by Libba Bray
Nice to know the tarot was being consulted about such earth-shattering issues.
“The cards are telling me something, Louisa. Something important. Why don’t you try shuffling them again so they can pick up more of your energy?”
Louisa did as she was told. Mom introduced me without losing her concentration. “This is my daughter. She’s just getting this on tape for my out-of-town clients.”
Whenever we get some, I thought.
Louisa smiled at me, then shuffled the cards with her eyes closed, transferring all her energy to them.
I crouched down in the grass and zoomed out a bit to make my mom look a little larger than life and mysterious. Actually, she was pretty mysterious as it was. Mom’s astrology/tarot/psychic reading business had been officially under way for six months and unofficially since forever. I think she kept getting bookings because she confused people so much, they had to ask her back for another chance to explain. It wasn’t that she was bad or anything; she was just weird at it. She picked up on strange things. Like if you asked whether it would rain on your birthday, she’d tell you your dog needed to go to the vet.
I could tell she was working the old bizarre Dobbins’ spell on Louisa, who finished the most thorough shuffling of a deck I’d ever seen. Mom held the cards for a second or two, then turned over the top one.
“Three of Cups. This is what crosses you—your obstacle. It’s inverted, upside down.” Peering through the lens, I could see the eagerness on Louisa’s face. Cameras are cool that way. They pick up everything a person is feeling. “You want the wrong thing. You’re asking him for the wrong thing, Louisa.” Mom sat back with this look of triumphant calm on her face.
In the lens Louisa’s twitching was getting worse. “I just want the tennis bracelet I saw at Jim Murray Jewelers. What’s wrong with that?”
“The cards don’t fool around. This card says that wanting things, being too ambitious, gets in your way. Ask your husband to bring you wildflowers instead. You might get more than you wanted that way.”
Louisa was burning a hole in the cards, looking for an answer. “So…if I ask Jim for flowers, he’ll bring that and the tennis bracelet? I don’t understand.”
I stopped filming. This reading was going nowhere fast. I wished my mom would just tell her what she wanted to hear so she’d leave feeling satisfied and gossip to her lunch friends about how legit Mom’s talent was. Then maybe her business wouldn’t seem so…out there.
“You will understand, Louisa. I’m sure of it.” Mom started shuffling the cards into a big, messy pile. “Oh, and have Dr. Grissom look at those gallstones. Don’t forget!” Louisa finally clued in that it was time to go. She dropped a ten-dollar bill into Mom’s tip jar and headed out of the tent, looking a little dazed.
I plopped into her chair, trying not to let my nervous energy show.
“Hi, sweetie. How was everything at home?”
“The same,” I said, shrugging. I needed to slip the party stuff in under the radar. If I got too keyed up about it, Mom would start second-guessing and want to do a big astrological/numerological chart to see if the idea was “psychically sound.” “I started filling out my college applications.”
Mom grabbed her humongous purse and poked her face in. “That’s nice, dear.”
No bells had gone off. So far, so good. “Actually, it’s really tough. Most kids have a ton of honors and awards to show off.” I waited for the standard Mom response of, “You’re special in my eyes, honey.” It didn’t come. I cleared my throat. “Can I tell you my idea?” Mom nodded and pulled a peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwich from her bottomless purse, stimulating my hurl reflex. I could see the carrot and celery sticks Jen had mentioned tucked in Mom’s purse in a little plastic bag. I could imagine Mrs. Tatum telling Mom to take some food home to her family, and I felt ashamed.
I took a deep breath before I went on. “Well, I kind of need a project to submit to make me stand out from the crowd, you know? So I’m making a documentary about teen rituals, like dating and pep rallies and Sweet Sixteen parties. Isn’t that a great idea?”
“Mmmhmmpf,” she mumbled through a mouthful of sticky sandwich.
It was time to go in for the kill. I blew the next sentence out in one breath. “So you can see why it’s essential that I have a Sweet Sixteen party, then, right?”
Mom didn’t look up. “But you turned sixteen in March.”
