I perseverate about Xander, even as I race out to the shuttle to greet Grandma. Grace beats me to her, leaping at Grandma, wrapping her arms around her neck. "You're here! You're here!"
"Mmm. Hmmm." Grandma nuzzles into Grace's hair, but then her bright blue eyes turn to me. "Polly, you gorgeous thing, you. Come here!"
I don't even care that we're having a weird group hug in the middle of our driveway. The shuttle driver grins at us as he lines up suitcase after suitcase. Having Grandma here will fix everything, I think even as she whispers, "I bet you have to beat the boys off with a stick, huh, gorgeous?"
"Um, about that." But I realize it's not the right time.
"Charlie, these are my beautiful granddaughters," Grandma tells the shuttle driver.
"They take after you." He winks at Grandma. "Let me carry your bags inside, Sharlene."
"You're too kind." Grandma smoothes a hand through her freshly reddened hair. "Ooh, look at those muscles. Popeye must be jealous."
I'm only a little freaked out by the fact that Grandma is on a first-name basis with the shuttle driver after a thirty-minute drive from the airport, but whatever. That's why she gets paid to give advice in hundreds of newspapers across the country. People love her.
"I can get them," I say, attempting to heft a bag, but Charlie takes it from me.
"It's my job, little lady." Then he turns to Grandma, "This must be the feisty one, right? Like her redheaded grandma?" More winking. Winking = creepy. I'm a brunette. Grandma was a brunette before "updating" after her last divorce.
"A gal's got to learn to stick up for herself without a big strong man around."
Exactly! I ignore Grandma's flirtatious shoulder shrug—maybe she just had an itch or something.
When the shuttle driver leaves—after a few too many minutes making small talk in our living room—Grace ransacks the bags, searching for the gifts Grandma always brings.
Grandma sits on the sofa, laughing. "Oh no. I think I forgot this time, Gracie Pie." Then she reaches behind her back and pulls out the manatee Webimal and the killer whale. Grace practically seizes. I might have to use my newly acquired lifesaving skills at home, but then she recovers and races to phone Amy; really I'm going to have to discuss their co-dependent attachment with Grandma.
"I brought this for you." Grandma dangles a delicate gold chain in front of me. A small pink heart swings at the end. It's all wrong! I detest superficial symbols. Plus, it looks almost exactly like the necklace Sawyer gave me for Valentine's Day. The one Mom snuck out of my giveaway pile. Grandma frowns. "You don't like it?"
"Oh no. It's completely pretty, it's just that—"
"Your boyfriend gave you one just like it?" Grandma nods. "I should've known."
"Yeah, sort of, but—" This is not going how I imagined.
"Why didn't you say so? We'll exchange it. Maybe for earrings to match."
"Um, Grandma?" I listen to Grace yapping about stuffed animals on the phone with Amy. "I kind of wanted to talk to you about guy stuff."
"Miss Swoon at your service! You juggling too many beaux?" Grandma smiles.
"No!"
"Trying to figure out how to let him down gently? You little heartbreaker."
Why isn't she listening to me? "Grandma, a guy just broke up with me."
"Oh, honey. Just get right back in the saddle. That's the only cure for a broken heart."
"I kind of tried that, um, unsuccessfully."
Grandma knits her eyebrows, finally listening.
"Five times unsuccessfully."
"Oh my." She's nodding. "Looks like you need a Miss Swoon relationship evaluation."
I exhale a long, cleansing breath. "Yes, exactly! That's what I need."
"These boys wanting too much hanky-panky?"
"No!" My face warms. "Not after the first two, anyway."
Grandma folds her arms, nodding. "Okay, then we'll move straight to Learning the Love Lessons. Find something you can learn from each relationship. That way you turn a negative into a positive. It's all about positivity, right?"
I smile. "Exactly. I've already started thinking about that—I've been reading your columns."
Grandma rolls her eyes. "Glad someone has."
"I've been trying to, you know, focus on the good things in my life."
"Make a list, dear. Things you learned about yourself from each relationship. There's magic in putting pen to paper." Grandma lifts herself off the sofa. "I'm going to freshen up. Unpack a little. What are we doing for dinner?"
