Patrick cheating? Just that statement made Marianne’s perception of reality wobble a little. All of a sudden, she didn’t need to use any effort to imagine how Sally was feeling. Patrick lying to her with his perfect lips. Patrick using his hands to touch another girl. Patrick forgetting her and hurting her purposely. It had been so stupid of Marianne to think she could do anything to make Sally feel better today. It would feel like having your torso ripped apart by a cannonball. When Alvin had cheated, Marianne had only been insulted. If Patrick did it... there would be nothing left of her except smeared blood.
And she didn’t have to work hard to know one other thing, too. One thing that she knew would be true for her, so it must be true for Sally. Marianne would still love Patrick. She would feel like he’d done it because she wasn’t good enough. That was why Sally wasn’t raging. She felt just as insecure about herself as Marianne did; Sally just hid it better. Why get angry about something that you know you deserve?
“You’re good enough,” said Marianne without preamble. “You didn’t deserve that. Victor is a selfish prick, and he would have done it to anyone. He’s going to cheat on that girl, too.” Unhelpful, vapid words. Her words were so true and so obvious that they were just plain insulting. Sally didn’t even respond to them, and Marianne was glad. Sally got up to find the dress she had in mind for her.
Marianne looked down, immediately nervous about the upcoming fitting. But then she realized that she was probably the same size as Sally now. She had a fighting chance of actually zipping up whatever Sally offered her. It was a striking moment for her. In her mind, her stomach seemed to shrink and flatten out. It was as if she were a sci-fi shapeshifter—whatever she thought about her body, so it was. It wasn’t like that weird eating disorder thing, though—where skeletal girls look in the mirror and see someone obese. Marianne never actually saw anything different in the mirror then what was really there. She just judged herself differently at different times. Yesterday, she hadn’t been good enough. Today, she was. Simple.
“My darling,” said Sally, eyes bright and excited. “I’ve never worn this before. It’s just too special for any occasion less than this.” She unhooked the hanger from the very far left of the closet and pulled it out.
Oh, for the love of all that was holy.
Marianne had been expecting black. She’d been expecting something long and lacey. Something that would let her melt into the shadows of Disneyland’s dimly lit areas. Nope. Marianne stood up and unbuttoned her jeans. Off with normalcy. She pulled her t-shirt over her head. Away with sanity. Ugh, she even had to take off her bra because the dress had one built in. There went her self-respect.
Marianne stood in front of the closet mirror while Sally fastened the million little buttons along the back. This dress was short and flared at the bottom, like a ballerina tutu complete with black tulle. The main part of the dress was made of what looked like upholstery material—a black background patterned all over in brown and orange and turquoise peacock feather eyes. Marianne ran her hand down the boning on the waist. It fit her snugly, perfectly.
The bust had cream-colored ruffles on the cups, and very wide bra-like straps. Two sets of straps, in fact, that Sally pulled over Marianne’s shoulders and crossed behind her back before hooking them. What a total nightmare. Had the dress been any shorter, and the bust cups any smaller, she would have been burlesque.
Okay. But she looked awesome, actually.
Sally added fishnet stockings, Victorian-style boots, and a brass armband. She was ready. Marianne looked in the mirror one final time and decided that she pulled it off. She’d have rather gone naked, but she pulled it off. Sally had better appreciate this.
Everyone stood in line by the platform in Tomorrowland, waiting for the train that would take them through the tunnel of animatronic dinosaurs. Marianne stood just outside the group, leaning back on a pillar and listening. She was freezing, but she tried not to let it show. It ruined her look.
Some other girls were dressed out in the Romantic style like Marianne. That was nice. She’d been scared that everyone else would have gone more punk and that she would stick out. Even Ben was less punk than usual; he was wearing a flouncy pirate shirt and buckled boots.
Todd was stealing the show in the middle of the group, telling everyone a hilarious but incredibly demeaning story about some girl he’d met at a show the week before. The heartless way he described the girl’s drunken antics put a knot in Marianne’s stomach. She looked away in time to see Sally’s cheating boyfriend Dark Lord Victor—yes, he was also called Dark Lord—walking up to the line for the train.
