Flirtasaurus Page 3

  “Well, I spent the first part of my morning locked all alone in an elevator.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Because I thought it would be fun, Sasha.”

  “Oh. Well, was it?”

  “Are you being for real right now?”

  “Yes, I am. I’m trying to train you off sarcasm, Calliope. Sarcasm is unattractive and joyless, and you, my dear, are neither one of those things, so I’m not going to indulge you in it anymore.”

  “Whatever. I get trapped in an elevator, and some sexy-voiced mystery dude keeps me company from the other side of the door. He calms my panic until the firemen arrive to rescue me—ugh, you know I hate to be rescued—promises to meet me in the Hall of Mammals by the dead deer once I get free, then… promptly ditches me. After that, I finally make it to my orientation, where the very first person I meet on the team treats me like a moronic twelve-year-old cutie pie. So of course I give him an epic piece of my mind, at which point I’m sure he labels me a twenty-two-year-old shrew. I drop some strudel-inspired F-bombs at him and get caught at the height of my rant by my new boss who is, you know, basically the only person on earth I care about impressing, after which I’m pretty sure she now sees me as a terrible team player and an even worse person. So needless to say, I stuck around at the end of the day and asked what grunt work I could do to atone for my sins. I ended up stuffing and sealing gala invitations like an entry-level punk.”

  “A sexy-voiced mystery dude, huh?”

  “That’s your takeaway from all that?”

  “Well, it’s clearly the most pressing matter we need to tackle first.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Sarcasm…” she says with a warning tone.

  “Yeah, it’s not going anywhere anytime soon.”

  “We’ll see about that. But first, here. Choose your brow path.”

  She hands me a damp brochure, saturated in beer.

  “Choose my what?”

  “Your brow path. Our gal is going to come over soon for our shaping.”

  I scan the pamphlet that reads “Hop in the Barrel: Philly’s Local HOP-Spot for Brows and Brews” and see the many choices I have for brow shaping while sipping and soaking in beer. I can’t help but roll my eyes.

  “See, Sasha, this is the kind of silly shit I’m talking about.”

  “Surrender to the bouge, Calliope. Surrender to the bouge.”

  Chapter Four

  Man, I’m starting to sweat. We’re talking about six-year-olds here. Am I really going to be intimidated by a bunch of six-year-olds?

  Apparently, I am.

  “It’s clear you don’t know as much about dinosaurs as you think you do.”

  This comes from Finn, a self-proclaimed dinosaur expert.

  It’s day two of my first week. In theory, I am in the midst of leading my inaugural education session with “Dino Diggers,” a group of local first graders who want to learn about all things prehistoric. In actuality? I am just trying to keep these small humans alive and accounted for until their caregivers arrive to collect them in forty-five minutes, at which point I can finally breathe again.

  “Hm. Why do you say that, Finn?”

  “Because you just pronounced Diplo-DOCK-us like Dip-LOD-ocus. It’s not Dip-LOD-ocus, it’s Diplo-DOCK-us.”

  This kid makes me feel dizzy.

  “It’s actually not, sweetheart.”

  “It is, sweetheart!”

  Oh, snap! Is he mocking me?

  “Let me ask you this. Where do you get your information, Finn?”

  “YouTube videos. Duh.”

  “Gotcha. Well, I get my info from reading the works of preeminent paleontology scholar Jack Horner, visiting every natural science center in every major metropolitan city I can, constantly scouring the best-seller lists and news articles for the latest fossil findings, and worshiping the work of women like Dr. Eileen Knowles who is blessedly the head of paleontological studies at this here museum. So, yeah.”

  He does not seem impressed.

  “Keep this in mind, kiddo. YouTube is a cesspool of talentless hacks baiting us all for clicks while offering little to no substance, simultaneously filling our heads with misinformation and lining their pockets with dollah, dollah bills, y'all.”

  “What?”

  “Just… don’t trust everything you see on the interweb.”

  “It’s called the internet. Not the interweb.”

  All right, so clearly, Finn is my new pint-sized nemesis, and I am making no impression on him whatsoever. Ugh. Kids.

