Project Me 2.0, page 8
“Yes, Anna,” he said. “My mom talked to her mom and invited her over. Today!” Burt’s voice went all high and squeaky, like when we sucked all the helium out of his birthday balloons once. He paused to catch his breath.
“Okay, so what’s the big deal?” I tried to sound casual, but I’m pretty sure my voice was squeaking even more than Burt’s.
“Big deal?” Burt said. “Are you kidding me? She’s, like, not a little kid anymore. We don’t know what she’s into. What if she doesn’t like Dr. Fantastic? Or video games?” He paused and sucked in a sharp breath. “What if she brings her scissors? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG IT TAKES MY HAIR TO GROW OUT?!”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.…”
“You don’t know that,” Burt said. “You’ve got to get over here!”
“Um, yeah. I’m not sure…”
I mean, New Farley wasn’t ready. New Farley wasn’t even close to ready. New Farley hadn’t even made it four blocks or past the languid prince.
“Why did your mom invite her over without asking you first, anyway?” I said.
“Something about Anna’s mom saying how she’s been kinda bummed out since they got here, missing her friends back in Italy, and how she’s been spending too much time alone,” Burt said. “I don’t know. Just meddling mom stuff!”
“Oh.” I was suddenly hit by a memory, back when I first knew Anna in preschool. Our class was taking a field trip to the zoo, and all the other kids were arguing over who got to sit next to her on the bus. Well, except me. I was sitting alone feeling sorry for myself, since Burt had rolled in poison ivy over the weekend and was back home, covered in crusty pink lotion and trying not to scratch.
But then—for reasons I could never totally understand—Anna walked up the aisle and sat next to me and gave me half of her granola bar.
“Fart? Are you there?” Burt interrupted my stroll down memory lane.
“Yeah, I’m here. When’s she coming over?”
“At two o’clock,” Burt said. “Please? Can you come over at one? Please? I’m begging you! In the name of Dr. Fantastic and all that is holy and sacred!”
“All right, Burt. I’ll come over,” I said. “But one thing.”
“What is it, Fart?”
“Don’t call me Fart,” I said. “Farley. Call me Farley.”
“Oh, okay, Fart… ley. Farley. Okay, I promise to call you Farley.”
“Okay, Burt. See you at one, then.”
“Okay, bye.”
I was about to say bye back when that twirly white cord popped out of the phone base and zinged me right in the center of the forehead. Ouch! That stung. I rubbed my noggin with my right hand. Man, I didn’t even realize I was pulling it so hard.
Sorry, Mom.
* * *
“I have nothing to wear!” I pulled shirt after bunched-up shirt from my dresser and dumped them in a heap on the floor. “Too big. Too ugly. Too…” I held one up and sniffed. “Covered in ketchup. Yuck!”
This was hopeless. I mean, Old Farley never concerned himself with something as stupid as clothes. Everything in my wardrobe was just a variation of pants/shorts with an elastic waist and giant T-shirts. Oh, and a couple of dress shirts Mom stuffs me into for church and every Christmas for family pictures.
I yanked on my oversized T-shirt with the stretched-out collar. “I can’t go over to Burt’s house looking like… this!”
“Remember,” Tomy said. “To master the wave, you must find your center!”
“Huh? I just need to find some pants!”
In a state of panic, I snagged the box of Twinkies off my nightstand and jammed my hand inside. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Maybe one wouldn’t hurt. Just one. To take the edge off. Nope! I licked my lips and slapped the box back down.
I began to hyperventilate.
“There is nothing so gnarly that a calm, cleansing breath can’t help,” Tomy said. I glanced at him sitting on my mouse pad. He nodded, then placed his hand on his crossed knees, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. “Feel the wave. Find your focus. Ahhhhhhh…”
I took a couple of shallow breaths and thought I might faint. “Sorry! Not working!”
I returned to my dresser, opened the middle drawer, threw a bunch of stuff onto the floor, and wiggled my hand all the way to the back. Eventually, my fingers reached one ball of crumpled-up fabric. I yanked it out.
Finally! A pair of not-too-disgusting khaki shorts.
