“We never told anyone, but my mom visited a talent agent while we were in New York City,” Lana says. “She talked to me beforehand and we were prepared to move to the East Coast so she could pursue her theater dreams.”
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry her audition didn’t go well.”
“That’s the thing,” Lana says. “Her audition went amazing and it was going to be my mom’s big break. They loved her singing voice. But then the five of us had so much fun on that road trip that she decided she couldn’t bear to be away from her sisters. So we stayed in Fresno, and she never said anything.”
“Wow! I bet my mom and Aunt May would’ve convinced her to go,” I say. “But I would’ve been devastated if you’d left then.”
“I know,” Lana says. “Me too. It cost my mom her dream though, so I owe her.”
“You don’t—”
Lana cuts me off. “You should see her, Ricki.” She gives a wistful smile. “She gets so excited every time there’s some good news about sponsor interest or a major feature I got. It’s like it’s happening to her and she loves it.”
I point to Lana’s chest. “But is the pressure of this public life something you love? Is the stress even worth it to you?”
Instead of answering, Lana reaches over and cranks up the tunes.
I turn the volume back down and grip the steering wheel. “Lana, you don’t owe your life to your mom,” I say. “You have a right to make your own decisions.”
“That’s easy for you to say. It’s just the two of us, and this is the one thing that makes her happy.” She frowns. “And now we’re counting on my income to support us.”
“Well then, what are we going to do to protect you?” Lana doesn’t answer so I prod, “That panic attack you had back there? That was really scary. Do you understand how afraid I was for you?” I push down the emotion that’s rising in my throat.
“That was not a big deal,” she says. “Really, it was good that you were there—thanks. But my attacks have been worse.”
“Not a big deal? And worse than not being able to breathe?” I say. “Your Lookie Lana! glamorous life is obviously too much for you to handle.”
“Hey,” she says. “I’m an inspiration to thousands.” I picture her down on the ground at the drive-in, struggling to breathe.
“So, you’re just going to ignore the panic attacks that are being triggered by stress?” I say. “Like you don’t deserve to take care of yourself? Some inspiration.”
“I don’t need a lecture from you right now, Ricki.” She slides off her heels and puts her bare feet up on the dashboard. “It’s not as if you’re even a part of my life anymore.”
“Listen.” I rub the still-tight space in my own chest. “I’m sorry. Instead of allowing my hurt feelings of rejection to get in the way, I should’ve dug in deeper and figured out what was really going on with you. I should’ve recognized how much you were struggling.”
“Forget about it,” Lana says. Her voice is casual, but a glance shows me she’s squinting like she’s trying to hold back tears.
“I won’t forget about it,” I say. “Because I care about you. I never should’ve let you push me away in the first place, and I’m really sorry I haven’t been here for you. But I’m here now.”
“Yeah, you just want your body back is all.”
“That too.”
We both give a small snicker. And this time when Lana turns the tunes back up I leave the volume alone.
* * *
When we get to my house, my mother greets us at the door.
“Hi, girls,” she says, “I could hear the radio coming down the block. How’s the car?”
“The car’s amazing.” Lana is so over-the-top fake-enthusiastic, my mother tilts her head at her. I don’t usually smile with all my teeth showing.
“I’ve never seen Ricki this exuberant,” I say. “All that fresh air must be really going to her head.” I elbow Lana and she dials her phony grin down a notch.
Mom moves back to her comfy chair where Zelda is waiting, one delicate paw on the armrest. She sits, and Zelda immediately leaps onto her lap.
Mom says, “I know Nona’s old convertible used to get everyone’s blood pumping.”
“Hey, Aunt June,” I say, “remember that great road trip we all took to New York? Why didn’t we ever go on another one?”
“You mean just get in the car and drive across the country?” Mom pets Zelda. “We’re all busy. We have lives. It made more sense to sell the car and split the money.”
I say, “But we had so much fun together.”
“Sorry, Lana.” Mom picks up her book from the end table and opens it. “Real life can’t be all road trips and wild adventures.”
