by Alyson Noel
And you know what? I’m starting to get a little tired of her attitude. I’m also starting to feel a little more confident than I did twenty minutes ago. So I say, “What about Drew? You said he was bugging you to commit.”
Kayla and Jen Jen look at her in shock. “Is that true?” they ask.
But she ignores them.
Then right as I slam my locker shut I go, “Well, if all else fails, I heard JC is available.”
She glares at me, but I walk right past her and head to class.
Twenty-seven
After school I was really looking forward to another “driving lesson” with Tyler, but he was busy with practice so I hopped a ride with Kayla and Jen Jen. We were hanging out upstairs in my room when my mom came home.
“Hi, girls!” she says, barging in after one, barely audible, warning knock.
“Hey, Mrs. Jones!” they say, acting all happy to see her. Which makes me wonder if they really are.
“Where’s Kristi?” she asks, actually looking concerned.
We all just kind of look at one another and shrug, since up until now we didn’t really notice she was missing. And it’s weird how Kristi used to be like the sun and we all rotated around her. But now it’s like she’s starting to burn out, and we just don’t gravitate to her like we used to.
“Did Rio tell you about my Gap ad?” my mom asks, dropping her shopping bags, and making herself comfortable on my bed.
“Oh, my god, really?” Kayla says, like she’s eager to hear more. “It’s not your Gap ad,” I say, rolling my eyes for emphasis. “There’s gonna be other models in it, too.”
My mom shoots me a look, and continues, “They’re using a group of former big names for the fall ad, and I’m flying to New York in a couple weeks for the shoot! It’s going to be so fun, just like a reunion!”
I’m studying the intricate weave of my duvet, patiently waiting for this to end. But my friends must look impressed because she goes, “Hey, you girls have great taste. Maybe you can help me decide on a color for the upstairs guest bathroom.” She reaches into one of her shopping bags and pulls out like twenty swatches of different shades of ecru, which is just a fancy word for beige.
“I thought you already finished that room,” I say, wishing she’d vacate immediately and leave us alone.
“Yeah, but I’m just not thrilled with it. It lacks something.” She shakes her head.
“Like restraint?” I give her a cold look that she ignores.
“Come on, tell me what you think,” she says, clutching the swatches, and motioning for my friends (but not me!) to follow. And as they’re heading down the hall I hear her say, “Right now it has a sort of eco look, but it seems kind of blah. So I was thinking Paris! You know, can-can girls, Moulin Rouge—did you see that movie?”
And I’m left, sitting in the middle of my bed, bitter and alone, because my mom is a total friend-poacher.
By eleven o’clock, I’m totally exhausted, and that’s just from the constant telephone calls, e-mails, and instant messages that I’m obligated to partake in every night, with all the same people that I hung with all day at school, and for most of the time after.
And it was weird because at one point when all of us were on a conference call, Kristi asked what happened to us after school, and Kayla lied and said she had to go to the dentist, and Jen Jen said she was at her doctor’s, so I said I was helping my mom choose a color for the upstairs guest bathroom.
And Kristi just said, “Oh.”
Then my cell phone rang, and I was all exited thinking it was Tyler, since he said he’d call. So I try to make my voice sound all low and sexy when I go, “Hello?”
But it was just Paige. “Hey, Rio. God, we haven’t talked forever.”
“I know,” I said, trying to sound like I cared even though I was looking in the mirror and rolling my eyes.
“So how’ve you been?” she asked.
“Perfect. But I’m so busy. Can I call you back?”
“Oh, okay. If I’m not home, try me on my cell ‘cause I might—”
“I’m sure I’ll find you,” I said, cutting her off and hanging up. I mean, just because I haven’t talked to her forever, doesn’t mean I wanted to talk to her then.
But now it’s getting late, and Tyler still hasn’t called, and I still haven’t picked out an outfit for tomorrow, not to mention the homework I haven’t touched all week. It’s like there’s just not enough time in the day to fit it all in, and it makes me wonder how other people do it. People who have jobs and stuff like Mason. But then again Mason doesn’t really have a ton of friends like I do, and it’s not like she has to keep a log of what she wears from week to week so that she doesn’t repeat. I mean, all she cares about is getting into art school, that’s her entire focus. I guess it used to be mine, too, but now it doesn’t even make the list.
I sit on the edge of my bed, debating whether or not I should do just the tiniest hit of the coke that was left over from my birthday. I mean, just enough to keep me up for one more hour, so I can put an outfit together, and maybe start my paper for English. But it’s probably not a good idea, because even though I’m not an addict (‘cause I’ve only done it that one other time), getting high alone is a bad sign. So I decide on a power nap instead. Just ten short minutes and then I’ll wake up and tackle everything. I swear.
When my cell rings at midnight I’m thinking it’s my alarm, and I keep hitting it, over and over again, trying to locate the snooze button. And by the time I figure it out, it’s just about to go into voice mail. I grab it and go, “Hello?” My voice is all groggy and messed-up sounding.
“Did I wake you?”
Ohmygod, it’s Tyler! “Um, that’s okay,” I say, even though he didn’t apologize.
