The Bling Queen

by Allison Gutknecht

  Still nothing.

  “What do I do now?” I ask Mrs. Latara, who is in the midst of sorting through a box of bandages, looking bored. “Like, is there a list somewhere in case someone turns it in?”

  “What exactly are you looking for?” she finally asks.

  “A ring,” I say. “It’s silver, and it has an infinity symbol across the top, and it’s small because I wore it on my pinkie, and—”

  “We don’t keep a list for rings,” Mrs. Latara interrupts me. “Just wallets and phones. Though, why you kids need to bring such things to school is beyond me, but that’s an argument I’ve lost many times.”

  “So there’s nothing I can do?” I ask, ignoring her anti-phone rant.

  Mrs. Latara shrugs. “Like I said, I don’t police the Lost and Found. But you can check back again tomorrow, I suppose. Sometimes things turn up.”

  “If I leave you my name, can you at least let me know if—”

  “I only keep lists for wallets and phones,” she repeats. “Like I told you.”

  I bite the insides of my cheeks—hard—to keep from tearing up. I know that it’s just a ring. I get that it’s not a matter of life and death and all that. But I hate to lose things. Anything. Particularly things I love.

  Particularly things that Mom specifically warned me I would lose if I didn’t change the finger on which I was wearing it. So much for being conscientious.

  I walk out of Mrs. Latara’s office, calling a depressed “Thank you” over my shoulder. I head into the first girls’ bathroom I see, which is luckily empty, and I dab at the corners of my eyes with a wet paper towel, trying to disguise the tears. But every time I lift a towel to my cheek, I see my hand with the ringless pinkie finger in the mirror, and it makes me upset all over again. I eventually just rest with my back against a wall and close my eyes until I can feel my face return to normal.

  I leave the bathroom and begin to saunter down the hallway toward Mr. Dimmer’s classroom, my eyes scanning the carpet back and forth all the way, studying it like a roving spotlight and looking for any signs of found infinity.

  Chapter 3

  I decide I can’t go back into Dimmer’s classroom now. I’d have to explain myself in front of the whole room, and that’s pretty much the last thing I feel like doing. When I reach the seventh-grade hallway, I drag my toes across the carpeting one foot at a time, moving as slowly as possible. I kneel down to examine my boots, making sure that I’m not scuffing any red off the toes. I think about crawling along the hallway on my hands and knees to look for my ring more closely, but that just seems like a disaster waiting to happen. I glance at my watch—seven minutes until the end of Pre-Algebra. I crouch down and slide into the small space between Dimmer’s door and the row of lockers along the wall, and I wait.

  I twist around the jewelry on my right wrist—my watch, with different gemstones representing each number, a small beaded bracelet with a glimmering heart, and a bangle that has Sparkle is my favorite color written in cursive along its exterior. My right wrist accessories are almost always the same; since I’m right-handed, I need to make sure that I can write with whatever is on that wrist, and I’m used to this combination. My left wrist, though, changes almost every day. Sometimes I only wear one bracelet, sometimes five, sometimes even more. Sometimes they match, and sometimes I choose a variety. I am just about to examine my choices for today when the bell rings, and I leap to my feet before I’m smacked by Dimmer’s door (and before he realizes that I’ve been hiding out here instead of returning to his classroom). I slip in as soon as one of my classmates exits, and I walk right over to his desk.

  “I’m really sorry about that,” I say sincerely when I reach him. I decide that the less information I provide, the better. Hopefully, Dimmer Switch won’t ask for many details.

  “Are you feeling better now?” he asks, a genuine look of concern in his gray eyes. Dimmer is really not so bad all the time, I guess.

  “Much,” I answer. “Thank you for your understanding.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Dimmer says. “Is there someone in here who can fill you in on your homework for tonight?”

  “Yes, Deirdre or Bree will,” I tell him, backing toward my desk slowly to grab my things. Thankfully, it looks like Kayte has already left.

  “Good.” He nods, ending our exchange. I pick up my stuff and meet my friends outside the room, where they are practically salivating with curiosity.

  “What happened?” Bree screeches. “I was afraid you died.”