Marianne stood up straight, about to grab Sally and run when Ben appeared out of nowhere and stepped past her. He stopped in front of Victor, blocking his way. They stared at each other for a long moment, exuding some serious nonverbal communication. The Goth crowd was small, and apparently, the news about Victor’s sins had traveled fast. Marianne wanted to hug Ben for protecting Sally.
Dark Lord Victor glanced in Sally’s direction, and the broken look on his face almost made Marianne forgive him. Almost. And he was a mess; ripped jeans and a t-shirt. Nothing like his normal style. He took a step forward, but Ben shook his head, immovable. Victor pleaded with his eyes for a moment before giving up. He turned and left.
Ben and Marianne both watched him go. After a moment, Ben turned and looked meaningfully at Marianne. He looked unsure about whether he’d done the right thing. Marianne smiled and nodded.
He grinned back, then leaned back on the pillar by Marianne and focused his attention on Todd’s story again. No one else in the group seemed to have noticed that anything had happened. It was their secret. Marianne stood by him, enjoying the super-spy feel of the moment, and then the train pulled in.
Marianne was busy watching the passengers get off when Georgia was suddenly right in front of her face.
“Mari-Anne!” She drawled in a stupid sing-song voice. “The girl has finally gone dark!” She was obviously wasted, and it smelled like it. Marianne didn’t think she’d ever be able to drink cranberry juice again. Georgia was dressed Lolita—a Japanese street style that Goths just loved. If you look like a puffy porcelain doll, then chances are you’re dressed Lolita. Georgia even had the required oversized bow attached on top of her head. It was lopsided by this time of night, but it was there. She leaned in toward Marianne, much too close than was socially acceptable, and gave her a huge grin. “Trying to get Alvin back?”
Normally, Marianne would have leaned away from such debauchery, but she was so offended at Georgia’s insinuation that she actually leaned forward. “No,” said Marianne calmly.
“All right. All right,” she sang again. “It’s all good. I’m just glad to see you’ve finally shed your... you know... stuff.” She seemed too far gone to remember what the end of her sentence was supposed to have been.
“No. I don’t know,” said Marianne, squinting. “What stuff was that again?”
Georgia smiled at her. “You know, all that consumer stuff you used to bring around here.” She glanced over at Ben for a second, trying to get him to smile with her.
“Ahh. Thanks, honey,” said Marianne in the sappiest, most sincere voice she could manage. “Your approval means a lot to me.”
Georgia smiled blissfully and wrapped her arm around Marianne. “See? Aren’t you happier now that you’ve let go of all that mainstream stuff?”
The line started moving forward then, and Georgia towed her forward. Marianne just stared at her in shock.
“You come sit with me, Marianne. I always knew we would be close friends. The stinking media and all their stinking standards! Isn’t it crazy how—”
Close friends? This girl was so weird. “Uh, you go ahead,” interrupted Marianne. She pried her arm away from Georgia and gently pushed her forward. “I forgot my bag.”
Marianne stood to the side of the gate and let the whole group walk ahead of her. Georgia was swept away with them, thank goodness. That
was fricking odd, that’s what that was. Ben stayed back, too, and gestured for Marianne to enter first. She climbed the steps of the train car and took a seat on the closest empty bench. Sally was still caught up in conversation with Todd, so she didn’t bother going over to sit with her.
Marianne picked at a piece of lint on her stockings and smiled at the conductor when she caught him staring at her. “Hello,” she said when he didn’t look away.
“You look like you’re having fun,” he said, stepping up onto the outer rail where the workers always rode.
“I’m about to go back in time,” she said. “Of course I’m having fun.” Was she almost flirting? Wow. That was new.
“Make sure you stay in your seat now,” he said, smiling. “That Gallamimus can get nasty, but I’ll do my best to protect you.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Marianne, leaning forward. “But, you know, I have it on good authority from a six-year-old boy that it’s actually an Ornithomimus.”
