Warp Speed (9780545543422) Read online

  My favorite part of the theater is someplace few people have seen. Down in the basement are huge steamer trunks filled with vintage costumes and crazy props, like cow bells, top hats, and fake flowers, from the Rialto’s heyday, when it was a vaudeville theater. If you’re quiet you can almost hear the hubbub of the performers between acts.

  Ramen swears the Rialto is haunted and gets all weirded out whenever he comes over, just because legend has it that a ghost lives in the theater. Stanford Wong used to come here all the time. The ghost rumors never fazed him. Stanford always claimed he wanted to come face-to-face with the ghost.

  Some say that the ghost is a man who committed suicide in the projection booth after watching Un Chien Andalou for five straight days. It’s a really bizarre old movie that has a giant eyeball in it. If I had to watch it for five days straight I’d kill myself. Still, there are other movies that I don’t mind seeing over and over again, like the original King Kong and Miracle on 34th Street. I also like The Red Badge of Courage, about a Civil War soldier who tries to find the nerve to fight in battle.

  Today Ms. McKenna told us that we have an American history test coming up. Well, she didn’t so much tell us, as she did a rap …

  History is great

  But don’t you wait.

  Start to study now

  And don’t have a cow.

  Sha boom! Sha boom!

  Crack open your books

  Or you’ll get bad looks

  When you take the test

  And don’t do your best.

  Sha boom! Sha boom!

  There was stunned silence in the classroom when she was done.

  I can still hear my mom’s student torturing the piano as I head downstairs to do my homework. I yank on a chain and the light from a bare bulb floods the -basement. I’ve put the vaudeville props and costumes on one side of the room and the musical instruments under the stairs. Leaning against one wall are boxes filled with stuff people left behind. There are five pocket watches (one still works), an embroidered handkerchief, and a fancy silver cigarette case with the inscription TO MY LOVE, MAY YOU KEEP THIS ALWAYS.

  Over in the corner is the trunk filled with the American Revolution costumes. As I dig through the clothes I discover a plain, long, brown velvet jacket with gold buttons. It looks exactly like something Benjamin Franklin might have worn.

  I slip my arm into the costume. It fits! I’m not sure that the jacket matches my Vulcan ears, but it feels right, especially when I put on a pair of old-fashioned glasses. I crack open my American history book. Last year Dad showed Johnny Tremain, a movie about a patriot who fights to free the colonies from England. It was on a double bill with D. W. Griffith’s American Revolution silent film The Hessian Renegades. Only a couple people came to see it, but I thought both were great. I can already tell I’ll ace McKenna’s history class.

  On my way home from school today, I stopped at Stahl Miller, the stationery store on Mission Street, and bought something. I open the bag and take out a small black leather-bound notebook. The spine cracks when I open to the first page.

  I hate P.E. Whoever invented it was evil. Pure evil.

  We’re picking teams for softball. It’s down to that weird guy with thick glasses who always says “wassup,” a girl with a limp, and me. Even though I am standing perfectly still, my heart is racing. I glance at the team captains. Neither looks pleased. In fact, both look disgusted.

  “You, with the glasses,” one of the team captains says as he motions to the boy next to me. The kid releases a little whimper of relief.

  The other team captain studies the girl with the limp, and me. She shakes her head as she points to the girl.

  The two teams head toward the softball field. I am left standing alone.

  “Go,” Coach Martin says to me. “You’re on that team.” I jog up to the boy with the glasses who’s lagging behind. Neither of us says anything. We don’t have to.

  Even though I was picked last, I am the first one to strike out. The only thing worse than everyone ignoring me is everyone glaring at me.

  “Sports are stupid,” Ramen says at lunch. “I can’t catch the ball and I throw like a girl.”

  “Don’t insult the girls,” Max chimes in, adding, “dodge-ball’s the worst. I mean, they form a circle so no one can escape and then hurl balls at you? This is a school-sanctioned activity — and you’re graded on it?”

  We all break out laughing. Max is okay. A Frisbee lands at our feet. All three of us stare at it like it’s a flaming-hot meteor. Some skater kid with helmet hair and a deep voice calls out, “Hey! Throw it over here.” None of us move. “Guys,” he yells impatiently as he holds his hands up in the air, “the Frisbee!”

