Extra Credit #22 Read online

  “What are we going to do?” she asked as she stepped through the kitchen doorway.

  “About what?” Peter poured himself a glass of thick, greenish pink liquid from the blender.

  Avery couldn’t believe her brother’s response. “We established a long time ago that I’m the more intelligent—and better looking—twin,” Avery teased. “But how can you ask ‘about what’? Have you not even thought about the baby situation in the past three days?”

  “Doesn’t matter to me, as long as they don’t expect me to babysit,” Peter answered. He started toward his room, leaving the gunk-filled blender on the counter.

  Avery followed him. “Don’t think you’re going to get away with being a slob like that after the baby’s born. The stepmother’s not going to have time to clean up after you. You’ll be getting lectures on how you’re way past old enough to take care of yourself.”

  Peter shrugged.

  “And there will be crying,” Avery continued. “Both of our rooms are close to the guest room. Don’t think you’ll be able to sleep through the howling and wailing. Plus the smell of baby poo will probably fill up the whole house.”

  “I guess we’ll have to stock up on air freshener and earplugs,” Peter said in a slightly mocking tone. “It’s not going to be that bad, Ave.”

  Her brother just wasn’t getting it. “Look, I’ve been thinking about it, and I figured out Dad stopped listening to me right about when the stepmother found out she was pregnant.” Peter went into his room and tried to shut the door behind him. Avery blocked it with her foot. “You might not care now, but you’re going to care when there’s something you really want and you can’t get Dad’s attention for even three seconds,” she warned him.

  Peter flopped down on his bed and clicked the television remote. An old movie popped up on the screen. “I want to study this.”

  She was trying to talk to him about his life and he wanted to watch a movie in black-and-white. Hello. Color? High def? “You know what you’re like? You’re like someone who’s told a hurricane is coming right toward his house and refuses to evacuate.”

  Peter clicked the remote again, turning the volume up. At least he was watching a talkie. Sometimes he even watched the silent ones.

  “Don’t come crying to me when you’re sitting in a tree with water up to your butt,” Avery tried again.

  Peter didn’t answer.

  There was no one she could talk to in this house. No one!

  chapter SEVEN

  “Lowell, hi! Aren’t you going the wrong way?” Brynn called as she spotted her fellow castmate walking toward the train station on Saturday. Brynn was walking the opposite direction, away from the station, toward the movie set.

  “They decided to shoot a different scene today,” Lowell said, stopping in front of her. “They don’t need any kid extras at all.”

  “No way!”

  Lowell nodded his head. “Tell me about it. I had to get up at 4:30 to get here on time,” Lowell told her. “But we’re on for tomorrow at 3:00. So, you heading back to the station?”

  “I want to try and find Sarah,” Brynn answered. That way she could still salvage some fun out of the day. And she wasn’t quite ready for another couple hours on the train.

  “I didn’t see her. Chace was at the bus stop, though. He’s the one who gave me the head’s up. He might still be there if his bus hasn’t come,” Lowell said. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gave a half salute as he started toward the train station again.

  “Bye!” Brynn called over her shoulder. She hurried toward the set in the hopes of catching Sarah. Along the way, she passed the bus stop where she thought she might find Chace. He was a Connecticut boy, so he could ride the bus to the set instead of taking the train, but there was no sign of him. She was surprised he hadn’t decided to stay and find Sarah, too.

  A block later, she reached the college. As she cut across the green lawn, heading toward the gym/ wardrobe room—that’s where Sarah would go first—Brynn spotted Temple, the girl with the long ponytails from last weekend. Temple waved, and Brynn waved back.

  A few seconds later, she had one of those delayed realizations, the kind where her eyes processed info a little faster than her brain. She’d seen Temple in her ’70s outfit, but it hadn’t sunk in immediately that Temple was in costume. Ready to shoot a scene. Although obviously not the ’50s sock hop scene.

  Brynn looked around for a PA. They were easy to recognize. Half the time they looked like they were talking to themselves as they relayed information through the small headsets they all wore. There’s one, she thought, picking out a guy who looked like he could also be a student at the college where the movie was being filmed. When she got closer, she confirmed that, yup, he had on a headset.