I changed into those.
But the shirt? That was a lost cause. I tried one of my old fancy dress shirts hanging in the closet. Oh, help me. Long sleeves. Buttons didn’t reach across the front anymore. Fantastic. I yanked it off and watched it land in a pile of blue pinstripes on the floor.
“Help!” I said.
“I have an idea!” Tomy said.
“Yeah?”
“Sometimes you just need to get away from it all. The soothing sound of the surf always helps me think.… Let’s hit the beach!” He grabbed his surfboard.
“Nice try…” I squinted at him, but then I thought a minute. “Hold on! You might be onto something!”
“Rad! Let’s go!”
“No. I mean you gave me another idea. Dad’s ‘resort wear’!”
I crept out my door and padded quietly down the carpeted hall to Dad’s bedroom closet. There I found a whole row of button-down short-sleeved shirts covered in brightly colored palm trees and flowers that Dad brings on our family cruise every year. Fancy, but casual at the same time. In other words, perfect.
I slipped into a bright green one decorated with pineapples and coconuts. A little long, but I could tuck it in like Dad’s always telling me to do anyway.
I dodged back out the door and collided head-on with Mom.
“Far!” she said. “What were you doing in our room?”
“Just borrowing a shirt.”
“Why? Where are your shirts?”
“Uh,” I said. “Dirty?” I tried the charm-smile that worked way back when I was four.
“Far,” Mom said. “How many times do I have to tell you…?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Put my hamper in the hall when I need clean clothes.”
“That’s right. Put your hamper in the hall. Is that too much to ask?”
“No, Mom. It isn’t. And I will.” I gave the charm-smile another shot.
“Well,” she said, adjusting the collar on my shirt. “You do look nice. A chip off the old block, I must say.”
Or a block off the old chip was more like it.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“So what are you all dressed up for anyway?”
“Uh, nothing.” I looked past Mom at the big gold light that hangs over our stairs.
“I see. Nothing—” Mom said.
“Can I have a ride to Burt’s?” I interrupted.
“Sure, hon,” she said. “Just one thing first…”
“Okay.”
Mom zipped into the bathroom and came out with her big-bristled hairbrush. “Hold still.”
Normally, I run for the hills when Mom tries to detangle the knot of yarn that is my hair. But this time I stood real still and let her have at it. She combed it off to the side, then ran her fingers through the top and messed it up a little.
“Perfect,” she said, leaning back and inspecting her work. “Just right for… for going to Burt’s.” She smiled and touched my cheek and looked at me in that silly way moms look at a kid like they’re the greatest thing ever to set foot on Planet Earth.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“No problem, Far. You’re a good kid. Don’t forget that. Okay?”
15
BURT AND I WERE IN his basement when the doorbell rang. I heard Mrs. Miller open the front door, then a bunch of hi, how-are-yous, and then she directed Anna downstairs.
For a moment time froze.
I counted the steps as Anna descended. Thirteen, twelve, eleven…
And I flashed back to when we all first met: in the Fish Pond, when we were three years old. (FYI—the Fish Pond is not actually a pond. It was the name of our preschool class, and we were the fish. Seriously, I don’t know who comes up with this stuff—I mean, they wouldn’t even let us play in the puddles during recess, let alone go near a pond. Liability and all that. But whatever.)
So technically, I guess Burt officially met Anna first, due to the whole Miller-Murphy alphabetical-seating-arrangement thing (and the fact that he accidentally squirted her in the face with his juice box during snack time, which is certainly one way to start a conversation).
But the truth is, I had spotted her on the very first day when she walked into the “pond” with a Cowgirl Jessie backpack hoisted over her shoulders. (Yes, I had a total Toy Story obsession back then. Spent most of the year dressed in a Buzz Lightyear costume and shouting “to infinity and beyond!” every time I went down the slide. Don’t judge. You were three once too.)