Then I start to clear my throat just as he says, “You sound really sexy. I wish I was there.”
“Oh,” I say, quickly trying to recapture that groggy sound, but it’s too late since I already coughed.
“Listen, I won’t keep you. Go back to sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I say, even though I’m wide-awake now.
So I turn off my phone and reach all the way into the back of my nightstand drawer where I’ve stashed that little vial of coke. I know I just went on and on about getting high alone, but really, it’s not like I’m an addict.
I pull the drawer all the way out but I still can’t find it, so I dump the contents on the ground. And after sifting through travel-sized bottles of lotion, ballpoint pens, a pot of Smith’s Rosebud Salve, and some random tissues that look like they’ve been used (gross), I still can’t find it. And then I remember how Kristi finished it last time she was here. And even though I’m pretty wide-awake now and could probably make it without the extra boost, the fact is I kinda want some.
So I call Kristi.
“Hey,” she says.
“Did I wake you?”
“No, what’s up?”
“I was wondering if you had anything.”
“Do you want me to come by?”
“If you don’t mind.”
I sneak downstairs and enter the code for the gate so she can just drive in without waking anyone. And as she pulls into the driveway, she cuts the engine, and turns off her lights. Then we tiptoe upstairs to my room.
She flops on the end of my bed and empties her purse. “Here,” she says, handing it over.
I busy myself getting it all laid out, like I’ve seen her do. Then I slide it toward her so she can go first.
“You go. I’m good for now.”
So I lean down and inhale deeply until the surface is entirely clean. And when I come back up I see her watching me with this strange expression on her face.
“Sorry I got a little bitchy with you today,” I say, rubbing my nose. “I know you didn’t say anything to JC.” Okay, it’s not like I truly believe that, but I feel like I have to say something nice since she came all the way over here.
“Whatever.” She shr
ugs. “So what’s this all about?”
“It’s just that I have so much to do still, and I’ll never get it all done if I sleep,” I say, lining up some more so she can have some too.
But when I pass it to her, she just shakes her head again. “No, thanks. I should get going.” She gets up and heads for the door.
“How much do I owe you?” I ask, leaning down for some more.
“Nothing,” she says. “Believe me, it’s my pleasure.”
When I sit up I catch a glimpse of her face right before she turns to walk out the door. And there’s something about her expression, something so happy, it makes me regret calling her.
Twenty-eight
When I get to school I’m still headlining, but this time it’s all good. It’s like, now that everyone knows I’m going to the Moondance with Tyler, all of my earlier skankiness seems to be forgiven (if not forgotten).
In English I got, like, five different text messages from different people, asking me if it was true about Tyler and me. Then the second Mrs. Abbott left the room, all these girls ran over to my desk and were asking if I bought my dress and stuff. And every time I looked at Kristi, she was sitting there with her lips pressed all tight together, glaring at me.
So then this girl who sits behind us asked her who she’s going with, and get this, Kristi said, “I haven’t decided yet.”
Like she has so many guys to choose from. But when she looked at me, I didn’t say anything. I just rolled my eyes and kept talking about dresses.
Later on, during the ten-minute break, I was in one of the bathroom stalls when I overheard these two girls talking about Kristi. According to them, she totally freaked in the locker room when she heard Drew was going to the dance with some sophomore girl who isn’t even a cheerleader.
“She took off her shoe and flung it across the room! It barely missed my head,” said unidentified voice number one.
“What’d you do?” asked voice number two.
“Nothing, but you should have seen her! She looked like she was gonna explode!”
I don’t flush. I just stand there very still, listening.
“She is so over. She cant even get a date. Rio gets all the hot guys because she’s way prettier, and Kristi can’t handle it.”
When I’m positive they’ve left, I vacate the stall. And while washing my hands I stare at my reflection in the mirror and I can’t believe how everything has changed so much that I’m actually more popular than Kristi now.
No wonder she’s been acting like such a bitch.
After school I go shopping with my mom, and when I asked if Kayla and Jen Jen could come, she said, “If you don’t mind, I’d rather it be just us.”
That really blew me away. I mean, she usually loves hanging with my friends, but I guess she’s looking forward to some kind of mother-daughter bonding session. Which I know is supposed to make me feel all nice and happy, but it’s actually kind of disturbing.
Though I have to admit, it’s not as bad spending time with her now that we have more in common. I mean, before when I was all into photography she could never understand how someone would prefer to take the picture when they supposedly had such great potential to be the picture. But now that I’m all into clothes, and dating, and stuff, we have a lot more to talk about since those are the things that interest her.
So this morning when I was drinking my coffee before school she said, “So how’s JC? He never comes by anymore.”
“We broke up.” I shrugged.
And then she got all emotional, like she was gonna jump up and hug me or something. So I quickly moved away, went over to the coffeemaker, and refilled my mug.
Then she said, “Honey, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
And I said, “Mom, I’m fine. It’s no big deal. Besides I’m dating someone else now.”
Her eyes lit up. “You are?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?” she asked, like she just might possibly know him.
“His name is Tyler, and he’s the hottest guy in school. And we’re going to the Moondance.”
