. Considering how everyone is so obsessed with that show—”

  “Yeah, well. Mom wasn’t promising anything.”

  I saw Spider bouncing on his toes as he talked to Marco. Marco said something, and then Spider did his laugh, the one with the hyuk-hyuk sound. It was hard to watch, so I turned away.

  And I’m not sure how it happened, or why, but all of a sudden I was asking Ava if she wished her mom hadn’t come on the trip.

  Ava’s eyebrows met. “Are you saying something, Tally?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  But it was so strange how I couldn’t shut up. “Is that why you didn’t go to the Kennedy Center? So you could be on your own? For the day, I mean?”

  She looked shocked.

  My mouth kept moving. “Because your mom is, like, really intense. So if you needed time away from her . . .”

  “Who says I did?”

  “It wouldn’t be surprising.” I shrugged. “My mom’s kind of the opposite. So is my dad. I mean, I know I’m incredibly lucky. But I bet it’s hard for you dealing with your mom about everything.”

  Now Ava’s eyes were like slits. “Tally, that’s really insulting,” she said. “To my mom.”

  “Sorry! I just meant that if you felt that way, I completely understand—”

  “You don’t understand anything,” Ava snapped, and stomped off.

  Pythagoras

  WE STAYED AT THE MUSEUM for three hours. The whole time, Spider and Marco kept talking together, walking a few feet in fr
ont of me, not looking back. But once, I heard Marco call him Astro Boy—which struck me as a compliment nickname, like Math Girl.

  Don’t think I wasn’t glad for Spider, by the way. I was. The fact that his former bully wasn’t just an okay roommate but actually, at this moment, an almost friend made me feel relieved—but also, I have to admit, kind of shaky. It wasn’t that I was jealous; it was more that I didn’t know what to do with myself. My whole life I’d taken care of Spider, and now it felt like he’d shoved me out of the sandbox. Which I knew wasn’t true, of course: Just because he’d been ignoring me all morning didn’t mean the two of us weren’t still friends. But something had changed—maybe for good—between us. And I couldn’t help wondering if it was my fault, for not seeing things better. Especially something other people had noticed first.

  At noon, Mr. G announced that the next stop was lunch. He gave us a choice of restaurants: a pizza place, a burger place, or a Thai place. Marco said he was voting for Thai food, and it surprised me when Spider, an incredibly picky eater, agreed. Shanaya, Sydney, Jamal, and I all wanted pizza, so Mr. G put the question to a vote. The Thai place won, only because Ava switched her vote at the last minute.

  We got to the restaurant at twelve thirty. Spider was still blabbing about the lunar rover, and Marco seemed to be paying attention. Still.

  “Mr. G, I don’t know what to order,” Shanaya announced, as we all stared at our menus.

  “What say we order a bunch of dishes for the table,” Mr. G suggested. “That way you folks can sample different things and see what you like.”

  “Awesome,” Marco said. “That’s what my dad always used to do.”

  “Used to?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Before he moved out last year.”

  “I never even had a dad,” Spider blurted.

  “How is that possible?” Althea Packer teased.

  “I just mean, no one I’ve ever met.” Spider’s lip quivered a micromillimeter.

  I knew that lip quiver; I’d spent years being on the watch for it. Before I could stop myself, I jumped in.

  “You want to hear something crazy I just found out?” I said. “It’s about Pythagoras.”

  “Who?” Sydney said.

  “You know, the ancient Greek mathematician. The guy who figured out about right triangles—a squared plus b squared equals c squared. Well, I read this article that said he was deathly afraid of beans.”

  “Beans?” Jamal said, laughing.

  “Yeah, especially fava beans. He thought they contained the souls of the dead, so if you ate beans it was like you were eating your ancestors.”

  “Haha, yeah, because human beans,” Marco said.

  “Oh, and every time you farted, he thought you were losing part of your soul.”

  Everyone was staring at me. Mr. G stroked his beard, like he didn’t know what else to do.

  “I swear,” I added. “You can look it up.”

  “Tally,” Shanaya said. “Why exactly are you saying all this? We were just having a serious conversation.”

  “Yeah, I know. So I thought I’d liven it up a little.”

  “By mentioning bean farts? And ancient Greek math guys?” Shanaya shook her long twists.

  “Sometimes things just pop into my head.”

  “Well, you should try listening to other people, you know?” She whispered something to Sydney, who rolled her eyes and nodded.

  The waiter came to take Mr. G’s order. I personally loved Thai food, especially anything spicy, with noodles—but hearing all the dishes Mr. G was ordering, I wondered if Spider would find something to eat. Other than chili dogs, he never ate spicy food, and he wasn’t big on trying new stuff in general.

  While we were waiting for the food, Mr. G and Mr. Melton started talking about some local baseball team with the hilarious name the Washington Gnats. I tried to catch Spider’s eye so we could share a laugh about it (haha, the Minneapolis Stinkbugs, the Boston Ticks, the Los Angeles Lice), but he wasn’t ever looking in my direction. He just kept nodding and smiling whenever Marco mentioned some meaningless baseball statistic, as if he even knew what Marco was talking about, which he didn’t.

  And I thought: Okay, Spider, so you have a new friend; but you don’t need to lie to him, do you?

  When the food finally arrived, Mr. G told us to help ourselves, and if we couldn’t reach a dish we wanted, to just pass our plate. Right away, all sixteen kids (plus three grownups) started passing our plates counterclockwise, ending up with food we couldn’t identify. I waited for Spider’s reaction to the Mystery Food in front of him, but he just picked up his pair of chopsticks (when did he learn to use chopsticks?) and began eating some noodles.