Anyway, it turned out Anna also lived in the neighborhood, and so we all just kinda bonded in that little-kid way you do when proximity (and parents who like each other) puts you in the same orbit. Maybe not all that different from now, I suppose, with Mrs. Miller inviting Anna over…
The footsteps got closer. Three, two, one…
And just like that, Anna appeared in the doorway. I stood up straight. I’m not 100 percent sure what I expected—that she’d still have jelly beans hidden in her socks or would be missing her two front teeth? But I guess I wasn’t totally 100 percent expecting her to be so… Anna.
Only better.
I mean, her eyes were still big and blue, and her hair was still golden-copper red. But it was in a high ponytail, not pigtails. And she’d grown taller and thinner and had sprouted a new row of sweet little freckles across her nose. Eight, to be exact. Not that I was counting or anything. She’d swapped out the Hello Kitty attire for a white T-shirt, jeans shorts, and tie-dyed high-top Converse sneakers. Her right wrist was covered in multicolored beaded bracelets.
“Hey, guys,” she said with a little wave. The bracelets jangled. My heart inexplicably beat a little faster.
“Hey,” Burt said. He crossed and uncrossed his arms, then leaned against the wall and stood up again. It was at this point that I really took notice of Burt’s getup—a crisp button-down layered over his Minecraft T-shirt, hair neatly combed and parted down the middle. Clearly he’d actually showered, which went completely against Burt’s summer motto of bathing only by sprinkler or pool.
“Hey,” I said. “Welcome back.” I sucked in my gut and felt an involuntary escape of air from the other end.
Ack!
I casually stepped in the direction of Burt. Maybe any smell would follow me there. Burt cleared his throat.
“Can I offer you a beverage?” he said, lowering his voice and motioning toward the mini-fridge like a game-show host. “We have an excellent selection of soft drinks.” I stared at him in disbelief. What was he doing? A half smile formed on Anna’s face. She looked like she was trying not to laugh.
“No. I’m fine,” she said. “Thanks for having me over. So, what do you guys want to do?”
Burt looked at me, panic creeping across his face. I made a little scissors motion across the front of my hair with my fingers. Burt’s eyes widened.
“Up to you,” he said, now looking at Anna. “You’re the guest.” This time his voice cracked.
“Great!” Anna said. “I was really hoping we could go out back and check for Hoppy.…”
Back in kindergarten, Anna found this toad she named Hoppy and decided to keep as a pet. So, being the good friends we were, Burt and I helped build Hoppy a “habitat” in Burt’s backyard (aka a hole in the ground filled with water and equipped with a miniature Barbie chair and table). Yeah, spoiler alert: An open-topped hole is not an excellent place to keep your pet toad, no matter how many dead flies you put in there.
“Uh, okay,” Burt croaked out. “But, you know, I think grass kinda grew over that spot, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t—”
Anna cut him off with a laugh. “Just kidding, guys,” she said. “How about a video game?”
Burt pointed to the far wall. “Awesome! Take your pick.”
Anna headed over to the game shelf, and I had another sudden flashback of her at four, scaling the dresser in her bedroom to get the toy pony on top—and bringing the whole thing crashing down and trapping her underneath it. Luckily, her bed broke the fall, or Anna would have been a pancake. Burt, Anna, and I must’ve spent a good half hour trying to push that thing back up to free her before we finally caved and got her mom.
Anna flipped through boxes, stopping at one.
“Cool! You’ve got Dr. Fantastic’s Seven Levels of Doom!” She yanked the disc from its case and waved it in the air. “Let’s play this!”
And if that wasn’t cool enough…
* * *
“Holy cow!” Burt yelled. He was bouncing up and down on his blue beanbag chair like a Mexican jumping bean. (Yeah, I had an encounter with one of those in fourth grade too. Super easy to swallow, like a pill. They don’t keep hopping in your belly though, which was sort of a letdown.)
“Holy cow! You’re going to reach the seventh level of doom!” Burt pointed at the television screen. Dr. Fantastic’s laser beamed purple across the dark night sky.
Burt and I have never made it to the seventh level. We’ve gotten to the sixth once. But that was purely by accident. Only happened ’cause we were wrestling over the clicker and pushed something by mistake. We tried to re-create that scene about a thousand times at least, including the headlock and attempted wedgie. But we never could figure out what we pushed or in what combination to ever do it again.