  “Um, excuse me,” she said. “Are you using the kid extras today?” She felt a little silly asking the question. There were kid extras around everywhere. She didn’t see anyone leaving.

  “We’re reshooting the hallway scene we did on Saturday. Zan wasn’t happy with the lighting. So if you were in the scene then, you’re in it now,” the PA answered.

  That scene took place in the ’70s, which meant Brynn would be Dawn again. As she got in line for wardrobe, she tried to get back in Dawn’s head. Dawn had an oral report to give. So Brynn figured she might be feeling a little—

  “No spilling!”

  The shout pulled Brynn away from her thoughts. She turned toward the sound and saw Chace poking Sarah and pretending to get her to spill her hot coffee.

  “I thought you went home,” Brynn called out to Chace.

  “What?” Sarah asked. She took a tiny sip of her coffee.

  “No talking! Now is the time we dance!” Chace handed Brynn a mochachino, then used his free hand to spin her around, bringing her into the dance.

  “Are you always going to be saving a place for them?” someone waiting behind Brynn in the costume line complained.

  Chace pointed at the complainer. “Somebody needs to be dancing.”

  And, to Brynn’s surprise, the somebody actually smiled and started to dance. She didn’t know how serious Chace was about acting, but she bet he’d be good at it. Maybe not the tapping into emotions part. But he definitely had the glow, the it factor. People responded to him, liked him.

  “Hey, I spotted a movie theater a couple blocks from here,” Chace said. “We should go see something sometime. Check out the stylings of the extras.”

  “Really, Lowell said he saw you at the bus stop,” Brynn tried again.

  Chace stopped dancing. “Yeah, I got here and a PA told me there was a schedule change and they didn’t need any kid extras, so I left. I saw Lowell on his way here and explained the dealio. Then I realized I’d left my backpack by the fountain. I came back over and saw people in their ’70s costumes and found out the PA had gotten it wrong. There was a schedule change, but only to reshoot the hallway scene.”

  Huh. Brynn guessed that Chace’s explanation could be true. But all the PAs seemed incredibly organized. It was a little hard to believe one of them could make such a big mistake. Was Chace lying again?

  She still hadn’t decided a couple hours later when she, Chace, and Sarah were in their places in the hallway. Brynn stood in front of her locker, hairbrush in hand.

  “Background!” the AD called.

  Brynn began brushing her hair, thinking of her oral report. Footsteps pounded down the hall. Sam Quinn began to shout. She turned toward him. It’s true what they say about acting being all about reacting. When you hear somebody yell in a panic, you look. It’s natural.

  Sam leaped over Chace, who was kneeling in the middle of the hall, tying his shoe. “Smooth move, Six Million Dollar Man,” he called after Sam.

  After Zan called “cut,” Brynn’s brain played catch-up again. Chace had done the “smooth move” line. She’d seen and heard him, but she hadn’t taken the next step and thought—Chace is doing Lowell’s line. Chace had told Lowell to leave this m
orning. Had—

  “Where’s my redhead?” Zan asked the AD. Brynn turned her attention to them. She was very curious to hear how it would go down.

  “Chace told me he wasn’t here, so I threw Chace in instead,” the AD answered.

  Brynn’s stomach did a slow roll. Chace had told Lowell the schedule had changed and he had also told the AD Lowell wasn’t on the set that day.

  Zan nodded. “Good job,” she told Chace.

  And that’s a SAG voucher for Chace! Brynn thought.

  Chace grinned, and Brynn suddenly remembered his reaction when Lowell got the line the last time they shot this scene. Chace’s happiness for Lowell had seemed a little forced.

  Brynn got the same feeling she did when she drank a milkshake too fast. Cold gut. Sharp pain in the head.

  Could Chace have told Lowell to go home so Chace could get the line? That meant Chace’s whole story about the PA’s mistake was definitely a lie.

  But Brynn had seen Chace lie before. He was good at it.