  I bend down and pick it up. Then I walk it over and hand it to him. “Thanks,” he says, giving me the once-over. “But you could have just thrown it.”

  That’s not true. I can’t throw a Frisbee. I can’t catch a ball or do a dozen push-ups without getting winded. I can’t kick a soccer ball or climb a rope. But I can recite every Star Trek episode title by year, even naming the guest stars. Why don’t we ever do that in P.E.?

  “I’m building a model of the Batmobile from scratch,” Max informs me when I return. He’s eating a salad today. I have a peanut butter sandwich on Mom’s homemade sourdough bread. “It’s going to be remote controlled,” he continues. “I got everything I need at RadioShack. Plus, I have a couple of mini Batman action figures that fit perfectly. You should see the Riddler. He’s totally awesome.”

  Ramen and I look at each other and try not to yawn. Max is wearing a red Batman shirt with the Joker on it. He wears his T-shirts tucked into his jeans and even I know it looks weird.

  “Hey, Max.” I take a swig from my water bottle. “Just a couple of pointers. First, you should never wear a red shirt. In the original Star Trek series, the security guys wore red shirts and usually at least one of them would end up dead before the episode ended. So basically, red shirts equal death. And second, I’m not sure where you come from, but around here, guys never tuck in their T-shirts.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Max asks, throwing me a hard glare.

  “Because red gives off bad karma. I just thought you’d want to know.”

  “Not that!” Max sounds agitated. “Why did you tell me that guys never tuck in their shirts?”

  Ramen steps in. “People already think AV Club guys are geeks, so if you keep tucking in your shirt, that’ll make you a double geek, ’cause it makes you look like a girl.”

  Max’s cheeks flush bright red. He clenches his fists and glares at Ramen, then me. The force of his anger causes us both to take a step backward. “Is that what you think?” Max yells. “Is that what you think? That I look like a girl?”

  “Well, I’m just saying,” Ramen mumbles, “that if you keep it up you could be mistaken for one.”

  I nod.

  Max shoves Ramen so hard that he hits the Tragic Tree and falls down in the mud. Before I can react, Max comes toward me with his fists clenched. I step back, but he’s in my face. “For your information, you dweebs,” Max yells, “I AM A GIRL!”

  “You’re … you’re … you’re a girl?” I stammer. When Max’s face contorts, I quickly say, “Of course you’re a girl. We knew that.”

  I turn to Ramen for backup, but he’s just sitting in the mud with his mouth hanging open.

  Max isn’t moving.

  Neither am I.

  I am about to turn away when I notice Max’s eyes filling with tears. I open my mouth to speak, but before any words come out, Max shoves me to the ground, then runs away. Now that I’m paying attention, I notice that he … she does run like a girl.

  As Ramen and I sit in the mud, he turns to me and says, “Who knew?”

  I shake my head. “Not me,” I answer. “Not me.”

  Max completely ignored Ramen and me the rest of the day. Everyone else does, so why not Max now too? The only difference is that most people don’t ev
en realize they’re ignoring us. Max actually made an effort. Not that I blame her.

  “I’m confused,” says Ramen as we leave AV Club. Today Mr. Jiang led a heated debate about pixels and Max didn’t even chime in once.

  “I know. I could have sworn she was a he,” I say. My backpack feels heavier than usual. I weighed it once and was told that it was 17.5 pounds and had no body fat. (I had put it on my mom’s talking scale.)

  “I’m confused,” Ramen says again.

  “You’ve always been confused,” I assure him as I remove the rock someone put in my backpack. “Like that Star Wars is better than Star Trek! Wookiee, Wookiee, Wookiee,” I sing. “Wookiee, Wookiee!”

  He starts shoving me back and we’re laughing and pushing each other in the hallway and yelling “Wookiee!” and “Klingon!”

  “Look,” I tell Ramen, “Max is over there. Let’s talk to her.” As we head in her direction, she slams her locker shut and scurries away. “Hey, Max!” I shout as she ducks behind some kids in the crowded hallway. “Wait up!”

  Suddenly, BOOM! I’m on the ground and so is someone else. “Hey, sorry,” I stutter as I start to get up.

