Theodora Twist (14 page)

They stare at her, totally excited. I stare at her. “Theodora, I think you’re forgetting that
we
have to be here. We
are
on house arrest. It’s called our life.”

She takes her lunch out of its “regular teen” brown bag. Only I know that what’s inside is roasted tofu and soba noodle salad. “Oh, come on. You can’t cut
one
day to go see an awesome concert?”

“In Europe?” I say, sipping my milk.

She nods. “If we leave now we’ll make the encore and the after-party. What it is, five hours ahead there? Six?”

“We can’t, Theodora.”

“But thanks!” Jen says.

“Give me one good reason why you can’t,” she says. “Besides that you’re gigantic nerds who do everything you’re told.”

“I’ll give you the best reason,” I say. “Lack of passports.”

She smiles. “Losers.”

I have an agent. How weird is that?

Ashley is on speakerphone. My mom, Stew, Theodora, and I are in the living room on our five-thirty conference call.

“I’ll send the papers, Stephie,” Ashley says. “Read them over, have your family lawyer vet them—if you think it’s necessary—and get them back to me ASAP. And then I’ll field offers for Emily. In the weeks before the show airs, she’ll be in hot demand for appearances all over TV and magazines.”

I can’t imagine it.

“Theodora, I made an arrangement with GirlBuzz.com for you to issue twice-weekly reports on your experiences in Oak City,” Ashley continues. “We’re donating your fee to various teen charities. Mr. and Mrs. Stewarts, I’d love to have Emily write the essays from Theodora about Theodora’s life as a regular teen. The first one could comment on this latest round of bad publicity—maybe cover Theodora’s strong feelings about waiting until she’s older and more mature to have sex.”

Theodora rolls her eyes.

“Why doesn’t Theodora write them?” I ask. There’s no way I could mimic Theodora’s voice. I wouldn’t even know
how
to sound like her—or what she would think. She’s a superhip, glamorous It girl. I’m . . . not.

“Writing’s not her strong suit,” Ashley says. “I want an authentic teen voice. We’ll pay five thousand per essay. Five hundred words. You’ll send the essays to me for approval and I’ll send them on to the GirlBuzz editor. Think diary entry voice—not school voice. And think virginal. The first one should be about sex and why Theodora wants to wait until she’s older. I’ll e-mail you about topics for the others.”

Five thousand dollars?
What?
My mom and I exchange amazed glances. A thousand dollars for every hundred words? That’s only two typed pages—double spaced. And I don’t even have to think for myself. I’m getting nothing for writing a five-page essay about insects. Maybe I
could
mimic her voice after all.

“And I came up with a great event for the Win a Date to the Prom with Theodora Twist contest,” Ashley says. “The school board says it’s a go.”

“What is it?” Theodora and I ask in unison.

“You’ll find out tomorrow with everyone else. But I’ll give you a hint: blind speed-dating.”

“Blind speed-dating?” I repeat. “What’s that?”

“You’ll see.”

Later, in our room, I ask Theodora what she wants me to say in the GirlBuzz essay.

“Pretend I’m you,” she says. “That’s what Ashley wants. Just write your own diary entry but as though it’s me. She’ll probably send you a friggin’ Prada wardrobe too.”

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT:
Essay for Theodora

Hi, Ashley.

Since this is my first shot at the essay for Theodora, would you mind giving me your feedback on the opening? If you’re too busy, I totally understand. Thanks! Emily

GIRLBUZZ.COM ESSAY: FIRST DRAFT

The other day, I went grocery shopping with Emily and Emily’s mom and when we checked out, there was a headline:
Theodora Skips Spanish Class to Do Much
More Than Just French-Kiss Lacrosse Team!

I was SO embarrassed!!!!!! First of all, it’s not true. Second of all, I don’t even take Spanish! I don’t know why these tabloids lie. What’s most confusing is that I don’t even know how I feel about sex yet. And here’s a tabloid not only saying I’m having sex—but that I’m having it with half the lacrosse team. It’s so mean!!!!!!

I once had a boyfriend I really, really liked. I’m talking a lot. And he wanted to have sex. He pressured me to have sex. And even though I wanted to keep him more than anything else in the world, I just wasn’t ready. A friend said, “That means you don’t want to keep him more than anything else in the world. That means you’re not ready more than you want him.”

