Project Me 2.0, page 4
She was pretty pleased with herself too. After all, why go for just a little relaxation when you can have a lot, right? It was too bad for New Farley I usually have the same reaction when it comes to cake.
I stopped at the edge of the turtle’s cracked green plastic head. Mom’s rake was dropped on top, rusted in place. A set of cat footprints ran straight across the middle of the unswirled dirt, which was covered in dead leaves and twigs. I pushed the rake and debris aside and looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching.
Oh well, here went nothing.
I climbed into the center, sat down, crossed my legs like Tomy, and put my hands on my knees. Squishy dirt collected around the tops of my socks. I wondered if I needed to chant. Probably, right?
Ohm… ohm… ohm…
Forget it. I wasn’t chanting.
Instead, I closed my eyes and tilted my face toward the warm sun.
Breathe in, New Farley. Breathe out, Old Farley. In, out. In, out.
Deep breaths. Cleansing breaths. My muscles loosened and my breathing slowed.
Ahhh, this actually was sort of relaxing. Maybe I’d even make Mom a nice little swirly pattern when I was done. For inspiration. I wiggled a little and my butt sank deeper into the soft dirt. Little granules worked their way under my shorts and collected around my underpants.
Now, I suppose at this point you’re probably wondering why on earth I was sitting in a pile of dirt so I could try to impress a girl I had a crush on back when I was six. One I hadn’t seen in five years. One who might not even remember me in the first place. And it’s a valid question. One I’ve admittedly been asking myself a lot recently.
But here’s the thing—I was actually kind of counting on Anna not remembering me. Because for once I had a chance to be someone else. I’d known everyone here in Middleford—from Burt to the guy who rings up comics at Grady’s—for pretty much my whole life. And no matter what I did, no matter how much I changed, no one at MMS, Home of the Flying Squirrels, would ever see me any differently.
But Anna might.
And then, if I was lucky—maybe everyone else would too.
Including Dad.
I took another deep breath.
In, New Farley. Out, old. In, out. In, out.
Birds chirped happily in the trees, leaves rustled in the warm summer breeze, gentle wings fluttered… in, out, in, out… Old Farley began to slip away. There he goes. He’s almost gone… and…
Splat!
I reached up and wiped the bird poop from my forehead.
Things were not getting off to a good start.
6
I LUMBERED BACK TO MY room, rubbing the poop from my hair with a dish towel.
“Eww, gnarly, dude,” Tomy said. “What happened to you?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Right on,” Tomy said. “Good news, though! You have conquered the second step! See?”
He tapped the screen, and the second scroll rolled back up tight with a fantastic whoosh. A shower of gold glitter burst from above the computer and rained over Tomy’s head.
“Whoa.”
“Awesome, yeah?”
“Not bad,” I said. “But I’ve got to clean up and get out of here.”
Tomy leapt to his tiny feet and smoothed out his beach-dress. “Excellent! Where are we going? A jam? Fire pit on the beach? Should I change my threads?”
“We are not going anywhere,” I answered. “You can leave your threads right where they are. I am going to Josh’s pool.”
“A pool!” Tomy exclaimed. “Duuuuude, you have to let me ride shotgun!” He tucked his surfboard under his arm. “It’s been too long since I’ve caught a wave.”
“Nope.”
Tomy’s lower lip formed a pixelated pout.
“Then can you point me in the direction of the nearest beach?”
“For starters, we’re in the middle of Massachusetts. There are no beaches!” I said. “Besides, you can’t leave my room. Understand? No one can see you. Not Josh. Not Burt. And especially not my parents. Got it?”
“But you can see me.”
“I wish I couldn’t.” I grabbed my pool stuff, headed toward my bedroom door, and glanced over my shoulder. “Just stay in here, understood? Do. Not. Go. Anywhere. And whatever you do, if anyone comes in, hide!”
Tomy bowed his head and said in a faux-deep voice, “Your wish is my command, Master Wayne.” He grinned. “A wish, get it? That is rad genie humor, yeah?”
