The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(5)

“Okay.” It’s apparently that easy.

Before I can figure out where to go from here, Ryan bounds into the room, tossing his backpack onto the table with a thunk. He flings himself into the chair next to me, beaming, and then launches into a convoluted story about why he couldn’t get a burrito. I must admit, while I usually love Ryan’s stories, I’m not riveted by this one. It feels like he interrupted something, though maybe that’s just wishful thinking. At the end of the epic saga, I laugh because that’s what he expects of me. Shane goes back to reading.

The other four file in, some of them late, so it’s ten past before we’re all assembled. In Green World, there’s Kenneth, aka Kenny Wu, Gwen Reave, Tara Tanner, and Conrad Loudermilk—two freshmen, one senior, and one other. Conrad is in his twenties, but for reasons known only to him, he hasn’t gone off to college yet. Instead he putters around his mom’s house and hangs out with high school people when he’s not working at the local supermarket, the P&K. Which is like an A&P, I guess, only crappier.

Gwen is the senior, which means she has a car and the sense that she’s in charge, so she orders the pizzas—one cheese, one veggie, from Pizza the Action. The main thing you need to know about this town is, it’s a small place, so the biggest name restaurant we have in town is the Dairy Queen. The whole downtown can be traversed in five minutes on foot. There’s a strip mall toward the highway, but there’s nothing shiny in there, either, mostly low-rent shops and stuff like the dollar store, only it’s not even a national franchise; it’s called Bang for Your Buck.

Anyway.

Once Gwen gets off the phone, she calls the meeting to order while studying Shane through her bangs. I can tell she’s wondering who he is. I don’t clarify. It’s not like I own him.

But he does the talking. He cants his head at me and mumbles, “She invited me. I’m Shane Cavendish.”

He doesn’t even know my name, I realize. Smooth.

“Sage Czinski.”

Nobody ever spells my last name right from hearing it pronounced, and they rarely get it when reading off a list. It’s not that hard, really: suh-ZIN-skee. But I’m prepared for a career of correcting people as I go through life. My first name is kind of strange, too, but my dad always said that when I was born, he thought I had wise eyes for a baby, so that’s why he called me Sage.

“Good to have you, Shane.” Gwen sparkles at him. She’s pretty, with blond hair and blue eyes, and good teeth from three years of orthodontia.

I’m self-conscious about mine, as I have a slight overbite, and they’re a bit crooked. Not bad enough to merit braces, but not perfect. My canines are a little too long, too, which means I get vampire jokes at Halloween. Better than every day, I suppose.

The rest of the members introduce themselves to him, too. Then we go around the room as we wait for the food, offering our presentations for the first Green World project. Each week for the past month, we’ve done this and not gotten anywhere because everyone wants his or her idea to be implemented first. It’s starting to feel like a waste of time, but Wednesday is two for one at Pizza the Action, and I’ve gotten used to bickering with these people.

We’ve just completed the pitches when Steve the delivery dude taps on the door. This is old hat for him, too, as he knows to come upstairs if he wants a decent tip. For a few minutes, we scramble, scraping together his payment from crumpled ones and pocket change, then I add a little more to keep him happy. I don’t look at Shane, who hasn’t reached for his wallet. Based on the state of his jacket, jeans, and backpack, I bet he doesn’t have any cash on him. The promise of free food might even be why he agreed to stay.

He goes for a couple of slices of plain cheese while I pounce on the veggie. I’m not horrified by the idea of eating meat, but Aunt Gabby is, and since she was kind enough to take me in, I feel like I should conform to her values for solidarity. So for the last three years, I’ve been on tofu and vegetables. Fortunately, she’s not vegan because I don’t think I could live without cheese. Seriously. I’d die.

Eating takes up ten minutes of the meeting, and then Gwen calls us back to order. “Now we just need to decide which idea to go forward with.”

This is where everything usually breaks down. We’ll spend the last half hour arguing among ourselves. But before we can get started on that, Shane says, “Why not just vote? If you’re worried about hurting somebody’s feelings, do a closed ballot. Write down the idea you like best.”

Gwen looks like he just gave her a tiara. “That’s genius. Make sure you vote for the idea you truly think is best. Because if everyone votes for himself, nothing will get done.”

I don’t point out that since Shane didn’t present an idea, he has to vote for somebody … and that means his support will carry the day, even if everyone does vote for his own project. After digging a scrap of paper from my backpack, I jot down a name, not my own. I actually like Ryan’s idea better.

The slips of paper go into Kenny’s Mario hat, then Gwen reads them out.

“Gwen. Kenny. Tara. Ryan. Ryan. Sage. Sage.” A frown. “We have a tie.”

“We can’t do both.” Conrad is staring at me with a happy smile, which makes me think he voted for me.

It occurs to me that Ryan probably voted for himself, so does that mean … Shane chose my plan? That doesn’t mean anything, I tell myself.