  “That’s awfully dramatic,” I tell her.

  “Seriously, you looked like you had seen a ghost,” Deirdre adds. “Explain yourself.”

  I hold up my hand with the empty pinkie finger. “I lost my infinity ring.” I try to say this calmly, though I hear a faint quaver in the back of my voice.

  Bree and Deirdre stare at me for a few moments without speaking, and I shoo them away from Dimmer’s door before he can overhear us.

  “Wait, that’s actually the whole story?” Deirdre asks. “You lost a ring?”

  “I love that ring!” I explain. “You know, it has the infinity symbol, like the number eight taking a nap. Plus, I just got it. I went to the Lost and Found to look for it, and nothing. I’m really upset.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Bree says. “There’s no need to get all crazy like that over a ring.”

  “You don’t understand,” I tell her. “You don’t care about bling like I do.”

  “Bling? We’re using ‘bling’ now?” Deirdre asks.

  “That’s what Miscellaneous Moxie calls . . . ,” I begin, but then I stop myself. Deirdre and Bree won’t understand, no matter how much I try. They both dress nicely enough, I suppose, but fashion really isn’t their thing.

  Though, they could still exhibit a little more sympathy about the infinity ring situation, if you ask me.

  “I wasn’t saying it’s the end of the world,” I tell them. “I was just saying the ring is important to me. Plus, my mom is going to be so mad if she finds out.”

  “Why would your mom be mad? Didn’t you buy that ring yourself?” Bree asks.

  “She’ll say I wasn’t being conscientious,” I say with a sigh. “Because she told me not to wear the ring on my pinkie finger, and I wore it there anyway. Trust me.”

  “Then don’t tell her,” Deirdre says. “Just pretend the ring is buried in that accessory-hoarding place that you call a bedroom, and you’ll be fine.”

  “But it’s still lost,” I say. “And I care that it’s lost. I love that ring.”

  “There are people starving in the world, and you’re moping about a ring,” Deirdre says, teasing me. But I’m not in the mood for her snarkiness right now.

  “You could at least pretend to care a little more,” I tell them. “Fake it if you have to.”

  “Sorry, yeah, we stink as best friends,” Deirdre says, throwing her arm over my shoulders. “You can sign up for some new ones if you want.”

  “Very funny,” I say, moping down the hallway.

  “I bet it turns up,” Bree says. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Like you’re not worrying about your audition?” I ask, now teasing her.

  “That’s different,” she says, stroking her flute case like it’s a cat. “We can help you find your ring after school. Right?” She turns to Deirdre.

  “Sure,” Deirdre agrees. “Or actually, no. I can’t. I have . . . gymnastics.”

  “I thought that didn’t start until after four,” Bree says.

  “What, are you the official keeper of my schedule?” Deirdre asks, her cheeks flushing a slight pink. “Sorry, Tess. You know I would, but I just . . . I can’t today.”

  “What do you have to do right after school that we don’t know—”

  “No, it’s okay,” I cut Bree off. “I have to meet Mimi after school anyway. She’s supposed to pick Toby up at the bus stop, and I just . . . I have to be there. Thanks, though.”

  “So we’re forgiven for
our lack of ring sympathy?” Bree asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “But someone has to give me Dimmer Switch’s homework assignment.”

  “Ugh, I was really hoping that after your little meltdown, he would forget to teach the rest of class,” Deirdre says. “No such luck.”

  “There,” Bree says, and I feel my phone buzz in my pocket just as she finishes typing furiously with her thumbs. “I texted you the homework. Let’s get to Social Studies so we can wrap this day up once and for all.” She links her arm around my elbow, and I link my arm around Deirdre’s. We march down the hallway as a pack, but we can only make it a few feet before our chain is broken by a group of girls trying to get by, and my elbows are free again.

  A flower pattern. That would make a nice elbow patch. A large, bright floral standing out on a crisp white jacket. That would be amazing. Maybe these two wouldn’t even notice how much it resembled Dimmer Switch’s sport coat style. . . .

  Plus, maybe a couple of new elbow patches could help me forget about my missing ring.