I rolled my eyes and walked into the hall. “Just stay put,” I said, closing the door behind me. “And don’t get me into any trouble!”
* * *
Josh, Burt, and I sat around the Chans’ patio table, chilling next to the pool, and I tried to forget about Tomy. The patio door slid open. Mr. Chan strolled out, flip-flops flapping, a bottle of Sprite tucked under his arm and paper cups in hand.
“Hello, boys!” he said in his chipper singsong voice. Mrs. Chan earns, like, a bazillion dollars as a financial advisor, and Mr. Chan’s job is to take care of Josh, his three sisters, and their cat, Sprinkles. He’s pretty cool, and thanks to him we’ve never missed the newest Marvel movie.
“I thought you boys might like some soda.” Mr. Chan dropped the bottle and cups on the table next to Burt.
“Burt, my man!” he said, raising his fist. “Pound dog!”
Burt fist-bumped him. “Yo, Mr. C.”
“Farrrrr-leeeeeey,” Mr. Chan said next, striking a pose that I think was supposed to be the Incredible Hulk flexing his muscles. Or he was trying to pass gas. I’m not sure. He does it every time he sees me, and I still haven’t figured it out.
“Hi, Mr. Chan,” I said with a little salute.
Josh nodded. “ ’Kay, thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, heading back inside. “Have fun, and don’t scare the cat! Last time you boys raised a ruckus out here, we found her half a mile away, hiding in the Duggans’ garbage bin! Took a whole can of tuna to bribe her out.”
“Got it, Dad,” Josh said.
The sliding door whooshed shut. Josh twisted the green cap from the soda bottle, and a hiss of air escaped the top. Then he sloshed some of the fizzing liquid in our cups. We each picked one up and waited, drinks raised, as is customary in our solemn ritual.
Josh nodded. Burt nodded in response. I executed a slight tip of the head. It suddenly occurred to me this was probably not appropriate behavior for New Farley. In fact, if New Farley expected to be taken seriously, he needed to act in a much more dignified manner. Like… Dad.
I cleared my throat and tried to remember his annual New Year’s toast. “As you slide down the banister of life,” I said, “may the splinters always be pointed so they’re not poking you in the butt.” I cleared my throat again and smiled. That wasn’t too shabby, if I did say so myself.
I had a fleeting image of New Farley at the podium at middle school graduation, his eloquent yet touching speech inspiring the crowd, bringing tears to his mom’s eyes and his dad to his feet, applauding loudly. That’s my son! My! Son!
Burt and Josh shot me blank stares.
“Sure, Farley,” Josh said. “Hold on to your butt, or whatever. Now… go!” We all chugged our drinks as fast as possible. Tingles of fizz tickled my nose. I held in a sneeze. My eyes watered.
Buurrrp went Burt.
Buuuuurrrppp went Josh.
They wiped their mouths and looked expectantly at me, holding in my cheeks. Josh smiled. Burt nodded his head up and down in anticipation.
Oh, what the heck. Might as well send Old Farley out with a bang.
I breathed in through my nose. Breath in, New Farley. Breath out…
BUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPP!!!
The table rattled. Sprinkles darted behind a bush. Mr. Chan pulled the kitchen window shut, and a neighborhood dog howled.
Burt and Josh doubled over laughing.
“Don’t pee your pants, Squirt,” Josh said, clutching his side.
Burt choked on his soda. “Fartley, that was awesome,” he said, coughing.
“That may be his best one yet! He even made Sprite come out my nose with that one!” Josh wiped his face with the back of his hand and pointed in my direction.
“Fartley, you’re awesome,” Burt said.
“Thank you,” I said, and let out an appreciative burp.
“You’re killing me!” Josh said, clutching his belly. “Stop it!”
Burp, burp, burp.
Say good-bye, Old Farley. You had a nice run. I shook my head and gave Old Farley his final word.
Buuuuurp!
And with that I ran and did a huge cannonball into the pool. Burt and Josh dove in immediately after.
