Ella Unleashed Read online

  I glance over at Ethan, who has a Gummi bear sticking out of each nostril. “A million brownies wouldn’t make up for having him as a stepbrother,” I say. “Don’t you guys have any single relatives? Then I could be related to you.”

  “My great-aunt Rivka is single, but she’s, like, eighty,” Miriam says.

  “I don’t have anyone but my aunt Libby,” says Jordan, “and she’s the worst.”

  “Really? We hadn’t heard,” Keiko says, and Jordan throws a red Gummi at her. Her aunt moved to town at the beginning of the summer, and Jordan spends a lot of time complaining about her.

  “Okay, what about our teachers?” Keiko asks. “What about Ms. Lapata?”

  “Ms. Lapata’s mean,” I say. “She’s always yelling at me.”

  “She wouldn’t do that if you actually brought your PE uniform to school ever,” Miriam says.

  “I’m not setting my dad up with our gym teacher. She’d probably make me run laps if I didn’t make my bed.”

  Ms. McKinnon walks up with her cylinder of liquid nitrogen. She’s wearing her safety goggles on top of her regular glasses, which makes her eyes look hilariously gigantic. “You ready, girls?” she asks. “Safety goggles and gloves on. What’s your hypothesis?”

  I pull my goggles down over my eyes and settle them into place, and even though I know I look dorky, it makes me feel professional and scientific. “We think the unfrozen Gummi will spring back to its original shape right away when we hit it with the hammer and the frozen one will break into at least four pieces.”

  “All right, good theories. Let’s test. Give the control Gummi a beating.”

  Jordan grabs the hammer and pounds on one of the orange test Gummis—she does martial arts, so she’s super strong. It gets stuck to the head of the hammer, but nothing else interesting happens.

  “Good. Now let’s add the nitrogen.” Ms. McKinnon opens her container and carefully pours some clear liquid into our beaker. It immediately begins to boil and steam, and all four of us go, “Whoa.”

  “Liquid nitrogen boils at –195.8 degrees Celsius,” Ms. McKinnon says. “So even if we did this outside on the coldest day of the year, it would still boil. Amazing, huh? You can use your forceps to drop the Gummi in now.”

  Keiko does, and then we wait for the liquid nitrogen to boil off. “All right,” Ms. McKinnon says after about fifteen seconds. “Go ahead and grab it, and let’s see what happens.”

  Miriam gingerly pulls the bear out with the forceps and lays it on the lab table. It looks frosty and fragile. “You want to do the honors?” she asks me.

  “Definitely.” I take the hammer and give the frozen bear a good whack, and it splinters like the brittlest glass. Tiny pieces of orange sugar fly everywhere, and we all squeal.

  Ms. McKinnon laughs. “Cool, right?”

  “So cool!” I say.

  “Grab some paper towels and wipe up the pieces before they melt into a huge mess, and then record your findings in your lab notebooks. Good job, girls.”

  As I watch our teacher walk toward the next group, a light bulb goes off in my brain. “Oh my god,” I whisper to my friends. “We should set my dad up with her.”

  Miriam’s eyes widen. “She would be perfect! I bet they’d like each other so much!”

  “Oh man, she’d be the best stepmom,” Keiko says. “She’d probably make chocolate-chip pancakes for dinner and wake you up in the middle of the night so you could watch meteor showers even if there was school the next day.”

  “I bet she’d never make you clean your room,” says Jordan. “If you left moldy dishes under your bed, she’d get out her microscope and look at the spores with you.”

  “Are you sure she’s single?” asks Miriam. “I can’t remember if she wears a ring or not.”

  We glance over at Ethan’s lab group as Ahmed brings his hammer down, and I pay special attention to our teacher’s hands. She still has her gloves on, but she’s holding the metal cylinder pretty tightly, and I don’t see the outline of a ring.

  “I think we’re good,” I say.

  Keiko goes to the sink to get some paper towels and starts wiping up the smashed Gummi pieces, which are starting to melt. “So how are you going to introduce her to your dad?” she asks.

  “You should do something really bad in class,” Jordan suggests. “Then the school will call your parents in for a disciplinary meeting.”

