Me, My Elf & I (26 page)

“I don’t know if I am or not.” I pick up some kind of pencil-looking thing. “We just don’t have any where we’re from.”

She holds up a soft wispy brush and cleans it with a tissue. “Do you think your dad would get mad if you had some on?”

I shake my head. “Oh no. I don’t think he’d care at all. I mean, come on, what could he say? He’s wearing it, too!”

Lucy laughs. She cups my chin in her hand and tilts my face to the left, then to the right. “It’s not like you need it.”

“Oh but—” I say, then stop.

“I mean you’re gorgeous without it. So are your dad and your brother. It’s rare to see people with such amazing skin. It almost glows. And this hair.” She runs her fingers through my tangled mess.

“It’s just that . . .” I glance at the clock. Twenty-five minutes and Timber will be here.

Her eyes follow mine, then she looks at me. “Are you meeting someone?”

A grin spreads across my face and my whole body goes warm as I think about seeing Timber soon. Will he grab me, kiss me, tell me how much he missed me? Will we hold hands all night?

“Ah ha!” Lucy says. “Someone special?”

I nod and smile even bigger. I’m so excited that I might fly up into the Manhattan sky.

“Hop on up here, honey!” Lucy pats the chair and switches on all the lights around the mirror. “And let me work my magic!”

 

When Lucy’s done, I can’t stop staring at myself. My hair is silkier and straighter than usual after she washed it and blew it dry. Plus, it smells so much like berries and honey that I want to hold it under my nose and sniff it for an hour. Then she made four thin braids from the front sections that she gathered in the back of my head with a long red ribbon to match the flowers embroidered on my pale yellow tunic. I watched carefully as she brushed color over my cheekbones and eyelids and then took a tiny black wand and filled in my eyelashes so my face is rosy and my eyes look as big and green as lily pads with eyelashes as long as a doe’s. The last thing she did was run a tube of something glossy over my mouth to make my lips look moist, as if I’m ready for a kiss, which, let’s be honest, I am. I glance at the clock again. Timber should be here any minute.

“So, what do you think?” Lucy asks as we both look at me in the mirror.

I don’t know what to say so I turn around and give her a huge hug. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” I gush.

“My pleasure,” she says. “And here,” she hands me a little bag. “I put together a few things for you to take home. Just some samples to get you started.” I hug her again. “Good luck.” She winks and points to the mirror, where I see the reflection of Timber coming through the door behind me.

Every bone, muscle, and internal organ inside my body dissolves when I catch sight of him. If it weren’t for my tingling skin holding me together, I’d be a big sloppy puddle of elf soup on the floor. I turn in the chair and try to push myself up, but my legs are trembling and I can’t quite feel my feet. I’m afraid I’ll fall on my butt if I try to take a step. Lucy grabs my arm and hoists me to a stand. I can hear her laughing in my ear, but I don’t look at her because I can’t stop staring at Timber.

He’s even more gorgeous than I remember. I gape at him. I can’t blink or talk. Which is mortifying, because for him, all of this seems easy and natural. He smiles that wolf grin as he walks toward me. “Hey, Zephyr.”

What should I do with my body? Hold out my arms? Pucker my lips? Tilt my head to the side and close my eyes? I’m freaking out. I can’t move. I just stand here, rigid, with my hands frozen by my sides and my eyes open wide.

He gets right up close to me and he stops. “You look different,” he says. “Are you wearing makeup?”

That breaks the corpse spell that had me stuck. “Sort of, I guess.”

“Looks good,” he says with a nod.

“Thanks.” I begin to lean in for our glorious reunion smooch, but he presses his hand on the small of my back and gives me a quick little peck on the cheek. Then he pulls back and I blink. What the heck was that? Where were the dancing unicorns and chorus of trumpeter swans to herald our romantic reunion? I press my hand against the burning spot on my cheek where he kissed me. Was that it? What happened to the part where he takes me in his arms and tells me he’s so glad that I’m back before we kiss passionately for five minutes?

“So how was your trip?” he asks.

“Boring,” I manage to say, covering my disappointment.

“Yeah, being on the road sucks,” he says, but then he spies a large flat-screen TV across the room by two blue couches and some chairs. The sound is off but we can see my dad, Grove, and the rest of the band onstage tuning their instruments and testing the mics.

Timber smiles but shakes his head as he moves toward the screen. “But, man, I miss that. Sound checking, getting ready, being on. It’s the biggest rush.”

I follow him, still smarting from how casual he’s being. “Why don’t you start another band then?”

He drops to a couch and shrugs. “Lazy, I guess.”

I sit one cushion away because I’m not sure what’s going on here. Did I misinterpret everything? Did something happen while I was gone? I try my best to keep the conversation going. “My friend Ari has a band,” I say, but then stop when I remember that Ari’s not my friend anymore.

“Oh hey, that reminds me. He asked me about you the other day in our improv class.”

“Really!” I sit up straight and lean toward Timber. “What did he say?”

“Nothing much. Just asked if I knew where you were, stuff like that.”

“Is he all right?” I ask, quietly.

“I guess so. Why wouldn’t he be?”

“I don’t know.” I shrink and slump against a soft white pillow. “I guess, I mean, is he still mad at me?”

Timber stretches his arms over the back of the couch so that his hand is near my shoulder but not touching me. “You did out him, Zeph.”

“I what?”

“You outed him.”

“What’s
outed
mean?”

“You know,” Timber says, and raises his eyebrows. “You brought him out of the closet.” I look at him blankly because the only closet I’ve ever seen Ari in is my own when he found my tunics. “You told everyone he’s gay.”

“I did not!” I protest. “Bella did!”

And there it is. Her name hangs in the air between us like a skunk just sprayed a cloud of stink. Neither of us looks at the other for a moment until Timber says, “You can blame whoever you want, but your girl Mercedes is the one who got busted.”

“She got beat up?”

“No, ‘busted’ means in trouble. She got suspended for sending that e-mail.”

“Oh no,” I say, holding my head in my hands.

“I think she’s coming back to school tomorrow, but she’s not allowed to do the ELPH audition.”

“That’s awful,” I mutter.

“Yep, sucks to be her,” says Timber, but he doesn’t really sound so broken up. I feel terrible, though, about how much trouble poor Mercedes got into because of me. Timber breaks the silence by saying, “Anyway, Ari was sorry to hear that your grandmother’s sick.”

“He was?” I ask.

“Yeah. Ari’s all right. He’s a cool guy.”

“I thought you didn’t like him,” I say.

“I never said I didn’t like him.”

“He said you never talked to him in improv.”

“Whatever.” Timber pulls his arm away from me. “I didn’t know him. I mean, there are like thirty people in that class. What? I’m supposed to be friends with everyone?”

I scoot a little bit farther away from him.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

“You sound like her,” I say quietly.

“Like who?”

“Bella,” I say. And there it is again! Why do I keep bringing her up? Am I an idiot? Do I want this to go badly?

Timber sets his jaw and looks up at the ceiling. “You know,” he says, then stops.

I pull one knee up close to my chest, feeling stupid for ruining the moment.

“The thing about Bella . . .”

My stomach drops because I’m sure he’s going to say that they’re getting back together. And then what? I’ll have to sit here beside him for the rest of the night pretending to be happy for him because we’re friends?

“Everyone assumes I must be a jerk if I went out with her,” Timber says. “But really . . .” He turns his body toward mine and leans in. “I’m not a bad guy.”

I look up at him. He seems so sincere. No wolf grin. Just honest eyes, waiting for me to say something. “I think you’re a good guy,” I tell him.

“Honestly, I’m kind of a dork, you know?”

“No you’re not!” Now I smack his leg. “You’re like Mr. Playa,” I say, trying to sound like Mercedes.

Timber throws his head back and laughs. “Do you even know what a player is?”

“No,” I admit.

“I’m not a player, Zeph. Trust me. I never fit in with Bella and her scene. We looked good together, but we’re totally different. She likes to be the center of attention all the time. I’d rather hang back and watch people. She wants to go out and be seen. I like to stick close to home and be with a few good friends. She thinks you have to spend money to have a good time. I’d rather hang in the park. Plus, she likes to party.”

“We have a lot of parties in Alverland,” I tell him.

“Not this kind,” he says.

I shake my head. “No, probably not. We go out in the woods, build a big fire, and stay up until the sun rises, playing music and dancing.”