“We have to go shopping!” she said.
And that’s how I ended up in dressing room number three, in the Nordstrom Savvy department. I’m standing in front of the three-way mirror in like the hundredth dress in two different malls, when I go, “Mom, I’m starving, can we please get something to eat?”
She’s standing behind me with her mouth all twisted in heavy contemplation, while her hands are busy pulling, tucking, and imaginary hemming.
“If we have this taken in just a smidgen, right here, it will be perfect,” she says.
“That’s what you said about the others.” I roll my eyes and wonder if she’ll feel guilty when I’ve fainted from hunger.
“Let’s get this one, too, take them all home, and try them on with different shoes and purses.”
“Mom, you already bought me three beautiful dresses,” I whine, wondering if extreme hunger causes insanity since I must be crazy to actually complain about that.
“So, we can return them or keep them, it really doesn’t matter. What does matter is that you look perfect, and have the best night ever!”
I look at our reflection from all three angles, and in each one I can see how happy this is making her.
So I give in. I let her buy me the fourth dress.
Afterward, we stop at this cute little restaurant that’s situated halfway between the mall and home. And I’m so hungry by this point I practically maul the bread basket like the second we get to our table.
I’ve grabbed a generous slice, thoroughly slathered it in butter, and am just about to take one big, dreamy bite when my mom goes, “Do you really think you should eat that?”
I lock eyes with her. “Yes, I really think I should.” And then I bite off a huge chunk, much bigger than I normally would, just to annoy her.
While I’m busy trying to break down this massive piece of bread Jas’s father walks up and says, “Rio! I thought that was you!”
I slap my hand over my mouth, and I’m nodding, and working my molars like crazy, and when I finally gulp the bread down I go, “Hi, Mr. Klein. This is my mom.” And I point at my mother who is smiling so brightly you’d never guess that just a moment ago she was staring at me with complete and total disgust.
“Hi,” she says, “I’m Jahne Jones.” And as she’s shaking his hand she’s smiling in anticipation of the response of someone hearing her name for the first time in a long time: Did you say, Jahne Jones? The Jahne Jones former almost-supermodel?
But it doesn’t come. So her smile grows tighter.
“Rio, how come you never come by anymore?” he asks.
“Oh, um, I guess—” I’m just about to make up some lame excuse when Jas walks up.
“Rio’s being kept pretty busy these days.” He looks at me.
Those are the first words he’s spoken to me since that awful fight, and I can’t even tell if his smile is genuine. I feel so awkward and embarrassed that I don’t know what to do, so I just look at my mom, hoping she’ll say something to smooth this over. But she just sits there, with her smile pulled all tight across her face.
“Well, don’t be such a stranger,” Mr. Klein says. “Come by anytime.” Then he turns to my mom and goes, “I remember you now!”
And just like that, she’s all lit up again.
“You and your husband attended the Back Bay Benefit last month. Griffin, right? He outbid me on that Montage Resort weekend package.” He laughs. “All for a good cause though. Give him my best, will ya?”
My mother just nods.
“Well, I’m gonna leave you with Jas, but let me know if you need anything else,” he says, before heading back into the kitchen.
Jas just stands there, and we’re both looking at each other, but neither of us says anything, and it’s getting pretty uncomfortable, so my mom goes, “Do you think we could get some water?”
And he goes, “Oh, sure. I’ll have someone brin
g it right over.”
I wipe my sweaty palms on the napkin in my lap, and when he’s gone, my mother says, “Well, do they both work here?”
I roll my eyes. “Mom, Mr. Klein owns this restaurant, and several others.”
“Why’d we come here?” she whispers, fake-smiling at the busboy as he sets our water glasses on the table.
“You chose it,” I say, picking up the menu.
“Well, I’m certainly glad you’re not hanging with that Jas character anymore.” She looks around the dining room with complete disdain, even though it’s actually really nice.
“Mom, stop. You don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s not so bad. Now can we please just order?”
“Fine,” she says, picking up her menu. “But if I were you, I’d stick with the salad after that loaf of bread you just ate.”
I don’t respond to that. Just like I rarely respond when Kristi does that to me.
But when our waitress comes to take our order, I make sure I ask for pasta with extra sauce.
After she clears our plates, the waitress comes back with two small bowls of creme brulee that she places in front of us. “Excuse me, we did not order this.” My mom points at the dessert like it’s a big, smelly bowl of dog shit.
“Jas made it,” she says. “He wanted you to try it.”
“Oh, how nice.” She fake-smiles and lifts her spoon like she’s actually going to eat some. But the second the waitress leaves she drops the spoon on the white tablecloth, looks at me, and goes, “You’re not going to eat that, are you?”
“Mom, lay off,” I say, tapping on the caramelized sugar, until it breaks through to the creamy good stuff below.
“That boy is trying to sabotage you,” she whispers.
“You think he poisoned it?” I ask, spooning it into my mouth and swallowing.
“Worse, he’s trying to make you fat.” She nods, having totally convinced herself.
“Why would he bother?”
“Trust me,” she says, still nodding, but offering no further evidence.