by A. E. Snow
At some point, I fell asleep, and when I woke, it was mid-afternoon.
Through the window, I saw cars winding up and down the hill just outside the house. I’d spent a lot of time staring out the window. I’d always been a good avoider but since “the incident,” I’d become a champion. My anxiety had gotten the best of me and I’d developed a way of life that carefully avoided almost everything that made me nervous . . . except high school. I hadn’t figured out how to avoid high school yet.
The houses were all old and lots of them had been remodeled. I guess it was a pretty nice neighborhood. We lived on Rose Street, and our house was one of the newer ones. I’d only ever lived in this house and I’d known all the neighbors my whole life.
I petted Hank. Purring loudly, he leaned his head over and chewed on my toe. A moving truck pulled up to the house across the street. There had been a string of renters there for years, but no one had stayed for very long. Apparently, the owner rented it to artists or musicians to give them a place to work. Sometimes a band would rent the house and record an album there. Legend had it, the old Spanish-style was once home to Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix hung out there. I haven’t been inside in years. I used to be good friends with the girl that lived there.
I sat up straighter and watched. The movers slid the metal door open and began unloading boxes and furniture, most of which looked uncomfortable and modern, kind of the opposite of the house. I watched them for a long time, chewing on my fingernails and wondering who the new neighbors might be.
A big black SUV parked in front of the house. A man opened the driver’s side door and unfolded himself. He was very tall and wore glasses. From the passenger side stepped a tall, willowy girl with wavy, blondish hair dressed in skinny jeans, sandals, and loose layered tank tops. She stood with her hands on her hips and looked up and down the street.
“Wow. Who is she?” I wondered.
I forgot about the new neighbors and got back to wallowing. I heard my mother whispering on the phone about me to my father and sister as the days dragged by and I didn’t leave the house. I kept up my vigilant watch over her email, just in case someone from HSA reached out about me. It was inevitable that at some point I’d have to deal with it. I just wanted to avoid it as long as possible.
I’d fallen asleep watching TV again. I woke up and the morning sun streamed in through the window. I yawned and stretched like a cat. I stayed there for a while, but didn’t make any effort to get out of bed. Finally, I swung my feet out of the bed and onto the cool wood floor. I was not a slipper wearer because I could never keep up with slippers, but I immediately reached for my bra.
Part of being a curvy girl, and I really hated that term, was the big boobs that often come with it. I’ve been having a hate/hate relationship with mine for a few years. They just appeared one morning and kept getting bigger.
Before I made it any farther than sitting on the edge of the bed, my mother banged twice on the door and burst in before I could utter a single word. I always knew it was her because she knocked like she was the police.
“Meadow! Why are you still asleep?” she bellowed and burst into the room while typing something frantically on her cell phone.
“I’m not asleep,” I muttered, but she wasn’t listening and kept yelling.
“Everything is going wrong! The caterers are not here and half the neighborhood never got invitations and are pissed—”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Meadow! The party!” Mom raised her head from her cell phone and stared, her green eyes wide.
“Oh, right . . . the party,” I said and remembered that the party I’d been dreading had arrived. “Why should the caterers be here already?”
Mom ignored my question. “Please don’t tell me you forgot about the fundraiser I have every year for HSA?”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember.” I stood and shuffled to my closet while I twisted my hair up into a knot until I could deal with it. Panic that tasted a lot like puke rose up in my throat and I swallowed hard and tried to remember to breathe.
“Well, I hope you remembered that you have to go. You also have to look presentable so I bought you two new dresses, surely one of them will do. Now get moving, I need you to help me with a few things.” The door banged shut and Mom was gone.
With a heavy sigh, I changed from my tank top and sweats into a tank top and jeans. I absolutely didn’t want to help get ready for the party. I’d planned on hiding all day. There was a much gentler knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called.
“Hi, sis,” Twist, my beautiful sister, said and let herself in. Twist, short for Beatrice, is an artist. Legend had it that I’d given her the nickname when I was little because I couldn’t say Beatrice. Twist was an artist and her first art show was scheduled to open at our mother’s gallery in a matter of weeks.
Twist was basically my best friend, and probably my only friend, since I hadn’t spoken to Emilia or anyone else since school ended. I totally looked up to her. She’s talented, smart, funny, and cool. More than once, people have said to me, “She’s your sister?” and sounded amazed. Ugh. Yes. Our freckles are where our similarities stop. Slim and small with strawberry-blond hair, she looked like a sophisticated Gidget. She could pull off a bouffant better than anyone I knew, except Adele, but I didn’t know her personally.
“Hi,” I said. “Be right back. I need some food.”
I opened my bedroom door slowly and peered down the hall. The commotion had already started and it was only 11am. I tiptoed to the kitchen, hoping Mom wouldn’t spot me. The house was crowded. The caterer had arrived and was shouting at her assistant, the florist arranged flowers at the huge, round kitchen table and some guys moved our living room furniture out of the way. Mom was nowhere in sight.
I searched the cabinets for some cereal. Cereal was not something my mother agreed with, but in an effort to keep the sulky teenager happy, she allowed it in the house. Every single time I ate it, she gave me a speech about how it was a “dead” food.
Our house had been built by my grandfather. He’d built it himself with the help of some of his students long before I was born. The main area of the house was just a huge open space, all white with floors made of dark, reclaimed wood salvaged from old barns. Behind the kitchen was the living room, which contained a fire place, a piano, and big white overstuffed couches and chairs. Granddad’s clay-colored sculptures were all over the place. A wall of windows faced the pool. More of his statues surrounded the pool.
The bedrooms were like little pods off the main area. Mine was the biggest because I used to share it with Twist. We also used to share a bathroom and what used to be a playroom with a sleeping loft. Right off my bedroom is a walk-in closet full of clothes I hated and a few things I actually wore. Mom was always telling me how great I’d look if I dressed like her, in all white and black. Tunics, leggings, long dresses, heavy on the linen, and big chunky jewelry. She could pull it off easily, but I didn’t want to dress like a woman in her 40’s. Not that I had much style of my own.
I tiptoed back to my room stealthily so that no one would notice me and try to make me do anything. I balanced my bowl on my Twist stood frowning at my closet dressed to the nines in a bright blue swing dress with white tights and yellow buckle shoes. Her hair was very tall in a big updo.
“Is that what you are wearing tonight?” I asked.
“No, I brought a bag,” she said.
I shook my head. Honestly, if that was every day wear then she really made me look bad.
“Where’s Ma?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Haven’t seen her since she came bursting into my room to wake me up.”
“Is she . . .?” Twist let the question trail off.
“Yup,” I answered. She wanted to know how wound up Mom was. “
This close to a party? She’s off her rocker!”
“I can’t deal with that right now,” Twist said. “She told me she went shopping for you. What did she buy? All I see are sweatpants.”
I handed her the bag. “I was saving it for you. But don’t get too excited. It’s probably fit for a grandma.”
Twist not only found our mother’s choices hilarious, but always found a way to make something work. A true artist. Really she should have been a fashion designer instead of a painter. She unfolded the dresses and spread them on the bed while I ate cereal and waited.
I am not a skinny girl. I’m not exactly the type to show up on The Biggest Loser either. I’m just “voluptuous,” as my mother says. When she says that, I want to stab pencils into my ears until I can no longer hear her say crap like that. No one wants to hear their mom talking about how curvy and voluptuous they are. Yuck.
I’m also tall. Taller and larger than my mom and my sister. So I get to go through life feeling like the gentle giant of the family. Cool. Not only were they lovely and delicate like little violets, they were both highly creative, fun, intelligent, and artistic. So artistic that they were, in fact, artists. Unlike me, apparently. Meanwhile, I’m an Amazon who has to wear a bra to bed.
I finished my cereal, tipped back the bowl, and slurped the milk at the exact moment that Twist emerged from behind the closet door.
“Don’t slurp.” She rolled her eyes. “Come on. Try some of this stuff on.” She thrust a dress into my arms.
I groaned as I trudged to the closet. Stepping inside, I shut the door and pulled on the first dress.
When I emerged, Twist stifled a laugh. “I don’t think there is anything we can do with that at all.”
“I didn’t think so.” The white cotton dress featured eyelet lace and looked ridiculous on someone as tall and awkward as me. A dress like that would have looked great on Twist because she was so petite. I just looked like an absurd oversized baby doll.
“Put the blue one on.”
I stepped back into my walk-in closet and changed into a navy blue dress. It had an empire waist and pockets, but was boring.
“I don’t know, T,” I said, stepping back out.
“Yes, that will be fine,” she said.
I looked down warily at the dress.
Twist nodded with enthusiasm. “I’ll do your hair later.”
She went to help Mom and I went back to studying the neighbors. They hadn’t surfaced much on my watch, but I thought maybe the blond girl looked familiar. I was way too shy to just walk up to the front door and introduce myself. That was something Emilia would have done, but not me.
There were only a few short hours until I’d have to see Emilia again. I wracked my brain for ways to get out of the party, but I knew there was no way. I’d have to die before the guests arrived.
Chapter 2
At some point, after spending a good portion of the day hiding all of my personal things into the closet, moving furniture, and avoiding Mom, I fell asleep. When I woke up¸ it was almost time for the party. Twist slept on the bed next to me. Her hair was slightly rumpled, but only slightly. She had the gift of sleeping perfectly still. She literally didn’t move an inch and her bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in at all when she woke up in the morning.
Hank purred right next to my face. He was named after Charles Bukowski whose characters were based on himself, and named Hank. My mom hated Bukowski, she said he was vulgar. I thought that was what made him awesome. He was not afraid of writing or saying anything. For someone like me, that was incredibly thrilling. I was afraid to order what I really wanted at a restaurant.
My phone rang, it was my dad. My parents had been divorced since I was five.
