by Libba Bray
“Try one of these,” he said, offering me a plate full of what looked like tiny red jelly beans wrapped in snake-skin. “I call it Sagebrush Trail sashimi.”
I took a bite. A little fishy, but not bad. “What’s in it?” I asked warily.
“Octopus. Salmon eggs. Soy barbecue sauce.” My face must have gone totally slack. Joe took this as a good sign. He did his best John Wayne impression. “Pilgrim, is that a happy face I see?”
“Isn’t it divine?” Lila asked me.
“It’s certainly…interesting.” Note to self: Add “find caterer” to list.
“Here, try this one. It’s my specialty of the house. I call it Wyatt Eel.” Joe offered something resembling a pig’s tongue. Maybe this was the time to mention that no-eel diet I was on. I stared at it, waiting for it to transform into little cucumber sandwiches.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Lila huffed after a full minute of paralysis on my part. She grabbed the eel thing and took a bite. “It’s delicious. You’ve outdone yourself, Joe. Anyone would be proud to serve this as their cuisine de soiree, even to a bunch of backwoods sixteen-year-olds.” Joe beamed with pride, and Lila began discussing the menu and costs right in front of me. A new movie played in my head. Open on NYU review board screening documentary of Sweet Sixteen party. Long shot of confused faces watching Japanese cowboys serving raw fish to grossed-out kids. Hold as review board registers queasy feelings. Cut to board throwing documentary in trash. Fast-forward to Kari selling pencils on street corner.
I needed to stop things before they went too far. I was not my mother. I could stand up to Lila.
“Lila, can we talk?” I said meekly.
“In a minute, Kari Elizabeth. Now, Joe. I’m thinking a cake shaped like a large salmon would be daring. To stick with the theme.”
Salmon cake? This was getting dire. “Maybe we should talk about this…,” I suggested.
“But darling, it’s perfect. Oh, I love the paper stagecoaches you have in the back room. Could we get some of those?”
I almost groaned out loud. What was next—pin the tail on the sashimi? Lila was out of control.
“How about I loan you my karaoke machine? Kids love it!” Joe clapped in excitement.
“Won-der-ful!” Lila gasped.
Karaoke. The kiss of party death. I had to stop them. Had to seize control.
“I don’t want this,” I said in a hoarse whisper.
“What?” Lila acted as if I’d stung her.
“I mean, I don’t think sushi is such a good idea at a party. There’s always the threat of…” I couldn’t think of what to say to get out of this nightmare. “…of food poisoning!”
“My sushi is expertly prepared,” Joe said in real earnestness.
“No doubt, Mr…. Joe. But you know. Hot night, raw fish? We just can’t take the legal risk. I’m sure you understand.” I realized I was backing toward the exit. “Thanks so much for your time. You’ve got a great place here.”
“Wait. I haven’t even shown you the karaoke country-and-western bar…,” Joe called, but I was already out the door and halfway to the car. Lila came fuming after me. I could almost see smoke coming out of her ears.
“Well, that’s the last time I try to be a part of your life,” she snapped. It was a total drama-queen moment, but it still made me feel pretty ungrateful.
“Lila…,” I began. “I know you want to help. It’s just that I want to plan this party. They’re my friends. Maybe they’re not as adventurous as you are, but I know what they like. Can we just smoke the peace pipe?”
Lila was concentrating very hard on the road ahead of us. The Jesus mobile hummed while we rode silently past country lanes and metal mailboxes with PO addresses. She rolled up her window and flicked on the air-conditioning, which only made it feel more humid inside the car.
Finally she spoke, her voice jagged as glass shards. “You have no vision, Kari Elizabeth. Just like your father.”
It was supposed to hurt, and it did. I didn’t know whether to be angrier that she’d insulted me or Daddy.
In the end I said nothing, just let that tightness in my throat choke back the tears while I counted the horses I saw out my window.
Cut to girl on horseback. The horse rises and falls with her every move. After months of hard work the girl has tamed him. And now she’s free to ride as long, as fast, and as far as she likes, tasting the wind all the way.