  “Mimi, I’m home,” I call as I enter through the back door after school. “Mimi!”

  “Here I am, Tessie,” my grandmother says, coming around the corner from the kitchen. She takes my face in her hands and plants her pink lipsticked lips on mine. Mimi is one of the only people in the world who is allowed to do two things—call me Tessie and kiss me on the lips. “How was your day?”

  “Meh, it was fine,” I tell her as we head into the kitchen. I throw my book bag onto the floor by the counter’s edge and settle onto a stool. A large pot sits on the stove, and the comforting smell of warm broth drifts around the kitchen. “What are you making?”

  “What was that?” she asks, lifting a wooden spoon off the stove.

  “What are you making?” I repeat.

  “Oh, what am I making . . . ,” she begins, staring into the pot. “Let’s see. A stew. For dinner.”

  “Sounds good,” I tell her, even though I know Mom hates for Mimi to cook when none of us is home. I don’t think it’s my place to yell at Mimi about such things, and plus, I’m home now, and despite how irresponsible Mom and Dad seem to think I am, I’m pretty sure I can handle not letting the house burn down on my watch. “Remember, we have to pick Toby up from the corner in fifteen minutes.”

  “Is it that time already?” Mimi asks. “Where does the day go?”

  “It goes pretty slowly at school, let me tell you,” I say, and I take a banana from the bowl in the center of the counter and begin unpeeling it.

  “How was your day?” Mimi asks again, and I pretend I haven’t already answered this.

  “I lost my ring,” I confess. “You know, the one with the infinity symbol that I just got at Threads? It’s gone.”

  “Oh no,” Mimi says, turning away from stirring the stew to look at me sadly. “Don’t worry. You can get another one.”

  “I saved more than a month’s worth of allowance for that one,” I say, shaking my head sadly.

  “I’ll buy it,” Mimi says, waving her hand dismissively as if this is no problem. “Don’t you worry, Tessie.”

  “You can’t buy me a new ring, Mimi,” I tell her. “Mom would kill me.”

  “Who said your mother has to know?” Mimi says, winking at me with her dark black lashes. Mimi is still one of the most glamorous people in the world, at least to me. Even if she has no plans to leave the house all day, she always gets fully dressed in the morning, with perfect hair and pretty makeup and a bunch of jewelry and everything. Sometimes she even wears a hat around the house, just for fun. Or a cape, or the little chunky heels that she loves. Plus, Mimi wears a different pair of dangly earrings every single day. I swear I don’t remember ever seeing the same ones twice, though I’m sure I must have. Her hair is cut short, which makes her earrings stand out even more, and sometimes I think about cutting my own hair, just to see what it would look like.

  “I’m not going to let you buy me the ring,” I say to Mimi, not reminding her of the fact that my parents don’t really let her keep any cash in her purse now anyway, let alone credit cards. “But thank you.”

  “You’re too good a girl, Tessie,” Mimi says, lifting the pot off the burner. “It’s going to get you in trouble someday, all of that goodness.”

  “I’m not that good,” I tell her, getting up to place my banana peel in the trash. “I skipped my entire pre-algebra class today to go look for my ring.” I would never tell Mom and Dad this, but with Mimi I can be honest. Because besides being the most glamorous, Mimi is also the most honest person I know. “We should go soon,” I remind her. “Toby’s bus will be here in a couple of minutes.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mimi says, brushing her hands across the front of her apron before untying it. “I’m all set.” She grabs her purse off the counter and immediately heads out the back door. Quickly I turn off the stove, which she left on, and I take both of our jackets from the closet. I lock the door behind me when I leave and lift Toby’s scooter from the porch. Then I follow the sound of Mimi’s chunky heels down the driveway.

  Chapter 4

  Toby bounces off the last step of the school bus with a huge leap, and he almost lands on top of Mimi’s toes.

  “Easy there, my boy,” she says, and hugs him, running one of her hands over the top of his buzzed hair.

  “Scooter, please,” Toby says when Mimi releases him, and he reaches his arms out toward mine.

  “What do you say?” I prompt him, strapping his helmet around the faint freckles on his chin.