“Holy cow!” Burt yelled.
Anna tossed her ponytail to one side and it bounced on her right shoulder. “It’s no big deal. I’ve done it, like, a million times before.” She twisted her body left and right and pressed a couple of buttons. “Take that, Lord Dracor!”
“Holy cow!” It was Burt, still having a cow. “You’re going to defeat Lord Dracor. I’ve never seen anyone defeat Lord Dracor!” His voice did that high-pitched squeak thingy like when he’d called me earlier.
“It’s easy,” Anna said, turning the joystick. “All you need is the secret ring of doom.”
She swung the joystick again, and suddenly Lord Dracor evaporated in a massive ball of fire. Then the entire screen swirled with exploding stars of yellow, orange, and red, and the television flashed white and black.
“The Fantastic Screen of Death.” Burt collapsed in his chair and put his arm across his head. His mouth flopped open and the back of his neatly combed hair popped straight up. “I’ve only heard about that. Never thought I’d live to see it. I thought it was just urban legend.”
Anna set down her remote with a huge smile. “Eh, I can show you how if you guys want.”
“Well, duh,” said Burt.
“Double duh,” I added.
“Oh!” Anna said. “Do you guys like the comics?”
Do we like the comics? Hello! If Burt and I had access to every tool in Dr. Fantastic’s lab, we couldn’t create anyone cooler than Anna.
“ ’Cause you aren’t gonna believe what I found in the base thrift shop in Italy.” She paused and raised her eyebrows dramatically. “A whole box of vintage Dr. Fantastics… even the very first edition.”
“The first edition!” Burt popped back up again, slapping down his crazy hair with both hands. “You mean the one where Dr. Fantastic creates the beginnings of the alien atmosphere and launches his inaugural Star Climber into space?”
“Yeah. That one. Mom says it’ll be worth something someday.” Anna bunched her lips together. “I’m not too sure though, since some kid named Edgar wrote his name all over the front in red Sharpie.”
“Bummer,” Burt said.
“Yeah, but it’s still fun to read! You guys can come over anytime and check the whole collection out. Well, once I find them. They’re still in a box somewhere. Could take a couple of years, ha-ha.” She crinkled her nose in the most adorable way and smiled.
“Sounds cool to me,” I said. I didn’t care if it took a hundred years. I’d be happy to wait, just for the chance to hang out with Anna more.
When I got back to my room that evening, Tomy was dancing in a shower of glitter. So I guess that meant I’d nailed step four.
Finally!
Good-bye, comfort zone!
16
AFTER ANNA MOVED AWAY, JOSH kinda slid in and took her place as amigo number three in our group. He was new to the neighborhood, and Burt’s mom had promised Mr. and Mrs. Chan there were lots of kids around when she sold them the house. (In fact, I’m pretty sure his mom told my parents the same thing when we moved to the ’hood. I guess you could say Burt is one of Mrs. Miller’s best marketing tools.)
So, it just seemed sort of logical (if not a little risky) to bring Anna to Josh’s pool.
As we walked out the basement door to Josh’s patio, I wondered if we should issue some sort of warning to Anna. You know, just in case Josh was standing there with his hand tucked under his armpit in greeting.
Luckily, he was already in the pool.
Josh’s wet head popped out of the water in the shallow end. He rubbed his eyes and looked at Burt. Me. And then Anna.
“Yo, Josh,” Burt said. “This is Anna.”
“Yo!” Josh answered. Then he let out a funny snort and looked at each of us again. Uh-oh.
“Well,” he said. “What are you waiting for? Somersault challenge!” He dove under the water and started spinning—then resurfaced, shook his hair, and said, “Four! Beat that, ha!”
Before Burt and I could even get our shoes off, Anna shouted, “You’re on!” She dropped her things, jumped into the pool next to Josh, and started spinning.
“Six!” she said, popping to the surface with a splash.
Josh’s mouth flopped open.
“Oh yeah?” Burt said, tossing his gear on a chair and jumping in the pool. “Nobody beats me at the handstand competition!”
Well, except Anna.