The conductor smiled and was about to answer, but seemed to notice something above her, and stopped short. He nodded at her and turned away. Marianne looked up to find Ben standing near her, looking like he wanted her to move over. She did.
Ben sat down only a few inches away. “So, I picked up a copy of Goosebumps on your recommendation.”
“What?” Marianne was totally shocked that Ben was speaking to her and even more confused by his words. She had a vague memory of having discussed books with him, but that was in another age—B. P.
Ben smiled and bit the side of his lip ring. The train started moving then, and he had to speak loudly over the speaker. “Not really. But I happened to see one at my cousin’s house the other day, and I thought of you. I think it was called, Say Cheese and Die!”
“That’s a pretty good title,” said Marianne, trying to push away her nervousness. “But I think I prefer The Horror of Camp Jellyjam.”
He nodded slightly, looking a bit nervous. “Um... do you really read Goosebumps?”
“No, Ben!”
He was silent for a moment, and then a particularly loud outburst from Georgia’s little group seemed to grab his attention. He leaned toward Marianne in the darkness of the tunnel. “Is it okay if I tell you that I was about to physically remove Georgia from the line, back when she was insulting you? You handled her very well, though, and saved me the trouble.”
Marianne hadn’t handled anything, at least not on purpose. What on earth was he talking about? She laughed a little and tried to subdue her instinctual fidgeting. “You wouldn’t have had to try very hard, anyway. I think a good poke on the forehead would have knocked her on her back.”
Ben laughed. “You’re right. I just hate when she talks to people like that, though.”
“It’s okay. She’s just drunk.”
“How do you know? Have you ever seen Georgia sober?”
That last line had been meant to get a laugh out of Marianne, but for some reason, she didn’t think it was very funny. Something about Ben sitting by her was giving her the willies. Strange. She’d never disliked him before. She smiled a little but didn’t say anything.
“So, is that all your own hair?”
“Um...” Marianne glanced at him and then back to the dinosaurs passing by in front of them. “Yeah. Except the little white pieces. Those are fake.”
“Wow. Your hair is really thick.”
Marianne had to exercise incredible control not to turn on him and shout, “What the hell are you talking about?” She didn’t know why, but his comments were really pissing her off. She settled for saying, “Thanks.”
Marianne turned in her seat and searched the group for Sally. There were a few inches of space on the bench up there, so Marianne decided to make a run for it. She looked apologetically at Ben. “Hey... I’m going to go check on Sally, okay?”
He looked surprised but sat up immediately to let her pass in front of him. The conductor didn’t like that Marianne was moving mid-ride, but didn’t say anything. Apparently, someone was watching from a camera though, because she got yelled at through the speaker.
Marianne relaxed as soon as she was free of Ben. Leaving him there alone had been incredibly rude, but she couldn’t regret it. He’d done nothing wrong, but, for some reason, she’d rather have sat next to a pedophile. It made no sense. Ben was being nice. And he’d been mildly heroic back when he’d ousted Victor. Marianne should have liked him more than ever after what he’d done for Sally. He was sweet. He was good looking. He was...
Oh. Those were exactly the reasons she wanted to get away from him. He’d been sweet. He’d been handsome. He’d been heroic. That bastard was trying to be Patrick. It was totally irrational, but Marianne felt so defensive that she got angry all over again.
In protecting Sally, Ben had affected Marianne, too. He’d touched Marianne’s heart by acting, and then again by involving her in his secret. And then again by joking with her. Who the hell did he think he was? He wasn’t allowed to make her heart race the way he had. Patrick had the corner on virtue and attractiveness, and she wanted to push Ben off the train for making her forget that.
And what was she even doing here? Patrick was coming home soon—he was probably driving at this minute—and she was parading around Disneyland in a skimpy dress, making secret bonds and inside jokes with other dudes. It was unfaithful. Marianne hadn’t even been carrying her cell phone; it was locked away in the pocket of Sally’s backpack. What if Patrick had tried to call her, and she hadn’t heard it? Marianne reached under the seat for the backpack and fished out the phone. Thankfully, there had been no calls. And it was earlier than she’d thought, only eight-fifteen. She was safe.