  Don’t get me wrong, I like kids. I’m just not sure I “get” kids. I was never the girl who wanted to hold the baby in the room. Never the one who counted down the days until I could babysit. Certainly never the one who dreamed about being pregnant and pushing a watermelon out of my nether regions. Call me crazy, I guess.

  All right. I’m going back in.

  “So! Boys and girls, I’m crazy excited to be starting out on this journey together today. We’re going to learn so much about dinosaurs and the other creatures that lived alongside them over sixty-five million years ago. It’s going to be awesome! And every time we meet, we’ll have the opportunity to dig up some real dinosaur fossils! You can even take some of them home! How cool is that?”

  My one and only girl in the group has been jamming her arm into the air so hard over the course of my little speech she looks like she’s going to dislocate her tiny elbow.

  “Yes, Harper, what is it?”

  “Um. You called us boys and girls.”

  “I did, yeah.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s offensive.”

  “How is it offensive?”

  “Not everyone identifies as a boy or a girl. Gender is a construct, and I don’t think you should be putting us into predetermined and generalized categories without taking this perspective into account.”

  “Wow. How old are you?”

  “Six and three-quarters.”

  “Well. Thank you for that… perspective, Harper. I hear you, and I actually… You know what, girl? I mean, person? I agree with you. What do you think would be a better way for me to address you all moving forward?”

  “Energetic creatures on Earth? Planet helpers and healers? Spiritual beings in human form?”

  And… I instantly recognize the type of parents who are raising Harper.

  “Solid ideas, my friend. How about I call you Diggers, though? Because that’s who we are while we’re together. We’re Dino Diggers on a mission to excavate and innovate!” I infuse my voice with that higher-pitched sing-songy tone people use when they’re trying to relate to children. I’m not so sure it’s working, but onward I go.

  “Everybody has their picks and brushes?”

  “Yes!” seven tiny voices yell.

  “Aprons fastened and in place?”

  “Yes!”

  “Are we ready to discover some new dinos?”

  “Yes!”

  “Alright, Diggers! And three, two, one... go!”

  They dive into their digging with a childhood exuberance I think I’ve been missing in my life, and I can’t help but smile. Hm. Maybe I can do this after all.

  Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stand.

  I always thought that was some lame thing people said. I never thought it actually happened. But honest to God, at that moment, the little tiny mammal hairs on my neck are lifting away from my skin. I turn around.

  Some old dude is staring at me. Like, unabashedly staring. His eyes are glassy, and he’s smiling. He holds a notebook in his left hand and has a pencil floating in the air in his right hand as though he’s about to write something down. But he doesn’t. He just… stares. Creepy.

  After
whipping my head around to glance behind me, I then look back at the guy. Huh. Maybe he’s not gazing at me after all? He seems to be staring through me. Is it at the kids? Oh God, what if he’s staring at the kids? I am so not equipped for this sort of thing.

  But I’m also not one to sit around and just let life happen to me. No, sir. I confront things head-on. So that’s what I do. And sure, I could probably have a million more appropriate responses at the moment, but I can’t think of a single one, so I plaster a big smile on my face and… start waving. Yup, I wave at him like a complete goober. Like someone who just spotted their best friend at the mall. Or an old-timey person saying bon voyage to a ship.

  Weird dude waves back, but he seems to move in slow motion as though he’s surrounded by water.

  Suddenly, I feel like I’m moving through water too as my wave slows and my smile sours. Wait a damn second. This isn’t “the” guy, is it? This can’t be Alf, can it? Seriously, don’t tell me I spent my elevator debacle getting all hot and bothered by a dude who is old enough to be my grandpa. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! Love is love—like Sasha said—and age ain’t nothing but a numbah, but still.

  Gosh, on second thought, look at that smile, though. He’s definitely attractive in a shaggy-haired Christopher Lloyd kind of way. What? Like I’m the only one who had a thing for Dr. Emmett Brown in Back to the Future? I am? Okay, whatever.

  That’s enough. I’m figuring out what the deal is with this dude.

  I take two steps in his direction when nearly every kid in my session screams with joy. “BUG LADY!!!”