I never really thought about it that way. But she was right. It helped me get over the jerk too. So thanks, friend.

TO: [email protected]

FROM: [email protected]

SUBJECT:
RE: Essay for Theodora Great job, Emily! Perfect! Just expand.

Oak City High Junior Class Speed-Dating Event!

Date: APRIL 29
Time: 4–6 p.m.
Location: Gymnasium

It’s often said that love is blind. Here’s your chance to find out for yourselves—just in time to score a great date to the prom! If you’d like to participate, please fill out the entry form, have it signed by your parents, and return it no later than April 25.

Participants will have the opportunity to “meet” several members of the opposite sex. Instead of blindfolds, participants will wear a brown paper bag over their heads, with precut holes for eyes and mouth. (You will pick up your bag at the event.) Girls will sit in chairs at a reasonable distance from each other. Across from each girl will be a chair. Every five minutes, a boy will sit across from a girl. They will have five minutes to chat. When the bell rings, each participant will check off yes or no next to their partner’s number. Yes means you’d like to know more about this person. No means you wouldn’t. Because participants won’t have any idea who they’re meeting (unless, of course, you recognize a voice), judgments will be based solely on conversation—not on looks, popularity, or anything but a short conversation. If you have any questions, please see Fun Committee chairperson Dana Duvork or Mr. Opps.

OFFICIAL RULES

Participants must wear a plain white T-shirt and jeans.

Paper bags, with small holes cut out for eyes and mouth, will be provided. Students may not bring their own paper bags.

Paper bags may not be adorned in any way.

Participants are not to disclose their names, first or last. Any student heard disclosing his or her name will be unable to continue in the speed-dating event.

Participants are not to move their chairs in any way.

Enjoy the event in the spirit in which it is intended.

NOTE:
The event will be filmed and may be shown on
Theodora Twist: Just a Regular Teen!
All participants must submit release forms, signed by both the student and his or her parents. Any student without a release form will not be permitted to participate in the event.

Theodora

No. No. No. No. No. Maybe.

While the math teacher (I forget his name) drones on about proofs, I’m looking around this room at my potential prom dates. One of these guys—or a guy like one of these guys—is going to get to escort me to the Oak City High junior prom.

I glance at the Maybe. He’s doodling in his notebook. I look closer. He’s not doodling; he’s drawing noses. Just noses. The same nose, from what I can tell, over and over again.

“Nose fetish?” I whisper to Maybe when the teacher turns to the blackboard.

He glances up at me for just a second with his intense pale brown eyes, then turns the page in his notebook. What is with these serious types? I hate guys who lack a sense of humor. All those articles about me in magazines that say the most important thing to me in a guy is a sense of humor isn’t a total lie. Looks are first, of course. Then a sense of humor. But if the guy is gorgeous and has no sense of humor, he’s history.

“Let’s take the train into Manhattan,” I tell Emily after school. “Or better yet, a car service.” We’re heading to her locker, where she puts only one book away. The girl does way too much homework. Tonight I’ll have Vic film me doing homework at my desk, tapping a pencil against my head. “We can go shopping. Or go see a movie in the Village.”

“That would be so cool. But I’ve got a Lost and Found meeting.”

“Lost and Found?” I ask, imagining Emily sorting through boxes of unwanted jackets and sports equipment. “What’s that?”

“Come and you’ll see,” she says, closing her locker.

“Theodora!” We both turn around. Samantha Paris and her clones are surrounding us. “We just wanted to say hi and tell you how incredibly cool it is that you’re at our school. We’re
huge
fans of yours. We went to see
Family
last night and you were so amazing in it.” Samantha is talking directly into the camera and barely blinking. “Omigod,” she says to Vic. “I said
last
night but I meant
two
nights ago. Can I say that part over?”

Vic doesn’t respond. None of the camerapeople ever do. It unnerves people, including me. It gets people to do what they do naturally, which is act like idiots. Which is good for reality TV. I don’t even want to know what Vic’s got inside that camera.