  This many people care about little trains? Natalie wondered Sunday morning as she climbed the wide stairs crowded with people up to the Javits Center. Her cell beeped just as she was starting to look around for Eli.

  Sarah had sent her a pic. It showed her wearing jeans tucked into slouchy boots and a green cowl-neck sweater. A second later a text from Sarah arrived.

  Do I look okay? I have a date. And he only asked me last night, so I’ve only been able to try on everything in my closet twelve or thirteen times.

  I barely thought about what I put on today, Natalie realized as she began texting Sarah back.

  you look smashing, stunning, stupefying. i’ve run out of s words. gotta go. i see my own date.

  Natalie snapped her phone shut. Walking toward her was Eli, wearing a bright orange T-shirt that said: “Still Plays With Trains.”

  “I wore orange so I’d be easier to spot,” he told her. “But I’ve already seen at least twenty other people in this shirt.”

  “Well, I found you,” Natalie answered. With your freckle accessories and your adorable shaggy hair. He really was cute.

  Eli smiled at her and, for the first time, Natalie realized his braces alternated between red and blue, tooth by tooth. She’d avoided looking at his mouth, the way she hoped he—and everyone—would avoid looking at hers.

  Eli noticed the direction of her gaze. “Giants fan,” he explained.

  He’d done something to draw attention to his teeth. “Cool,” Natalie told him. And it was. Sort of. Eli showed no fear and that was cool, even if a red and blue grill—not so much.

  “You ready to go in?” Eli asked. “I already got tickets.”

  “Let’s do this thing,” Natalie answered. She felt her eyes widen as they entered the main area of the convention center. There were hundreds of displays. Maybe even a thousand. The sound of a multitude of engines and wheels on tracks could be heard under the music.

  “Thomas the Train is here,” Natalie said.

  “Yeah, the NMRA—National Model Railroad Association—wants to get more kids interested in the hobby. And also have something fun for little kids to do. We have to check out the Lego train. They always come up with something awesome, all made out of Legos. But first, I wanted to stop by the booth of one of the local clubs. Some of my friends are in it. Is that okay?”

  “This is a strange, new world for me. You’re the guide,” Natalie told him. “So why aren’t you in the club?” she asked as they snaked their way through the crowd, past a demonstration of wiring techniques, a booth with a huge number of miniature plants for sale, and a nacho stand.

  “I had to choose between the regatta at the pond or the club. I didn’t have time for both,” Eli explained. “There they are. E-11.” He led Natalie over to a table with a model train—of course—on it. Four guys and a girl wearing matching “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” hoodies stood at the booth. They were clearly the club members. Natalie could tell by their mix of pride and concern as they watched the train run over the tracks.

  “Lookin’ good,” Eli told the closest guy.

  “We were still working on it five minutes before the doors opened,” the guy confessed.

  “Nat, this is Clive.” A girl wandered over to join them. “And that’s Rachel.”

  “So what was the problem?” Eli asked. “Clive was telling me you were scrambling to get running.”

  “We had a derailment issue,” Rachel said. She ran her fingers through her thick, black hair. Natalie liked the asymmetrical cut.

  “Let me guess.” Eli closed his eyes for a minute in thought. “Coupler problem with your Hi Cube Boxcar.”

  “Not even close,” Rachel said. “Switch problem. There was a rail joiner that wasn’t connected correctly. I found it with a curve gauge.” Her big, gray eyes sparkled with pleasure as she slapped Eli a high five.

  “Rachel and I live across the street from each other,” Eli told Natalie. “We’ve been into trains since Rachel’s mom bought one to go around the Christmas tree when we were, like, seven.”

  “We tried to make improvements right away,” Rachel said.

  “And started a small fire,” Eli added.

  “You can still see the singe marks on the bottom of our artificial tree.” Rachel smiled. “So how do you two know each other? I thought I knew everybody Eli knew.”

  “Not quite,” Eli said. “We met at the pond.”

  “Oh, you’re one of the model boat people.” Rachel shook her head. “You guys don’t even get to make buildings or do landscape. It’s just your boat.”

  “Yesterday was actually the first time I worked a model boat,” Natalie admitted. “Eli showed me how.”

