means food you eat when you’re . . .” Teddy trailed off and started to blush as she remembered that she was talking to a child. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so enthusiastic about showing off her new vocabulary.
Gretel gave her one of those withering looks that only a kid can give a clueless adult. “I’ve seen a television show before, you know. And I have an older brother. Although he’s kind of a nerd. I think he mostly eats fast food at work, and ‘wunchies’ isn’t even half as catchy.”
“Well, then,” Teddy said with a prim smile, “it sounds like your brother is setting a good example.”
Gretel wrinkled her nose. “He’s definitely not. I like your dress.”
Teddy glanced down at her outfit, a rainbow-striped number with a red cardigan on top. She’d gone shopping with Eleanor and picked out clothing that didn’t blend in, like the sweaters and jeans she was so used to wearing. Now her outfits stood out and actually inspired compliments. And although karaoke the night before had ended not so much in a blaze of glory as in a blaze of humiliation, she’d still enjoyed the experience of having all eyes on her in her red dress. Do one thing every day that scares you: wear clothing that people notice. “Oh, thanks,” she said.
Gretel smiled, and Teddy couldn’t help but feel a sense of kinship with her. “I’m gonna go look around,” Gretel said. “This is actually a research trip.”
“Research?” Teddy asked. “For what?”
“I’m writing a comic about my life,” Gretel said breezily. “Some people, like my brother, think I’m too young, but I don’t think you’re ever too young to write your first memoir.”
“I agree,” Teddy said with a nod. “Tell your brother he’s absolutely wrong. I’d love to read your memoir.”
“Thanks,” Gretel said as she started to walk away. “I’ll see you later. Will you be here during HighBall?”
What with her entire life being uprooted and all, Teddy had forgotten about HighBall. Every year around Halloween, the Short North shut down to hold a huge costume party, one that attracted tens of thousands of visitors. People went all out, dressing up in elaborate costumes and, perhaps more notably, drinking in the street. It was always a highlight of the year, seeing the sorts of costumes that came into the shop.
“Yeah, I’m working that night,” Teddy said.
“Great. I’ll see you then,” Gretel said, heading down an aisle. “Maybe I’ll convince my brother to come, if he’s not being an asocial weirdo.”
HighBall was technically an all-ages event, although it certainly wasn’t geared toward children (see: the drinking in the street), but Teddy wasn’t really surprised that Gretel would be there. She seemed to move through the world with her own set of rules.
While Teddy had been talking to Gretel, most of the browsers had left, so now there were only a few people wandering around the store. Carlos was back to rearranging the display case under the counter, so Teddy took a moment to check her email on her phone. Not that she was expecting anything from anyone in particular . . .
She had one email from Everett St. James.
Dear Theodora,
Do you ever feel like you’re in a television show about your own life? I know that I make a television show with my own name in the title, but that’s not what I mean.
Sometimes, it feels like things are happening to me purely to make an audience laugh, as if God is a benevolent showrunner who doesn’t want to torture me so much as put me through minor humiliations for a chuckle.
Take last night, for example. My best friend invited me out for karaoke with her friends. I’m not really a karaoke man—my job gives me plenty of attention, and I’d rather spend my free time at home. But I went for my friend, and while I was there, I kind of hit on someone (well, not hit on . . . more like talked to), and she told me she had to puke.
There’s really only one way for a guy to take a brush-off like that, and now I have to shoulder the burden of knowing that my presence made an innocent woman vomit.
It’s actually better if I pretend it’s a sitcom plot, instead of my life.
But enough about me. What scary things have you done lately? Eat a ghost pepper? Wrestle a pig? Maybe those things aren’t scary for you. Maybe you love spicy food and pigs. Even after all these emails,