After a while, I tell Mrs. Morris a little bit about Ms. Kellerman. Mrs. Morris listens carefully and clucks her tongue now and then sympathetically. She shakes her head, listening hard, and doesn’t interrupt once, not even to say “really?” or “mmm.” Most people have no idea how to listen that well.
When I’ve finished describing my “session,” Mrs. Morris says, “Well, you were very patient with her, dear, and I think that’s all anyone can ask.”
Here’s the thing: Mrs. Morris is made of awesome. She never tells me to put a smile on my face or goes on about how things were when she was my age. We’re totally different, but she trusts me. And I trust her.
She rolls with my stuff.
No pun intended.
Chapter 13
HOLLYWOOD COMES TO NORTH PLAINS
The minute I walk into school the next morning, I notice something odd. It’s quiet. Like, library quiet. But, weirdly, the hallway is packed with students lingering by their lockers, whispering to one another and giggling.
Mr. Tool is standing outside his office booming, “Good morning!” to every student and teacher who wanders by. Everyone ignores him. It’s a truly peculiar vibe, and I can only think of one explanation.
“Has the school been taken over by Pod People?” I ask Zitsy when I run into him near my locker.
He laughs way too loudly, and I’m thinking, Holy crap—the Pods got him, too! when Flatso jerks her head toward my Spanish class with this wide-eyed look, like, Clue in, dummy! and that’s when I see this handsome older guy who looks a little like Johnny Depp.
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“Johnny Depp,” Flatso says.
I look at the guy more carefully. “It doesn’t look exactly like Johnny Depp.”
I stare at the handsome older guy a bit longer. He isn’t wearing a purple suit or crazy eyeliner, or anything. “How do you know it’s him?”
Flatso gives me a look like I’m insane. “I know because I have a subscription to Celeb Newz Weekly and also because he’s wearing a name tag.”
Hmm. Aside from the fact that he’s extremely handsome, this man could be anybody. He could just be a really, really, extremely, almost painfully good-looking substitute teacher, or a janitor, or something.
I’m actually a little weirded out by the thought that Johnny Depp is just a regular guy. I guess I don’t want him to be. I want him to be the kind of artistic weirdo who never leaves home without an elaborate headdress and/or eyeliner. I wonder if I should offer to lend him some, but he seems busy.
“What’s he doing here?” I ask.
Flatso explains, “He’s researching a role,” at which point Zitsy hoots his Pod Person laugh again.
I turn to Zitsy. “Why are you laughing like that?”
“Is he looking over this way?” Zitsy’s speaking without moving his lips.
I check. “No.”
Mr. Depp is, in fact, still engrossed in the math book. But I realize that everyone around him is doing a very, very quiet version of going completely batshit.
Students and teachers are desperately trying to act cool yet somehow make Johnny Depp notice them. It’s an interesting dynamic. The Thespians are singing in four-part harmony, as if they always hang out in the hallway doing that. The Twinkies are staring at Mr. Depp with flesh-melting intensity from behind their thick curtains of hair, so the effect is kind of lost. And the Goths seem to have added extra metal: on their necklaces, belts, wallets, ears, noses, lips, and eyebrows. Probably other places we don’t need to mention, too.
For a moment, I think maybe I’ll go over and say hello to Mr. Depp. He’s a normal person, right? And so am I. I even have paperwork that says so.
But something holds me back. Even the thought of walking over to him makes me let out a creepy, nervous giggle.
It’s weird, because a part of me thinks that Johnny Depp and I could really get along.
I wonder why he chose to come to North Plains High School instead of someplace closer to LA. Is it because we’re more “normal” than LA kids? Maybe he’s dying to meet normal people.
So part of me really believes that he’d like to talk to me, but another, bigger part of me doesn’t dare say hello. He’s an adult. And a celebrity. And I’m just… whoever I am. So even if he’s dying to meet me but just doesn’t know it, he isn’t going to.
It’s funny. He’s here to observe us as normal high school students, but his being here has made everyone act bizarre. I have the strange feeling that Winnie Quinn was trying to tell us something about this the other day—that you can change something merely by observing it. Here it is, happening right before my eyes.
I love science.
Chapter 14
THE OPPOSITE OF SPEED DATING
What could possibly be weirder than having Johnny Depp come to your school?
You might want to sit down for this.
Tebow catches me right after school at my locker. The rest of the Freakshow is over near Eggy’s corner, because she’s handing out the Friday Candy. (Friday Candy was her idea. It’s a fun way to celebrate the end of the week. It only happens once a month, though, and we never know which Friday it will be. Or what candy she’ll bring.)
So Tebow catches me alone and asks me in this quiet voice if I want to go to a movie. I say sure, and then he scurries off without even getting any candy.
Wha???
I go over to the Freakshow to get their opinion, and when I explain the situation, they’re like, “Wha???” too.
In the end, we decide that Tebow meant to ask just me, but nobody’s really sure it’s a date.
“Maybe he just wants to talk to you about something,” Brainzilla says.
“Yeah,” Zitsy agrees. “Like how much he wants to make out with you.”
Flatso shoves Zitsy playfully, which sends him reeling halfway down the hall.
Eggy puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s just Tebow. He probably wants someone to see the latest action movie with. You’ll have fun.”
She’s right. It’s just Tebow.
So why do I suddenly feel completely sick and nervous?
Chapter 15
WHAT NOT TO WEAR
When I get home, I spend three hours trying to decide what to wear. If it’s a date, I should look kind of nice. A skirt? But if it’s not a date and I show up in a skirt, maybe Tebow will think that I thought it was a date. And then maybe things will get weird and awkward.
So then I think that maybe I should just wear what I already have on. But will that make Tebow think that I don’t realize we’re on a date?
I need help. Clearly. I start to dial Brainzilla, but I know that she’ll want to come over with a bunch of different outfit options. Flatso will want to give me a full makeover. Eggy will offer to lend me her Cowboy Bebop T-shirt. And Zitsy? I don’t see any possibility of help there.
So I decide to do a mental check-in with my other BFFs—imagine what they might think.
Right. This is great advice… as long as it is translated into “wear something that Cuckoo would wear.” Which is black cords, my softest green sweater, and a swipe of pale pink lipstick.
“Perfect,” Laurence tells me. “You look neat and clean and elegant in a simple, understated way.”
Nicki Minaj just shrugs, which I guess means that she’s not impressed.
Tebow picks me up at exactly 7:13 PM. Mrs. Morris chirps out, “Have fun, sweetie!” as I climb into the front seat of Tebow’s dad’s very roomy Oldsmobile.