“I guess,” I say. “It’s just that, that was a really great trip.”
Mom doesn’t look up from her book and I head for my bedroom, then move aside and allow Lana to lead the way.
Once there, I reach for the backpack I keep on the top shelf of my closet. And . . . realize I’m way too short to reach it. I climb onto the pile of laundry on the floor and stretch and grunt as I jump for the bag.
Lana sits on the bed watching me. I stop and turn. “Do you mind giving me a hand?” I put my hands on my hips.
“Why would you store something so high?” she teases as she saunters over to me.
“Very funny,” I say. “How do you even function in the world being this short?”
“Why do you think I wear high heels all the time?” She easily reaches up and plucks the bag from the shelf. “Also, my closet has a little step stool.”
“Good strategy,” I say and start loading up the bag with horror special effects and supplies. “I’m not sure what I’m dressing up as tonight,” I say. “But I guess it depends on which body I’m inhabiting.”
Lana moves around the room, poking at masks. “Do you think our switch could have something to do with our moms and Aunt May growing apart too?” she asks. “I mean, your mom just acted like that road trip was a total waste of time.”
“I don’t know,” I say as I leaf through a stack of assorted scars and gashes. “The three of them argue with each other, but I think they’re still pretty close.”
“Yeah.” Lana picks up a Styrofoam head wearing a latex Frankenstein mask. “But they’re not really there for each other now, are they?”
I think of Aunt April hiding the fact she got fired. “I guess you’re right.” I’m scooping bottles of fake blood into the front pocket of my backpack. “Grab a few wigs for me, would you?”
“I thought the theme is supposed to be dressing up like your favorite movie character,” Lana says.
“Right. I just can’t decide which horror movie character is my favorite,” I say.
I turn toward her and startle at the unexpected sight of her wearing the Frankenstein mask.
I laugh and call out, “It’s ALIVE!”
Lana stretches her arms straight ahead and takes a few stiff-kneed steps toward me. I fake a scream and pretend to be terrified.
The door swings open and surprises me so much I actually do scream. Which makes Lana start screaming inside the mask.
My mom stands at the doorway with a swath of pink material in her hand, looking back and forth between us. I help Lana pull the mask off her head and put an arm around her shoulder.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you girls.” Mom holds up a sundress that’s the same cotton-candy pink as the Skylark. “I just remembered I got this cute dress for Lana a while ago and forgot it in the back of my closet.”
“My signature color,” Lana says with a happy squeal, which sounds like a joke since I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing pink. Unless I was maybe dressing up to look like an undead baby doll or a zombie prom queen. So I guess, technically, I would only be caught dead wearing pink.
“Very funny, Ricki,” I say. “That’s my signature color.”
“Try it on!” Lana is way too excited. “It’ll be perfect for Digifest tonight.�
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“It’s really going to pop on you, Lana,” Mom says.
“Thanks, Aunt June,” I say. “I can hardly wait to try it on. Oh, and do you mind if we borrow Zelda for a few hours?”
“Sure, Lana,” Mom says. “My book group ladies certainly won’t miss her. They are not fans.” Zelda has bitten every member of Mom’s book group. Mom asks, “Do you need her pink purse carrier?”
I raise my Lana voice, punch my wrists into the air, and say, “A pink purse carrier. Yay.”
Mom bends down to pick up the dog at her feet. Holding the Chihuahua close to her face, she asks her, “Zelda? Sweetums, want to go for a wittle ride?”
Zelda’s tail wags violently, and she gives my mother’s nose a lick.
“She’s going to love the convertible,” Mom says. “Where are you taking her?”
“Just to the drive-in to hunt for mice,” Lana says.
I say, “We saw one inside the concession shack and need to clear the area fast before the reopening tonight.”
“Wow.” Mom laughs. “A car ride and rodent murder? Zelda will be in her glory. Let me go get her things.”
With that, Mom hands the Chihuahua to me.
I’m startled into taking the dog and Zelda bares her tiny razor-sharp teeth at me. The deep growl that emits from the belly of the three-pound Chihuahua sounds like it could be coming from the Babadook.
