Gilbert and Louis Rule the Universe: First Impressions

Gilbert and Louis Rule the Universe: First Impressions

By Rebecca Heller

Gilbert and Louis Rule the Universe: First Impressions

Rebecca Heller

Published by Surf Like a Girl Press at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Rebecca Heller

Cover photograph by Claudia Rehm

For Gilbert

I realize that if you are reading this you are already totally smart and have excellent taste. However, in case there are some words you don’t understand, I have provided definitions* for you, because smart is sexy. Am I right?

*All definitions written by Leah (looked up on: Dictionary.com Unabridged. Random House, Inc. 2010).

People you should know:

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Monday, November 2

Chapter 2: Tuesday, November 3

Chapter 3: Friday, November 6

Chapter 4: Saturday, November 7

Chapter 5: Sunday, November 8

Chapter 6: Monday, November 9

Chapter 7: Tuesday, November 10

Chapter 8: Saturday, November 14

Chapter 9: Monday, November 16

Chapter 10: Tuesday, November 17

Chapter 11: Monday, November 30

Chapter 12: Monday, December 14

Chapter 13: Friday, December 18

Chapter 14: Saturday, December 19

Chapter 15: Christmas Day

Chapter 16: Saturday, December 26

Chapter 17: Monday, December 28

Chapter 18: New Year’s Eve

Chapter 19: Saturday, January 2

Chapter 20: Monday, January 4

Chapter 21: Wednesday, January 13

Chapter 22: Friday, January 15

Chapter 23: Sunday, January 17

Chapter 24: Friday, January 22

Chapter 25: Saturday, January 23

Chapter 26: Wednesday, February 3

Glossary

Chapter 1

Monday, November 2

Today’s Horoscope: Pay attention; someone has exciting news to share.

Alex_aka_Gilbert: hey

LeahLouis: hey

Alex_aka_Gilbert: sup

LeahLouis: i saw The Hottie again

Alex_aka_Gilbert: noway

LeahLouis: yesway

Alex_aka_Gilbert: was he hot?

LeahLouis: smokin

Alex_aka_Gilbert: :-)

Alex_aka_Gilbert: did you finally

Alex_aka_Gilbert: meet him?

LeahLouis: no

Alex_aka_Gilbert: why?

LouisLeah: it happened too fast

Alex_aka_Gilbert: sorry

Alex_aka_Gilbert: did you see melinda’s outfit today?

LeahLouis: omg what was that?

Alex_aka_Gilbert: i have no idea

Alex_aka_Gilbert: g2g - homework

LeahLouis: ok, bye!

Sorry, you probably don’t have a clue what is going on. Gilbert is my best friend. Her name isn’t really Gilbert, it’s Alex (Alexandra to be more precise), but ever since sixth grade science class she has been Gilbert to me. Alex calls me Louis (pronounced Lewis) even though my real name is Leah. We named ourselves after the main characters in some classic movie we caught on TNT called Revenge of the Nerds, even though we are, like, way cooler.

The names Gilbert and Louis came about because we were working on Ms. Elston’s science project about a Mission to Mars. Totally lame, right? So we started to use these dorky names as we were writing up our report. Like, Gilbert, the weather here on Mars is totally uninhabitable for human life forms, or Louis, the iron oxide on Mars gives everything a reddish tint. You get the idea, but the names stuck. No one else calls us by these nicknames, and we only use them with one another in private. We have even created an adjective out of the names that we use when we are having an incredibly spazzy moment. Like when we were sitting next to the hot choir teacher, and I made Alex laugh so hard that the milk she was drinking came out of her nose, then we’d say, oh that was so gilbertandlouis.

Melinda’s outfit at school that day was truly heinous, trust me. And who is the mysterious Hottie you may wonder? Well, you are just going to have to wait to find out.

* * *

Leah! my mom calls from downstairs. Have you finished your homework?

I push back from the computer where, theoretically, I have been completing my science lab, but really I have been instant messaging with Gilbert, click on Away, and head downstairs. Ever since my parents got divorced my mother and I live together in a small two bedroom house. I am an only child so it is just the two of us now. I mean, I see my dad on the typical divorced parents’ schedule, once a week and every other weekend, but mostly it is just my mom and me. She is an artist—is that even a real profession? She has a studio that she rents in some guy’s guest house. She works there most days. She says she couldn’t possibly get any work done at home because the chi isn’t right. Whatever. She paints these big abstract pieces that she says have significant meaning but look a lot like oversized kindergarten finger painting. I think she has only sold two paintings in her entire life, probably because any five year-old can do it. She is always trying to get me to expose my creative side and gets excited whenever I doodle a flower or something. Between you and me, I have absolutely no talent for drawing.

