How to Outrun a Crocodile When Your Shoes Are Untied (6 page)

Auto-Reply Message: Tuesday, 4:14 p.m., from Liviola

You have reached my auto-reply message. I'm out exploring our new home until Sunday, June 2, but don't worry. I will get back to you as soon as I'm back home! [end of message.]

My jaw dropped.

Auto. Reply.

She was out
exploring
?! And she didn't even think to mention that last night in her e-mail? What kind of best friend gives you the auto-reply without even warning you they'll be gone!? Auto-reply was for uncles and cousins you never hear from, not
us.

Suddenly I was wide-awake. I shoved my computer from my lap like it was on fire. And what was this stuff about “her new home” and how she'd e-mail back once she was
home
again. New Zealand wasn't her home. Denver was! She was supposed to be finding a way back home with our stupid
wish
, not out frolicking with the hobbits. Was Leilani going with her too? Was she already part of Liv's family, like I used to be? The image of future Liv and Leilani marrying brothers unfolded in my head, jolting me with panic.

“Come on, sweetheart!” Mom's happy voice rang in my ears. “Fifteen minutes until the limo leaves!” I could hear her cackling at her own joke as she cleaned.

“Coming!” I yelled. My voice sounded hoarse. I didn't have time to think about what to do next. I didn't know if there was anything to do at all, actually. I was in a daze as I dressed for the zoo. I hoped the familiar brown uniform would help me disappear.

Mom and I drove in the back entrance and parked the car by a row of cleaning stations by the African Pavilion. I caught a whiff of the hippos instantly; they smelled like living, breathing hunks of shower mold. Something to look forward to once we moved in.

“So what do you think?” Mom asked, holding her arms open wide in front of the house as we stepped out of the car.

I shrugged. The house, which was tucked behind the lion exhibit, wasn't that bad. At least as far as fake base-camp housing went. But I wasn't about to tell her that. There was a fake thatched roof and gauzy curtains in the windows. The sign out front said “African Expedition: RESEARCH STATION.” Think Africa meets IKEA.

Lions roared and grumbled beyond the open window. Mom's project was working with the large carnivores here, so I guess they figured we wouldn't mind being surrounded by fangs and angsty felines. There was already furniture, but Mom insisted that the place needed a “good inside-out cleaning.” I couldn't argue, as the whole place smelled like mothballs had figured out how to reproduce and have a party.

“Can I have the room on the right?” I asked once she'd given me a quick tour. It was the second biggest one, and since I was here cleaning, I figured I should get first dibs before Daz. Mom agreed without looking up from her scrubbing.

For the next hour and a half, we cleaned and disinfected every surface of the house, including the countertops and bathtub, which I thought were beige but turned out white.

When the three main rooms were respectable according to Mom, we sat out on the front doorstep and caught our breaths. Despite my mood, it was a bright summer day, and the sound of sandals slapping against the pavement surrounded us. I'd been getting a headache from all the fumes, and my stomach was rolling with hunger, so I knew I had to make a getaway before Mom could launch into another dirt session. I told her that I needed some air and would be back in a few minutes. I wanted to be alone.

Ignoring the groups of families and tourists that had started to swarm around, I wandered down the Reptile Path. Usually, I loved watching the animals at the zoo, just living their lives. It was one place where everybody could be themselves, whether they had scales like crocs or were just big weirdos like the anteaters. It was all allowed. But today everything felt wrong. I checked my watch for the third time that day, wondering where Liv was and what she was doing. Probably hanging out with her new friends. The thought nibbled away at my mind as I walked.

Somehow, I ended up in the Crocodile Pavilion. The air was wet and dense like a rainforest, but the quiet sounds of trickling water calmed me down. I parked myself on a bench and stared at Louie, the ancient crocodile. My throat was thick, but I couldn't tell if it was from all the chemicals or plain old loneliness. I sunk my head back onto the bench and stared through the cloudy glass ceiling up into the sky at the birds. The problem with birds, I realized, is that they could fly away and I can't.

Lucky beasts.

Maybe I had more in common with Darwin and his busted wing than I realized.

I would have stayed there all day if a small movement hadn't caught the corner of my eye. I lolled my head to the side to see better.

A little girl in a very unfortunate purple dress and lime-green leggings was standing on her tiptoes, trying to hoist herself up over the top of the partition to get a better look at the exhibit. She looked about six or so, and the heel of her shoes lit up with red lights with every hop.