I scream in terror and hot potato the little dog to Lana. Evil Z goes back to being calm as she starts licking Lana’s face. Which is my face, of course.
“What is going on?” Mom says from the doorway. “Why is Zelda suddenly so in love with you, Ricki?”
I think fast. “I just lent Ricki some of my perfume,” I say. “But let’s get Z contained before she realizes Ricki isn’t me.”
Charging at Lana, I use the open backpack filled with horror supplies to scoop the Chihuahua from her arms and zipper it closed as the dog takes snarling snaps at my fingers.
“That’s odd,” Mom says. “Sweet little Z normally loves you, Lana.”
“Sweet. Right. But see, I’m wearing Ricki’s perfume too.” I hold the growling bag at arm’s length, away from my body.
Mom walks over and takes the bag. She unzips it without breaking eye contact with me and pulls out her Chihuahua. She gives Evil Z a quick nuzzle and glances at Lana. “I’m starting to think you two are up to funny business and I should maybe confiscate the Skylark . . .”
“Everything’s good, Aunt June, we promise,” I say. “And I’m sure Z Dawg will be fine once she’s inside her little purse.”
“It will even match,” Lana says with enthusiasm as she takes the pink sundress and holds it up to my front.
Lana is brilliant because Mom is distracted by the cute pink dress and even whispers a mild, “Nice.”
I give a huge, open-mouthed grin and pose with the dress while making jazz hands.
Mom sighs. “I’ll bring Zelda with me to get her things.” She walks away with the dog tucked under one arm.
As she moves down the hallway we can hear her high-pitched voice talking to Zelda. “I don’t know what’s going on with them,” she says sweetly. “But I guess it’s nice they’re getting awong.”
Lana grins and holds out the pink dress. “This dress is so me,” she says. “I can’t wait to see it on.”
“There is no way I’m wearing that dress,” I say.
“But it’s so perfect. And you need to stop walking around in the wrinkled romper we slept in.” She gives me a Ricki Pout™, but I am unmoved.
“You may be the fashionista here, but it doesn’t give you the right to dress both of us.” I point to the semi-elegant dress she’s still wearing. “You get to dress that body how you want, I’ll dress this one the way I want.”
“I’ll change,” she offers. “I’ll put on jeans and a flannel or whatever you’re about. That way you won’t be stuck wearing this dress if and when we switch back.”
She does make a point. I snatch the pink dress from her hands. “Fine, but you’re wearing the softest, most comfortable pair of jeans I own.”
Lana makes a face as if comfortable jeans are gross, but once we’re both dressed she has to admit my soft jeans do feel great. Admiring them in the mirror she says, “These are actually kind of cute. But I’m pegging the cuffs and keeping the Prada heels on.”
She combs out my hair, complaining about the knots from the convertible, and motions for me to spin around in the dress. I grudgingly do a turn, and Mom comes back just in time to join Lana in applauding my half-hearted modeling.
I curtsey sarcastically.
“It will be perfect for Digifest,” Mom says.
“We really need to get going,” I say to Lana. “We don’t want that mouse problem to get any worse.”
Mom hands the pink dog purse with Zelda inside to me and the Chihuahua immediately begins to snarl and bite at the mesh sides of the carrier. Clearly trying to break out so she can gnaw through my carotid artery.
“I really used a lot of Ricki’s perfume,” I explain as the carrier jerks so hard I nearly drop it. “Bye, Aunt June, wish us luck!”
Lana grabs the backpack filled with horror supplies and chases after me.
“Wait.” Mom follows us. “Are you sure Zelda is going to be okay with you?” She addresses the carrier with a high-pitched, “She’s my itty-bitty, precious girl.”
With murder in her heart. “Don’t worry,” I say. “Zelda is going to have so much fun.”
I’m already out on the porch when Lana turns back and says, “Bye, Mom. See you at the grand reopening tonight.”
Mom says, “You know I have my book group tonight.” She holds up the book she’s only halfway through.
