by Betsy Haynes
After they left the room I sat down on one end of the sofa and Taffy sat down on the other. I don't know if she looked at me or not, but I didn't look at her. The room had suddenly gotten as quiet as death except for my heart, which was ticking away inside my chest like a time bomb.
I sat there for ages staring at the floor and trying to think of some way to begin. Apologizing is awfully hard, especially when it's not quite a hundred per cent sincere.
While I was trying to think of something to say, I got the shock of my life. Taffy Sinclair started talking to me.
"I didn't mean for my mother to see that notebook," she said. "I didn't mean for anyone in the whole wide world to see the awful things you said about me, not ever. You don't know how it feels to see things like that written down about yourself in black and white."
Good grief, I thought angrily. Here's the world's most conceited person and ace villain trying to turn the tables on me. But the truth hurts.
I wanted to yell at her and say, "You really didn't find my notebook, did you? You stole it out of my desk after I went home sick. And you never gave it to Mr. Neal for safekeeping, either!" But suddenly it all seemed ridiculous. Taffy Sinclair and I had started out just hating each other and being snotty and stuff. Then one thing had led to another, and she had written an awful thing about me on the blackboard. She had even humiliated me in front of Mr. Neal. But then I had written an awful thing about her on the sidewalk. Now even our mothers were yelling at each other. The next thing you knew, we'd be blowing up each other's houses.
Suddenly it seemed so dumb and stupid and babyish that I didn't even want to hate her anymore. Taffy Sinclair was Taffy Sinclair, and I was me, and hating her wasn't going to change a thing. She was not the sort of person I could ever really like, but I knew that I could never really hate her anymore, either.
I felt like a creep. "I guess I don't feel so hot about having written them," I said.
I couldn't think of anything else to talk about so I looked toward the kitchen. Mom and Mrs. Sinclair were sipping their coffee and talking. They didn't look especially friendly, but at least they weren't shouting anymore. I really had never taken a good look at Mrs. Sinclair before. She was tall, and her hair was blond like Taffy's, only more of a brassy blond. I could see where she might be pretty if she ever smiled.
Taffy must have seen me looking at her mother because she said, "She's had cosmetic surgery." She said it sort of as if she were apologizing, and I couldn't help thinking how glad I was that things like cosmetic surgery weren't important to my mom. I didn't know what to say to a thing like that, so I just said, "Oh."
The room got quiet again. I thought about what Mom had said—that maybe it was lonely to be the prettiest girl in school and that maybe Taffy was shy and didn't know how to make friends, and I almost asked her if she'd like to come over and listen to records sometime. But I changed my mind. I really wasn't quite ready for a thing like that.
Pretty soon Mom and Mrs. Sinclair came back into the room. "Well, have you girls made peace?" said Mom. Her voice sounded friendly, and we both nodded that we had. "That's good," said Mom. "Because Mrs. Sinclair and I have decided to let you try to work things out yourself before we do anything like talking to the principal." I could tell by the way she said it that Mom had done most of the deciding.
Mrs. Sinclair motioned Taffy toward the door. Just when I was about to feel relieved that the whole thing was over, she turned around and glared at me again. She couldn't resist getting in the last word. "Well, young lady, I certainly hope you've learned a lesson from all this!" Then she went huffing out the door with Taffy in tow.
As soon as they had left I hightailed it for my room. I knew that Mom had saved me from the clutches of Mrs. Sinclair and had stood up for me when she probably thought that I had done a rotten thing. I also knew that I owed her an explanation and a thank you, but I couldn't look her in the eye. A little later she knocked on my bedroom door.
"Jana," she said. "Can I come in?"
It was showdown time, but what could I do? "Sure," I said.
Mom had my Against Taffy Sinclair Club notebook in her hand when she came in. "I want to return this to you since it's yours," she said. She didn't even sound mad. I murmured thank you and reached out to take it from her. I was so shaky that I dropped it, and when it landed on my bed it opened to the page where I had recorded my bust measurements. Mom glanced down at it. I could tell by her expression that she was really puzzled.
All of a sudden I couldn't stand it anymore. Too much had happened for one day. It was as if a dam had broken somewhere inside me and all the things that I hadn't been able to talk to her about came gushing out. I told her everything. I told her about the Against Taffy Sinclair Club and the brownie sale and the Milo Venus Bust Developer. Then I told her about my essay and why I'd thrown up on my shoes and the awful letter I'd written to my father. I even told her about my boot box and all the things that I'd saved and how I knew whose fault it was that they had gotten a divorce.
When I had finished my story, I pulled out my boot box and dumped everything, Milo Venus Bust Developer and all, out on my bed, and I sat down beside it all limp and sweaty. Inside my heart it felt like the end of the world.
Mom put her arms around me the way she always did when I was hurt or sick or something. She smoothed my hair and held my face close to hers.
"You're growing up so fast," she whispered as if she couldn't believe her own words. She must have repeated that at least four times.
Any other time I might have said, "Of course. What did you expect me to do?" But this time I just shut my eyes and hugged her tight.
