I don’t know what to do next. Start screaming for help? Abandon ship and swim for it? Then I remember the three-piece emergency oar stored under the seat compartment so I take it out, screw it together, and start paddling like a maniac. My puny arms are no match for the chop of the waves, so I’m pretty much paddling in place, splashing around and turning in circles. I try to stay calm but am quickly growing hysterical.
Then the buzz of a far-away engine jerks my attention up. I look around, trying to find the source of the buzzing. As the speck gets closer, I realize who it is. It’s Melody on the other ski, binoculars around her neck, a gas can in hand, flying across the water to rescue me.
21.
I’m pretty sure that I’ve landed the Cadillac of low-end jobs at Cedar Point. It’s my first day back and while it’s only been a few hours, I can say with certainty that Frontiertown is a laid-back, lemonade daydream compared to the scorching beehive of zone one. My new position consists of selling merchandise in the air-conditioned log cabin store and then, during nice weather, assisting at the “sluice fountain” out front. I’ll help little kids sift dirt through screening boxes in hopes of finding treasure. I work the register most of the morning but also take my turn at mopping wet footprints from the aisles. All of the park guests are soaked and tracking in water.
When my break comes, I grab an oversized Cedar Point windbreaker from the supply closet and tell my co-workers that I’ll be back in an hour. Outside, I hop over puddles and make my way towards Brandon’s kiosk.
“Hey, you,” he says, smiling as I approach.
“Hey,” I say and we hug.
It’s not just a quick how-ya-doin’ hug but long and close.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” he says, looking down at me. I can see the eagerness in his eyes. He’s debating whether the moment is right to kiss me.
Then he quickly looks up and over my head because customers are approaching.
“Sorry, the stand’s closed until two,” he says, which keeps the intruders moving along. He turns his attention back to me. “Slop hall, okay?”
I nod and we pull up the hoods to our matching windbreakers. Stepping out into the drizzle, he takes my hand and we head across the park towards the cafeteria.
In the noisy chow line I pull my money out right away because I don’t want to give the impression that I expect him to pay for me.
“So how long are you grounded, again?” he asks. We grab trays and slide them down the rail.
“Until I turn eighteen,” I say, snagging a tuna sandwich and carton of milk.
His face falls.
“Meaning Tuesday,” I add with a smile.
“Tuesday’s your birthday?” he says, his eyes brightening.
I nod but then turn away to inspect the cooler of fruit. Birthday Talk feels weird at the point, like: Hey, I know we’re just getting started here, but can you please buy me something awesome? It’s my BIRTHDAY.
When we pay for our lunches—mine costs $3.50— it occurs to me that my dirty ground money racket is over now that I’m not a sweep anymore. Professor Owl is going to be so displeased. I need to count that jar up and see how much I’ve got.
Brandon steers us towards a smaller, empty table and when we sit down to eat, I give him a detailed account of my jet-ski ordeal. I exaggerate a bit to make it more harrowing and cinematic then immediately regret laying it on so thick. I was out there for I don’t even KNOW how long. The waves were so choppy!
“That could have ended badly,” he says, his face worried.
“Oh, no…,” I say, walking it back, “I mean, someone will come along eventually and rescue you. Hehe. It’s not like it’s the ocean and you’re going to die of thirst or float off to Japan or anything.”
I bite my sandwich and look around the crowded cafeteria.
“Well, it must have been a big deal,” he says, grinning, “Since you were rescued by The Step Melody and then promptly grounded until the age of eighteen.”
“Grounded,” I say, huffing. “At first I thought my dad was joking. It’s ridiculous; grounding someone my age.”
“Well, it’s only ‘til Tuesday,” he says, taking a bite of his soup. “You can make it until Tuesday.”
Then he tells me the latest news from the dormitory; about how someone is stealing socks. Not pairs of socks but just one sock from each pair. The thief waits until people get distracted and walk away from the laundry room and then swoops down to steal their socks. I laugh and then we just sit, drifting in conversational pause.
“So, you’re feeling okay, then?” he says, stirring his soup. He glances at me with caution.
I nod. Then after a beat, I just blurt it out.
“I got an insulin pump,” I say.
I clear my throat and brush at the crumbs in my lap. Pump therapy is so not sexy.
“You did?” he says, leaning closer.
“It’s kind of…it’s…I’m still getting used to it,” I say, my cheeks growing warm. “It’s like this little cell-phone thing full of insulin that you—,”
“I know what it is. I read about them online,” he says. “I wondered if you had one.”
On the one hand, I’m flattered that he did research but on the other it makes me feel awkward. What if he thinks it’s a turnoff?
“My doctor said I should name it,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Name it?” he says.
“Yeah. So, it will feel like this new little friend or something; a natural part of me rather than some computerized appendage.”
My knees start bouncing under the table.
He grins and takes a spoonful of soup. “Have you thought of a name yet?”
“Yes. Big Ugly Pump.”
He snorts and covers his mouth so he doesn’t cough soup all over me. “No,” he says, waving a finger, his eyes watering. “That will not do. I’m vetoing Big Ugly.”
“But that’s its name,” I tease. “I’ve already talked to it and it answers to Big Ugly now.”
“Well, I’m renaming it,” he says, cough, cough, coughing. When he catches his breath, he settles into his seat like we’re getting down to business.
“Can I see it?” he asks.
I pull it out of my pocket and show him. “It hooks into my back fat,” I say, widening my eyes.
“You have not one shred of back fat, Julianne Bell!” he says. “And it’s not big and ugly. It’s pink and tiny. It’s adorable. Just like its owner.”
I grin and put it into my pocket.
“So, how about something pink-themed,” he says. “Maybe like…I don’t know…Rosie?”
“Meh,” I say, shrugging. “I don’t love it. What else you got?”
He thinks for a minute.
“Barbie?”
“Noooo, not that!” I say, shuddering, shifting in my seat. God, no.
He concentrates, staring at the table, and then looks up and says, “Oh, oh!” like he’s got the final answer.
“Okay…here it is. You ready?” he says, squaring his shoulders.
“Oh, god. Please don’t say Pepto.”
“No,” he says, laughing. “This is amazing. It’s perfect. You ready?”
I am on the edge of my seat.
“Floyyyyd,” he says, opening his hands like he’s presenting a prize, “As in Pink Floyd.”
I sit in stunned amazement because he totally nailed it. My insulin pump has just become the coolest kid in the lunch room.
“Awwww…yes,” I say, and then pull Floyd out again so we can look at him.
On our way out of the cafeteria, he takes my hand. When we pass by zone five, where all the spinny carnival rides are located, the steady drizzle hardens into a downpour. I scrunch my collar together so we make a run for Frontiertown but then Brandon pulls me off-track and into The Haunted House of Mirrors. We stand just inside of it dripping and catching our breath. Whoever is supposed to be manning the entryway has temporarily abandoned post.
“We still have fifteen minutes,
” Brandon says.
He jerks his thumb towards the mouth of the maze.
“Go. I’ll give you a thirty-second head start.”
I grin and take off down the first corridor. I’ve not been in here before so it’s kind of exciting; there’s red carpeting on the floor and Dracula-style organ music playing overhead.
I smack into a mirror first thing; touch my nose and groan. He can see me through the reflections and calls out to make sure I’m okay.
“Fine,” I yell. “But start my thirty seconds over!”
Then I walk more cautiously, putting my hands out, and feeling along the mirrors trying to get through the maze. I get a thrill when he calls out again and tells me that my time is up. I catch mirrored glimpses of him here and there and he keeps taunting me.
“I’m coming after you, Jules! Prepare to be attacked from any and all sides!”
“You’ll never find me!” I yell, “I’m like a ninja in here!”
I hit another dead end and start to double back for the millionth time when he reaches out and grabs me from behind making me scream. I turn around and we laugh hysterically. Then he pulls me into him and the energy shifts from fun to serious. The spooky music turns to harps and violins in my brain. My heart is racing.
“Did I tell you that I’m glad you’re back?” he says, looking down at me. He brushes wet strands of hair away from my cheeks and forehead.
“Yes. In your kiosk,” I say. “You said: I’m so glad you’re back.”
He grins and leans in. Just as our lips brush together, a kid screams out making us jerk.
“Ew! There’s people making out in here!” the kid yells.
We look around and reflections of a grimacing little boy are pointing at us in disgust. We exchange an awkward smile and then stumble our way back out of the maze. We run to Frontiertown, holding hands the whole way.
22.
It’s midnight exactly and I’m in bed laughing my butt off with Lindsey. We’re Skyping and having virtual birthday cake together. Lindsey holds up a Little Debbie brownie with a candle in it and sings to me in a screamy whisper through the screen. Her parents are super strict about no internet after ten o’clock so she has to be quiet. She looks like something out of a bad horror movie; her face glows in the dark candlelight.
“…happy birthday to youuuu!” she says, finishing up the song. I pretend to blow and she blows too. Out goes the candle and on comes her nightstand light.
“So, how does it feel being an adult?” she asks.
“Well, I guess my dad can’t ground me anymore,” I say. “So, there’s that. Annnnd…even better news! I can apply for a student loan for five-thousand dollars without my dad getting involved!”
It’s true! I just learned that bit of good news today from my co-worker at the gem shop. She’s up to her eyeballs in student loans and knows all about it. For your first five thousand you don’t need a co-signer! I filled out the application online. I said it’s for beauty school tuition. I’d really like to be a hairstylist someday. It’s pending approval. Yeehaw!
Mortgage. Problem. Solved.
Maybe.
Pending approval.
Lindsey obviously doesn’t share my elation because her lips twist to one side. I can’t be certain but I think she makes an eye-roll. Not a full-on eye-roll but like a half-roll, one where she’s caught herself mid-roll and tried to squash it.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing,” she says, pasting on the worst, most fake crooked smile ever.
“You’re doing a thing with your face. This lip mashing eye-rolly thing.”
“What? No I’m not.”
“This is Skype, not the phone. I can see you, dumbass. There was definitely an eye-roll happening. What? You think I’m making a bad decision getting a loan to save my house?
She sighs again. Louder this time.
“It’s just…I’ve gone along with this for a while now but I gotta be honest, Jules, I don’t think this is your responsibility. Maybe you should just let it go. Let your mom fail. How will she learn otherwise? You shouldn’t be worrying about delinquent house payments at your age. You should be worrying about boys and parties like I am.”
“Well, I’m not you, Lindsey,” I say, my blood heating up. “I don’t have the luxury of married nurse-lawyer parents. I got issued a doll-hoarding space cadet and cradle-robbing fisherman.”
“He’s not a cradle robber, Jules,” she says. “Melody’s thirty-one. But look, forget I said anything. It’s your life, so you do what you have to do. Plus, this conversation is stressing you out and its your birthday, so forget I said anything. I’m officially striking the lip-mashing eye-roll from the record.”
“Good,” I say. Then we sit and ignore each other for a moment.
“So you texted me about an interrupted kiss,” she says, taking a chunk of brownie between her teeth. “I need more clarity. A visual. Was this vertical kissing or horizontal? Was there tongue action? Inappropriate rubbing? Details, please. ”
I smile and tell her about my moment with Brandon in The Haunted House of Mirrors and we share a squeal.
“So, what are your plans for tomorrow? I mean, today?” she says, taking another bite of brownie. Then, with her mouth mid-chew, she looks down at it. “Oh, god, how rude, you don’t mind I’m eating your birthday brownie, right?”
“No, idiot,” I say, “Melody and I are doing a spa day girlie brunch in Vermilion. Basically, all the things that she likes to do. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was her birthday.”
“Ha,” Lindsey says. “But it’ll be nice, I bet. I’d dig a massage about now. My quads are killing me.”
“You’re thighs are not a problem area, Linz, so lay off the lunges.”
Then I hear someone talking in the background and, from the look on her face, I can tell one of her parents is at her bedroom door.
“Gotta go. Happy Birthday, Jules,” she says and then the screen blacks out like she just slammed her laptop shut. I get a knock on my own room.
“You still awake, J-bear?” my dad says, cracking the door.
“Yes,” I say, closing my laptop and sitting up straighter in bed.
“You want to come and sit on the patio? I made a fire.”
I picture Melody perched in her chaise lounge, knees tucked to the side, a glass of chardonnay in hand, all ready to toast my birthday hour.
“Sure,” I say, and get up to follow him downstairs but when we get outside, Melody’s not there. “Where is she?” I ask.
“Sleeping,” he says. “She thought we should celebrate just the two of us. Especially since she’s got you all day tomorrow.”
“Oh…,” I say, and am surprised when trace amounts of disappointment run through me.
It’s getting harder and harder to dislike Melody these days; especially after that heroic jet-ski save. She actually tried to get my dad to unground me a few days ago, too. I have to keep reminding myself that Melody Stroudman-Bell is a homewrecker.
Well, was a homewrecker.
Kind of.
“So, what do you hope to accomplish your first year of adulthood?” my dad says, stoking the coals of the fireplace. He walks over and pours himself a tumbler of Jameson’s from the little bar and then takes a seat across from me.
“Oh, just get through high school in one piece, I suppose.” I attempt to look angelic and carefree. Which I am a little bit. Because all of my problems might be solved now that I’m a beauty school candidate. “Try out for the school musical. Join a few last minute extra-curriculars to boost my college apps. You know, the yooj.”
He lights his pipe and looks so pleased.
“So, are you looking forward to tomorrow? Melody’s got it all planned. I’d take off work but there’s this party of seventy coming in for three days. They’re renting six boats and every jet-ski in the shop. Some corporate boondoggle that’s been booked for six months.”
“It’s okay, I understand.”
“You
’ll have fun, though,” he says.
“Uh, huh,” I say, smiling and nodding. “I’ve always wanted to go to a spa.”
I have no desire to spend my birthday letting a stranger rub goo over my naked body. But, whatever. I’ve conjured my yellow birthday balloon and am going with it. Yes, daddy, all is right in your little girl’s birthday world.
“She’s really looking forward to it,” my dad says, picking up his drink, “She loves you, you know.”
“Who? Melody?”
“Yes, Melody,” he says, laughing. “She says you’re admirably stubborn.”
“Stubborn?”
“She says stubbornness can run one of two ways in a person. The blame-everyone-else kind that repeats the same mistakes, and then the determined kind that gets stuff done.”
A dark corner of my heart, a corner where I keep all things Melody, brightens a little.
“She reminded me of the time when you took my cell and went traipsing all over the island running up two hundred dollars in roaming charges.”
“Oh, yeah. That.” An eye-roll happens all by itself.
“But as soon as you got home,” he adds. “You sent the money in an envelope. Right through the mail, this flimsy envelope stuffed with tens and twenties.”
“Yeah, I remember,” I say. “I mowed a dozen lawns that week. There was no way I was letting you hang that phone bill over my head.”
“See? Stubborn,” he says, laughing. “But admirably so.”
I shrug and smile, keep the angelic high-schooler thing going. God, if he only knew what my stubborn streak has been up to lately. Procuring loan modification. Applying for online high school. Researching nanny jobs, factory jobs, the National Guard.
“And then last night, Melody and I…we talked a long time.” He sets his drink down. “She made me see some things.”
Doll Hearts Page 20