“Race you, Squirt,” Josh hollered. They both took off in a massive kick of chlorinated water, not even bothering to challenge me. I couldn’t blame them, though. What was the point?
But the truth was, at that moment I didn’t mind. I leaned back, face up toward the bright sun, points of light filtering through my closed eyelids. I let the water go all the way up over my ears so every sound was muted, Burt and Josh’s whoops and yells a million miles away as they battled each other in headstand and somersault competitions.
The pool may be one of my favorite places on earth.
Here I was weightless. Floating. Bobbing in the water. In the pool I was Astronaut Farley, tumbling through space, free from the pull of gravity.
Had I known what was waiting for me in my room when I got home, I wouldn’t have been nearly as relaxed.
7
MOM PICKED ME UP LATER that afternoon on her way back from spin class. (Side note: In case you weren’t aware, spin class is where a bunch of people ride stationary bikes along to music while some person up front wearing spandex and a headset shouts “encouragement” at them. I know. I was also disappointed to discover it didn’t involve a bunch of people spinning around a room like out-of-control tops. My preschool years would’ve been a lot more fun.)
“Hi, Mom.” I slid into the back of the minivan and closed the door. (Yes, Mom still makes me ride in the back. Safest place in the car, according to her. Lucky for me, I got too wide for my booster seat about five million years ago.)
“Hi, Farley. How was Josh’s?” Mom asked.
“Good,” I said.
“Hmmm,” Mom answered, clicking her nails on the steering wheel and glancing back at me in the rearview mirror as we pulled onto the road. “Just good? Anything else?”
“It was great?” I said, trying to figure out where this was headed. Every time Mom gets that sweetly inquisitive tone, I can be sure she’s attempting to ferret some sort of information out of me without actually asking. Like whether I was the one who hid boiled lima beans beneath the dining room flower arrangement. Spoiler alert: none of your business.
“Hmmm,” she said again. A few moments of silence. This was the part where I knew she expected me to volunteer something. But I wasn’t stupid. I’d learned my lesson that time I copped to setting all the clocks in our house back an hour so I’d miss going to my cousin’s birthday party. (I mean, the kid was turning three and the party was in a bounce house with a bunch of other not-fully-potty-trained three-year-olds hopped up on cotton candy. Can you really blame me?!)
“Oh, I got you a few things from your list of, uh, caveman food,” Mom continued. “Ran it by Dr. Fiorenza to make sure it was okay. Everything in moderation, buddy, as long as…”
Mom kept talking about healthy choices, not diets, blah-blah, as we turned down Burt and Anna’s street, but I’d stopped listening. The only thing I heard was the distant sound of a basketball bouncing.… Thump, thUMP, THUMP! It grew louder. And louder… And there was the telltale red hair. Oh no!
I couldn’t let her see me yet!
I quickly flung myself sideways, pressing my body flat onto the bottom of the seat. My head hit the armrest on the way down. My underpants gave me an insta-wedgie.
“Oof,” I said, trying not to hyperventilate—or move. Who knew how far up my belly protruded when I inhaled?
“Farley?” Mom said. “Are you okay back there? Where did you go?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just dropped my banana.”
“You brought a banana back from Josh’s?”
I slapped my forehead. I didn’t have a banana. Why did I even say that?
“I meant bandana,” I said. “I dropped my bandana.”
I grimaced. What was the matter with me? I didn’t have one of those, either.
The sound of the basketball bouncing grew louder. Mom suddenly tapped the brakes and drove slower. “Huh…,” she mumbled. “Interesting.” My heart pounded.
Don’t stop, Mom. Don’t stop!
Thankfully, Mom pressed the accelerator and didn’t say another word. I stayed flat to the seat and listened until the bouncing faded away—then slowly sat back up and rubbed my head (and extracted my stuck underpants). Mom stayed silent up front as we pulled into our driveway. She clicked off the ignition. Then she just sat there, still being weirdly quiet. She turned and smiled at me. A little too Mom-friendly-like…
“You sure you don’t have anything on your mind…?”
