Camo Girl Hardcover - 2011

Summary

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

I call him zachariah. he calls me eleanor, but the way he says it, it comes out sounding like Ellie-nor.

These are not our real names.

Most people, the sort of people who donâÈçt need extra names, can get away with doing simple things like looking in a mirror or taking a bathroom pass out of the cafeteria in the middle of lunch hour. We are not most people.

Z and I have learned how not to see the things we donâÈçt want to. ItâÈçs not that hard, but it makes us seem strange to everybody else. Z, especially, is . . . different . . . from the other kids in our class. Good different, as far as IâÈçm concerned, but the kind of different that makes other people raise their eyebrows and sort of laugh under their breath, as if heâÈçs not to be believed.

IâÈçve been gone maybe five minutes, but itâÈçs too long. Heading back toward our table, I can almost hear that silly Sesame Street song humming in the air, converging on him. âÈêOne of these things is not like the others. One of these things just doesnâÈçt belong . . .âÈë

ZâÈçs in trouble. IâÈçm walking toward him and I see it, know I should never have left him alone, but some things canâÈçt be helped. Our eyes lock across the room, and thereâÈçs nothing in his gaze but stark terror. I should never have left him alone.

Zachariah. Eleanor.

These are not our real names. These are our shadow names, our armor, our cloaks. They are larger than we can ever hope to be; they cause things to bounce off us so we can never be hurt. By anyone. Anything. Ever.

It doesnâÈçt always work.

âÈêZachariah!âÈë I practically scream it, running toward him.

âÈêEllie-nor,âÈë he says, gazing at me with alarm.

These are not our real names, but none of that matters now. For the moment I simply throw my arms up over his head to stop the food from hitting him.

Spaghetti with mystery meat sauce.

Tiny rolling peas.

Vanilla pudding with cookies.

A carton of chocolate milk, unopened, thank goodness.

ZâÈçs whole tray overturned by laughing hands. The bulk of it catches me in my shoulders, neck, and back.

Beneath me, Z sits stock still, clean but immobile, gazing innocently at the blank space of the table in front of him. He survived.

This, this is my superpower. My only power, to protect him. He wouldnâÈçt understand what had happened. He would pretend not to see. Then heâÈçd make up a story about how he had to crawl through a tunnel lined with bloody, mangled earthworms to get to freedom. He would smile, gooey strings of pasta hanging from his hair, and murmur, âÈêAll in a dayâÈçs work.âÈë

Jonathan Hoffman tosses the soiled green tray onto the tabletop. He smiles at me in that way that is so infuriating. Is he proud of himself? As if no one else in the history of time ever thought to dump a lunch tray on someoneâÈçs head.

âÈêWay to take the bullet, C. F.,âÈë he says.

My face flushes with rage. I stand with my hands on my hips, ignoring the fact that IâÈçm the one dripping with red sauce and noodles. I am Eleanor, Goddess of Everything, fearless in the face of danger.

âÈêDo you ever get tired of being a gigantic jerk?âÈë I snap.

Jonathan stretches lazily. âÈêMy work is exhausting,âÈë he says, then saunters off to accept the high fives from his table of cronies.

I sink into the seat beside Z and let my head fall onto the table.

âÈêEllie-nor,âÈë he says. âÈêEllie-nor.âÈë

His small hand covers mine. I manage to look up, into his close-to-tearful face.

âÈêEllie-nor,âÈë he says, but IâÈçm not her anymore. Now IâÈçm just Ella. Plain old everyday Ella, the girl with drying pasta goo in her hair, on her skin and clothes. I think some of the peas rolled into my shoe. Little cold mush balls sitting in there.

âÈêYou fought the dragon and won,âÈë Z says. âÈêYou fought the dragon and won.âÈë

I smile sadly. âÈêYeah, I did.âÈë

Z taps the table in a drumming rhythm. âÈêBrave, brave, fair lady. You fought the dragon and won.âÈë

ItâÈçll work for him to pretend. ZâÈçs not like other kids. He knows what happened, but he canâÈçt admit what it was, what it means about us in the real world. He believes, really believes, that we sit alone at lunch by choice.

I shove my own lunch tray toward him. âÈêEat this,âÈë I say. âÈêIâÈçm really not hungry. Anyway, I have to go change.âÈë

ZâÈçs hand falls on my sleeve, tugging me to stay with him.

âÈêYou would cast aside this badge of honor?âÈë His eyes bug out, incredulous. âÈêYou fought the dragon and won!âÈë

Sighing, I unwrap the napkin from his spork and use it to wipe my neck. I left him alone once already today. So, I sit here, watching him eatâÈ'he polishes off everything on the tray and some of what fell on the tableâÈ'until the end-of-lunch bell rings.

People look at me funny as they clear their trays, but itâÈçs not only because of the food mess. TheyâÈçd be looking, anyway. If Z and I were business-minded, weâÈçd build a wall around our table, and a window. We could charge admission for each single peek in. WeâÈçd either make a fortune or be left alone. Win-win.

I try to become Eleanor again. Smile as they pass, like I know something they donâÈçt. Make them uncomfortable.

âÈêEllie-nor.âÈë Z reaches up under his shirt and pulls out two fluffy rolls. On spaghetti day, you have to pay ten cents extra for rolls. Z does not have ten cents, let alone twenty. He hands me one.

âÈêThanks,âÈë I say, accepting the stolen roll. The lunch ladies donâÈçt pay enough attention. Not when we go through the line, and not when we get food dumped on us. I guess itâÈçs only fair.

I keep two changes of clothes in my locker. ItâÈçs important to be prepared for occasions like this. I keep an extra shirt for Z, too, but heâÈçd never actually use it. He meant what he said about the badge of honor. I go along with a lot of his fantasies, but I canâÈçt quite get on board with that one.

ZâÈçs waiting outside the girlsâÈç bathroom for me. He observes my change with large, thoughtful eyes. Then he pushes up his glasses with his pebble of a fist, ready to move on. I tug at the hem of my clean shirt, feeling guilty. Maybe itâÈçs a form of surrender, I donâÈçt know. I havenâÈçt figured it out yet. What the right thing to do is when things fall out of the sky and hit you.

Âû 2011 Kekla Magoon

Media reviews

Citations

• Booklist, 02/01/2011, Page 74
• BookPage, 01/01/2011, Page 0
• Bulletin of Ctr for Child Bks, 03/01/2011, Page 0
• Kirkus Best Children's Books, 11/15/2011, Page 2118
• Kirkus Reviews, 12/01/2010, Page 0
• Publishers Weekly, 12/06/2010, Page 0
• School Library Journal, 01/01/2011, Page 112