Samantha’s unnerved by Vic’s lack of speech. “Anyway, Theodora,” she says, turning to me, “I wanted to personally invite you to tomorrow night’s party. We throw the best parties every Friday night. Hope you’ll come.” She doesn’t even glance at Emily, who’s standing pink-faced right next to me, glancing at her sneakers.

“And Emily and her friends too, of course,” I say.

She puts her hand on my shoulder and escorts me out of the camera’s view—or what she thinks is out of the camera’s view. “Theodora, it’s really going to be crowded enough as it is, so . . . I wanted this to be a surprise, but I’ll just tell you,” she adds. “The party is in your honor. As, like, a welcome-home thing.”

“Ah,” I say. “Well, thanks, Samantha. I’m not sure I can make it. But I’ll try.”

She smiles a dead smile at me.

“Are you going?” Emily asks as we head down the hall.

“Can’t,” I say. “I’m going to
your
party tomorrow night.” I see Belle—or rather, Belle’s bouncing auburn ringlets—coming toward us. “Hey, Belle, spread the word—Emily’s having a party tomorrow night to welcome me to Oak City. Invite whoever you want.”

Belle shrieks and goes running. Emily’s grin is priceless.

I follow Emily to a classroom on the first floor. There’s a hand-lettered sign on the door: LOST & FOUND CLUB.

There are four people sitting at individual desks in a circle. One girl looks like she’s about to cry. The others don’t look much happier.

“Sorry I’m late,” Emily says, sitting down. She gestures for me to sit too. “You guys all know Theodora Twist, right?”

The four sad sacks sit up straight and beam at me. There’s the usual chorus: “Omigod!” “I love your movies!” “You are so pretty!” “Are you really dating the Bellini brothers?”

The door opens and Maybe pokes his head in, looks at Emily, smiles, then comes in and sits down.

“Hi, Ben,” she says. He nods at her and sits down next to the girl who’s about to burst into tears.

“Is everyone okay with the cameras?” Emily asks, pointing to Vic and Nicole, who are stationed at opposite corners.

Five heads turn and look. They glance at each other, then shrug and nod.

The blonde bursts. Emily grabs her hand and squeezes. “I can’t . . . concentrate,” the girl says between sobs. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Pineapple,” the girl whispers and breaks down again.

“Pineapple was Laura’s cocker spaniel,” Emily tells me. “She had cancer and was put to sleep last week.”

“Sorry,” I say. I’ve never had a pet. My mom is allergic. And even though I’d love to get a dog, I’m never home enough to take care of anything.

I don’t get what the other four people are doing here. Or why Emily and I are here.

“I took my sister to the playground after school yesterday,” the redhead says to Emily. “It was a really good suggestion. She didn’t want to go at first, but she finally said okay. She wouldn’t go on the slide or the swing; she only wanted to sit on a bench. But she went. That was a really big step.”

“I’m so glad,” Emily says. “That’s great, Hayley.”

“My sister’s six,” Hayley says to me. “Our mom took her to the playground every single day except when it was really freezing. She died almost a month ago. Car accident.”

My lunch flops in my stomach. “I’m really sorry.”

“The Lost and Found club is about loss and finding your way after,” Emily tells me. “Parents, beloved pets— any loss gets you membership.”

I glance at Maybe. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t say anything. He’s back to drawing noses in his notebook.

“Em,” I say, “can I talk to you privately for a sec?”

She follows me outside. Nicole starts to follow. I hold up a hand and she sits back down. When the door closes behind me and Emily, I get right in Emily’s face. “I don’t like being set up, okay? You should have reminded me.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks.

“The Depressed People Club,” I snap. “Just like four years ago, I have better things to do than sit around while people cry over their dead dog and dead mother.”

She stares at me. “Yeah, like what, Theodora? Shopping? Sex? Getting your hair highlighted?”

“Exactly. And don’t forget Pilates.”

“You still can’t deal with it after four years, can you?”

“Buh-bye,” I say, and take off down the hall before Vic can figure out that I’m gone.

No one is home at 455 Raspberry Road. There’s a note on the kitchen table.
E & T: Took Sophie to Mommy & Me
yoga class. Back at 5. Snack in fridge. Love, Mom.