  “Bad like what?” asks Miriam.

  “I dunno. Kevin got suspended last year when he put that firecracker in the toilet.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not blowing up a toilet to get my dad a date!”

  “Hang on,” Miriam says. “Isn’t that fall open house thing on Wednesday?”

  “Oh my god, yes.” I’m so excited I almost fall off my lab stool. “That’s perfect. My dad always goes by himself because my mom has to run the one for her class on the same night.”

  “You’re going to have to be there to help things along, though,” Keiko says. “Your dad and Ms. McKinnon aren’t going to randomly fall in love while they’re talking about the science curriculum. Are we even allowed at the open house?”

  “Probably not inside the classrooms, but there’s a sign-up sheet outside the office to be a student volunteer and give directions. That way I can make sure they talk. You guys can sign up too!”

  “I have trumpet on Wednesdays,” Keiko says at the same time as Jordan says, “I have tae kwon do.”

  “I promised my mom I’d watch my brother,” Miriam says. “Do you want me to try to get out of it?”

  “No, it’s fine. I can handle it by myself.” Having my friends with me would definitely make the open house more fun, but maybe it’s better that they won’t be there to distract me. I’ll need to concentrate and make sure everything is perfect. “You guys,” I say. “This is going to be epic.”

  “I bet that in the entire history of the world, nobody’s ever said that about the fall open house,” says Jordan.

  Miriam pulls out her lab notebook and starts recording the results of our experiment, and the rest of us do the same. But even as I’m writing about frozen Gummi bears, my mind is far away, spinning an amazing love story that’s going to fix everything.

  4

  I know the hallways of Florence Nightingale Middle School like I know my own reflection, but even so, being at school after-hours always seems mysterious and exciting. I ride my bike over early so I can sign up to be stationed in the science hallway, and Ms. McKinnon’s classroom is still dark when I plant myself outside her door. I’m glad I was able to talk Dad out of driving me here; I’m so nervous and excited that I probably would’ve babbled and giggled the entire time and given away that I was plotting something.

  Ms. McKinnon arrives twenty minutes before the open house is supposed to start. She’s in a simple black dress, which is kind of disappointing—I was hoping she’d wear one of her funny T-shirts so my dad could see what a good sense of humor she has. But she looks really pretty, and she has on a huge necklace made of gears and chains and watch faces, which I think Dad will really like. Plus her glasses are almost the same exact shade of turquoise that’s in the plaid shirt I suggested he wear. I don’t know if people are more likely to fall for each other if they’re wearing matching clothes, but it can’t hurt.

  Ms. McKinnon smiles when she sees me standing by her door. “Hey, Ella,” she says. “Thanks so much for helping out tonight.”

  “Yes,” I say, and it comes out a little breathless. “I mean, you’re welcome, no problem, I’m happy to be here.” She looks at me weird, so I change the subject to distract her from the fact that I’m acting like a total freak show. “So, um, are you nervous about the open house?”

  She laughs. “Not really. Should I be? Are your parents scary?”

  I shake my head so hard my ponytail almost whips me in the eyes. “No! Definitely not. My mom actually isn’t coming because she’s a teacher too, so she’s having her own open house tonight. Plus my parents are
divorced”—I draw the word out nice and slow so she’s sure to take it in—“so they don’t go to stuff together. But I’m really, really excited for you to meet my dad. He’s so nice, and I told him all about you, so he already thinks you’re awesome. He said that if his teachers had let him do stuff like smashing frozen Gummi bears, maybe he would’ve become a scientist instead of an advertiser.” Okay, so maybe that’s not exactly what he said, but I’m pretty sure he was thinking it.

  “Well, I look forward to meeting him,” Ms. McKinnon says. “I’m going to go get ready. Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

  I really want to say, I need you to take my dad on a date so he’ll fall in love with you and live happily ever after and also agree to come to a dog show in Philadelphia, but obviously I can’t. So I just say, “Okay, thanks.”

