CHAPTER 11
Wallace thinks I’m pretty.
Wallace thinks I’m pretty?
Did he put that there because he knew I’d see it later? Is he trying to lure me into some kind of trap? Wallace doesn’t seem that conniving, but I don’t know, I’m not a teenage boy.
Wallace thinks I’m pretty.
This is weird.
I have on a sweatshirt two sizes too big and jeans worn so often you can’t see the shape of my legs inside them. My hair’s okay, I guess, when it’s not covered in glitter. It’s not that I think I’m ugly, I just don’t think about what I look like. I don’t live out there. If I had my way, I wouldn’t look like anything at all. I would be a free-floating consciousness that can also somehow draw. I don’t care how I look. I don’t want to care.
It is weird for him to point it out. No one points out how I look. I am not a “point out how she looks” kind of girl.
I really want to bring this up with Emmy and Max to see what they think, but I can’t, because I don’t want them to know Wallace is rainmaker. Like telling them about the transcription, it seems like a betrayal of trust. I could say he said that to my face, but I know for a fact Emmy skims through the Angels’ update feeds at least once a week, and she’ll definitely see it on rainmaker’s page. It doesn’t take an engineering prodigy to put those two things together.
But Wallace gave me another chapter of Monstrous Sea, so he can’t be kidding. He put time and thought into this. He cares about Monstrous Sea—he wouldn’t use it to hurt someone. Right?
CHAPTER 12
On Wednesday, Wallace and I hang out at school like nothing different has happened. And by “hang out,” I mean we pass notes in homeroom and sit together at lunch. I try not to gush too much over the second chapter of his transcription of Monstrous Sea. When I pass him on the bench outside school at the end of the day, he looks up and waves good-bye, and I don’t feel the need to sprint to my car and lock myself inside.
Thursday’s the same, but when I get home that day and check my messages to see if Emmy and Max have gotten their packages yet, I find a new message thread from Wallace.
2:47 p.m.
rainmaker: So, how about that Halloween party? :D
rainmaker: If you don’t have a costume, I bet you could put a sign on your shirt that says “lurker.” I know my friends would think that was the best thing ever.
rainmaker: btw they’re all huge MS fans. Don’t know if I mentioned that.
rainmaker: Also I’m driving, so don’t worry about getting there.
Well. I suppose he really wants me to go. That must be a good sign. I thought he was as quiet and weird as me, but he’s not at all. He’s not exactly the center of social life at Westcliff, but this is way more forward than I’d be with anyone. If I invited someone somewhere—unlikely—and they told me they’d think about it, I’d end up barricading myself in my room and never speaking to them again.
Here’s what I know about this party so far:
•Wallace wants me to go
•Wallace’s friends will be there
•There will be Monstrous Sea cosplay
•I will miss the Dog Days Halloween special
•It will be at a bookstore, which is not particularly partyish
It doesn’t sound completely terrible. And I’m sure if I don’t like it, I can find some excuse to leave. But I’ll miss doing my live commentary on Dog Days.
Wait. I get up from the computer and stick my head out my bedroom door, looking over the balcony railing.
“Hey!”
“What is it, Eggers?” Dad walks out of the kitchen in his windbreaker and running shorts and looks up the stairs.
“Do I have to walk around with Church and Sully for Halloween this year?”
Dad frowns. “Church and Sully are doing Halloween this year? Are they too old for that yet?”
He asks it honestly, because he really doesn’t remember. He knows they’re in the same grade, and that they’re under fourteen because they play on all U-14 sports teams, but anything beyond that is details. Sully is fourteen, Church is thirteen; born eleven months apart exactly, and most people think they’re twins.
“They’re kind of too old for it, yeah,” I say.
“Oh. Well, ask your mom.”
“Is she home right now?”
“No, she took Davy for her quick 10K with her marathon students.”
“What? Davy can’t run a 10K!”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “They’re jogging, and the slow students always take care of him anyway. He’s fine.”
Mom teaches classes for people who want to get in shape to run marathons, which means by definition everyone who signs up is out of their minds. The idea of them pulling my old dog around does not put me at ease.
The front door opens behind him, and Church and Sully barge in, shoving each other over the threshold. They nearly crash into Dad, who steps out of the way just before they reach him.
“Hi, boys,” he says genially, smiling again and following them into the kitchen. Their conversation floats up the stairs to me. “How was school today?”
“Macy Garrison stole Church’s calculator and wouldn’t give it back until he promised to buy her a candy gram on Valentine’s Day,” Sully says. The refrigerator door bangs against the counter and the shelves rattle as they pull food out.
“I’m not going to do it, though,” Church says, quieter.
“Were you two going out for Halloween?” Dad asks. I creep down the stairs to hear them better.
“No,” Sully says. “Halloween is for little kids.”
“I thought we were . . . ,” Church says, his voice tapering off at the end.
“Eliza wanted to know if she had to take you guys out again.”
“Eliza hates doing stuff with us,” Sully says.
It’s not true—I don’t hate doing stuff with them, it’s just that most of the stuff they like doing is stuff that makes me uncomfortable or angry. Like throwing balls, or moving faster than a quick walk.
Sully yells, “NO, ELIZA, YOU DON’T HAVE TO TAKE US TRICK-OR-TREATING!”
I slink back up the stairs and catch the tail end of Church muttering, “Geez, kill my eardrums.”
Well, great. Now I don’t even have the excuse of having to take Sully and Church out for Halloween. I could lie, though, and say I do . . . Wallace wouldn’t be able to see through that, right? He doesn’t know where I live, or how old my brothers are, or even how serious we are about Halloween, which is not at all.
But I don’t want to lie to him. I’m already lying to him about the LadyConstellation thing, though that’s more omission than anything else.
Normally I don’t have any problem lying my way out of things. Of course, normally the only people I have to lie to are my parents and brothers, and all I have to say then is I’m sick, or have too much work. My family is easy like that. I don’t have friends from school who ask me to do things. Not until now.
I return to my computer, sit, and scratch at the edge of my pen display for a moment. A Monstrous Sea page is still pulled up on its screen—Amity fending off hordes of enemies with the Watcher’s orange crystals. Amity wouldn’t lie to someone to get out of something. If she didn’t want to do it, she’d say it right to their face. And if she was unsure, she’d go do it anyway to test the waters. She’s a quiet, keeps-to-herself kind of person, but she’s not scared of doing things and going places.
I’m not normally one to take advice from my own fictional characters, but there comes a point in every girl’s life where she reaches a crossroads: a night alone with her sweatpants and her favorite television show, or a party with real, live, breathing people.
I know what I should do. Call it guilt, my parents’ voices permanently embedded in the back of my head. What are your plans this weekend, Eliza? Going out with anyone? Any friends from school? No hot parties? Hot parties. Only my parents would say “hot parties,” and they’re not even that old. I’m allowed to say no to their ideas for sports and physical exercise, but so far I haven’t found a good way to deflect their questions about my nonexistent school friends and social life. I say “social life” because anything that happens on a computer isn’t social to them. If I told them I was hanging out in a Halloween chat room with a bunch of people on the Monstrous Sea forums, they’d ask if I actually knew any of these people, and then they’d hover around my door, trying to peek inside all night.