He laughs. “That sounds better than the kind of partying I’m talking about. Bella wanted me to try all this crazy stuff with her, but I wasn’t into it, and she’d get all furious with me. Especially when I’d tell her to stop. That’s what I like about hanging out with you. I don’t have to try to be someone else.” He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “I can make a dumb joke and you’ll think it’s funny and not roll your eyes like I’m an idiot. Plus, I like your family and you have cool friends. I hated Bella’s friends. Except for Chelsea. She’s okay.”

“Chelsea!” I nearly yell. “She’s the meanest one.”

“Not when you get to know her. She’s different than they are but she’s caught up in trying to be like them. Actually, she and I were always the sober ones, trying to make sure that Bella, Zoe, and the others didn’t get themselves into more trouble. She’s really okay.”

I shake my head. “I refuse to believe that.”

Before we can get into a stupid argument about Chelsea, my dad and his band come noisily into the room. Timber and I pop up from the couch.

“There you are!” Dad booms and comes over to shake Timber’s hand.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Timber says.

“It’s nice for Zephyr to have a friend backstage. I know how boring it is waiting. And waiting some more,” Dad says with a laugh. “You guys hungry? They’ve got a spread for us in the other room.”

As we’re heading for the food tables, another man rushes in. He’s younger than my dad and wears a suit jacket over jeans with his brown hair slicked back off his forehead. He’s talking loudly and quickly into one of those little cell phones attached to one ear while he’s texting on the PDA in his hands. “Drake!” he shouts, then goes back to his boisterous conversation on the earpiece.

Dad shakes his head but grins. “That’s Martin,” he tells us. “My manager.”

“You’re not going to believe this.” Martin clasps my dad’s hand, then pulls him in and bumps him against his chest. “You’re all over the Web today.” He holds up his PDA. Then he notices Timber and me. “These more of your kids? How many do you have? Like twelve or something. I’m Martin. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Zephyr,” I say, shaking his hand. “And this is my friend Timber. Timber Lewis Cahill,” I add.

Martin drops my hand and slaps Timber on the shoulder. “Hey my man, I know you. You’re that kid. Fronted TLC Boyz. You guys did all right back in the day. Who you with now? What label? Who’s your manager?”

Timber shoves his hands down in his pockets and looks uncomfortable. “Well, I’m, you know, kind of between . . .”

“Right, right. Let me give you my card.” Martin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little case. He takes out a card and hands it to Timber. “Keep me in mind.” Then he turns back to my dad. “Good stuff going on. They treating you okay? These good people? Got what you need? Wait, I’ve got a call.” He turns away and starts shouting into the earpiece again.

I snicker behind my hand. “He’s like a giant squirrel running around looking for nuts.”

“Nuts is right,” Timber says, and we laugh, but I can tell he’s happy that Martin knew who he was and gave him a card, which he tucks carefully inside his wallet.

Martin whips back around toward us. “Yeah so, you’re all over the place today.” I’m not sure if he’s still talking on the phone or talking to my dad. “Did you know that you’re in a cult? Maybe even the leader. And you live in the middle of the woods, totally off the grid, by the way. Remind me not to come visit you. I like my electricity and plumbing. And let’s see what else?” He glances back down at the PDA. Now I know he’s talking about Dad. “Oh right, you’re married to your cousin, you have six kids, and you’re a Wiccan. Which I don’t know, can men be Wiccans? I thought that was only women. I think that would make you a warlock. Maybe I should correct that.” He starts pushing buttons on the PDA.

“What’s he talking about?” I ask Dad with my heart racing because some of those rumors sound like ones Bella started on her blog.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Dad says with a shrug.

Martin looks up from the PDA. “It’s all good, all good. This kind of crazy speculation only works in your favor. Creates more mystery. More of a persona. People eat that crap up. You’ll see. The more people talk, the more that song’ll climb. Is there any Pellegrino here? Or Red Bull?” Martin and my dad head off toward the food.

I grab Timber’s arm. “What’s going on? Why are people saying those things about my dad?”

“It’s no big deal,” Timber assures me. “You should’ve heard the stuff people said about me and my band when we were on the charts. I was like twelve years old and there were rumors that I was dating women who were twenty. That I was dying of leukemia. That I was on drugs. That my dad forced me to perform and I hated it. That my mom was having an affair with my manager. None of it was true, of course.”