“Yeah, I know,” I snarled. My birthday had included some decoupage wall hangings from Lila’s boyfriend du jour and a meal that can only be described as “experimental” from Mom. No fanfare. No cute boys. No big deal.
Mom picked up on the sad-sack tone in my voice. She patted my hand and left a thin streak of mayo on my knuckles. Can I just say bleccchhhh? “Sounds great, honey. We’ll get an ice-cream cake; you can invite Jared and Dee over. Very nice.”
Strike one. “That’s not really what I had in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of a…”—I almost said normal party—“…of a big party. You know, with food platters and beverages and a new dress. Something to really stand out on film…”
“Oh. Oh, gosh, Kari, honey. I don’t know. We’re Lila’s guests….” Strike two: the old backpedaling routine. Then would come, “Let’s see what the cards say.” Then the idea would be lost forever. I was not going to let my chance disappear.
“Mom. She’s your mother. My grandmother. And we’re not guests. We’ve been living there for four years. Embrace it.”
“But it’s awfully expensive. We couldn’t afford a party like this one.”
“I could put together a whole plan for doing it on the cheap. You know I can. And I was thinking…. What if I made a nice video brochure for your business? I mean soup to nuts, put the whole thing together. Then you could use some of your new biz money to pay for the party. What do you think?”
Mom sneaked a card off the top of her tarot deck, peeked at it, then stuck it inside the deck somewhere. “I think it’s a great idea. But sweetie, you have to try to be nice to Lila if you want to do this. Get her involved, and she’ll be a real pussycat about it. I know her.”
“Sure, no prob,” I said. I had no intention of getting Lila or any of my family involved. This was my show, and I needed it to go off without a hitch.
When it was all over, I’d have a film in the can, a new reputation, and maybe even a chance at Connor.
chapter 4
“You’re doing what?” Jared, apparently, wasn’t totally behind the party idea.
I looked around the mall to make sure no one had heard us. “Do you mind not completely wrecking my Barbie Dream House just yet? Sheesh, I haven’t even planned the thing.”
We walked past the Greenway Mall’s atrium. A rock garden waterfall trickled down over polished stones. A knockoff of a knockoff of a Beatles song wafted out of the mall’s hidden speakers.
“I’m sorry,” Jared said, straight-faced. “What I meant to say was, ‘Wow. A Sweet Sixteen party. Can I invite Muffy and Biff, and then we’ll all have a hayride!’ ”
I wanted to be mad at him, but true to form, he got me laughing instead.
“Uh-oh,” he said, grabbing my arm. “Mall-hair alert at two o’clock. I’m frightened, Auntie Em, I’m frightened!” He gave me his best Dorothy voice. Jared was a big Wizard of Oz fan. The winged monkeys were what made him want to draw in the first place. The sight of all those flying monkeys had scared the pee out of him as a kid. Drawing was his way of making the bad things disappear. “Let’s grab a ’dog. I’m starving.”
We scanned the mall’s notorious food court and decided on maximum damage: giant corn dogs and frosty malts. Jared nabbed us a table by an overgrown fern. I rested my video cam on my lap.
“So,” he said between bites. “Have you asked Lila the Horrible about your Sweet Sixteen plan of death?”
“My mom’s handling it.”
Jared feigned shock. “I’m sorry. While I was sleeping, did your mom grow a backbone?”
I punched Jared on the arm. Sometimes he could really cross the line with me. It was okay for me to talk about my family like that, but not him. “Cut it out. She’s not that bad.” Actually, my mom was every bit that bad. The last time she’d stood up to somebody was the eight-year-old paperboy who kept throwing our paper into the neighbor’s yard.
“I think this whole Sweet Sixteen thing sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
I leveled the video camera at him. “Why’s that?”
Jared put his hand up like he was avoiding the paparazzi. Then he stuck his face right up in the lens. “Hmmm, I don’t know. Could it be because of your wacko family?”
I glared at him. It was a mean thought, but a thought I needed to consider. Could I really throw a well-controlled party amid the pure chaos that was my family? Could I really see introducing Isis, Theo, and Lila to Connor and half the sophomore class?
