Still a Work in Progress (9 page)

“What’s her problem?” I ask him. But I’m not sure I really want to know.

On our last day using the potter’s wheel in art class, I turn the wheel and gently reach my fingers into the ball of soft clay, shaping it slowly and carefully. Like magic, the ridges of my bowl begin to rise up, and I ease my fingers to widen the ridge.

Ms. Cliff watches intensely. “Thaaaaaat’s it,” she says. “Not too fast.”

I press my thumbs deeper and the sides form upward, just the way I imagined. It’s as if I only have to picture the bowl in my head the way I want it to form, and somehow my hands make the clay grow into that shape. When I have the curves and form just right, I let the wheel spin down and slowly move my fingers away.

“Beautiful,” Ms. Cliff says. “Just gorgeous, Noah. You have a real gift.”

She helps me move the bowl to the next station and then wanders off to help Sadie, who’s waiting in line.

“Nice bowl,” Ryan says. He’s holding his own bowl, cupped in his hands. One side has fallen in on itself. “I think I’ll give this to my dad’s new girlfriend for Christmas,” he says.

“What is it?”

“It’s a symbolic work of art. Can’t you tell? The caved-in side represents”— he thinks for a minute —“what she’s done to my life.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”

“I don’t want her to appreciate it. I want her to feel my pain and know she’s the cause of it.”

“I didn’t know you were in pain.”

“I’m in agony.”

“You hide it well.”

“Agony comes in different shapes and sizes.”

“Why are you in agony? What did your dad’s girlfriend ever do to you?”

“As long as she’s in the picture, my parents will never get back together.” He pokes the indent so it sags even more.

“You can fix that, you know,” I say.

“Why would I want to fix it?”

I give up.

“She’s the reason I’m an emu,” he tells me. “If it weren’t for her, I could be your average, cheerful all-American kid. Instead”— he gestures to his dark clothes and makes a mopey face —“this.”

“Emo,”
I correct him. “And I don’t think if you call yourself that, you really are.”

“What do you know?” he says.

We put our bowls on the tray with the other bowls waiting to be glazed or fired, then walk over to Curly, who is sunning herself on the dry shelf in front of the window.

“How many mice do you think she actually kills every day?” Ryan asks.

“I don’t know. Hopefully not more than one. Isn’t that what the Tank said?”

“Still. That adds up to three hundred and sixty-five murders a year. Minimum.”

“It’s a lot.”

“Especially for someone so puny.”

She looks up at us and purrs, asking for a pat. But I can’t bring myself to touch her weird skin, so I just kind of gently rub her back through her vest. Today’s is blue with a gray Totoro on the back, smiling up at me.

“Class is over,” Ms. Cliff sort of sings. “Make sure you put everything you leave out of Curly’s reach!”

I follow Ryan out to the hall and nearly plow into him as soon as we step outside, because he has stopped in his tracks.

“What. Is. That?” he asks.

I look. Sam and Molly appear to be making out at Sam’s locker. We step closer, and sure enough, that is exactly what we see. They seem totally oblivious of the growing crowd entering the hall.

“Unbelievable,” Ryan says. “Sam gets his first kiss before us?”

“I didn’t know it was a competition,” I say.

As we walk by, Ryan bumps into Sam. “Get a room,” he says.

“Hey!” Sam wipes his mouth. His lips are bright red. So are his cheeks.

Molly stares at him like he’s a super stud. “See you later,” she says, then kisses him on the cheek.

Ryan shakes his head and opens his locker in disgust.

“What?” Sam asks.

“You,” Ryan says. He grabs a book and slams his locker.

“Huh?”

Instead of answering, Ryan storms down the hall.

“Boy,” Sam says, “I never thought Ryan would be the jealous type.”

We watch Ryan turn the corner at the end of the hall and go into Madame Estelle’s room, then bolt back out, covering his mouth and nose. “Stupid Fart Squad!” he yells. He kicks a locker door and storms away.

“Wow. He used to want to be a member,” Sam says, grabbing his French book. “He’s been acting weird ever since I started dating Molly.”

I don’t deny it.

“We need to find someone for him before he drives me crazy.”

“But who?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. Sadie? I know he has a crush on her.”

My heart sinks.

“No offense or anything,” he says. “I know you probably kind of like her. But I think if anything was going to happen with the two of you, it would have. That ship has sailed. You really blew your chance at the dance, Noah.”

“I thought she was dating Tate. Why would I have made a move at the dance?”

“They have an open relationship,” Sam says, acting all sophisticated.

“What the heck does that mean?”

He pushes his glasses up his nose. “They can date other people.”

“Why would they do that?” I ask.

“How should I know?” he says, suddenly sounding like his old self. “Molly told me they’re more like friends who want to date someone but haven’t found anyone else, so they stay together, even though they don’t really like each other as more than friends.”

“That’s dumb.”

“Well, we’re all dumb,” Sam says. “In one way or another.”

“How are you dumb?”

“I don’t know. I just am.” He smiles and leans his head toward me. “Molly thinks I’m a good kisser,” he whispers.

I pull my head away. “I can’t believe you kissed her with that breath,” I say, waving my hand in front of my face.

“What?” He breathes into the cup of his hand and blows, then sniffs. “I don’t smell anything.”

“You can’t smell your own breath, dummy.”

“What does it smell like?”

“Onions.”

He nods. “Molly shared her salad with me.”

“What is it with you two and smelly food?”

He rifles through his bag and pulls out a tin. “Mints!”

