Everything I Know About You Page 13

  Because the color. Oh, bleepity bleep! Now that my hair was dry, you could tell that the color—if you could call it a color—was a disaster. I looked like a tree monster, an Ent. Or no: like the Swamp Thing.

  “Try to stay calm,” Ava urged, watching me stare at myself in the mirror.

  I almost laughed. “Are you serious? How can I stay calm about this?”

  “Because you’re Tally. You don’t care what people think, right?”

  I snorted. “I thought you said I did care. Deep down. But that I was only pretending I didn’t!”

  “Yeah, well. I think you care about some things. Just not about how you look.”

  “Ava, that’s totally wrong, okay? Of course I care! I just don’t want someone telling me what I should look like. Not some stupid fashion magazine, or the internet. Or my mom.”

  Her face flushed. “Are you saying that’s how I am?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, aren’t you?”

  Three sharp knocks on the door.

  Ava and I stared at each other in horror. We both knew who knocked like that.

  “Ava, sweetie, can I come in?” Mrs. Seeley called in a cheery voice. “I just want to say good night.”

  “Just a minute, Mom.” She threw a towel at me. “Put it on your head!” she hissed.

  “Put a towel on my head?”

  “Pretend you just washed your hair! And cover up my tank!”

  I grabbed another towel and wrapped it around my torso.

  As soon as Ava opened the door, Mrs. Seeley’s nostrils flared. “What’s that smell?”

  “I don’t smell anything,” Ava said, sniffing.

  “You don’t? It’s like rotten meat.”

  “Oh, it’s just my shampoo,” I said, as if the answer just came to me. “My dad hates it. He says it stinks up the bathroom whenever I use it.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Mrs. Seeley scrunched her nose just like Ava. “Anyway, I just got a text from Mr. G. He said they had a great time at the game, and they’re on their way back to the hotel. Ava, honey, you ate your dinner?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to shower first after the gym, and Tally was washing her hair, so—”

  “That’s true,” I said eagerly. “I was!”

  Mrs. Seeley waved her hand in front of her nose. “Tally, dear, whatever’s in that shampoo can’t be good for your hair. It smells really vile.”

  “I agree! It’s the last time I ever use it, I promise.”

  “Good. Why don’t you turn up the air-conditioning, to get more circulation in here.” She walked over to the thermostat and pressed a button. Immediately we could hear a fan whoosh on from somewhere in the walls.

  Oxygen, yay!

  Mrs. Seeley kissed Ava’s cheek. “Well, good night, you two. See you at breakfast.”

  “Thanks,” I told Ava as she shut the door behind her mother.

  “What for,” Ava said, shrugging.

  I couldn’t explain. But somehow, right then, it felt as if we were on the same team. Us versus Mrs. Seeley. It was a strange sensation, and I wondered if Ava thought so too.

  I took off the towels and hung them in the bathroom. Ava walked over to her plastic container of dinner. She took out a few red grapes, popped them into her mouth, and dumped the rest into the trash.

  “You aren’t hungry?” I asked.

  “Nope. And I refuse to be nagged, Tally.”

  “Sorry. I won’t nag you, then.”

  “Thanks.” She reached for her notebook and wrote something fast.

  “So what’s in the notebook, anyway?” I said.

  “None of your business,” she replied, not looking at me. And I think it was that sentence—None of your business—that gave me the answer.

  I stared at her. “It’s about food, isn’t it,” I said. “What are the numbers you keep writing—like calories or something?”

  She shut the notebook. “Wait. Tally, you read it?”

  “I just looked at it. When you left it out.”

  Ava’s face crumpled. And then this happened so fast it was a blur: She grabbed her phone and snapped a photo. Of me.

  “Ava, what—” I began.

  She held up her phone so I could see the picture: Me with slime-green, strawlike hair sticking out wildly.

  Me wearing Ava’s incredibly clingy pink tank, all blotchy and discolored from the bleach. My bare belly sticking out at the bottom. My eyes in shock.

  “Tally,” Ava was saying through her teeth, “if you tell my mom, or Nadia, or anyone else, about my notebook, or about throwing out food, or about the muffin, or lunch, or anything else that’s none of your business, I’ll post this photo online.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “And I’ll show it to your boyfriend!”