“You did think about that, didn’t you?” Jared asked, polishing off his milk shake.
“Of course I did,” I said, sounding totally defensive. I started thinking out loud. “I’ll…just make sure they’re not home when I have the party. You know, send them off to the movies or bowling or something.”
“Bowling? What size shoes will George the iguana wear?” Jared snickered.
“Stop it,” I snapped. I didn’t mean to blow my cool, but I was starting to freak a little.
“You’re cute when you’re angry,” Jared said.
“I’m not angry.”
“No, you just bit my head off because you needed the protein. Speaking of, are you gonna finish that corn dog?”
I pushed my plate toward him.
“Actually, you can’t get rid of Lila or your mom. At least one of them has to be there to chaperon.”
He was right, of course. But I was starting to get really annoyed with him. Who was he to criticize my family like that? Why did he have to be so negative all the time?
“What if they surprise you?” I asked.
“Nothing your family does could ever surprise me.”
“What if they did? What if I gave them a makeover? Changed them into seminormal humanoids? Maybe they’re not as hopeless as you think,” I said stiffly. “It’s just one night, after all.”
Jared nearly choked on my corn dog. “Exactly!”
“Jared, seriously.” No one believed I could do anything. I needed someone to believe in me. I needed to win. “Twenty bucks says I can pull it off—the party, the family, the film….” The Guy, I added silently.
Jared leaned back in his chair and stared at me. “What?”
“What what?” I asked innocently.
The truth was, I had allowed myself a little daydream about inviting Connor Reese to my party. I guess I looked pretty moony.
“It’s definitely something.”
“It’s nothing,” I warbled unconvincingly.
I tried to change the subject. I wasn’t ready to share my crush news with Jared. “We should go. The food court remains are ooging me out.”
Jared anchored himself to his orange vinyl seat. “What’s with the mysterious? Come on, Kar. I told you about the time I sang a Whitney Houston tune at the church talent show, complete with an interpreter for the deaf. I think anything you could tell me is safe.”
I don’t know why I confessed. I guess I wanted somebody—a guy somebody—to tell me I was pretty and cool enough to merit the attention of a babe. Big mistake. “Well, you know Connor Reese?”
Jared looked thoughtful. “Tall. Doofy smile. Wears nice threads. That Connor Reese?”
“He does not have a doofy smile,” I corrected. “And if you tell another living soul about this, I swear I will come film you in a drool state and post it on the Internet.”
Jared made an X over his chest with his index finger. “Cross my heart.”
“Well, I’m going to ask Connor to my party.”
Jared shrugged and threw his empty cup at the trash can. It went in. “And…?”
“I’ve sort of got this major crush on him. What do you think?”
Jared swallowed hard. “Doesn’t he have an über witch girlfriend? Nan something or other?”
“I get the feeling they’re sort of on the outs.”
“People like that are always on the outs. Then they’re on the ins. No offense, Kar, but aren’t you aiming a little out of your league?”
Ouch. I could practically feel my big nose and my sideshow family casting the world’s largest shadow. A hard, tight ball squeezed against my throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Look, I happen to like girls who are different looking.”
Different looking? Thank you very much.
Mr. Sensitive kept right on. “But Connor. He strikes me as your basic Noxema Girl type. Nan Whatsername. Jen Appleton.” He took a pause. “Dee.” Double ouch. “That’s not exactly you, Kar.”
Jared had a way of getting under your skin with the truth. He saw everything you tried to hide. That’s what made him such a good comic book artist. His heroes had flaws, and his villains had good traits. I just wished he could let me slide for once.
“Look, forget I said anything, okay? Are we getting your ear pierced today? Or did you bring me here solely to remind me that I’m a hopeless loser?”
“Let’s motor.” Jared did his version of speed walking toward the end of the mall.
I lagged behind by a few feet and willed my eyes not to produce tears. I had a strict rule about not crying in broad daylight in a place where people could buy anything they wanted.
A sign in front of the Merle Norman cosmetics store read Ears Pierced, 10–5.