  I whip around to see a young woman with curly red hair approaching. She acknowledges the kids with a sweet smile and a salute. “Hey, Critters!” she croons. “I miss you! Holden, buddy, see you again this summer, I hope?”

  “Oh, hell to the yeah!” soft-spoken Holden blurts out, shocking the bejeezus out of me.

  “Holden!” I reprimand. Sort of. I actually think I may have been cheering him on. This is virtually the first peep I’ve heard out of the kid all morning, and frankly, I was a little worried about him.

  “I said hell.” He looks at me with big, misty eyes. “Sorry! I’m just so excited to see Bug Lady that it slipped out.”

  “It’s okay, bud. I won’t tell anyone,” I whisper.

  Feeling forgiven, I guess, Holden continues, full-voiced this time. “Okay, thanks. No offense, I just like bugs so much more than dinos. Dinosaurs scare the living shit out of me, but my mom is making me be here.”

  An incensed Finn chimes in at that. “No way! You have your head up your butt, Holden! Dinos could kick any bug’s ass any day!”

  “Alright, alright now! I think I need to draw the line at the S-word and the A-word. Also, no one’s head is up anyone’s butt, Finn. That’s physically impossible.”

  “Speaking of butts…” Holden is on a roll. “Did you know the bombardier beetle’s best defense is sticking its head down on the ground, then exploding a pungent spray from its anus that can repel even the most daring of predators?”

  Yikes. I’m certain I’m making a frozen stank face of epic proportions.

  However, “Bug Lady” gives Holden an enthusiastic fist bump. “I actually did know that, but I hadn’t thought about the bombardier beetle’s exploding anus in a while, so thank you for that reminder, pal!”

  Wow. She’s so good with them.

  Holden and the rest of the crew return to dino-digging with renewed gusto. I remember the sketchy old guy and turn to confront him.

  Huh. He’s gone. Nowhere in sight.

  “Whoa. Your face! Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, I just… Did you see that older guy a minute ago? Kind of toothy and smiley and, I dunno, slow-motion-y?”

  “Uh, nope. Why?”

  “Hm. Weird. No reason.”

  “Hey, nice eyebrows! They look just like yellow wooly bear caterpillars, but of course with more brown than yellow!”

  “Ugh. I got talked into a weird treatment yesterday. Some kind of natural microblading situation without the blades? I dunno. It’s supposed to fade in about a week. The regret set in immediately, believe me.”

  “Oh no, it was a compliment! If I had to choose, I would say that the yellow wooly bear is my absolute favorite species of caterpillar.”

  “Great,” I say. What is up with this woman?

  “Hi. Mabel again.” She extends her hand and shakes mine. Hard. “Kids call me the Bug Lady. I have most of these kiddos in the Critters Corner class I do here at the museum. Also, Holden attended the summer camp where I was a counselor last season. So, we’re all buds. Gosh, your eyebrows have an incredible shape.”

  “Ugh, thanks. I don’t usually care about things like that, but my friend sort of made me do this whole—”

  She cuts me off by sniffing me. Yeah, I’ll repeat that. This woman actually sniffs me.

  “Out partying last night, huh?” she says with a wink. Oh man, she is trying way too hard.

  “What? No. And could you maybe not smell me?”

  “Sure! Right, of course!”

  She backs up a few steps, still smiling. I take her in for a moment.

  “You, um, you said you’re Mabel again? I don’t think we’ve actually… Hi, I’m—”

  “Calliope FitzGerald. I know,” she says with supreme confidence.

  “Oh.” Yeah, I have no earthly idea who this person is.

  “Haha, you should see your face! You make such great expressions, and it’s not just because of your eyebrows. Clearly, you don’t remember me, and that’s totally fine. I remember everyone I ever meet. Freaks most people out. I assume no one will remember me, though, so I always reintroduce myself, even if I just saw you yesterday. I’m always like ‘Hi. Mabel again.’ Someone told me once they actually thought my last name was Again since I reintroduced myself to them like that so many times. ‘Hi. Mabel again!’ I must have a completely forgettable face or something. Or maybe a totally lackluster personality?”

  Wow, she talks fast.