  “You mean Spider? He won’t care.”

  She laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh, either. “No, not Spider. I mean the boy you secretly like, Marco.”

  “Fine, Ava! Go ahead! I really don’t—”

  “I’ll make sure other people see too.” Her eyes flashed. “I’ll show it to Sonnet! And then you’ll find out if she’s still your friend.”

  For a second I couldn’t speak. Then I could. “Ava, that’s horrible! You’re horrible! I was stupid to worry about you!”

  “Hey, so we finally agree about something,” Ava replied.

  The Cap

  AFTER THAT I CONSIDERED TEXTING Fiona about the hair disaster, and also about Ava’s behavior. But I decided against it: My sister would probably ask for a photo, and I couldn’t bear to take a selfie. Plus, I was pretty sure she’d tell Mom—and even though I was dreading that conversation, I knew I should have it myself, when we got home. There was no point typing up the whole story now, and then having to talk about it all over again as soon as I got off the bus. Once would be bad enough.

  So I just crawled into bed. But as I lay there on the battle-pattern sheets, all I could think about was how much I missed my dog, Spike. At home her blanket-hogging kept me awake sometimes, but that night I didn’t even care about sleeping. I just needed the warm weight of her doggy body. Even her snoring and her stinky breath would have been a comfort. And thinking about her soothing wonderfulness made me vow that when I got home, I’d take her for an extra-long walk in the park. Then I’d get her a double-scoop vanilla ice cream cone—a special treat she usually got on her adoptaversary.

  Somehow, picturing Spike’s calm brown eyes, I fell asleep.

  And when I awoke, Ava wasn’t there. This was really good news. Because after everything that had happened between us, I didn’t know how to share a room with her anymore, be all, “Ho-hum, whatever, dibs on the first shower.” Now all I could think was: How could I possibly have believed, even for one millisecond, that Ava Seeley and I were on the same team? She’ll never be on my team; she’ll only humiliate me and judge me. I was such a moron to care about her eating habits. Or non-eating habits.

  Anyway, not having to deal with her that morning was a huge relief.

  The other good news was that I remembered that I’d brought my purple newsboy cap. So if I kept my cap on all day—glued it to my scalp for the entire rest of the trip—probably no one would see my Ent-head. And the thing about dressing funny all the time: If one day you’re dressing funny for a reason, people probably won’t suspect anything. They’ll just go, Oh, look, there’s Tally being Tally.

  But just in case anyone got too focused on my cap, I added my ringtail-lemur necklace. As a decoy, sort of. Then I went downstairs for breakfast.

  Where, shockingly, Spider was sitting at a table by himself, eating a toasted bagel.

  “Hey,” I greeted him, holding a bowl of granola and a glass of OJ. And trying to look normal, like I hadn’t been the worst friend in the world to him just twelve hours ago. “How was the game last night?”

  “Boring,” he said.

  So I sat down with him. Because yay, Spider was still Spider. And yay, he was telling the truth again. And wasn’t too mad to ta
lk to me.

  “But I had fun, anyway,” he said. “Also I’m sorry I yelled at you like that.”

  “No, I need to be the one apologizing.” I took a giant chilly sip of OJ. “Spider, I’m really just incredibly sorry about what I said to you yesterday. I think it’s great that you’ve made friends with Marco, and of course I get that he’s changed. And you, too,” I added. “Really.”

  Spider smiled. “Thanks, Tally. But I knew you were feeling sick when you said all those things, so.” Before I could confess the truth about that, he said, “Hey, I found out who Marco was talking to on the phone: his little brother.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know he had one.”

  “Yeah, well. He doesn’t show up much at stuff. He’s six years old and he’s autistic and doesn’t talk. And he has meltdowns—not like what I used to have, way worse. Marco says he’s the only one in his family who can calm him down, so it’s a big deal that he’s away from home on this trip.”

  “Okay,” I said, but only because I didn’t know what else to say. Back when Marco’s dad was Spider’s Little League coach, I always thought he was a mean, impatient man—so it didn’t surprise me that he couldn’t deal with a little kid’s meltdown. But hearing that Marco could, and that he did it all the time . . . something happened to me. Inside me, I mean.