“Noooo… Is there something on your mind?” I said, the back of my neck inexplicably starting to sweat. I began to make a mental list of the things I might have done and how I might deny them. I mean, Dad hates lima beans too.…
“Oh, no,” Mom said a bit too brightly. “Everything is fine. I was just taking some laundry to your room this afternoon and…”
“What?” The sweat on my neck turned cold. My spine stiffened. “My room?” I said with a gulp.
“Yeah, honey,” Mom said. “Don’t look so alarmed. I was just surprised, that’s all. Not what I was expecting to find when I opened your door. I mean, not that I…”
But I didn’t hear the rest of what Mom said because I’d already leapt from the car, bolted into the house, and taken the stairs five at a time—okay, I’m exaggerating a bit; I took them one at a time, but I went fast… ish, okay?!—and flung open the door to my room.
My hand flew over my mouth.
“What have you done?” I whispered. No wonder Mom was acting so weird. There was absolutely no way I could explain this.…
“You dig it?” Tomy’s voice answered. He peeked around the computer.
“I, uh, sure. It’s just…,” I started. I heard the front door open and Mom walk inside.
“Farley,” Mom shouted up the stairs.
“Yeah?” I squeaked.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” she said. “Whatever your reasons, I appreciate it, okay?”
“Okay, Mom,” I answered, looking around my spotless room. Yes, I said spotless. The bed was made, the windows sparkled, and I could actually see my carpet. I didn’t even remember that it was light blue. Huh. All of my books and papers were carefully organized on my desk, pencils arranged in a cup. The dresser drawers were closed, and when I pulled one open, all of my underpants were folded neatly inside and lined up in a row next to my carefully rolled socks.
“You cleaned my room?” I said to Tomy.
He smiled and nodded. “Easier to focus. Like when you’re the first one to the beach and it’s just you and the ocean. Nothing to distract you…” He stared wistfully toward the ceiling.
Okay. Whatever that meant. I didn’t care. For a brief, fleeting moment, I thought it might actually be good to have Tomy around.
Of course, at that point, I hadn’t clicked on the next scroll.
8
Step Three: Chart the Journey
Now you’ve envisioned the new you. But how do you reach your goals? You wouldn’t head out on a trip without a navigation system, or at least a map, would you?
I guessed not. But then, I’d never really gone much farther than the ten blocks to Burt’s house. And the two miles to school. And Josh’s pool, of course. Mom and Dad drive me everywhere I go. I’m not permitted past the end of our driveway without supervision. After all, you can’t be too safe. At least that’s what Mom has determined watching CNN every night.
So, you must chart a path to the new you! You have your picture. Now write down the main characteristics of this new and improved self. List at least three.
Tomy handed me a piece of scrap paper from the pile he’d carefully arranged on my desk, along with a pencil. I bit the metal tip and flattened it with my teeth, thinking.
Okay, three characteristics of New Farley, the great and fearless space explorer:
Sleek and muscular (I had to fit in an astronaut suit, after all).
Smart.
I chewed harder on the pencil. What else were astronauts, besides the coolest people on the planet? Scratch, that—the galaxy. Oooh… I knew!
Brave.
I gave myself a little pat on the back. That wasn’t so bad. I was cruising through these steps. Tomy would be gone and I’d be a changed man before I knew it. Next!
Now think about what you need to do to reach your goals. For example, if you want more friends, meet more people. Contemplate your goals and write at least one way you can reach each.
I flipped over the paper and scratched out another list.
Eat like a caveman and exercise.
I paused a moment. Probably it would be wise to get rid of the emergency Twinkies I kept under my bed if I have a bad day. Just in case. I was sure New Farley wouldn’t need them. And cavemen definitely didn’t eat those. I walked over, grabbed the box, and shoved my hand inside. My fingers crinkled the plastic wrappers as I counted. Seven left. Instinctively, my mouth watered. Soft yellow cake. Smooshy cream filling. Will. Not. Give. In.
Will not!