“Can I he’p you, honey?” The woman behind the makeup counter was smiling at me. She was dressed in floral print from head to toe, giving her the unfortunate appearance of an overstuffed easy chair. “We’ve got some nice little pearl studs that’d be real pretty on you, sugar.”
At least someone thought pretty and me belonged in the same sentence.
“I—ah—,” I stammered.
“Actually, it’s for me,” Jared interrupted.
The chintz woman looked momentarily stunned. Boys wanting earrings probably wasn’t covered in the Merle Norman customer service manual.
“Well. All right, then. You are over eighteen, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” Jared lied.
The woman, whose name tag read Betty Sue, pulled a needle gun out of a glass cabinet and wiped it down with alcohol. Then she grabbed a pen and cocked Jared’s head to one side. “I’m just marking your earlobe with a little dye. It’ll wash off. I sure hope your parents know what you’re doing.”
“Oh yes. Indeedy…Betty Sue.”
Betty Sue smiled like the Rose Queen and patted Jared’s arm. Then she leaned in conspiratorially. “You aren’t doing this to impress some girl, are you, honey?”
Jared’s eyes glanced in my direction, then locked onto Betty Sue’s face. “No. Definitely not an impress-the-girl thing. Unless you know someone?”
“Oh, you are funny!” Betty Sue got serious. “’Cause you do know this is permanent. I mean, the hole can close over someday, but you’ll always have a mark there. I just think you should know that before I pierce you.”
Jared snorted. “So it’s okay to maim girls for life, but you want to make sure boys think about it first. Gotcha.”
I knew he was making a joke, but to the un-Jared initiated, it sounded kind of mean.
Betty Sue pulled back her hand and picked up a tray of small silver and gold studs from the counter behind her. She put the tray down hard. “Girls need accessories,” she said with a sniff. “Pick out your earring.”
Jared scanned the black velvet tray, then pushed it toward her. “These leave me a little…cold. Is this your whole selection?”
Betty Sue was clearly tired of playing. She brought out a huge tray of earrings from the back. It was a cornucopia of tackiness. Mermaids dangled from golden filigree chains. Big, chunky cubic zirconia flowers
glared at us. There were rainbows. Unicorns. Yin-yang signs. Even a pair of chubby, sad-eyed angels.
Jared gave me an appraising glance. “What do you think?”
My hand hovered for a minute, then hit pay dirt. “It’s you,” I said, handing him a small, leaping silver dolphin silhouette.
Jared smiled and gave me a fake hug. His arms were thicker than I remembered somehow. More muscular. “This speaks to my tribe, kemo sabe.”
Betty Sue looked up from color coordinating the eye shadows. “Are you an Ind—Native American?”
Jared’s eyes twinkled, “On my dad’s side.”
“I thought you looked like you might have some Indian blood in you. I saw Dances with Wolves five times. You got an Indian name like that?”
“Yes. Plays with Matches.”
“Isn’t that something? What tribe?”
“Winnebago,” Jared said with a straight face. “We’re a nomadic race. Listen, I’d love to talk tomahawk with you, but my lovely wife and I are late to a powwow. The piercing marks my transition from a boy to a man, and we can’t wait to celebrate. Here you go…one dolphin.”
Betty Sue adjusted her floral shift for the big moment, and I felt a little sorry for her. Jared was always making up weird stories to make his family seem more interesting. I was always trying to bury my weird family stories in search of the boring and normal.
Betty Sue fixed Jared with her piercing gun. “This will just sting a bit….” There was a staple sound, and when she pulled back, Jared’s ear was flushed red with a small silver outline at the tip.
It looked good, like it had been there forever and I’d only just noticed. After promising to send Betty Sue a postcard from a tribal dance festival in Wyoming, Jared and I pushed out into the throngs of shoppers. I swerved toward Radio Shack.
“Come on. I need to buy some videotape,” I said, pulling Jared into the brightly lit store. He twirled and broke my grip. “It’ll only take a sec, okay? In and out.”
Radio Shack was hopping. A sale on cellular phones had brought in every weekend warrior in town. I grabbed a two-pack of high-grade tape and headed for the counter.