  So I ate too. The food was pretty good, but I barely tasted anything.

  Finally I got tired of stuffing things into my mouth, and looked up. Mrs. Packer and Mr. G were talking about car problems. Althea was talking to Drake about some Netflix series I didn’t watch. Sad-nay was telling Shanaya about a fight she’d had with her mom. Jamal and Damon were arguing about some football statistic. Sammie, Desiree, and Annie were discussing a party I hadn’t been invited to.

  E pluribus unum, I thought. Ha. We were the same as back at Eastview, only with chopsticks.

  Oh, but also one other difference: Now I was on my own, without Spider or Sonnet.

  At the far end of the table, Ava was sitting next to a boy named Javier. They weren’t talking to each other, though. She was moving things around her plate with her chopsticks, looking busy and organized, typing into her phone with her free hand. But if you looked closely, which I did, you could see that her food was all on her plate, uneaten.

  Us-ies

  AFTER LUNCH WE WENT TO the Capitol building, where we met the Kennedy Center kids, who wouldn’t shut up. They’d been in a dressing room and the rehearsal studio; they’d seen the costume shop; they’d met the choreographer. They’d even waved at some Hamilton chorus members, who’d waved back. Woo-hoo.

  Mrs. Seeley, of course, was glowing. “I’m so thrilled I was able to arrange this for us! I know you’ll all remember this day forever!” she gushed. And she made all the kids promise to send personal thank-yous to her college friend, who was kind enough to blahblahblah.

  “Well, we had a great morning too,” Mr. G said. He grinned at the plan B people.

  “Actually, we did,” Marco said. He didn’t even sound sarcastic.

  Sonnet insisted on showing me selfies. Except they weren’t selfies; they were us-ies. Here we are in the dressing room. Here we are in the hallway. Every photo was about Sonnet and Haley, or Sonnet and Nadia, or Sonnet, Haley, and Nadia. I just stood there like an idiot while she showed them all to me in chronological order, going “Huh,” “Wow,” and “Nice shot.”

  Then they ran over to Ava to show her all the photos. While Ava was surrounded, Mrs. Seeley came over to me.

  “Oh, Tally,” she said. “I’m so sorry you couldn’t join us. The tour was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure it was,” I said, looking past her to where Marco and Spider were now chatting with Trey. Who was laughing. About what?

  “Did you enjoy yourself at the Air and Space Museum?”

  “Me? Oh, definitely.”

  “And I hear that afterward you had lunch at a nice restaurant?”

  “Uh-huh. Thai food.” Why was Marco resting his elbow on Spider’s shoulder? Was Spider okay with it? He wasn’t protesting, but that didn’t mean he liked it.

  “Everyone enjoyed the food? Including Ava?”

  “What?” Slowly Mrs. Seeley came into focus. “I’m sorry?”

  She smiled, but there was something twitchy about her mouth. “Ava enjoyed the food?”

  Finally I got it: She was asking me to report on Ava’s food intake.

  And for a second I panicked, because I wasn’t sure what to say. If I lied, I’d be protecting Ava from her mother, but I wouldn’t be helping her, really. If I told Mrs. Seeley the truth,
Ava would kill me; and I had no idea how her mom would react, anyway. Maybe she’d blast me for telling her something she didn’t want to hear: Dear Mrs. Seeley, Your daughter isn’t perfect. She’s pretty messed up, to be totally honest with you. Sincerely, Talia Martin.

  So I pretended to think for a minute. “I’m not sure. We weren’t sitting together. I think she ordered chicken pad thai?”

  “Yum!” Mrs. Seeley exclaimed, and right away I could tell I’d made the right choice. Mrs. Seeley had heard me say that Ava had eaten the pad thai; maybe that was all she’d wanted to hear.

  I let her pat my shoulder.

  “Well, I’m so excited about the Capitol tour,” she gushed. “Aren’t you?”

  Before I could answer, she was at Ava’s side again, oohing over the photos.

  • • •

  That afternoon we did the Capitol building and the US Mint. The whole time, Spider kept running back and forth between Marco and me. And Sonnet kept on trying to include me in her new circle, which consisted of Haley, Nadia, Shanaya, and Sydney. Oh, and sometimes Ava, except when Mrs. Seeley insisted on talking to her daughter.

  But the thing was, I had no interest in being a clonegirl. So whenever Sonnet tried to sweep me into their formation, I hung back to retie my sneakers.

  One time when I was pretend-double-knotting my laces, Marco came over.

  “Hey,” he said.

  I got up and waited, but he didn’t add anything. He just stood there looking at me from under his eyelashes. All of a sudden I realized that we were the same height. And this was strange, because we’d never been before.

  “Can I ask you a question, Marco?” I blurted. “Why are you being so nice to Spider?”

  He looked confused. “I shouldn’t be nice to him?”

  “I just mean you were horrible to him last year. Don’t you remember?”

  He rubbed his cheek. “No, of course I do. I was a total jerk, and so was Trey. But that was back when we were all being stupid—”

  “Not everyone, Marco. I wasn’t. And I don’t get why you’re his friend now.”

  “I don’t know,” Marco said slowly, as if he was figuring it out for the first time. “I just think he’s really smart. He was always so quiet, and I think he hid behind you a lot, so I guess I never noticed it before. Anyway, people change. Don’t you think you have?”