  I looked across the restaurant, where Marco was sitting with Trey, Jamal, and some other boys. Really, he had a very nice smile, I thought. Sweet, and not the slightest bit smirky like Trey’s.

  Suddenly his eyes caught mine, and he smiled at me. At me.

  I felt my cheeks flush and my scalp tingle inside the cap.

  I sipped some more OJ.

  Just then Ava and her mom walked into the restaurant. As soon as Mrs. Seeley spotted me, she waved and headed over.

  Oh, bleepity bleep. I tugged the cap to cover my ears.

  “So how’s it going with Ava?” Spider murmured.

  “Long story,” I murmured back.

  “Good morning!” Mrs. Seeley exclaimed. “Are these seats taken? Are you all set for a supreme morning?”

  Spider and I looked at each other. I hadn’t even glanced at today’s schedule.

  “I’m not sure. What’s happening today?” I asked casually.

  “You don’t know? This morning we’re sitting in on a session of the United States Supreme Court!” Mrs. Seeley spooned some oatmeal into her mouth; the spoon clinked against her teeth. “And afterward we’re going to the US Botanic Garden, where they have the most perfect roses, and also a museum or two. Tally, dear, you really should have a look at the schedule! Ava, darling, aren’t you getting tired of vanilla yogurt?”

  Ava stirred her container. “No,” she said flatly. “Because it’s what I want, Mom.” She turned to me. “Hey, Tally, I like your hat.”

  Why did she just say that? I couldn’t help thinking she was repeating her threat—warning me that if I said anything to her mom, she’d blab about the hair fiasco. Or worse than blab: share the hideous photo. I mean, it would be bad enough if people saw my horror-movie hair. But what would really be unbearable: They’d see me in Ava’s teeny pink tank top. Looking like a clonegirl wannabe. Looking all wrong for my “body type.” All wrong for me.

  “Thank you,” I answered Ava, avoiding Spider’s eyes.

  Rules Are Rules

  AT SEVEN THIRTY WE WERE all in the hotel lobby. Sonnet waved at me, but she was sticking close to Haley, so I just waved back.

  “All right, folks, listen up,” Mr. G said. “Today’s our last full day, and it’s going to be exciting. This morning, we’re off to the US Supreme Court to sit in on an actual oral argument.”

  “I’d rather see the National Zoo than the court thing,” Trey said. “They have giant pandas there, right?”

  Immediately Nadia, Haley, and Sonnet started going, “Ooooh, pandas, they’re sooo cuuute.”

  Mr. G, though, was not going to be swayed. I guess the time for student input was over. “We’re doing the Supreme Court, people,” he said firmly. “It will be an experience.”

  “Everything is an experience,” Trey muttered. “That doesn’t mean it’s fun.”

  Other kids were agreeing with Trey, but not me. After missing out on the Kennedy Center tour, I wanted to see something special on this trip—and watching the Supreme Court in action, deciding a case that affected millions of people, would definitely qualify.

  Mr. G said we’d be taking the DC Metro to Union Station, and that we needed to leave almost immediately—visitor seating was first come, first served, which meant you needed to line up early. Oral arguments started at ten on the dot, and first we’d have to get through security. Which was especially strict, he said: no backpacks, bags, or even cell phones were allowed in the courtroom. There were lockers at the court, but he didn’t want to waste time dealing with them—so we should plan to leave all those items here, at the hotel.

  “Let’s leave Spider,” Trey said.

  Marco punched his arm and told him to shut up.

  Then a funny thing happened: Marco looked over at me. And because I’d been looking at him, our eyes met for a second. Just long enough for my heart to start skittering.

  And also just long enough for Ava to notice and smile at me in a teasing sort of way. Like: See? Told you he was your boyfriend.

  We returned to our rooms to dump our phones and bags and stuff, met back in the lobby, and then hopped on the Metro for a few stops. By the time we got to the Court at eight fifteen, a line of people snaked in the plaza in front of the building.

  “Will we even get in?” Nadia grumbled. “Mr. G, I don’t want to wait out here for nothing.”

  “They begin seating at nine thirty,” Mr. G said. He wasn’t smiling or anything; I could tell he was really serious about this. Maybe, I thought, it was his obsession.

