Consultant


And that was the end of the day. I put Electra in a little magnetic pencil holder on my locker door and sorted through books to take home.

“Chrissy seems nice,” I said. There was an odd echo. I realized that Electra and I had said that at the same time. She looked surprised, too.

I looked her in the eye. “It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Once more, I was surprised that we spoke in unscripted chorus. Her expression matched mine, I think.

I leaned closer. She grabbed the rim of the cup and leaned out. “That she’s seeing Chip?” This time she smiled to match me, word for word.

I raised my right hand, she raised her left in the same position. I touched my ear, she did, too.

“Marx Brothers!” I said.

“Who?” she replied.

“Philistine,” I said. “I can see I have to find our copy of Duck Soup.” I grabbed the books I needed and slung the backpack onto my shoulder.

Sylph in my jacket pocket, I zipped it up so I could run to the bus.

Once there, I sat alone in the back. “Seriously,” I asked, “you aren’t bothered by Chrissy seeing Chip?”

“She seems nice,” Electra said. “And Chip was so yesterday. But you two were hitting it off, weren’t you? Is that a problem?

“No,” I said after a moment. “I mean, I wouldn’t resist it if she chased me, but I’m far too insecure to chase her. And if she likes Chip…” I paused.

“Yes?” Electra asked softly.

“I don’t want to sound racist, but he’s not as much of a jerk as I once thought he was.”

“How is that racist?” she asked. “Chip’s white, you’re white, ‘jerk’ is not a trait associated with a particular race… It’s not a racist remark.”

“I never said it was racist.”

“You SAID, ‘I don’t want to sound racist,’ when you said that.” She started to sound shrill. I love it when she hits shrill on the Aggravated Electra scale. I probably should feel bad about that, but…

“So, I didn’t sound racist?” I asked. She shook her head. “Then I did it right!”

“You are such an asshole,” she said as she grabbed her temples.

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About a week after that, Chip came up to us in Study Hall. I wasn’t sure what class he was ducking to be there.

He came straight to the table Chrissy and I shared and sat down beside her. Then he turned to me.

“Did she ask you?”

“Electra? Ask me what?” I asked.

“No, Chrissy. We need help.”

“You wouldn’t believe how many people tell ME that I need help,” I said. I ignored the little ‘amen’ sounding from my pocket. “So, what are you thinking, a group rate on group therapy?”

“We’re in the talent show,” Chrissy said. She took Chip’s hand. I heard my pocket give a tiny squeal. Electra wanted to pretend that we’d been matchmakers for the two of them.

“Great,” I said. “What’s your talent?”

“We, uh, we don’t know,” Chrissy admitted.

“We were hoping you could help us,” Chip said.

“You think I have talent?” I asked. My pocket snorted. I live under such a burden of opinionated judgment.

“We think you know a lot of funny stuff,” Chrissy said.

“You probably know where to get the lyrics to the parrot sketch,” Chip suggested.

“Mr. Bowers and Mr. Price do the Parrot Sketch every year,” I said. “Most of the school can shout the lines along with them.”

“Oh,” they said, not quite in synch.

I looked them over and thought. “You want to be funny, right?”

“Yeah, and original,” Chip said. “Like, Who’s On First, maybe?”

I did not roll my eyes, but it was difficult. That was another overdone skit. “How are you about lip synching?”

They looked at each other. “Well, we could, I guess,” Chrissy said. Chip nodded.

“Okay, let me go home and listed to my more obscure Dr. Demento records and find something you guys could do.”

They started to thank me.

Electra stood up in her pocket, er, my pocket, and whistled for attention.

“OR,” she said when she had it, “they could come over to YOUR house and you could go through them together.”

“Oh. Yeah, or,” I said. I shrugged. “Or that.”

Then I spent some time explaining exactly who Dr. Demento was.



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Index

14. Christmas Presence

16. Consulting