Where were her parents? After a few minutes of jumping and huffing, she turned to look at me expectantly. Something about wearing a uniform in a zoo made people think you wanted to help them.

“I want to see him! He's scary!” She grinned at me with no front teeth and pointed her tiny finger at Louie, who looked to be either disinterested or completely comatose.

I forced my face into a smile. “Here, hop on,” I said as I walked over and lifted the little girl onto a log outside the perimeter fence, helping her get a grip on the top of the partition.

“Really, he's not so scary. He doesn't eat people, even though lots of people think he could. Mostly sausage and fish. He can't even chew his food.” I shrugged.

The girl watched Louie with wide eyes, turning to face me in astonishment at the mention of Louie's food. Then a mischievous smile crept onto her face.

“Could I see it?” Her hands clapped together. I peered around. It wasn't very busy in the pavilion. I
could
show her. Plus, I had nothing else to do around here other than mope.

“Okay,” I said, kneeling down to her like I was sharing a secret, “but you have to be very careful and stay right here.” She nodded gravely, furrowing her brow. Kid looked like I'd asked her to guard the president.

“What's your name?” she asked while I was digging around behind some ferns for the small cooler with one of Louie's food buckets Mike keeps for educational tours every few hours.

“Ana.” I hesitated. “I'm named after the biggest snake in the world.” It was the first time in my life that I'd said it out loud.

The little girl's mouth gaped open. “That's so cool!” she squealed.

Hah. If only the Sneerers could share
that
sentiment. Her excitement was like a jolt of Pepsi to my tired system.

“I'm Beatrix. Mom says it's ‘yoo-neek.'” Her nose scrunched up as she spoke. “But I think it's crummy.” She hung her head, her small purple-rimmed glasses falling to the end of her nose. “People at school say it's an old lady name.”

Ouch.

“I understand.” Boy, did I ever. “They're probably just jealous.”

I could tell by the look on her face that she didn't buy it. I couldn't blame her—I didn't either when my mom said the same to me. A sudden outburst behind us made me jump.

“Mommy!” Beatrix jumped down from the log and raced over to a woman with wide eyes, rushing into the pavilion. She hunched over and grasped her daughter by the shoulders.

“Here you are, sweetie! Don't run off like that again! I told you to stay next to me.” She turned to me and reached out, clasping my hand with a frazzled look of apology. “Thank you
so
much for watching Bea.”

“Oh, no problem.” I smiled and looked back at Louie. “I was about to feed him if you'd like to stay and watch.”

Beatrix was already begging her mom, tugging on her arm and pleading to stay. The woman looked at her watch and gave a quick nod. By the look of her snazzy clothes, she wasn't the type to enjoy chunks of meat being fed to crocodiles. Probably more the caviar type.

“Did you know that crocodiles can't chew their food?” Beatrix chimed as I opened my bucket. I remembered to breathe through my mouth so I didn't get overcome by the stench of meat and fished out a piece.

“Now, watch.” I waved the meat at Louie from behind the fence. He approached the moat with a beady look in his eyes. Or maybe it was a normal look, seeing how crocodiles tend to look beady-eyed at the best of times. I tossed the meat straight to his head. I had to admit, my aim was perfect.

Beatrix and her mother gasped as Louie lunged forward and caught the meat in his mouth. With one big, backward swing of his head, he tossed the meat to the back of his throat. Water had splashed onto us, but the mother didn't seem to notice. Beatrix was awestruck, her fingers stretched along the glass partition.

“Again!” she cried, beaming up at me with saucer eyes. She could give lessons in persuasion, seriously.

I tried to distract her with more useless knowledge. “Did you know that Louie is thirty-four years old? That's almost as old as…” I glanced at her mother, who wore a tight smile. “My mom!” I went on, “Louie will probably live to be eighty years old.”

Beatrix smiled. “That's good. I like Louie.”

Her mother's eyebrows raised in surprise. “You do? Well, that's great! Maybe we can bring you back here soon to see him again.” She watched as Beatrix poked at the glass wall and turned to me, whispering, “Thank you again, so much. Bea hasn't been having a great time at school this year. It's lovely to see her so happy. You're quite the natural with this.” She nodded to Louie's scaly head.