  I have some time to kill, so I review the notes I typed into my phone yesterday during a marathon of Heart2Heart, a dating show where people compete to see how many of their friends they can successfully set up in one week. I learned that the best way to get people to like one another is to tell stories that make them seem really interesting and funny, then introduce topics they have in common so they’ll have lots of things to talk about. Of course, my dad and Ms. McKinnon already have something to talk about—the science curriculum—but I have a feeling that’s not going to make them feel very romantic. I’ll have to nudge them in the right direction.

  Parents start arriving and trickling into Ms. McKinnon’s classroom, but my dad is nowhere to be found—I guess he started out with the language arts and social studies classrooms on the floor below us. Half an hour later, when I’m starting to get really impatient, he finally appears, casually strolling down the hall like his life isn’t about to change. I give him a big smile.

  “Hey, kiddo,” he says. “Seems like you have some really great teachers this year. Ms. Baumgartner says—”

  “That’s awesome,” I say before Dad can even tell me what exactly is awesome. “Come in here, I really want you to meet Ms. McKinnon.” The volunteers aren’t technically supposed to go inside the classrooms, but nobody stops me as I take him by the arm and tug him inside. Sometimes it’s just a matter of looking confident.

  Ms. McKinnon is leaning on her desk, chatting with five or six parents grouped around her like kids at story hour. I watch my dad’s face as he sees my teacher for the first time—Keiko told me people’s pupils dilate when they look at someone they find attractive—but the fluorescent classroom lights make it hard to tell if anything is happening.

  “Hi, are you—” Ms. McKinnon calls out, and then she breaks into a smile. “Oh wow, I don’t even need to ask. You must be Mr. Cohen. You and Ella have the same exact eyes and nose.”

  “Same exact hair, too,” my dad says. He fluffs the stubbly fringe around his bald head, and Ms. McKinnon laughs, which seems like a good sign. People make jokes when they’re flirting, right?

  I laugh too, but it comes out loud and manic, like the time I downed four Cokes at Miriam’s birthday party. All the other parents look at me weird, but I ignore them. “You’re so funny,” I say to my dad. “Isn’t he too funny?”

  Ms. McKinnon sticks out her hand, and my dad goes over to shake it. “I’m Candice McKinnon, and I teach seventh- and eighth-grade science,” she says.

  “David Cohen,” my dad says. I’m hoping he’ll hold onto her hand a beat too long, like Stacey and Vince on Heart2Heart did right before they fell in love, but it looks like a pretty regular handshake. “It’s nice to meet you. Ella speaks really highly of you.”

  “I think she’s pretty great too,” Ms. McKinnon says. “Speaking of which: Ella, you’re not really supposed to be in here.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I say, but I can’t possibly go back outside yet. I need some time to do wingman stuff. (Or would it be wingwoman? Wing-girl?) I pretend I’m going to move toward the door, but then I stop like I’ve just thought of something. “Hey, Dad—before she moved here, Ms. McKinnon taught at a school in Ohio. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

  “Oh, where in Ohio?” my dad asks her, like I hoped he would. “That’s where I grew up.”

  “Akron,” Ms. McKinnon says. “What about you?”

  “Cincinnati.”

  “I grew up near Columbus,” says a woman I’m pretty sure is Danny Spindler’s mom.

  “Very cool,” says Ms. McKinnon, and then they all just stand there nodding, like that’s all there is to say about the entire state of Ohio.

  “Maybe you and Ms. McKinnon have been to some of the same restaurants or something,” I say to my dad to move things along.

  Dad laughs. “I don’t think so. Cincinnati and Akron are pretty much on opposite sides of the state.”

  “But you must’ve gone to Akron when you toured with your band, right?” I’m pretty sure women are supposed to fall for guys in bands, and I search Ms. McKinnon’s face for signs that she’s impressed, but instead she looks half amused, half confused.

  My dad’s cheeks are turning red. “Wow, Ella,” he says. “What on earth made you think of that?”

  “What kind of band?” asks Mei-Ying Cho’s dad. “I was in a band in college too. Kind of hipster-punk? We were called Tragedy Soup.” Mei-Ying’s mom pats his arm and gives him a look like Nobody wants to hear this, and I totally agree. This conversation is supposed to be about my dad.