"Mom wants us to go to Hamburger Heaven, since she has to work. Things have been a little, um, different around here this summer."
"It's a good thing I've come, then."
"You're telling me. Thanks so much for the advice, Grandma. I mean, Miss Swoon."
Grandma laughs, pulling a suitcase behind her. I head into Grace's room, but I can't think clearly with all those beady, stuffed animal eyes staring at me. I go into the kitchen, grab a notepad, and pour a glass of iced tea.
The birds flitting from tree to tree make me feel upbeat and hopeful as I sit on my front porch steps. I start at the beginning with Kurt. Hmm. I'm not even going to think about the whole sex fiasco (he rented a hotel room without telling me). That was really more about him than me. I tap my pencil against the paper. What did I learn about myself? I write down:
1. Kurt. I'm surprisingly good at memorizing engine specifications.
2. Jack. I kick ass at level three in Donkey Kong.
3. Sawyer. I'd rather kiss than read or talk about fish.
4. Gareth. My feet blister easily.
5. Hayden. I'm popular enough to get elected to the student council. (Although maybe it was Sonnet's blog campaign: Make Polly Martin Mountain View's First Lady.)
I'm blushing, wondering why I did all that stuff—memorizing paragraphs from Road & Track, climbing mountains, begging people to sign my campaign petition—to make guys like me (and I'm stuck planning the prom!). I look up to see forever-shirtless Xander Cooper walking in front of my house carrying his skateboard. He glances sideways at me, through all that curly hair, and raises his eyebrows.
In a rush to hide the humiliating list I knock over my iced tea, breaking the glass, splashing tea all over my bare feet. I pick up shards of glass, glancing at Xander every few seconds. He strolls uphill, not looking back, but I notice that he's taken that little notebook out of his pocket. Holding his skateboard under his arm, he scribbles something. Maybe he's designing the ultimate superhero hideout like he used to in elementary school. If only he still wore his pants hiked up too high—and not so low slung on his slim hips.
I sweep the wet, broken glass onto my soggy list, go inside, and throw the whole thing into the trash. Lists are completely ineffective! I haven't learned anything about myself from my past relationships.
Dear Miss Swoon:
My boyfriend dumped me six months ago, but I just can't recover. I keep thinking I could have saved the relationship if I'd only changed like he wanted me to.
—Too Late To Change
Dear Too Late:
It's never too late to change! Change can be a good thing—but only if you're doing it for yourself! Make a list of the things you've learned about yourself from this relationship. And put it to good use in your next one. (There will be a next one!)
—Miss Swoon
Broken glass. Sharp shards. Little weapons to prick and make you bleed ... Symbols of past pain, broken relationships ... Or is it as simple as a. nervous girl knocking over her beverage? And a fragile object hitting hard cement steps?
—X.C.
Chapter Seven
Sunday morning I get up even earlier than usual to meet Jane at the veterinary clinic where she volunteers to walk the animals on the weekends. I like it that Jane has maintained her love of everything animal; unlike me, who got hit with hormones and moved on to a love of everything Neanderthal. Jane walks a poodle recovering from hip surgery—with the neck collar, weird puffs of hair,
and bandaged bald spot, it looks more alien than canine. I've got a pug that's more interested in sniffing my sneakers than doing his business. At least I think it's a he; some dog breeds always look like boys the way some skateboarders always look—
"Jane." I tug the pug toward Jane's poodle. "I need you to talk some sense into me."
The pug growls at the poodle, so she stands a few feet away. "Who is it now?" Her voice sounds weary.
"No one." I'm not thinking about how I waited in bed listening for that skateboard, in a safe nonromantic, simply-interested-in-the-physics-of-sound-waves kind of way. "I told you I've sworn off guys."
Jane scoffs, "Yeah, right. So that's why you were all cozy with Hayden on the sofa the other night."
"It was the only place to sit. Besides, he sat next to me."
"You could have sat with me on the floor."
"Did you see that floor? It was disgusting. Who knows what those dorks do down there when there aren't regular humans around."
Jane's cheeks go pink. "That's not nice," she says quietly, letting the poodle wander back toward the kennel door.