I shrugged, giving a small smile. Whatever makes the kid happy. I waved to them as they left the croc pavilion. Beatrix was already yammering away about “crocodiles this” and “crocodiles that” and her mother was eagerly nodding. I was bummed to see them leave; there was something addictive and thrilling about getting to unload random facts to someone who didn't already know them. For the first time since Liv left, I had felt almost like myself. With my heart buzzing proudly, I peeked hopefully around the pavilion to see if there was anyone else there. It was then I noticed my own mother staring at me from the caiman enclosure.

She had a huge grin on her face.

“
Honeyyyy!
” She dragged out the word like a whine and rushed over to me. “That was amazing! I didn't know you liked giving presentations. You were great with that little girl!” She gawked at me.

A spasm of fear trampled down the proud feeling I had. I must have made a face because Mom started shaking her head like it was on a spring.

“Seriously, Ana—that was great. You should have seen yourself. You have a gift! You were so confident! Why don't you think about doing some educational presentations for people at the zoo—instead of all this mucking about you're doing?”

For a moment, I went insane and almost considered it. Then I realized that I
liked
the muck work. It meant I could wear a plain, brown uniform and disappear into the background. It was safe when everything else felt new and weird lately.

My throat double clutched as I imagined the possibilities. Educational staff around here not only wore nerdy, bright green uniforms, but they also had to wear name tags. Name tags! They flounce around pointing at this and that and yakking about the different animals. They were the opposite of invisible. There was no way I was going to mess with my arrangement here. Can you say, “Hello, my name is Freak Show?” Who did she think I was, Grandpa?

Of course, my mom didn't need to know how messed up her daughter was, so I brought it down a notch and said, “Um…I don't think so.”

She knew better than to respond right now, but I could tell she was storing this conversation in the part of her brain where she puts things she intends on bringing up later. Possibly when the target was cornered in a car.

Can you imagine? Okay. So I didn't
hate
talking to Beatrix about crocodiles, but she's only one kid. You can't stay anonymous and stand in front of a crowd of people at the same time. That's like vanilla ice cream wanting to be mint chip. And I am
so
sticking with Team Vanilla. Between my crazy parents, my grandpa, and my reptile-crazed brother, I had to distance myself as much as possible from all that stuff. Life at school depended on it.

“All porcupines float in water.”

—Animal Wisdom

“Mooommm!” I yelled into the kitchen. “Can I use some of the charcoal pencils in your office?”

“CHARCOAL IN THE OFFICE!” Darwin echoed me. He was out of his cage, playing with some pen caps on my desk.

Bella and I hadn't gotten very far in class on our art projects. We were too busy goofing off and checking everyone else's projects, so when I got back from the zoo (and showered the smell of crocs and hippos out of my hair), I decided to bury myself with paper and charcoal.

Mom yelled back, “Yes, hun! Make sure you put them back where you found them! And no smudges or shavings everywhere! Clean up after!”

To be honest, I had no idea how to show my true self in an art project.

I pulled out the question sheet from class after getting some paper and charcoal set up on my desk.

Project Prompts: Who Do You Think You Are?

1.
In order to know who you are now, it might help to remember who you've been in the past. Think about your childhood. Does any memory bubble up in your mind? Tell me about it:

I thought about that for a moment. Then, I started scribbling in tiny letters. I knew exactly which memory I'd pick:

When
I
was
four
or
five, I brought Mom to school for show-and-tell in kindergarten. I'd watched other people bring in their pets or photos from exotic trips where they fed parrots or monkeys, but Mom was cooler than any of those because she was my MOM, and she got to work with cool animals all day. Her safari hat and zoo uniform looked really good on her, and she brought in an iguana so everyone could learn about him. Everybody in class loved her, and I decided then that I wanted to be like her when I grew up.

I smiled at the memory. But my stomach twisted as I kept writing. It was like I was back in that tiny classroom, smelling the plastic chairs and cubbyholes.

I
was
so
excited
when
she
brought
out
the
iguana
that
I
wanted
to
help
her, so she let me stand up beside her and talk to our class about him.

The pen shook in my hand. I hadn't thought about that day in years.