  “Huh,” Rachel said, looking back and forth between Eli and Natalie. “So what are you into?”

  What was she into? Fashion. Camp, but not the really outdoorsy parts of camp. Magazine quizzes and beauty tips. She was into hanging out with her friends, back when she had some. She liked sushi. But it’s not like she could give that as a major interest.

  “Natalie’s into art,” Eli finally answered for her.

  That was sort of true. Besides spending time with The History of Western Art, Natalie’s mom was an art dealer, so Nat had gone to a lot of art galleries. Some she loved, some were fascinating in a freaky way, some did nothing for her, and some just made her want to leave.

  “Have you ever worked with Polly S or MRC/ Tamiya?” Clive asked.

  Natalie sucked in a breath, then admitted, “I don’t even know what they are.”

  “They’re flat water-based acrylics,” Eli explained. “They don’t have solvents that attack the plastic or paint of the models.”

  “I used Polly S to do the weathering on the water tower. Now, I’m wondering if I should have gone that way at all. Maybe I should have used chalk dust,” Clive said.

  That launched a whole conversation filled with many terms Natalie had never heard of before. She tried to stay engaged in the conversation, but it was like Clive, Eli, and Rachel were speaking another language. Eli kept translating, but even the translation was confusing.

  And, even though she didn’t want to admit it, the whole thing was boring. Not to them, obviously. But she was almost bored out of her mind.

  Suck it up, she told herself. Eli’s nice. He is. And cute. And he doesn’t care about your braces at all. And it’s better to be bored than boyless.

  chapter EIGHT

  Avery rolled over and checked her alarm clock. 10:30. She supposed she should head down to the kitchen. Sunday morning brunch was the one meal her father cooked, and it was ridiculous—pancakes with chocolate chips, eggs, bacon and sausage, bagels, three kinds of cream cheese, lox, biscuits. Sometimes he even went out to Krispy Kreme for warm donuts. Complete ridiculousness.

  He and the stepmother—and usually Peter and Avery—didn’t get dressed until afternoon. Sometimes her dad didn’t get dressed the entire day. He sat around the table reading the paper. Make that pap
ers. He liked the New York Times, but he hated how it didn’t have the funnies, so he got the local paper, too. He’d read everyone their horoscope out loud, making half of it up, and then he’d read the cartoons with these stupid voices. Avery tried to have friends sleep over on Friday nights, never Saturdays. Sunday mornings with her father were just a little too . . . ridiculous.

  Avery padded downstairs in her Sunday-morning-only slippers. She’d had them for years. They were shaped like cows and had little bells on them. The bottoms were almost worn through.

  “What’s going on?” she asked as she stepped through the kitchen door.

  “Your father’s been reading.” The stepmother nodded toward a stack of books on the table where the papers were usually spread out. Avery scanned the titles: What to Expect When You’re Expecting. The Mayo Guide to a Healthy Pregnancy. A Child is Born. The Expectant Father. The Belly Book. Eating for Pregnancy. What to Expect When Your Wife Is Expecting.

  “We went to the bookstore yesterday, and he went a little crazy,” the stepmother added.

  “We need every one of those,” Avery’s father said. He was chopping bits of apple. Avery figured they were going into the vat of oatmeal on the stove. Oatmeal. The only sign of breakfast. Not that she usually ate all—or most—of the food her dad dished up on Sundays. But it was fun to have the huge selection.

  “But you already have two kids,” Avery answered. “You were around when Mom was pregnant with us, right?” She heard her voice crack a little, and she hated it.

  “I know. That’s what I said. I told him nothing much about pregnancy has changed since then.” The stepmother laughed. “He bought a whole stack of books on being a father, too. As if he isn’t already an amazing father. Am I right?”

  He used to be, Avery thought. He used to always get my hints. And if my voice did that babyish cracking thing, he used to always notice. “Sure, whatever,” she said aloud.

  “How’s that for an endorsement?” Avery’s father asked the stepmother. He set a bowl of oatmeal topped with apple bits and walnuts in front of her, giving her pregnant stomach an affectionate pat.