  “I said ‘please,’ ” Toby responds, his dark brown eyes looking up innocently into my own. Even though I’m less than five years older than him, sometimes it feels like he’s at least a decade younger. Not that Toby is so terrible, really. He can actually be pretty fun, at least when he’s listening.

  “I meant ‘Hi, Tess, my favorite sister,’ ” I remind him.

  “You’re my only sister,” he says, handing Mimi his book bag as he climbs onto the scooter. Then he pushes off toward our house.

  “That automatically makes me the favorite,” I tell him. “Duh.”

  “This way, Toby,” Mimi calls after him. “We’re heading into town for a bit.”

  “For what?” Toby steps off his scooter but doesn’t return to us.

  “Yeah, for what?” I whisper to Mimi.

  “We’re going to stop by Threads,” Mimi says, patting her purse.

  “No, you really don’t have to—” I begin, but Mimi cuts me off.

  “We’ll just look around,” she says. “No harm in window shopping, right?”

  I give Mimi a small smile. She probably hasn’t left the house all day, so it’s only right that we all get out for a bit. “Right,” I answer. “Let’s go, Toby!” Toby scoots ahead of us for the four blocks it takes to walk to the main street of our town, Twining Ridge Road, where a bunch of the shops and restaurants are located. This is one thing I love about where we live—you don’t always need a car to get where you’re going. Of course, there are a bunch of other places around the town that are too far to walk to, but for Mimi (who doesn’t drive anymore), Toby, and me, Twining Ridge Road is the perfect place.

  “Can we get ice cream?” Toby asks, which is what he asks every time we pass the ice cream shop.

  “Not today,” Mimi calls to him. “Maybe next time.” Toby accepts this news without argument and continues rolling down the sidewalk.

  “Wait!” I yell for him. “We’re going to stop in here for a second.” I look into Threads’s wide front window, which they change to a new display every month. For a small store, Threads seems to have everything, and I’m pretty sure some of the most creative people in the world work there, because their front window is always gorgeous. This month, birds seem to fly across the windowpanes, sitting around the mannequins on display. When I look closer, I see that the birds are folded magazine pages, and they are “flying” from a thin white thread, almost invisible, that is woven like a spiderweb around the clothes in
the window. I step away and stand on the curb to take a picture of the scene as Mimi walks through the door.

  “Can’t I just stay out here with my scooter?” Toby asks me. “I promise I won’t leave the front of the store. Please?”

  “Fine,” I say. “But don’t talk to anyone you don’t know. Got it?”

  “Got it good!” Toby answers, and he begins to scoot in a circle in front of Threads’s window. I’m pretty sure he’s going to be too dizzy to stand up straight by the time we get out.

  I join Mimi inside the store and take a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of hickory that is always present within Threads’s walls. I run my hand over a shirt with soft silk cuffs, and another with fringe dangling off the pockets. But as much as I like Threads’s clothes, it’s their accessory section that really excites me. While most of the stuff on the clothing racks takes weeks’ worth of allowance money to save up for, almost all of Threads’s accessories are less than fifteen dollars. Many are even less than five dollars.

  The infinity ring, however, was twenty-five dollars. Which is another reason it was special. Though, really, all of my accessories are special in some way. But that one was both special and expensive.

  I find Mimi standing by the jewelry table, examining the rings. Threads keeps all of the rings on two huge lifelike hands. It’s as if someone took a mannequin but used it only from the wrists up, which sounds creepy, but at Threads it’s not. They stack their ring selection on these ten fingers, all the way up to the fake nails, and I sometimes think about experimenting with layering some of my own rings on my fingers just like this.

  “What kind of ring were you looking for again?” Mimi asks.

  “I told you that you’re not—”

  “I know, I know,” Mimi states. “No harm in seeing if they have another one, though, right?” I look up and down each finger of the mannequin hands, searching for the infinity symbol. I see every sort of gem, in all shapes and colors. I see gold-colored rings and silver-colored rings and rose-gold-colored rings and clear rings. Pointy geometric rings and soft spiral rings and thumb rings and pinkie rings and everything in between.