Only
I
couldn't remember what I wanted to say. All the facts about iguanas that I was so proud to know got scrambled up in my head. I wanted to turn back time, so that I'd never stood up with her in the first place. So I could just sit and watch my mom like everyone else. That's when it happened. Standing there in front of all those eyes, I couldn't tell I'd had an accident until it was too late. Mom noticed right away and tried to pass it off as the iguana's fault, but I'm pretty sure everyone knew. I sure did.

I scribbled out my paragraph with one angry slash. This wasn't helping at all. All it did was remind me how disappointed and embarrassed I'd been. That was the first time I knew that what Mom did was something special. The first time I realized that no matter how hard I tried, I'd never be as brave as her. I mean, sure. Mom said that it was totally normal for little kids and that I'd probably just had a lot to drink and had been nervous, but…

Angry at the memory, I grabbed some of the charcoal. How can memories come back so vividly like no time has passed at all? Ms. Fenton always says that your art will mean most to you if you feel some emotion while you're making it. I tried to think about my favorite animals, ones that I've always loved from the zoo. Wolves for their howls, chimpanzees for their cute, pink ears, jellyfish for their long, scary tentacles. Sea horses, moose, grizzly bears, and parrots. And crocodiles. I've always loved their dark, beady eyes. Like they knew something I didn't. I drew them all with charcoal on individual sheets of paper as Darwin watched me intently.

I wasn't sure if I had a plan yet. But I knew that my seventh-grade true self was surrounded by a bunch of creatures, so I figured I'd start with that. I drew until my eyes were heavy, and drifted off to sleep with charcoal stains on my fingertips.

All math, all the time. That's what my life should be.

At least, that's what Mr. Vince said.

When I failed yet another attempt at a mock exam (I think the name “mock exam” makes sense, seeing how the only point of them is to mock how stupid you are), Mr. Vince officially assigned Kevin to tutor me after school. Until I memorized the textbook, I was on a strict diet of integers and fractions. Those were Mr. Vince's words, not mine. To put it his way, if my life were a pie chart, a huge chunk of it was spent wishing math hadn't been invented. The other little sliver was spent wanting to pelt whomever
did
invent it with cat litter. What a waste of pie.

When Kevin found me after the exam on Friday, I was beyond annoyed. Everyone else was enjoying the warm weather and the start of the weekend, and there I was doodling and waiting around my locker for a chance to look at even
more
math.

“Did you want to go to the library? Or maybe the cafeteria?” Kevin's voice interrupted my little fantasy about putting a skunk in Mr. Vince's briefcase.

“What? Oh,” I said, jerking my head back to my locker search. My math binder was jammed somewhere behind my tower of emergency Handi Wipes (don't ask—I live with disgusting animals), so when I went to reach for it, a whole stack of papers and cardboard flopped to the ground.

I can't even look cool in front of the
nerdy
guy, can I?

I huffed and knelt down to snatch up my stuff, embarrassed that Kevin was doing the same. He didn't even crack a joke, and I was thankful that the Sneerers had all gone home to their Barbie mansions. When I had finally stuffed most of the mess back into my locker, he was looking at me like he was trying to solve an equation.

“Are you okay?” He squinted at me as we plunked our books down at a library table. The place was empty, with nothing but the low hum of the air-conditioning to fill the quiet. “I know things must be crazy with your grandpa visiting…” he whispered.

Here's the thing about Kevin: he's a really nice guy. He never makes fun of me when I come to school smelling like snake after Daz hides Oscar in my bed, and even helped get rid of the crickets after that awful English lesson. He's also pretty much the smartest guy in our school. But he's so…
weird.
And okay, I will admit that he's even good-looking, with nice hair and very nice hands, which are always holding a pencil to work out some engineering/math/genius problem. But it's hard to not think of him as my brother's best friend. Especially when there are guys like Zack wandering around looking like jean models every day. Anyone who would voluntarily hang out with Daz has to be certifiably insane, right?

“Shh!” I darted a look around to make sure nobody had heard him. “I don't want anybody to know,” I said. “He's staying at a hotel, so I've kept it quiet so far.”

“Why don't you want anyone to know?” Kevin asked. “I think it's cool that you're related to someone famous.” He unpacked his bag and set his textbook on the table.

I looked down at my messy notes. “Because everyone will expect
me
to be as awesome,” I said. “Like he's some big celebrity, and Mom's always doing great presentations at the zoo, and it's really…hard to live up to that.”

There, I said it.

Kevin just stared at me with that classic “say what?” look that guys always have.