I say, “Well, if you don’t finish the book in time, bring Uncle Eddie on a date to the Starlight.” Running down the porch steps, I call back, “Movie magic starts at eight fifteen!”
“Bye, Mom,” Lana blows her a kiss and follows me to the back end of the convertible. I open the trunk with the key and she neatly tosses my backpack inside.
Standing there holding the snarling purse, I debate for a moment as I look down into the open trunk—like I’m posing for a POV shot in a Quentin Tarantino movie.
Lana gasps. “You’re not really thinking of making Zelda ride in the trunk.”
She grabs the bag from me and the growling dog instantly goes silent. Lana nods her head toward the front door and I realize my mom is still watching us from the porch. Whoops. I wasn’t really going to put Evil Z in the trunk, only picturing what that might feel like.
I give a big, phony smile and wave to my mom as I slam the trunk shut with just my backpack inside. Walking casually to the driver’s side, I jump in and quickly start the Skylark’s engine. Lana climbs into the passenger seat and unzips the bag enough so Zelda can pop her little apple Chihuahua head out.
Mom crosses her arms as I rev the engine and Evil Z surprises us all with a glad little yap.
“See,” Lana calls out, “Zelda loves the Skylark too!”
Mom finally smiles, and as I pull away she even yells after us, “Enjoy the mouse massacre, sweetie.”
I look at the Chihuahua, her face turned upward, ears flapping in the wind. She really can be sort of adorable. In a cutesy, high-pitched voice I say, “Who’s weady to go on a wittle kwilling spree?”
Zelda raises half her lip to show me her fangs and gives me another deep Babadook growl.
I quickly break eye contact and step on the gas until the wind inside the car nearly blows Evil Z into the back seat.
Lana puts her arm around the pup to block the wind while consoling her.
“Be nice, Ricki,” she says. “This little dog is about to save your drive-in’s butt.”
“She’s the one growling at me,” I insist. “I wish I knew why she hates me so much.”
“It’s your fear of rejection,” Lana says matter-of-factly. “She can sense it and she finds it off-putting.”
“You
think my mom’s Chihuahua is a Mean Girl?” I say. “I think you’re giving her too much credit.”
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” Lana says. “Not everyone is going to appreciate you, Ricki. Get over it. Zelda will like you more when you stop worrying about her liking you.”
“Fine,” I say, “but you can’t rule out the possibility that she’s been privately plotting to terminate me to get my mom all to herself.”
“Well, let’s just hope she terminates that mouse in the concession shack when we get back,” Lana says. “And any buddies he may have with him.”
I laugh. “The Attack of the Killer Chihuahua.” I raise my voice again and say, “Are you ready, wittle kwiller?”
This time Zelda just closes her eyes and lets her teensy tongue hang out as we speed down the highway toward the Starlight.
* * *
When we arrive at the drive-in, there’s nobody in sight and Erik’s vintage Audi is gone.
I neatly pull the pink Skylark beside Wes’s Wrangler. “Wes must be inside.”
“I wonder where Erik could’ve gone,” Lana says as she zippers the Chihuahua back inside her carrier and steps out of the car. “He was supposed to stay and help Wes get things together for tonight.”
“Hopefully he’s not planning some major prank,” I say. “We were only gone a half hour.”
“That’s plenty of time to plan something,” Lana says. “And by the way, that dress seriously does look spectacular on me.”
“Um, thanks?” I lead the way to the back door of the concession shack, but when I reach for the handle to pull it open, Lana lunges forward to grab my hand.
“Watch out!” she says. “Every doorway could be booby-trapped.”
“Great,” I say. “Like things weren’t already stressful enough.”
Slowly, I wrap one arm around my head and reach out to pull the door open at arm’s length.
Nothing happens.
With a sigh of relief, Lana and I move inside the concession area. I walk across the room to turn on the lights as she sets the pink dog carrier on the snack counter.
“Do you really think Erik could’ve been working on a prank this whole time?” I say. “Doesn’t he have more important things to do? I mean, he’s a famous BubeTuber.”
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