I silenced my phone. I didn’t want Dad to wake Twist up. My dad wasn’t her actual father, but she had been a kid when he and mom were together. She was probably closer to my dad than her own father. He was an actor that lived in New York. A struggling actor, I should say. He was no closer to Broadway than I was.
Mom had been 19 when she’d met Twist’s dad, Andy. They didn’t get married and broke up before Twist was born. She moved back to California from NYC where she was studying and moved in with Granddad. She, and we, lived with him until he died.
I tapped Twist’s arm. “Wake up.”
Her eyes popped open. “I gotta change.” She went off to the bathroom where she would change into something even more adorable and awesome. I changed from jeans to the blue dress. Twist did what she could with my hair and makeup but when I looked in the mirror, I still felt pretty blah.
When the party started, Mom dragged me out into the living room. I stood in the corner, halfway hidden behind the gauzy white drapes that covered the hallway leading to Mom’s room. A few people wandering around looking at the art hanging on the walls. Our house is basically a huge gallery space and mom always hung student art for the fundraiser. HSA was not just a visual arts school, but visual arts were Mom’s thing. She was a painter and sculptor just like my grandfather and my sister, but hadn’t painted much in a long time and spent most of her time running her gallery. I couldn’t help but observe that only one of my paintings made the cut. Ouch.
So far, I didn’t know any of the people that were wandering through our house. Must be alumni, I thought. I was really nervous about seeing people I actually knew.
Emilia was definitely coming. As part of the showcase of student talent, the music students were singing or playing. Since Emilia was arguably the best singer in school, she was slated to be a featured performer. Great.
My mom swept around the room, glamorous in her black, sparkly dress. There would be a lot of black in this room before the night was over. That was the only color anyone ever wore to these things.
The jazz band began playing. All of a sudden there were a lot more people. I slipped even farther behind the curtain watching for Mr. Egan and Emilia.
Twist stopped by to visit. “Knock-knock.” She held a glass of champagne out to me. “Here. Try and loosen up a little. I’ve never seen anyone look so miserable and don’t tell Mom I gave this to you.”
“Thanks.” I took the glass. “I’ll try.”
“Seriously, though.” She cocked her head to the side. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just hate these things.” I still hadn’t told Twist about the last day of school and I was dreading seeing Mr. Egan and Emilia. Maybe I could get away with staying behind the curtains all night. Maybe Mr. Egan wouldn’t even talk to mom. Maybe Emilia forgot about the fundraiser.
“Well, come out of there eventually, okay? Your friends will be here soon, right?”
I smiled, nodded, and took a drink of my champagne. I loved champagne. It tasted like Christmas felt.
Twist wandered off and then the crowd parted like Moses had parted the red sea and Emilia appeared. Alejandro came in right behind her.
The lighting made her long, dark, hair shine. Her short, black dress hung perfectly on her. She could easily pass for a twenty-year-old. I could tell she didn’t have on a bra and didn’t need one. I’d debated wearing two.
I moved farther behind the curtain. I watched Alejandro and Emilia. They would have been the quarterback and head cheerleader if we’d gone to a school that had football and cheerleaders. They both looked completely comfortable in their skin while I tugged on my almost knee-length dress, trying to make it longer.
All my hiding was for naught. Emilia spotted me and headed my way, pulling Alejandro behind her. I was trapped.
“Hi,” she said without smiling. “Long time no see.” Her black hair framed her dark skin and made her look like a supermodel. She stood eye-level with me in her sky-high heels. I looked down at my flats before I answered.
“Hi, yeah, it’s been . . . I’ve been really busy,” I lied and then blush
ed. I put my hand on my chest to try and hide the heat creeping up my chest while I stepped out from behind the curtain and tried to pretend that I hadn’t been caught hiding.
“Hmmm.” She chewed on her lip like she wanted to say something.
“Hey, Meadow, how’s it going?” Alejandro said and smiled, one side of his lip curling up.
Heart thump. “I didn’t know you guys were coming.” Of course I knew. Emilia was singing later.
I sensed that Emilia was pinching Alejandro and that they had a plan worked out.
“I’m gonna go grab a drink while no one is paying attention,” Alejandro said and wandered toward the bar area.
Emilia looked at me with this intense glare that she used when she was super serious.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “Why did you just disappear?”
“I’ve just been really bu—” I began, but she interrupted me.
“Meadow, that’s bullshit,” Emilia said. “I know you are really upset about what Mr. Egan said.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. She hadn’t mentioned being sorry for being such a jerk and telling half the cafeteria what he said. “How did you know what he said anyway?”
“I was walking by his office and I heard him say it,” she said. “I didn’t listen on purpose.”
I rolled my eyes, not believing that line for a second. She’d been eavesdropping, of course. I took a big gulp of champagne, the last in the glass. The bubbles almost choked me. I swallowed hard.
“I’m going away this summer,” Emilia said brightly, changing the subject.
“I know.” She ignored me and kept talking like I hadn’t heard her plans multiple times already. It might actually physically hurt Emilia to say she was sorry for anything.