I winced, waiting for him to tell me that, A) I was a total weirdo for not wanting people to know about Grandpa, and B) it was no secret that I wasn't brave like them so why bother trying to hide it in the first place?

But he didn't do that either.

“Everyone's good at different things,” he said simply. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Daz is good at eating things, for example. I saw him eat a whole pie once, just because he was
bored
,” he said, starting to laugh. “It was strawberry rhubarb, and he puked right after.”

I giggled. “That is
so
my brother,” I said.

“Yep,” he said. “I bet you're not as bad as you think, that's all. You're probably seeing yourself from a skewed perspective.”

Now it was my turn to give him a “say what?” face.

“You know, like when you're too close to something, it's hard to tell what it is. Like this.” He dug around in his backpack and pulled out a book on microscopes.

“Ew,” I said, leaning away. A bright green image of twisty bacteria was on the cover.

“See?” He opened the book and showed me a picture of a buggy-eyed monster with long, white fangs. “Can you tell what this is?”

I examined the picture. “Um. Something I don't want to ever see again? Whatever it is, it's terrifying.”

Kevin smiled. “It's a flea,” he said.

“No way!” I said, grabbing the book. “It looks like something out of a monster movie.” I shuddered and handed it back.

“Exactly. Because your perspective was different. Up close, it looks really scary. But it's only a flea.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And this has to do with me…how?” I crossed my fingers that this wasn't Kevin's way of telling me I was a monster up close.

“I bet your perspective on yourself is messed up,” he explained. “It's hard to see the truth from a weird perspective. Maybe you just need to find a new one?”

I chewed on that while he straightened up and turned his attention back to his textbook. The quiet atmosphere of the library got louder somehow as I stared at my open notebook. I hadn't written anything yet, but I almost felt like I could actually tackle math for once. Something about being around Kevin made me feel stronger.

“So what exactly are you having a problem with in class?” He shoved his chair closer to the table and opened his notebook to a fresh page and wrote my name at the top. He used one
n
, which made a teeny blip go off in my stomach. Most people assume it has two.

I exhaled with a
whoosh
. “Pretty much everything after…” I flipped back in my textbook, stopping at the unit about decimals. “Here.” I pointed to the page.

“That's the first chapter after the introduction.” He stared at me, biting his thumbnail.

“Yes. Yes, it is,” I said, trying to hold back a grim smile. “Didn't Mr. V tell you? I'm a lost cause. The only reason I managed to pass the rest of the tests was because Liv helped me study, and we worked together on every project. And trust me, I did not pull my weight on them either. Seriously, all this stuff”—I tapped my textbook—“is a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, covered in a riddle. My brain doesn't get it.” I leaned back, crossing my arms. I knew there was no way that I could learn everything in time, even with Captain Einstein helping me. I waited for him to sigh with exasperation and tell me it wasn't worth it, that there wasn't enough time.

“Let's start at the beginning then,” he said calmly. He swiped his dark hair out of his eyes and took out some practice tests from his backpack, leafing through them.

I gaped at him. “Seriously? You don't mind going through
all
this math? It's so nice outside. You could be doing anything!”

He laughed. “Hey. Remember that time I needed your help sketching all those insects for my robot-bug replicas? You didn't complain once, even though I know you missed the first showing of one of your movies with Liv,
and
your hand was cramping up.” He tapped his pencil against the textbook and stared at me.

“Well, yeah. But—” I said.

“No buts! You're going to understand math if it's the last thing I do!” He raised his fist and shook it dramatically. “I mean, hopefully it's not,” he added in a low voice. “But you know.” He flipped open the textbook to the first chapter. “You're smart. We'll get it.”

Things That Seem Really Complicated but Actually Make Sense Now Because Kevin Is a Homework God

1.
Integers. Integers are just numbers, like normal, except they can also be negative. They are the Debbie Downers of the math world. If you add up a bunch of negatives, you're going to get something even more negative. This is like starting off with getting bird poop on your shoulder, and
then
stepping in a puddle of muck while wearing your favorite shoes. You're getting worse as you go.

2.
Fractions. Believe it or not, fractions are not that difficult. They're pretty much regular numbers, but they take twice the work to read. Kevin showed me this cool way to multiply them, and now every time I see them, I'm thinking of what three-fourths of a hippo looks like. Who knew?