What would Patrick think about this night? What would he think of her? He’d think she had the maturity of an eighth-grader, that’s what he’d think. Seriously, what kind of person gets dressed up like a vampire call girl and goes to an amusement park? Marianne was so embarrassed that she could hardly breathe. That may have been partly due to the boning of the dress, but still. The cloud of shame hung around her like an old lady’s perfume. Marianne leaned over to Sally’s ear. “I want to go home now.”
Sally turned away from her conversation mid-sentence. “Okay, doll. This place is closing in a few minutes, anyway.”
“Thank you.”
Sally and Marianne had to walk for ten minutes just to get back to the lot where they’d parked. Marianne always parked at Downtown Disney, the open-air shopping center by the Park, because parking was free for three hours. They were just passing the gigantic sports bar near the exit when Sally decided she needed a cigarette. She pulled Marianne over to the side of the building and they sat down on the pavement.
Marianne had never liked this building. The walls were super tall and straight, with slightly raised images of sports figures popping out of the sides. And they had flat, moving heads. Creepy. The logo had a giant flame on top, and there were little flags sticking straight off the walls. Somehow, that combination always reminded Marianne of a Roman gladiator arena. If you go into that place, you’ll come out either victorious or dead.
Sally pulled out her pack of cloves and lit one with a green lighter. “What time does Patrick get in?”
Marianne shivered and rubbed her bare arms. “Midnight, or around then.”
Sally nodded and extended the lit brown-papered clove toward Marianne.
“No, thanks.” Marianne was surprised by the offer. Sally knew she didn’t smoke.
Sally held the cigarette between two fingers and lit another one. She puffed hard and tried to hand the extra to Marianne again. “I’m just trying to make this easier.”
“Make what easier?”
Sally rested her elbow on her knee so that the cigarette would hang permanently between them. “I need to talk to you.”
This night seemed to be taking a strange turn, and Marianne didn’t like it. “Go ahead.”
“It’s about you,” said Sally, blowing out smoke.
“No thanks, then.” Marianne would rather talk taxes with Dad.
Sally looked at the extra clove and sighed. “So... when was the last time you purged?”
“Excuse me?” gasped Marianne. No one was allowed to know about her fake ED. No one.
“I’m not stupid, Marianne.”
“Uh... Yeah, I think you might be.” This could not be happening. Marianne shifted uncomfortably on the concrete. She could feel the fishnet digging into the skin underneath her.
“I eat lunch with you every day,” said Sally sternly. “Or rather, I eat and you pick.”
Marianne snatched the clove out of Sally’s hand and laid it on the ground between them. “I don’t have an eating disorder.”
Sally looked at her serenely. “Sure, you don’t.”
Marianne knew that Sally was being stupid, but she still felt strangely panicked, as if Sally had put a gun to her head. “I’m not bulimic.”
Sally picked up the clove from the ground and held it out again. “Of course, you’re not. You’re ana.”
“What the hell is ana?” said Marianne, her tone harsher than was necessary.
Sally shrugged. “Never mind.” She inched the clove closer to Marianne.
Marianne took it. Sally watched as Marianne stared at the cigarette. Why had she taken it? It felt wrong to have it in her hand. Illegal or something, even though she was old enough. Marianne had no desire to try it. “What will happen to me if I smoke this?” she asked Sally. No desire at all.
“You’ll calm down a little,” she said. “Maybe you could even hold a rational conversation about difficult subjects for once in your life.”
Marianne moved the cigarette to her other hand. “I think just fine.”
“You’re a mess.”
“What are you talking about?” mumbled Marianne.
“What do you think? You’re anxious and depressed. Starvation is just an outlet for you.”
That was a load of crap, and Marianne told her so. “That’s a load of crap. I’m not depressed.”
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