  “Oh, are you really asking me those questions? No, of course not. Your personality seems… great. So, we have met then? I’m sorry to prove your point, but I’m drawing a total blank here.”

  “Totally understood!” she chirps pleasantly. “Applause Theater and Nature Camp Summer of ’08?”

  “Yeah! I did go there. You did too?”

  “Yup. You played Rosie in ‘Really Rosie’ that summer. Me? Stage crew. I made your feather boa from real bird droppings. Feather droppings of course. Not poop.”

  “Right! Of course!” Nope, still no recollection. “Well, thank you for doing that. That boa was pretty darn lush, if I remember correctly. A bit spiky in places, though.”

  “Yeah, I had to fill it out with Canadian goose feathers, which are a bit pokey. Sorry about that, but duck droppings alone weren’t going to cut it. Feather droppings, of course. Not poop.”

  “Right. Thanks for clarifying that. Twice.”

  “So, how’ve you been since middle school, girl? You successful? Of course you’re successful. I always knew you’d be successful.”

  “That’s, um… really sweet, Mabel. Thanks. I’m getting there, I guess? Just started a new job interning here under Dr. Knowles, which I’m really—”

  “Oooooooh.”

  Did she just shudder? This girl is… interesting, that’s for sure.

  I continue, “Yeah, I’m really excited. Dr. Knowles is amazing. I feel really lucky to be—”

  “Ooooooooh.”

  There she goes again.

  “Are you shuddering each time I say Dr. Knowles’ name?”

  “Ooooooooh.” Her body actually full-on vibrates this time. “Yup. Can’t help it.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, she’s just so scary, yeah?”

  “Dr. Know
les?”

  “Ooooooh. Sorry, I swear I’ll stop.”

  “Nah, she’s not scary. She’s just…” I find that I can’t actually finish my sentence, though, because gosh, how do you describe Dr. Knowles? I mean, if I’m being completely honest? Mabel’s not exactly wrong. Yesterday, I almost crapped my pants when Dr. Knowles made direct and prolonged eye contact with me.

  “Dino Lady!!!” A small human rockets in my direction. Uh-oh. What does the dino dictator want to correct me on now? I brace myself.

  “Yes, Finn?”

  “Look! Look! I found a femur bone! I think it’s the femur bone of a Compsognathus! Or maybe an Archaeopteryx! Ooh, ooh, ooh or maybe a Micropachychephalosaurus!”

  “Awesome, pal! I’ll be right there, and we’ll study it together, okay?”

  “Okay!” As he lifts his tiny arm to high-five me and thwacks the hell outta my hand, I think my heart actually swells inside my chest. I watch him run back to the other kids with pure childhood enthusiasm.

  Mabel chimes in, “Awww. Finn can be tough on the outside, but he’s actually a real softie once you get to know him.”

  “Seems that way. Well, it looks like I have a prehistoric femur to examine, so… nice to remeet you, Mabel. Thanks for saying hi.”

  “Totally. Hey, wanna meet in the cafeteria for lunch today?”

  “Uhhhhhhhh.”

  Damn, how do I get out of this politely?

  “Unless you already have a lunch buddy. Do you already have a lunch buddy?”

  She’s giving me an out! Take it Calliope, take it!

  “Um. No. I don’t have any buddies, per se. But I’m not really looking to—”

  “Perfect! I’ll save you a seat then!” She scurries off, looking pleased as punch.

  “Perfect.”

  Well, I certainly mucked that up.

  Before she’s out of sight, I call after her. “Hey, Mabel?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You, um, you said before that you knew I’d be successful. How did you know that?”

  “Well, you were just always so focused and fierce. Even as a kid.”

  “Was I?”

  “Totally. You never made any time for friends or fun. You were always go, go, go! Achieve, achieve, achieve! It was impressive. And sorta sad, actually. All the other girls would be singing Hannah Montana songs and playing Pokémon on the floor of the bunk, but not you! You’d be sitting on your bed with your flashlight, memorizing the names of all things extinct. I thought it was so weird and fascinating how you were only interested in dead things and pretty much paid no attention to the living. But hey, I’m glad to see all that focus is paying off!”