By that night I had called half a dozen places, looking to rent party space. They were either booked or way too much money. The last place I called suggested holding the party at a roller rink. Images of sixth-grade birthdays flooded over me. Thanks, but no thanks. When I’d crossed the last name off my sad to-do list, I threw it in the trash and tried to come up with a plan B. And a caterer. Oh, and a casting director.
Lila was on a date, and my mom was at a psychic convention, so I was on baby-sitting duty. It was a double curse since Theo’s band was practicing in the garage and Isis and her goth friends were listening to rock dirges in her room. I tried to ignore them all and started crafting an intro for my film.
I perched the video cam on a makeshift tripod made from my dresser and a phone book. Running back and forth between my spot on the bed and the director’s berth behind the lens, I figured out how to film myself without cropping off the top of my head or anything. The camera rolled. I assumed my best serious journalist look.
“I’m Kari Dobbins.” Cut! I was giving the camera a profile. Not my most flattering angle. Facing forward, I tried again. “Hi. I’m Kari Dobbins. And this is a glimpse into a world few people ever really see in all its glory. The world of a Sweet Sixteen party.” The depressed thud from Isis’s stereo was beating through my walls, making it hard to think. I tried to continue. “Tonight you’ll see how a normal, average teenage girl…”
An excruciating sound nearly threw me off the bed. Feedback. Lots of feedback. What followed wasn’t much better. A Jimi Hendrix song with a polka beat shook the whole upstairs. At least, I think it was a Jimi Hendrix song.
Isis came out of her room, saw me, then disappeared again like the groundhog after seeing its shadow. I followed her into her room. There were three other black-clad kids sitting on her floor, looking gloomy.
“Did Mom say you could have company?” I shouted over the din.
“We get together every Sunday night. Notice things much?” She had a point. Isis’s entire life seemed to take place in a fog. I noticed the kids had our Pictionary game out, which struck me as beyond hilarious.
“I’m getting a headache.”
No one moved.
“Turn the music down.” It was like I was invisible. I pulled out the big guns. “Now, Rachel.”
Isis shot me her most hateful glance but made no move for the volume button.
A kid with shoe-polish black hair took in my polo shirt and khakis. “You must be the sister who has no imagination.”
Okay, enough was enough. “No, I’m the sister who’s kicking you all out,” I retorted. I needed to get some work done.
“You can’t do that,” Isis snapped.
“Mom left me in charge. It’s a school night. You need to be doing school night things. You have five minutes to break up the Gothketeers. I’m going down to deal with Theo.”
The basement was a jumble of cables and amps. I was amazed something hadn’t caught fire. I had to make a time-out gesture to get the band to quit.
“Excuse me, but this is a closed rehearsal. No fans allowed.” Theo’s voice broke as he was talking, which undermined the effect he was going for.
“It’s not just closed. It’s over. Good night, guys. Time to pack up and hit the trail.”
A chorus of outrage and disgust erupted. “Dude, are you gonna let some chick tell you what to do?” the bass player demanded of Theo.
The drummer joined in. I recognized his voice from the answering machine. The one who handed out the tardy slips for Ina Goddah Nagilah. “Yeah. You’ve got as much right
to live here as she does!”
Theo was growing bolder by the minute. After a few minutes of goading he’d probably work up to a full “you can’t make me,” followed by an hour of loud pouting. I stepped in. “Can it, pip-squeak. I’m in charge. I say you’re out of here.” Taking charge felt good. And once the music geeks and gothsters were safely out of our house, I could work on my project in peace.
The saxophone player was cursing under his breath. “You haven’t heard the last of us!”
Upstairs, the doorbell rang. Probably somebody looking for donations. I ran upstairs and threw open the door. “We already gave…” My heart zoomed up to my head like one of those bell ringers you hit at a carnival.
“Hi. I thought maybe you could use a study break.”
Connor Reese was standing on my front porch, looking around like an actor who’d wandered onto the wrong set. He handed me a pint of cookies and cream, my favorite.