“Terrific,” I say. “You might want to share them with Molly.”

“I will,” he says gleefully. “And then we’ll make out again.”

“Good for you.” I’m tempted to storm down the hall like Ryan at this point, but I don’t. “Just don’t do it in front of me. And especially not Ryan.”

“Fine. Hey, do you really like Sadie? Or have you given up? Seriously.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe both.”

“Well, decide,” he says. “Because Molly and I need someone to double-date with, and I can’t stand Tate.”

“That’s generous.”

“You know what I mean. C’mon. Ask her out.”

“I don’t think so,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Sheesh. I never thought I’d be the one with a girlfriend and you and Ryan would be the ones left alone.”

“Whatever,” I say.

I’m starting to get why Ryan has been so moody.

In French, Madame Estelle makes us repeat after her,
“Elle est petite. Il est petit. Nous sommes petits.”
Ryan ignores us by pretending to pay attention and be a good student. He says the phrases extra loud, with a French-accent flair. Madame Estelle beams at him. It’s so annoying.

I say the words quietly because I hate my accent. Sam bellows out the words in an exaggerated way, which makes him sound more like a loud Texan than a Parisian.

“Bon! Bon!”
Madame Estelle keeps saying, though, like she doesn’t mind.
“Qui peut me donner un exemple de quelque chose de petit?”
Madame asks.

An example of something small? Hm. I don’t know. This is when Ryan’s
Who’s to say?
trick could possibly come in handy.

Lily pipes up.
“Curly est petite!”

“Oui! Quoi d’autre?”

“Noah’s tête est petite,”
Ryan says.

“What?” I say.

“Monsieur Ryan,”
Madame says,
“qu’est-ce que vous avez dit?”

“Uhhhh,” Ryan stammers.
“La tête de Noah est petite?”

He points to my head, and everyone looks at me.

“It is!” Sam says, and starts laughing. The class joins in, including Sadie.

“En français!”
Madame demands.

I give Ryan a dirty look, but he just grins.

I would like to say Ryan is a small emu, but I don’t know the words
en français.
Why can’t every class be as easy as art?

After school, we sit on the steps and wait for our rides. Tate and Sadie come out and disappear behind the storage unit, where the school keeps the outdoor gym equipment. Miranda and Belle follow, then Molly and Sam. Before Sam goes behind the building, he looks back at us and waves.

“What do you think they do back there?” I ask Ryan.

“What do you
think
?” he answers sarcastically.

I picture them all making out. “That’s not very romantic,” I say.

“Well, where else are they gonna go?” he asks.

“Good point.”

We both sigh at the same time and watch the shed.

“Has anyone seen Curly?” the Tank calls from behind us. “I can’t find her. I hope she didn’t get out. No one let her out, right?”

If anyone did, no one admits it.

Ryan and I jump up. “We’ll find her,” Ryan says.

Lily follows us inside. We wander through the classrooms and call her name.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Lily sings.

“Cur-ly!” I call encouragingly. “Want a treat?”

“You don’t have a treat,” Ryan says.

“She doesn’t know that. It’s how we get the Captain to come when we want him.”

“That’s mean.”

“She’s happy with a pat. Don’t worry about it.”

“She’ll never trust you again.”

“I’ll risk it.”

We call and call, but there’s no sign of her. The longer we look, the more I get that helpless feeling again. What if she got outside? How will she survive in the cold with just her measly vest?

After searching all the classrooms, we go to the Community Room and look under the couches and in the closets but can’t find her there, either.

“What if she ran away?” Lily asks. “Would she do that?”

“Why would she leave such a good situation?” Ryan asks. “Plenty of clothes. Mice. Always a lap to sit on? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Curly!” I call out again. “Curly, come get a treat!”

Something in the ceiling scratches.

“Curly?” Lily says.

Scratch.

“Curly! Is that you?” I ask.

Scritch-scratch.

“She’s stuck in the ceiling! Mr. Sticht! We found her!” Lily yells.

Ryan and I drag a table under the part of the ceiling where we heard the scratching, then climb up. The ceiling is made up of a bunch of square-shaped pieces that you can push up and move, so we start pushing a bunch, careful to avoid touching the wads of gum some student from the past pelted up here, until I can feel the weight of Curly on one. “Here!” I say to Ryan, pointing to the next square.

“Careful, boys,” the Tank says when he comes bounding into the room.

Ryan slowly pushes the square next to the one Curly is on up and over, leaving a big hole in the ceiling.

Curly peeks out and mews pitifully.

“C’mon, girl,” Ryan says.

“Treat,” I add.

Curly mews again and pokes a paw out.

Ryan reaches up for her and pulls her down. “She’s shaking!”

“Give her to me,” Lily says, holding out her hands.

“But you’re allerg —”

“I’ll take her,” I say, interrupting Ryan before he can spill the beans and get Curly kicked out.

I jump down from the table and reach up for Curly. She has a cobweb hanging from one ear. I wipe it off and then hold her against my chest. She starts to purr.

“Poor thing,” the Tank says. “Curly, what on earth were you doing up there?”

“Maybe there was a mouse,” Lily says.

“In the ceiling?” Ryan asks. “Gross!”

“Mice are everywhere,” Lily says matter-of-factly.

“I’m just glad we found her,” the Tank says. “You had us worried sick, girl!”

“How do you think she got up in there?” I ask.

“Who knows? It’s an old building. There are holes all over the place. I’ll have Ms. Leonard take a look.” Ms. Leonard is the school janitor.