  The whole time we were out on that plaza, the wind was swirling like it does when it’s testing itself to see if it’s really autumn. The cap fit snugly on my head, but every time one of those wind gusts happened, I panicked a little, holding it on my head with both hands, just in case. So far that morning, no one had commented on it, not even Sonnet, who always noticed my outfits. But of course she was hanging mostly with Haley and Nadia, all of them wearing skirts that rippled in the wind—and Ava, who, in her black top and black skinny jeans, looked like a mini-version of one of those pencil-shaped fashion mag clonemodels.

  At exactly nine thirty, we were waved into the “three-minute line.” Stern-looking police officers began walking back and forth, eying us, announcing all the things that weren’t allowed inside the Court, and where you could store stuff in lockers and checkrooms.

  A poke to my shoulder.

  “Young lady,” a policewoman said. “No hats, please.”

  “Excuse me?” I said.

  “No hats permitted inside. You can store it in a locker. Or else the checkroom, which is located—”

  “No, that’s impossible.” I felt my scalp tingling. “I can’t store my hat.”

  She frowned at me. “Why not?”

  “It’s . . . personal.”

  Everyone was staring now. I mean, not just Eastview Middle School kids, including Spider and Marco. The whole line.

  “You want to step over here, young lady?” the policewoman asked in a loud, impatient voice. She wasn’t actually asking, I realized.

  Ms. Jordan put her hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Tally,” she murmured. “Don’t worry, I’m coming with you.”

  My brain was numb, so I let her lead me to the policewoman, whose badge said OFFICER BUMBRY.

  “Officer, good morning,” Ms. Jordan said pleasantly. “This girl is my seventh grade history student. Today is our last day in town on a school field trip, and she didn’t mean—”

  “Rules are rules,” Officer Bumbry cut in. She looked at me with hard eyes. “You think rules don’t apply to you, young lady?”

  I shook my head, hoping that Ava wasn’t listening, but knowing she was, alo
ng with everyone else.

  “Good,” Officer Bumbry said. “Then I need to ask you again to remove the hat. Now, please.”

  “But I can’t,” I wailed, and burst into tears. Not a few sniffles, either—loud snotty ugly-crying. Kind of a meltdown, I guess you could call it.

  I can’t even say what happened next—only that I was being led away from the plaza by Ava and Mrs. Seeley.

  “Tally, it’s fine,” Ava was saying. “Who needs to see that stuff, anyway.”

  “Me!” I blubbered. “I didn’t get to go to the Kennedy Center, this whole trip has been a disaster, and I really wanted to go inside!”

  “Talia, dear, the United States Supreme Court’s not going anywhere,” Mrs. Seeley said, reaching into her pocket for a neatly folded tissue, which she handed to me. “Any time you want, you can come back here and just get in line. It’s always open to the public when the Court is in session.”

  “I guess,” I said, blowing my nose. But I knew it wouldn’t happen for a long, long time. When your parents run a bakery, they need to be there every day. No big family vacations in my future.

  The three of us walked against the wind, not talking. Finally Mrs. Seeley asked, almost gently, “So, Tally dear, can you explain the problem with your hat?”

  I glanced at Ava. Truthfully, I was shocked she hadn’t already told her mom about my hair disaster. But of course there was plenty of stuff she wasn’t sharing with her mom these days.

  Ava nodded at me like: Go ahead, Tally. You might as well. You have no choice, anyway.

  I took a deep, shaky breath. By then we were back at the train station, so although plenty of people were rushing by us on their way to work, I decided it was okay to take the cap off. None of these people knew me. None of them would judge me, and even if they did, I’d never see them again, so it didn’t matter.

  I took off my cap.

  “Oh, poor baby,” Mrs. Seeley cried, nearly smothering me in a hug.

  Roomies

  WE NEVER GOT ON THE train. Instead the three of us walked around town for a couple of hours. I explained the KAPOW! ordeal, and Mrs. Seeley told some funny stories about her own hair disasters when she was younger, like how when she was in college, she used a curling iron once and it short-circuited or something, frying off an entire section of hair. So then her roommate, Sarah—the one who worked at the Kennedy Center now—had the idea to give them both crazy haircuts as camouflage, and to tell everyone they were starting a “neo-punk girl band.”