My mouth opened. When no sound came out, I closed it again.
“Can I come in? Or is your grandmother still asleep? If so, you might want to check her breathing.”
“Come in,” I said. It was almost a whimper.
Connor stood in our foyer and took in the whole weirdo ambiance in one head pivot.
“This is some house,” he said.
I cringed. Theo’s band members filed past us, nearly upending me in the process. The drummer turned to face me before he left. “This isn’t over, sister of Theo. Not by a long shot. We will have revenge!” With a sharp pivot he slammed the door behind him. Two seconds later Isis’s creepy friends slunk past and out the same door without even looking up.
“Like I said,” Connor quipped after a beat. “This is some house.”
Connor didn’t wait to be invited this time. He wandered through the whole house, taking in the corkboard, the spider art, the mustard walls. I was silently dying a thousand deaths. Especially when Isis cornered him by the upstairs bathroom.
“Are you dating my sister?” She fixed Connor with that unnatural stare of hers.
I practically swallowed my tongue. “Kids say the darnedest things. Isis, I’ll help you with your math homework later. Why don’t you get ready for bed, okay?”
Isis flipped on the bathroom light. “Because if you are, I think you should know she’s a tyrant.” She slammed the door in our faces.
“Wow. I think we’ve just been told off by Connor said, winking. He grabbed my hand. “Come on. Let’s have some ice cream.” God, he was taking this well.
My insides were at war. Knowing that Connor had come all the way over to hand deliver ice cream had me falling even more madly in love. Letting him see the way we lived, warts and all, had me wanting to hide under the bed.
But if Connor felt the urge to run screaming from the Odd Dobbins, he wasn’t letting on. Was he so embarrassed for me, he couldn’t bring himself to mention it? Whatever. If so, I was grateful. In fact, I was in full-out denial. A nice place to be.
After scooping ice cream into some bowls, we sat on the front porch in Lila’s old metal swing from the 1930s.
Connor took a bite and said, “So your mom’s working tonight? What does she do?”
“She has a, um, sort of New Age business,” I said carefully. “Remember her tarot card readings from Nan’s party? That’s what she does.”
Connor nodded gamely. “Oh yeah. Right.”
“What about your mom? What’s she do?” I asked so we didn’t have to think about my mom for too much longer.
“Corporate lawyer. Makes some nice change. She’s really good at it, too.”
She sounded like a movie heroine. Cut to Connor’s mom in a pin-striped suit, fighting for truth, justice…and corporate profits. Well, I’d work on it.
“Funny thing is, my dad’s a lawyer, too. Ever try to win an argument against two professional arguers? Don’t even try.” He laughed, but I sensed a note of sadness there.
The director in me wanted to go deeper. But there was something I wanted to know even more. “So…,” I started. I took a bite of ice cream and stared across the street at Mr. Jones’s lilac bushes. “Have you…talked to Nan lately?”
Connor took my chin in his hand and turned my face toward his. He spoke very clearly. “Nan and I are so over, it’s not even funny.”
“But you were together for a year. That’s a long time….”
“And how many times did we break up during that year?” He dropped his hand. My chin still felt warm from his touch. “Nan’s like my mom. She loves a good fight. I’m tired of going so many rounds. I’d just like things to be simple. Easy for a while. You know what I mean?”
Did I ever. A breeze blew my hair into my face, tickling my nose. The streetlights were all on now, and the world was quiet and peaceful. Connor and I rocked on the swing with its comforting creak. I was dying for him to ask me six little words: Will you go out with me?
“How’s the big party plan coming?” Not the six words I was looking for.
“Good, good,” I muttered, bouncing my head up and down for reinforcement.
“Good,” he said. “Good is…good.”
I hadn’t felt this much tension since Mom took me to buy my first bra. We ate our ice cream in silence. I could hear the scrape-scrape of our spoons against our bowls. I drifted off, letting myself sink into a fantasy where Connor swept me into his arms and covered my neck in kisses.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Connor asked.