"I just mean that I'm over Hayden—and he's way over me. He's the one who broke up with me, remember."
Jane opens the kennel door. "Oh, I remember. So does my GPA."
The pug still won't do his business. "Come on, you little beast." Yeah, so I begged Jane to come over and study for the AP Bio final, and, you know, listen to me rant about how men should be classified lower than single-celled bacteria. We did study! She resents the fact that I outscored her, despite being an emotional wreck and everything. I couldn't sleep, so I studied—I asked her to stay up with me.
A few minutes later Jane emerges with a pair of angry-looking rottweilers that match her mood. The pug immediately squats and goes. I look down at the nasty little pile. "Um, Jane?" I nod toward the stinky heap. "What now?"
She glowers at me like I'm the big pile of crap. "You pick it up. That's what the plastic bags are for."
"Oh." I practically gag on the stench and the texture of the stuff as I scoop it into the plastic bag. I hold it away from me as the pug makes a beeline for the kennel door.
"Bring out the Lab next. Be gentle. He was just neutered."
The pug jumps into his empty wire cage before I can get the leash off. Part of me feels like joining him. Dogs do have that sixth sense thing, right? Jane is not in best friend mode. She's looking to pick a fight. I should've stayed home, even if it meant succumbing to a lascivious Xander Cooper fantasy. The black Lab starts wagging his tail as if he's been waiting all day for me to arrive. I've always been a sucker for dark hair, I think, unlatching the cage—and light hair and medium light hair and not-quite-so-dark hair. Maybe I'm just a sucker. I've got to make Jane understand.
The black Lab yanks me through the door. "Jane. Let's start over, okay?" The Lab pulls me across the lawn, breathing heavy with enthusiasm. "I'm not interested in Hayden anymore. And I'm trying to avoid all contact. That's why I left early."
Jane shakes her head. "Oh, so that explains why he gave you a ride home?"
"How—?" I wasn't about to get into that whole situation. Just stick to the facts. The bare minimum of facts. "He insisted."
"And you, with your expanded vocabulary, forgot the word no?"
"Expansive. I have an expansive vocabulary. Besides, I did say no. About three times. But he made me get into the car."
The rottweilers nip at each other's ears, and maybe they're playing, but it's not reassuring. "Made you?"
The friendly Lab flops on the ground, rolling over for a belly rub, and I oblige. "After I, you know, almost got hit by a truck."
"God, Polly! Can't you drop the drama queen act for one night?"
"I was just walking home. Like you told me to."
Jane doesn't look one little bit guilty. Her lips pull back into a snarl. "Oh, so you didn't even think for one moment that Hayden would shoot out of his seat as soon as he found out precious Polly would be walking home all alone?"
"No! I'd been walking for almost an hour before he offered me a ride. I figured he stayed until the end of the movie."
"No. He spent that hour driving around trying to find you. He practically put out an AMBER Alert." Jane yanks a rottweiler away from a dried piece of crap. "He kept calling Rowdy to see if I'd heard from you."
"Really?"
"Really. So, my evening was completely ruined."
"It's not like I planned for that to happen. I was leaving you alone like you asked." The Lab leans against me. "Besides, you've seen that movie so many times."
"It's not about the movie!" Jane sounds so exasperated that the rottweilers both look up at her. "I wanted to spend time hanging out with Rowdy, but instead I ended up involved in yet another big Polly drama."
I'm sorry.
"I'm not sure that's enough anymore." Jane leads the dogs back into the kennel. A bunch of angry barking ensues. I focus on the black Lab. Not the bad feelings welling in my chest, threatening to pop out in a burst of embarrassing emotion. I pat the Lab on the head. "What's the secret to happiness, little buddy, huh? Maybe I need to get neutered like you."
Jane comes up behind me, almost smiling. "Believe me, I've thought about it." She's carrying one of those froufrou dogs that seem incapable of self-ambulation. "Polly, the way you were acting, I figured you were still into Hayden."
"I'm not." I bite my lip so it won't tremble. "I'm really trying to focus on not having a boyfriend, because I totally suck at it."
Jane sets the tiny dog on the grass. "Can't argue with that."