After we had hugged awhile Mom suggested that we go into the kitchen so she could make us each a chocolate milkshake to sip on while we talked. I nodded and followed her and watched while she put ice cream, milk, and chocolate syrup into the blender. I love chocolate milkshakes just about as much as anything I can think of, but I wasn't sure that I would be able to swallow it around the lump in my throat.
"Taffy Sinclair really is pretty, isn't she?" Mom said sort of offhandedly while she poured the shakes into two tall glasses. That really burned me up. In fact, it burned the lump right out of my throat. I had thought she was on my side.
"Well, she's got one crooked bicuspid and her mother's a gorilla!"
Instantly I was sorry I had said that, but Mom didn't seem to mind. She just sort of shrugged and said in a chirpy voice, "Nobody's perfect."
I had a feeling that there was a message for me there, but I didn't say anything. I waited for her to take a drink of her milkshake and go on talking.
"But then nobody's all bad either. I think maybe that's the solution to all your problems, Jana, or at least to most of them. You keep looking for a villain, someone to take all the blame. It just doesn't work that way—not in marriage and not among friends."
I took a long drink of my chocolate milkshake and thought about Taffy Sinclair. I had to admit that Mom had a point. But that still didn't explain why she and my father got a divorce.
"What about my father?" I challenged. "You're always telling me how great he is."
"He is great!" said Mom. "But as I said, everyone has faults. And when you get married, you want it to be to someone whose faults you can live with." She paused, and we both took another drink before she went on. "Your father is kind. He's gentle. He's fun to be with. He's handsome. He just doesn't take his responsibilities seriously, and that's a fault that I can't live with—not when one of those responsibilities is toward someone as special as you." Mom squeezed my hand, and I looked down so that she wouldn't see the tears that were shooting into my eyes.
"I'm sure he means to write to you and to send your support-payment checks each month. I'm sure he even meant to take you on a two-week vacation out west."
The lump was back in my throat again, but there was one more thing I had to know.
"Then why didn't you tell me all this before?"
Mom blinked and
looked a little sad. Then she smiled and said, "I guess I'm not perfect, either." We finished our milkshakes and rinsed our glasses, and then Mom put an arm around my shoulder and walked me back to my room. I had forgotten all about the Milo Venus Bust Developer, and when I flipped the light switch on, it almost seemed to jump out at me from the middle of my bed. It must have seemed that way to Mom, too, because she went straight over to it and picked it up. It was really embarrassing to have a thing like that, and I could feel my ears starting to get hot.
"I'll wrap this up and mail it back for you tomorrow so that you can get your money back," she said.
I grunted an okay, but I didn't look at her. She probably thought I was some kind of nut. Instead, I started putting envelopes and stuff back into my boot box. I stood there wishing that she would leave the room before I had to look at her, but then she started talking again.
"You know, Jana, all girls don't start to develop a figure at exactly the same time. It's as if each one of us has a clock inside that's set to our own special time. When that time comes, our bodies start to change. And no matter what the advertisements claim, there's no bust developer or anything else that can make a difference before that special time comes."
Deep down I guess I had always known that what she was saying was true, but it was really good to hear somebody say it. I wasn't embarrassed anymore, and I looked up and gave her a big grin.
"You're such a worry bird!" she said as if she were scolding, but I knew that she was only pretending. "You're going to have a gorgeous figure someday."
I hoped that she was right. I had read a lot about pollution and the stuff out of spray cans, and I hoped that none of it could retard a person's development. But there I went—worrying again. I didn't want to do that so I gave Mom a kiss and said good night.
After I got in bed, I lay there for a long time thinking about all the things that Mom had explained, and I felt so much better that I thought I'd die.
The next day I called my friends together and told them that I had decided that having a club against another person was really a babyish thing. I also told them that the Milo Venus Bust Developer was a waste of time and that I was going to get our money back. To my surprise, they all seemed pretty happy about the whole thing.
I was just about to adjourn the meeting for the very last time when Katie Shannon signaled that she wanted the floor. She had a big grin on her face, and I sighed. I could almost guess what was coming next.
"I think that we should form a self-improvement club," she said importantly. "That way we can work on ways to develop into the types of young women that are needed in this changing society. And we can have more brownie sales and raise money to buy books about the women's movement and about the opportunities that are waiting for us."
Leave it to Katie, I thought as she talked on and on. Oh, well. I knew that it would be a lot more fun than hating somebody, and when she finally got around to asking for a vote, I was the first one to raise my hand.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Betsy Haynes, the daughter of a former newswoman, began scribbling poetry and short stories as soon as she learned to write. A serious writing career, however, had to wait until after her marriage and the arrival of her two children. But that early practice must have paid off, for within three months Mrs. Haynes had sold her first story. In addition to a number of magazine short stories, The Great Mom Swap, The Great Boyfriend Trap, and the Taffy Sinclair series, Mrs. Haynes is the author of The Fabulous Five series, which features the five best friends from the Taffy Sinclair books. She lives in Colleyville, Texas, with her husband, who is the author of a young adult novel.
Table of Contents
THE AGAINST TAFFY SINCLAIR CLUB
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR