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Authors: Anna Staniszewski
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me out of bed. A little more than two weeks left and around $250 to go. It seems impossible, but I refuse to give up.
Mom is humming like a cheerful bumblebee as we pull out of the driveway. “We have a new client today.” She glances over at me. “Now don’t be upset, but the son is in your grade.”
Here we go again. If it’s Steve Mueller, I’m going to jump out of the car right now.
“His name is Andrew Ivanoff,” says Mom. “Do you know him?”
I breathe a long sigh of relief. Andrew Ivanoff has the reputation of being the shyest guy in the eighth grade. We should be able to just mutely acknowledge each other and have that be the end of it.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve never talked to him, but he seems okay.”
Mom nods, looking relieved too. I guess she really does feel bad about inflicting people from school on me. “Normally we’ll go there in the afternoons,” she says, “but it’ll be our first stop this morning.”
The Ivanoff residence is just down the street from Marisol’s house and looks almost identical except for the color. As soon as Mom and I go inside, I can see where Andrew gets his extreme shyness. Mr. Ivanoff seems nice, but he talks so quietly that I can barely hear him, and he looks over our heads like he’s having a conversation with someone behind us.
Once he’s shown us around the first floor of the house, he sends me up to Andrew’s bedroom for a “special assignment.” I pray it doesn’t involve smelly underwear.
When I get to Andrew’s door, I gasp.
Practically every inch of his room except for his bed is lined with toys: action figures, figurines of famous people, and a million other tiny creatures. As I get closer, I realize that’s not even the weird part. Each toy is either splattered with red paint or disfigured somehow. And Andrew Ivanoff is sitting in the middle of this creepy doll parade with a cloth, gently wiping the dust off each one.
“Um, hi,” I say.
Andrew’s eyes shoot up, and he gawks at me like he’s never seen a girl standing in his doorway before. Honestly, he probably hasn’t.
“Oh,” he says. “Rachel Lee.” His eyes dart back toward the floor, like he’s afraid I might try to hypnotize him if he looks at me for more than a second. His face and hair are so pale that I almost expect him to have red albino eyes, but they’re actually the color of dark honey.
“Your dad said you needed some help?”
He nods and holds out another cloth. “The ones on this side are done,” he mumbles, motioning with his head.
I carefully step in between the toys and find a clear spot on the floor by the bed. As I sit down, I accidentally knock over two My Little Ponies with missing heads. Andrew lets out a hiss like he’s just been stabbed.
“Sorry,” I whisper. And then I start to wipe and wipe and wipe. Most of the toys don’t even have a speck of dust on them, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Andrew lovingly cleans each one like it’s priceless.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. “So what are all these for?” I ask.
Andrew doesn’t answer for a minute. Then he sighs and says, “For a movie.”
“What movie?”
“ After the Zombie Toys Attack .”
I bark out a laugh before I can stop myself, and Andrew’s ears turn bright pink.
“Sorry,” I say, trying to swallow my laughter. “It sounds…interesting.”
“I start filming this week. That’s why these have to be clean.” He points at a tiny set on top of his desk that I didn’t notice before. It’s a perfect miniature replica of our school.
“That’s amazing,” I say. “So who’ll play the students?”
“Students?” Andrew asks, oh-so-briefly glancing at me.
“Well, I’m assuming these are the zombies.” I hold up an armless Dora the Explorer. “If the movie takes place at school, what are you going to use for students?”
“Everyone’s dead before the movie starts,” he explains in a slow, patient voice. “The story’s about the zombie
Mom is humming like a cheerful bumblebee as we pull out of the driveway. “We have a new client today.” She glances over at me. “Now don’t be upset, but the son is in your grade.”
Here we go again. If it’s Steve Mueller, I’m going to jump out of the car right now.
“His name is Andrew Ivanoff,” says Mom. “Do you know him?”
I breathe a long sigh of relief. Andrew Ivanoff has the reputation of being the shyest guy in the eighth grade. We should be able to just mutely acknowledge each other and have that be the end of it.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve never talked to him, but he seems okay.”
Mom nods, looking relieved too. I guess she really does feel bad about inflicting people from school on me. “Normally we’ll go there in the afternoons,” she says, “but it’ll be our first stop this morning.”
The Ivanoff residence is just down the street from Marisol’s house and looks almost identical except for the color. As soon as Mom and I go inside, I can see where Andrew gets his extreme shyness. Mr. Ivanoff seems nice, but he talks so quietly that I can barely hear him, and he looks over our heads like he’s having a conversation with someone behind us.
Once he’s shown us around the first floor of the house, he sends me up to Andrew’s bedroom for a “special assignment.” I pray it doesn’t involve smelly underwear.
When I get to Andrew’s door, I gasp.
Practically every inch of his room except for his bed is lined with toys: action figures, figurines of famous people, and a million other tiny creatures. As I get closer, I realize that’s not even the weird part. Each toy is either splattered with red paint or disfigured somehow. And Andrew Ivanoff is sitting in the middle of this creepy doll parade with a cloth, gently wiping the dust off each one.
“Um, hi,” I say.
Andrew’s eyes shoot up, and he gawks at me like he’s never seen a girl standing in his doorway before. Honestly, he probably hasn’t.
“Oh,” he says. “Rachel Lee.” His eyes dart back toward the floor, like he’s afraid I might try to hypnotize him if he looks at me for more than a second. His face and hair are so pale that I almost expect him to have red albino eyes, but they’re actually the color of dark honey.
“Your dad said you needed some help?”
He nods and holds out another cloth. “The ones on this side are done,” he mumbles, motioning with his head.
I carefully step in between the toys and find a clear spot on the floor by the bed. As I sit down, I accidentally knock over two My Little Ponies with missing heads. Andrew lets out a hiss like he’s just been stabbed.
“Sorry,” I whisper. And then I start to wipe and wipe and wipe. Most of the toys don’t even have a speck of dust on them, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Andrew lovingly cleans each one like it’s priceless.
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. “So what are all these for?” I ask.
Andrew doesn’t answer for a minute. Then he sighs and says, “For a movie.”
“What movie?”
“ After the Zombie Toys Attack .”
I bark out a laugh before I can stop myself, and Andrew’s ears turn bright pink.
“Sorry,” I say, trying to swallow my laughter. “It sounds…interesting.”
“I start filming this week. That’s why these have to be clean.” He points at a tiny set on top of his desk that I didn’t notice before. It’s a perfect miniature replica of our school.
“That’s amazing,” I say. “So who’ll play the students?”
“Students?” Andrew asks, oh-so-briefly glancing at me.
“Well, I’m assuming these are the zombies.” I hold up an armless Dora the Explorer. “If the movie takes place at school, what are you going to use for students?”
“Everyone’s dead before the movie starts,” he explains in a slow, patient voice. “The story’s about the zombie
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