I snapped my head around so fast, I nearly hit the swing. Oh, nothing. Just planning our marriage. “Uh…my friends…Dee and Jared,” I lied, desperate to cover.
Connor put down his bowl and stretched his arm across the back of the swing. “What about them?”
“Oh, total YM stuff. They like each other, and I’m trying to hook them up. Not an easy task, I can tell you.”
“Jared’s not coming through on the call? But she wants him to?”
Exactly. “Right,” I warbled.
“Hmmm, tough break.” He pushed us gently, using only his heels. I swear I could hear my own blood pooling in my ears. I wanted him to ask me out that bad. “Well,” he said after what seemed an eternity. “Maybe we should double date.”
Oh my God. He said the D word! And “we.” Now he was waiting for something. What was it? Oh yeah, this was my line! “Yeah. We could do that.” Oh, we could soooo do that. I didn’t want to come across as a complete spastic. “Actually, I need to check out a restaurant for my party. Maybe we could all go? Next Saturday?” I knew just the place to make an impression, too. Magnolia. The nicest place in town.
“Next Saturday it is. Let’s work on the lovebirds.”
Yeah, let’s, I thought. I was vaguely aware that our heads were getting closer together. I could see his pillowy lips and his impossibly long lashes like an extreme close-up. I hoped I didn’t have any ice cream caked around my mouth.
Suddenly a car screeched into my driveway, nearly blinding me with its headlights. The dogs were totally freaked and barked like crazy. Nan Tatum jumped out of the car and ran up to the porch. She had been crying, but she still had that perfect cover girl face. Her arms were crossed, and her head was high. Her voice was shaky, though. “Your mom said you were over here.” Nan didn’t look in my direction at all.
“What’s the matter?” He sounded concerned. People get concerned over other people all the time, right? It didn’t necessarily mean he was still under the magic sway of the gorgeous, perfect, impossible, and irresistible Nan Tatum. Did it?
Nan started to cry. That Hollywood kind of crying that makes movie stars look so beautifully doomed. Crying makes my nose run and my eyes swell in a non-movie-star way.
“It’s Snuggles. He got out and was hit by a car. The vet says he’ll be okay, but…” The crying started again.
Okay. This is gonna make me sound really mean, but all I could think was, She named her dog Snuggles? The poor creature had probably tried to commit suicide.
Connor picked a leaf off
the porch. “I’m sorry. Nan.”
Nan stopped crying and glared at Connor. “I can’t believe you’re being so cold. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and you don’t even care. I knew I shouldn’t have come.” She ran to her car.
Connor called after her, “Wait, Nan!”
My heart sank. Connor gave me a wince and shrug that seemed to say, “What can I do?” “I know it’s retarded, but that dog means everything to her,” he muttered.
I tried to look mature and noble like Olivia de Havilland in Gone with the Wind. It probably just made me look constipated. “No. I understand. I should probably check on the hellions. It’s too quiet in there.”
“You’re a doll,” he said, getting up to leave.
I stood to watch him go. I don’t know why. Halfway down the walk Connor turned back and blew me a little kiss that only I could see. Then he was gone, leaving me to float inside.
After Connor’s visit, the house didn’t seem quite as shabby as before. With a little paint, some killer food, and a great band, I could pull off the party here. I would pull off the party here.
Well, technically I had no choice. But that wasn’t what I was thinking as I climbed up the stairs in a daze. I was thinking that if Connor Reese could ask me out, there was hope for any and everything.
chapter 7
By Monday morning I was nearly bursting to talk to Dee. We now had a party and a double date to prepare for, and I was getting psyched.
We met at our shared locker between first and second period. We weren’t supposed to be sharing a locker. It made teachers nervous, like the combined hormonal flimflam of two high schoolers could turn a locker into a time portal or something. Dee came bounding up as I spun our combination.
“Your note said it was important,” Dee said. Her eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh my God. You can’t tell I’m wearing a pad, can you?” Dee started trying to see behind herself like a dog chasing its tail.