I feel as jittery as that little froufrou dog shaking on its pencil-thin legs. "I want to be a better friend, too."
"Yeah, well. Maybe you could start with telling me stuff. I feel like I barely know you these days. One minute you're rushing off to stock car races, the next you're obsessed with video games—"
"You don't need to go on." The Lab lies on the grass with his head resting on my feet. I wonder if I can convince my mom to get us a dog. Dogs = love (the safe, unconditional kind).
"I don't even know where you're applying for college."
My stomach flutters like a thousand unopened credit card bills. "I'm probably just going to the U," I say. "Stick close to Grace and Mom and stuff."
Jane looks like I've just suggested we feed the frou-frou dog to the rottweilers. "But you've always talked about getting away from your mom and Grace."
I shrug. I haven't even told her about Mom's new job at Hamburger Heaven; it's just too humiliating. Jane's mom does volunteer work and stays home, making crafts and preparing delicious meals, because her dad owns a successful accounting firm.
"The U's really strong in science." I have no idea if what I'm saying is true. But we've dropped the college talk at home, and Dad avoids the subject like e-mail spam, so I've stopped thinking about it.
Jane rolls her eyes. "You know you have the grades to go anywhere. And Grace doesn't need you, she's got your mom and Amy, right?" Jane scoops up the little dog's microscopic doo-doo.
"Why didn't you let me walk that one?"
"Come on, Polly. I thought we were both going Ivy League? That's been the plan since, what, seventh grade?"
"Yeah, I guess, but..." I scratch the Lab's belly again. "Hey, where are you going to apply?"
Jane takes my lead like a retriever chasing a ball. I listen, nodding, making funny quips and serious comments in all the right places. That's what good friends do, right? Jane keeps up the college discussion until we've finished feeding and watering the dogs. She locks the clinic door and smiles. "So, now that I'm not completely pissed at you anymore..."
"What?" I'm hoping she'll suggest we go to her house to hang out and let her mom make us salads for lunch; all that's been served lately at my house are Hamburger Heaven reject orders.
"My night wasn't totally ruined."
I find my inner Labrador and fake enthusiasm. "Oh, really? Details, please."
"So, after Hayden called t
o say he found you and everything, Rowdy pulled me aside and said that maybe we should finish watching the movie together sometime. Just the two of us! Omigod, I almost died." Jane touches her hands to her cheeks. "But I totally channeled you—and acted all coy and said maybe I'd think about it. It worked! He looked about as hungry as those rotties!" Jane starts laughing. "He's already texted me three times this weekend. You totally know how to hook 'em." She giggles. "Maybe I can figure out how to actually keep them."
"That's a compliment, right?"
Jane shrugs. "If you think so."
Dear Miss Swoon:
I really hate my friend's boyfriend. I don't see what she sees in him or why she chooses to spend time with him when she could be spending time with me. How can I make her see that I need her too?
—My Friend Is Blind
Dear Blind:
Are you sure that you're seeing 20/20? Jealousy could be clouding your vision. Time to focus on yourself.
—Miss Swoon
Chapter Eight
My voice cracks as I scream at kids to stop: spitting, running, pushing, shoving, splashing—basically violating every single Wild Waves rule and inventing new ones like seeing how fast ice cream melts in pool water.
"Where do you think you're going?" I say to a kid about to take a corn dog on a ride through the Lazy River. "No food allowed in the pool."
The kid looks at me like I'm a big loser; he's even younger than Grace. His eyes fixate on my plastic sheriff's badge. "You're not a real sheriff. That's so fake."
"Well." I hate myself for feeling intimidated by this kid. "My authority is real."
The word authority means nothing to him. He takes one more bite of the corn dog, tosses it toward the nearest trash can, misses, and walks into the pool. My face turns the color of the ketchup now dripping from my hand as I pick up the disgusting, half-eaten, nitrate-filled food product. I'm seriously considering becoming a vegetarian—simply because Hamburger Heaven doesn't seem to have any vegetables on the menu and Mom might be forced to, you know, buy something at the grocery store. I half expect her to make us shampoo with Hamburger Heaven washroom soap.
Swoon at Your Own Risk Page 5