I’m hungry so I head downstairs. One thing you should know about me, I am always hungry. One thing you should know about my mom, she is always on a diet.

Our house has two stories. My mom’s room, my room, and the TV room are upstairs. The kitchen, which is attached to the dining room, and living room, are downstairs. It’s not the biggest house, but it’s just right for the two of us. The only drag is that my mom and I have to share a bathroom. She is always leaving her wrinkle cream on the counter and drying her bras over the shower curtain. Totally TMI.

The good thing about having an artist mom is that she has given me artistic license when it comes to my room. I did choose pink as the wall color, of course, but the walls are covered with tear-outs from magazines of hot guys and girls in cool outfits. I was once inspired to paint some flowers on the wall, so in one corner there are some sorry looking daisies, but when I realized I couldn’t paint I put the brush down and moved my dresser in front of them.

The phone rings as I walk into the kitchen. My mom answers. Our kitchen is all retro-cool with a linoleum floor, a vintage stove, and black and white tiling on the walls. There are two stools at the center island and most of the time you can find one of us there. My mother is sitting there now talking on the phone. She always uses this incredibly annoying high-pitched voice when she talks to her friends. It makes me crazy.

Really. The Deutchmans? Into the old Bailey house. Are they German? Jewish? she asks.

I weed around in the refrigerator. Since my choices are cut carrots or cottage cheese, I decide to pass on both.

A son? How old? Fourteen? My ears perked up. Well that is interesting...

I stick around the kitchen pretending to continue on my quest for something to eat. I open the cabinet doors, find nothing edible, and bang them shut. My mom motions for me to quiet down. I want her to get off the phone and tell me the news, but she is going on and on about her new diet and her amazing Pilates teacher. I need to hear about this new fourteen year-old boy in our neighborhood, pronto. Yes, that is interesting.

My mom finally hangs up the phone. Can I fix you a snack, honey?

Mom, there is absolutely nothing to eat in this house.

Sure there is, she says as she opens the refrigerator door. Look, you can have some cottage cheese and carrots.

Argh.

I change the subject. So, who was that?

Oh, that was Mrs. Welk. She told me that a new family moved into the Baileys' place up the block.

Fascinating, I say in my most sarcastic manner, trying to hide my sincere interest. The Baileys' house is, like, the nicest on the block. It is a big brick number with a circular drive and one of those pools in the back where the water spills over the edge. The inside is equally exie. It has a huge landing halfway up the staircase, humongous bedrooms, and a swinging door into the kitchen. I know because I used to play with their daughter when I was in kindergarten.

I stand at the counter playing with the salt and pepper shakers. I am trying to shake the salt into the pepper and the pepper into the salt.

She goes on, just like I hoped, seems they have son about your age. He is fourteen.

Great, whatevs. Is he going to go to Piermont?

I go to Piermont Middle School. When I was born my parents moved us to the suburb of Piermont because the public school system is rated, like, in the top ten for the country or something. I am not sure what exactly they are talking about since my sixth grade math teacher would regularly fall asleep during class and the cafeteria totally sucks, but I guess the classes are small and the kids seem to follow the rules most of the time. It is not like you see on TV where we have to go through metal detectors or kids are bringing guns to school or anything, so I guess that is good. The kids are okay if you don’t mind being picked on or ignored on a regular basis—after all, it is middle school. It is totally lame, but whatever, having a hot new guy would improve the circumstances.

Stop it, she says, regarding the salt and pepper shakers. Doesn’t sound like it; I think he goes to boarding school.

Really? Some richy-rich boy who goes to a posh boarding school moved in up the street from me? Sweet. Still, I play it cool. I’m going to go to 7-Eleven to get some real food. Later.

Did you finish your homework? my mom asks.

Sure, I lie.

Don’t spoil your dinner, my mom says with a sly smile. She knows she has my attention.

* * *

As I walk out the door, I immediately call Gilbert. Her phone goes to voicemail. Her mom is so annoying about making her turn it off when she is doing her homework. Gilbert’s parents are really strict. Like her curfew is still nine o'clock at night on weekends and she isn’t allowed to go over to someone else’s house if their parents aren’t there, even though they leave her home alone with her brother all the time in the afternoon. Parents are so weird. Her mom and dad live together but her dad is always out of town on business or something. I think I have met him exactly twice in my whole life. Every time I see him he calls me Lola.

I send Gilbert a text: