by Dalya Moon
Ty finishes his ice cream sandwich and begins licking the waxed paper wrapper. His other friends laugh. They're a pretty nice bunch, especially when Dana isn't around. I wish Josh hadn't gotten suspended. Ty's been reading his lines for him in Drama, for play rehearsal, but it's just not the same.
Briana stops by our table and asks if we're still on for swimming on Sunday. “Unless you're grounded?” she asks.
“I can do swimming. Sounds good. Oh, I'm not grounded. My parents are operating from the Upside-Down-World handbook, and if you misbehave, you just get treated better and better.”
“But you're still banished to the den, right?”
“Yeah! Where the big TV is. It's pretty sweet.”
Briana's big blue eyes focus on a spot either behind or in front of me, giving her a blank look. “I don't get it. So if things are okay, why are you still mad at Genna?”
“I didn't say I was mad.”
She gives me another blank look. “But you're over here.”
“Because you guys are boring. You read books all the time and she's working on the Annual stuff anyway.”
She shakes her head and walks away.
I finish my last cracker, painfully aware that my new friends at this table just heard everything and probably think I'm a horrible person.
“I'm not a horrible person,” I say to Ty.
“You're a girl,” Ty says.
“And your point is?”
He leans back on his bench seat, studying me. “I should write some jokes just for the ladies. Tell me everything hilarious about periods.”
“There's nothing funny about periods.”
“Nothing?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“Oh. What about bras, then?”
“A little more funny. Like, when you get your first bra, it's called a training bra. I don't know why. Training? Training for what?”
Ty wrinkles his nose. “I think I'll stick to what I know.”
“Like with the crack hair? And the toe hair?” As I'm talking, I self-consciously raise my hand to my upper lip. I started getting a little fuzz on there within the last year or so. I tried plucking it, but the hairs are too tiny to grab. I bleached the hair, but that just made it brighter and more obvious. I waxed it once, a few months ago, and it might be time to do that again, before I get a mustache. I hope Ty isn't looking at my mustache right now. Oh, he is. He totally is.
“Puberty is the worst,” Ty announces to the table, bobbing his head and sounding a little like Chris Rock. “Right? I guess it's chemicals and stuff, but nobody tells you it makes you feel like Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde. Sometimes I get these feelings, and I'm all ...” He puts his hands on the sides of his head and makes a silent scream, pulling his cheeks down like his face is melting.
Everybody laughs.
“Girls get hormones too,” I say. “Sometimes I get growing pains in my legs, and they really hurt. I thought growing pains was just a saying, but it's real.”
Ty says, “And how about those periods, right?”
“I'll just say one thing about periods.” The other people at the table lean in with interest. “You know those girls who record themselves crying and upload them to YouTube? That's totally a period thing. You need to unplug your webcam when Aunt Crazy comes to town.”
“I knew it,” Ty says.
I look around at the people at the table, mostly guys, all listening to me talk. I can't believe I'm actually acknowledging the existence of periods, let alone talking about them.
“And you know those girls who post videos asking if they're pretty? What they really need is a Midol and a hot water bottle.”
Everyone laughs at my little joke.
Ty gives me a knowing smile. “And you said there was nothing funny about periods.”
* * *
When I get home after school, the sky is still bright and pink. The days are getting longer again, just when I was getting accustomed to being in the dark.
As I'm unlacing my boots inside the front door, something sparkly catches my eye. A vase. On the antique pedestal table, in front of the big picture window, is my mother's beloved vase.
How ...?
Standing by the vase, I run my fingertips over the smooth surface, over all the peacock-feather-colored swirls. This must be a new one, because the other was in smithereens. In fact, I'd never truly understood the word smithereens until the day Aunt Trudy knocked over my mother's beloved vase.
“Mom, I'm home!” I call out, since it's Friday.
“I'm in the kitchen!”
I walk into the kitchen and discover she's not alone, but talking to a willowy girl with strawberry-blond hair.
The girl says, fluffing the ends of her hair, “You like?”
“Tick?”
My mother says, “We had a spa day. My hairdresser, bless her heart, was able to work a miracle stripping out all that red dye.” She turns to my cousin, saying, “It's still fragile though, so no brushing when it's wet, and use that leave-in conditioner we bought you.”
“I'm going to try out my new makeup,” Tick says, and she bounds out of the kitchen.
“Quite an improvement,” Mom says.
“She gets suspended, and you take her to get her hair done? What's next? Getting arrested? I suppose for that, you'll buy her a car.”
My mother lets out an exasperated sigh. Her face looks different, like somebody else did her makeup. “We're just trying to do right for our niece. You know she's never had it easy in life.”
“What, and I have?” Even as I say the words, I'm aware of how selfish and spoiled I sound, and I hate myself for it, but I can't stop. “I work hard to get good grades and be good. You know that. Nobody ever gives me something for nothing.”
My mother crosses the kitchen and pulls the door off the magnet, closing us off. “She never even knew her father, much less had him in her life. How would you like to trade places with her?”
“And get my old room back? Sure thing. Where do I sign up?”
“Don't be lippy with me. You know if they hadn't come here, they were headed to a women's shelter.”
“A what?”
“Never mind. I shouldn't be spilling all your aunt's secrets.”
Now I feel even worse. “But they're going to be okay, right? I mean, once Aunt Trudy's leg is better. She'll be getting a settlement too, right?”
My mother turns away and pulls some celery, onions, and carrots from the fridge. “Minestrone soup seems right for a day like this.”
I think back to all the times Aunt Trudy mentioned getting money for breaking her leg on the steps of a government building. First it was tens of thousands, and lately it's been “six figures,” which means a hundred thousand.
“Mom, there is a settlement, right? How much money is Aunt Trudy going to get? Realistically?”
“I don't know.”
“Aw, Mom, I thought you knew everything.”
She rinses the celery off in the sink. “The older I get, the more I understand how little I know.”
“That's depressing.”
She looks at me with concern. “Are you ... feeling okay?”
“Hungry.” I take a stalk of the celery she's chopping and begin nibbling. There's a reason celery is the iconic diet food—it's so low in calories, it's practically free.
“Your cousin has lost a few pounds,” Mom says.
I chew my celery slowly and swallow. “A few?”
“Have you noticed? She's lost close to seven pounds, in less than a month. I think it's because her mother used to feed her garbage. Nothing but takeout and those nasty Hot Pockets.”
“I guess juvenile delinquency burns more calories than doing your homework. Maybe I should make some changes to my routine. Maybe I should get suspended from school so I can go on a spa day.”
My mother laughs merrily at this, which makes me more annoyed. Why's she in such a good mood? Was spending the day with my cousin that much fun?
I
poke her in the arm. “You should know I'm not very happy right now,” I say.
“What's on your mind?”
“Why do you guys act like Tick is so special? She's not that great, but you hang on her every word, and she gets treated even better now that she's gotten in trouble at school. It's not right.”
“Lainey, shush.” She glances at the closed door. “You'll hurt her feelings. Don't say such things.”
“What feelings? You know she's a big faker. She's really good at acting. She doesn't feel bad at all for anything she's done. You know she wanted me to play hooky from school with her?”
“Did you?”
“No, but that's beside the point. She's just ... horrible. And if you keep rewarding her, she'll keep being horrible.”
“As far as I know, she hasn't murdered anyone. I've never even heard her take the Lord's name in vain, not like you and your friends with your ohmigod-this, ohmigod-that.”
“Mom! That's so not fair! It's something people say!”
She does a funny gesture, where she waves her hand over her face and closes her eyes. “Everything's fine.” She opens her eyes and gives me a fake smile. “Everything's as it should be. Everything's okay.” She rinses off the carrots under the tap and arranges them on the cutting board. The water on the stove has started to boil, so she lowers the flames.
“No, everything's not okay. Mom, you should know ... Olivia had a half-naked guy in her dorm room. I saw him. On the webcam. She's probably having sex and everything.”
My mother stops chopping carrots for a moment to look at me. She seems more amused than shocked. “I suppose that is what college is for,” she says, going back to chopping.
“Mom!”
“What?” she says sweetly.
“You are acting SO WEIRD. I don't get it. You hate having Aunt Trudy here. Wait ... are you happy because they're going away soon?”
“Not that I know of,” she says. “Really? Do I seem different to you? I have been waking up with a song in my head every morning. Must be my new vitamins.”
She's too annoying, so I head for the door. I pull it open and pause. “Where did the vase come from?”
“Oh, your grandparents sent it as soon as they heard. I guess they bought three or four as investments, back when your father and I got married. They sent one as a gift, but still had the others up in the attic. Isn't it wonderful how everything works out?”
“Wonderful,” I say, walking out the door.
Again, I walk for the stairs by mistake, then make a growling sound and turn around to head to the den.
What is a den anyway?
Sounds like somewhere bears hibernate.
* * *
At dinner, my mother coaches my cousin on how to hold her silverware properly. Aunt Trudy takes some photos to remember the occasion.
* * *
I spend most of Saturday in my room, in the den. I'm actually getting used to the sound of the beast that is Infurnace. There's a belt on it that squeaks, and you have to go into the furnace room once or twice a day, turn off the electricity, and adjust the belt. Right after you do that, the noise isn't so bad, though when it starts up on a cold night, it does make a big whoompf sound that's terrifying.
* * *
We go to the pool with my father on Sunday, picking up Briana from her house on the way there. My cousin stays home this time, because her newly-done hair is still “too delicate.”
I swim twice as many laps as I did last week.
My t-shirt drags against the water, slowing me down, so when I stop for a break, I peel it off.
Contrary to my expectations, not a single person turns and stares at my acres of pale, flabby flesh. Nobody even looks at me.
Briana takes a break with me and pulls her goggles up onto her forehead. Her pale eyes seem to be unfocused. Were they always like that? I used to think it was because she was always looking up from a book, confused about the real world.
“Briana, do you need glasses?”
She looks down at the water. “I can see fine, my eyes are just like this.” She turns away and puts her goggles back on again.
“Briana, I didn't mean anything by it. Your eyes are fine. It just seemed like you weren't looking right at me.”
“S'okay,” she says, and she kicks off into the water.