  Dad runs his hand over the bald part of his head like he always does when he’s nervous or embarrassed. “Mine was barely a band. Just a bunch of guys abusing instruments. You know how it goes.”

  “He’s being modest,” I say. “He’s really great at guitar. He only has to hear a song, like, two times, and he can play it with no mistakes.” I turn back to my dad. “Tell Ms. McKinnon what your band was called.” My dad gives me a look that says What are you doing? and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to help me out here, so I say, “They were called the Unexpected Houseguests. Isn’t that funny?”

  “Nice,” says Mei-Ying’s dad, but Ms. McKinnon doesn’t laugh—actually, she seems a little weirded out. Maybe I’m overdoing it with the wingwomaning.

  “So, when is the science fair this year?” Danny’s mom asks, and Ms. McKinnon finally smiles a real smile, obviously relieved to have the conversation back on track.

  “The actual fair isn’t until the week before winter break, but the kids will start choosing projects in a few weeks,” she says. “Since the seventh graders are focusing on—”

  “Excuse me, where’s Mr. Wu’s room?” calls another mom from the doorway, and Ms. McKinnon glances over at me like she’s trying to subtly remind me that I have another job besides standing around in her classroom and talking about bands. I don’t think there’s much more I can do here anyway if everyone’s just going to discuss the science fair, so I lead the confused mom back outside and point her in the right direction.

  I linger by the science room door, trying to catch bits of the conversation, but it’s too loud in the hall to hear anything. I cross all my fingers and hope that Ms. McKinnon and Dad are figuring out how compatible they are, but that doesn’t seem likely—they haven’t done a single thing the Heart2Heart hosts would call a “heartthrob move.” If Daphne Langoria, the show’s dating specialist, were here right now, she’d probably say something about being stuck in the friend zone.

  Then again, Dad and Ms. McKinnon have only known each other a few minutes; the Heart2Heart couples get way longer than that, and they always meet in fun, casual settings. Now that they’ve been introduced, maybe I can engineer another more relaxed meeting. If I can figure out what Ms. McKinnon’s doing this weekend, maybe I can get Dad to take me to the same place and we can “unexpectedly” run into her.

  Mei-Ying’s parents come out of the science room, and Tess Revenaugh’s parents go in, and then my dad finally appears. “So?” I ask. “How was it? Do you like her?”

  “She seems great,” my dad says. “Sounds like you guys have some cool projects planned. I know you’re excited ab
out the science fair, and you must be thrilled about the chick incubator she’s bringing in—I know how much you loved the one at the Museum of Science last year.”

  I nod. “Yeah, that’s gonna be so great. I can’t wait.”

  “She said she and her boyfriend are doing a test run at home right now to make sure they have all the kinks worked out. Sounds like . . .”

  Dad keeps talking, but I’m not paying attention anymore. All I hear is the word “boyfriend” echoing through my head over and over as my beautiful plan crumbles around me like a block tower smashed by a toddler.

  Of course Ms. McKinnon has a boyfriend. How could I have been so stupid? Why would she be interested in my dad or impressed by his college band when she’s already with someone else? Her boyfriend probably has tons of beautiful, thick hair. He’s probably still in a band. I shouldn’t have jumped to the conclusion that she was single just because she doesn’t wear a ring. You should never jump to any conclusion that’s supported by only one piece of evidence.

  Down goes the image of my dad watching me compete at the National Dog Show.

  Down goes the possibility of him and Krishnan and Mom all sitting in a calm, happy row at my bat mitzvah and my eighth-grade graduation.

  Down, down, down goes the light, floaty feeling that would come from being myself without worrying about Dad’s fragile feelings.

  “Hey, kiddo? You okay?” he asks. “You spaced out for a second.”

  “Yeah. I just have a headache.”

  “Do you want me to ask Ms. McKinnon if she has any Tylenol?”

  I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt that much.” I force my mouth into a smile.

  It doesn’t seem like he believes me, but he says, “All right, if you’re sure. I’m going to take a peek into the other classrooms. Which one is next?”

  I point. “Mr. Wu’s my art teacher—his room is the second one on the right.”