  “Sorry is not enough,” Digger says as he rises. His eyes narrow as he looks me over. “What’s your name?”

  I’ve had classes with Digger for years and he still doesn’t know my name?

  “What’s your name?” he repeats. His goons are standing nearby smirking. They’re wearing Roadrunner jackets. Didn’t Stanford used to be a Roadrunner?

  “My name’s … Victor Lazlo,” I tell him.

  “Victor,” Digger says, “you’d better not cross me again. I’ll be watching you.”

  Ramen and I don’t move as he walks away. We’re like two frozen Borg in the Arctic. Finally, when Digger is out of sight, Ramen asks, “Who’s Victor Lazlo?”

  “Just someone from the movies,” I say.

  Ramen shakes his head. “Oh man, it was nice knowing you, Victor.”

  “Stop it,” I say. My knees feel weak.

  “Digger’s gonna kill you. He’s gonna kill you, and if he doesn’t kill you he’s going to make sure you suffer for the rest of your life.”

  “Ramen —”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Digger’s gonna kill you,” Ramen whispers again. “And it isn’t going to be pretty. Hey! If he does kill you, can I have your backpack? Mine’s got a hole in it.”

  The next day, all through history, as Ms. McKenna waves her arms and talks about the American Revolution, Digger stares at me as if daring me to look him in the eyes. I can feel the heat of his glare.

  “… so that’s what we will cover on the quiz next week,” Ms. McKenna says. She’s wearing a lot of bracelets, which have been jangling practically nonstop. “Now I have an important question.” She waits until she has everyone’s attention, which takes a long time, then asks, “Who has the most songs on their MP3 player?”

  Several kids raise their hands. Ms. McKenna turns on her ancient boom box and starts dancing to some idiot song. “Everyone join me!” She’s now attempting to do the moonwalk, but only succeeding in looking like she’s trying to smush a bug. Everyone remains rooted in their chairs, clearly stunned. Her attempt at being cool is pitiful. The only thing more pitiful than her is me.

  It’s one thing to get punched in the arm by the Gorn, but a completely different thing to be marked for death by Digger.

  I imagine my funeral. It’s tragic, but nice. My father is sitting in the front row of the Rialto weeping as my mother plays the Wurlitzer. Mr. Jiang is taking a nap. Ramen is wearing my backpack and eating noodles. Troy is picking a lock and Patrick’s playing Star Wars on his DS, as Ms. McKenna is dancing, oblivious to how dumb she looks.

  Max glowers at me when I enter AV Club the next day. I sit far away from him — her. I sit far away from her. This is going to take some getting used to.

  “Our new LED board should arrive tomorrow,” Mr. Jiang says excitedly. “Anyone familiar with LED boards?”

  Max raises her hand. She’s become Mr. Jiang’s favorite, just because when the PA system went down during another boring speech by Principal Haycorn, Max was able to fix it. Big deal. If I had brought my action figure of Scotty, the USS Enterprise’s chief engineer, I could have fixed it too.

  Patrick is chomping on barbecue CornNuts. The noise sounds like a jackhammer and reminds me of the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode “Chrysalis” where three genetically enhanced humans conclude that the earth will collapse on itself in a “Big Crunch.”

  “Hey,” I whisper to Patrick. He stops chewing. “Did you know that Max is a girl?”

  He nods and offers me a CornNut.

  “Troy,” I say as I crunch. “Did you know that Max is a girl?”

  He nods.

  How is it that only Ramen and I didn’t know? Maybe it’s ’cause we don’t hang around girls very much. Or rather, they don’t hang around us. Actually, nobody hangs out with us. Ramen and I had been eating lunch, just the two of us, for years until Max showed up.

  I peer at Max. She’s wearing purple shoelaces. How could I have been so dumb?

  Mr. Jiang is going over the list of what classes are going to need AV equipment delivered tomorrow. The way it works is that we rotate AV setup and delivery sixth period, and if a teacher needs something during another period and any of us are in P.E., we can skip it to provide AV assistance. I always pray someone will show a movie when I have P.E.