Great.
Briana's the only person in the world who still likes me, and I just hurt her feelings.
* * *
On Tuesday at school, I'm surprised to see Josh in Drama class. I ask him why he's back in school.
He says, “As a boy, I'm actually allowed in the boys' washroom.”
“Ah! Only one week of suspension for you. Only one strike.”
Mrs. Linklater shouts—nicely, as always—for us to get into positions for another full rehearsal.
Tomorrow, we're doing a costume fitting, which means it'll be the moment of truth for me and the green dress. I've been so consumed with battling the stomach growlies with high-fiber, low-calorie snacks, that I almost forgot why I'm doing it.
When nobody's looking, I slip my fingers into the waistband of my jeans. I swear they feel looser, but I don't know if it will be enough.
We start the rehearsal, and I notice I'm the only person who has completely memorized their lines and isn't holding a script. Doing your homework and staying ahead can feel really good, like the opposite of being worried. You have to be careful not to show it too much, though, like by smiling at the wrong moment, or people will think you're being smug. On the inside, you can be a tiny bit smug.
During another character's monologue, Josh sneaks over to stand next to me and says, quietly, “I don't actually smoke. We were just daring each other as feats of bravery. I didn't want to do the cinnamon challenge, so Dana swiped the pack from her mother.”
“I wouldn't think you'd smoke. It's bad for the singing voice.”
He looks down shyly, the bright lights of the stage glinting off his wire-rim glasses and sandy-brown hair. “That's right, my golden voice. My ticket to fame and fortune on YouTube and beyond. The only problem is I think I'm too old already. Someone sent me a link to this twelve-year old doing cover songs. He sang like an angel.”
“A million views?”
“At least. Do you ever feel like you're over the hill at fourteen?”
“Totally! It's like one minute you're eleven and you can be anything, like a ballerina, or a gymnast. Then you're twelve and it's too late.”
Ty, who's standing at the front of the stage doing his monologue, turns around to stare at us. He clears his throat and says, “This speech needs more references to crack hair, doesn't it? A bit dry, don't you think? Oh, sorry, am I interrupting your conversation?”
Sounding exasperated, Mrs. Linklater calls out from the seats, “Ty, if you forgot your line, just say 'line' and we'll feed it to you. No need to cover up by blaming other people.”
The other students on stage and the ones watching all laugh.
Ty turns away from me and Josh, facing out to the audience again. “Line,” he says, even though his script is at his feet.
Josh leans in closer, whispering so he doesn't distract his best friend, and says, “He doesn't like sharing me with you. He wants me all to himself.”
Josh is so close, his breath is tickling my ear.
“Ty's really fun. I've been having lunch with him the last week, since you abandoned him.”
“I knew someone had been babysitting him! He's hardly gotten into any trouble at all.”
“Shush,” I say. “We'd better be quiet. Your part is coming up next.”
“Good thing I have it all memorized,” he says, pointing to his forehead. “I put my week off to good use, getting caught up.”
* * *
After rehearsal, Josh comes over to where I'm sitting and making some final notes on my script. He watches as I write with my ink-blobby pen. I know all my lines, but Mrs. Linklater wants me to accent the dialog a little differently, so I'm not
ing which lines. She thinks I'm overselling, and I need to “throw them away” a little more.
“Whatcha doing Friday?” he says.
“I dunno.”
“We're going to hang out. Wanna come with?”
“Sure.”
He's still standing, his shadow casting onto my script. “I didn't even say what we're doing,” he says, looking amused.
Behind Josh, Ty whoops and does a handstand up on the stage. “Dude, let's roll,” he calls out, his voice sounding compressed from him being upside-down. “Roll, roll, roll!”
I say to Josh, “I'll do whatever you're doing.”
“Cool. Plans may change, but as of now, the deal is ... meet us at the movie theater, for the early show.”
“Okay.”
He turns and runs up the steps to the stage and pretends to karate-kick Ty in the groin. Ty retaliates by wrapping his legs around Josh, and the two of them tumble to the stage, play-wrestling.
Mrs. Linklater, who is sitting in the row behind me, says, “Those two are nuts.”
“They certainly are unique. Thanks for the notes today. I'll try not to oversell my lines.”
“You'll be fine,” she says. Her shirt is cut low in the front, revealing two flying birds near her collarbones. “The important thing is to know the lines. Beyond that, it's all interpretation.”
“I definitely know my lines. Let's hope nobody jinxes our luck by saying Macbeth.”
Her eyes widen and she covers her mouth.
“What? We're not in the green room,” I say. “We can say Macbeth out here, right?”
She lets out a sound that's a cross between a whimper and a laugh. “Lainey Murphy.” She chortles again. “No, no, it's fine,” she says, holding up a hand. “It's a silly old superstition, and I'm not superstitious. I'm sure nothing disastrous is going to happen.”
Chapter 9
Friday arrives quickly, and I haven't gotten any less nervous about hanging out with Josh. I've made a note of which hallways he travels through between classes and have been going in the opposite direction, so I don't see him. Of course, I still see him at lunch, but Ty is there, with his comedy routine, so I just listen to them and don't say anything to embarrass myself.