  There’s a PTA meeting next week. Max volunteers to man it. “They’ll need a mike and a TV and DVD player,” Mr. Jiang is saying as he settles into his worn swivel chair. There are bumper stickers all over the back of it, including one that reads ZERO TO WARP 9.7 IN 3 SECONDS. Another one says DROIDS WELCOMED HERE, and recently a BATMAN FOREVER sticker materialized.

  “Okay, now, Ramen and Marley, you two sort through our extension cords,” Mr. Jiang orders. “Some of them are really frayed, and if they cause a fire and burn down the school, it would be catastrophic because I’ll be out of a job. The rest of you, clean the AV carts.”

  “Should we say something to her?” Ramen whispers as he sneaks a peek at Max. He tosses a chewed-up extension cord into the reject pile. “We should apologize. Come on.”

  Max is tightening the wheel bolts on one of the carts. “Yo,” Ramen calls out as he saunters over to her. “Yo, mama!” I roll my eyes. Max looks up. Her face is blank as he says, “There’s something that Marley wants to tell you —”

  Huh?

  Max blinks at me, still stone-faced. “What?”

  “Well,” I begin. “We knew you weren’t a boy —”

  “Liar,” Max snaps.

  I don’t like the way she’s gripping the wrench.

  I start over. “Um, hey, we’re really sorry. It’s just that, well, you were so good at AV stuff it never occurred to us that you could be a girl.”

  Max just stares at me with her arms crossed.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” I try to backtrack. “What I meant was that most girls are all girly and stuff, and you’re not. And girls don’t know the first thing about AV equipment since a girl wouldn’t be caught dead in AV Club —”

  Max cuts me off. “Marley! You’d better stop before you get both feet stuck in your mouth.” She yells across the room to Mr. Jiang, “This AV cart is ready to go!”

  “Great,” he answers as he thumbs through his Electronics Today magazine. “Deliver it to room 27, and be sure to take a hall pass.”

  After Max leaves, I glare at Ramen. He’s such an idiot. “Why didn’t you back me up? The apology was supposed to be from both of us.”

  “I wasn’t about to put myself in front of your train wreck.” He takes a container of Mega-Mini-Mints out of his pocket and pours them into his mouth.

  “You’re the one who said we should apologize!” I remind him.

  “Nooooo, it was you!” Ramen insists. A couple of Mini-Mints fly out of his mouth when he yells
and one hits me in the face. “You were the one who was all weirded out to find out Max was a girl.”

  “You were even more surprised than I was!”

  “Was not!”

  “Was so!”

  “Was not!

  “Was so!”

  There’s only one way to settle this. Our eyes narrow as Ramen and I brace for the inevitable. We both nod in unison, shake our fists at each other, and chant, “Laser! Taser! Phaser! Go!”

  “Ha!” I call out. “Scissors beats paper, I win!”

  For years we’ve been trying to think of hand signals for a laser, taser, and phaser, and arguing what would trump the other. But since we can’t agree, we substitute rock, paper, scissors when the challenge actually begins.

  I love playing Laser, Taser, Phaser with Ramen because he’s such a sore loser. Max was good at Laser, Taser, Phaser even though we had just taught her. It was sort of cool hanging out with someone who wasn’t Ramen, even if Max is delusional and thinks that Batman actually matters.

  As Ramen grumbles about a rematch, I wonder if Max is ever going to eat lunch with us again.

  I hope she does.

  When I get home, my father is balancing on the wobbly wooden ladder. I wish he’d get one that’s not held together with duct tape. He’s changing the Rialto marquee to read TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD. I love that movie. Dad sort of looks like Gregory Peck, the actor who plays Atticus Finch, except that my father doesn’t wear glasses or own a suit. Also Dad’s hair is light brown like mine, but he’s as tall as Gregory Peck and I get my height from him.

  When my father’s happy, two deep dimples appear near his smile. My mother loves this about him. He also has a scar about the size of a small paper clip below his left eye. I’ve asked him about it many times. He never gives me a straight answer, instead saying, “I got it when I wrestled a mountain lion.” Or, “It’s just an old war wound.” Or, “Klingon, Marley. The Klingon left me this as a gift.”

  My father climbs down the ladder and retrieves a wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket. “Your mom needs these things from the grocery store. You mind getting them?”