So Lyrical

by Trish Cook

  Brina shot him an evil look. “Three words. No. Freakin’. Way.”

  “Oh, you’re too cool to even go ice-skating now?”

  Brina chucked the wooden spoon she was using to stir the sauce at Brad’s head. It missed, leaving a big splat on the wall behind him. Brina rushed over with a sponge, scrubbing away the mess before her mother could freak out. “I wouldn’t be caught dead with you and your geeky friends.”

  Poor Brad. Brina never wanted to talk to him, no less be seen with him. “Forget the wench, Brad. I’ll come with you,” I told him. I’ve known Brad practically his whole life, so I feel like his honorary sister. The nice one.

  “You can’t mean that, Trace,” Brina shrieked in mock horror, clutching her chest. “Your social life will be ruined!”

  “I don’t think Zander’s gonna dump me if I hang out with your little brother, Brina,” I said, rolling my eyes at her. “And quite frankly I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

  Brad high-fived me. “Right on, sister.” Then he looked at me in all seriousness and said, “Trace, could you do me a huge favor?”

  “Sure thing, sweetie.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d go your own way once I start rapping with the chicks.”

  Brina snorted. “The only chicks you’ll ever get that close to are at the pet store, doofus.”

  “Not when I’m with Sully,” he said, giving Brina an evil glare. “He’s a regular chick magnet.”

  Brina opened and closed her mouth a few times before anything actually came out. “Well, you and your flock is something I can’t possibly miss,” she finally said. “Just let me ask Mom to keep an eye on the spaghetti, and we’ll be on our way.”

  A half an hour later, the three of us were doubled over, trying to put on our puke brown rental skates. A low, gravelly voice interrupted our efforts. “How’re you feeling, Brina?”

  It was Sully. He was even cuter than I remembered. In fact, he was smoking hot. This made it rather hard to remember he was jailbait.

  Brina smiled up at him from her half-laced skate. “Better, thanks.”

  “That was some crazy shit you pulled the other night.” Uh-oh. Sully was going to get his head bitten off in a second—I was sure of it.

  “Yeah,” Brina admitted without even taking a nibble. “I guess it was.”

  “Good thing I came to your rescue,” Sully said, pulling Brina to her feet. “You healed enough to take a spin around the rink?”

  “Ummmmm . . .” Brina glanced around at the A-list crowd that was milling around the lobby. “Maybe later.”

  “Whatever,” he said, putting a hand on Brad’s narrow shoulder and steering them both out onto the ice. “Let’s go, buddy.”

  “Are you insane?” I asked Brina once they were out of earshot. “That boy is gorgeous!”

  “The key word being ‘boy,’ ” Brina said. “ ‘Baby boy’ is more like it. He’s practically still in diapers.”

  I held the door open for Brina and we skated out to find that Brad wasn’t kidding. He and Sully were already surrounded by a group of girls. A couple I identified as underclassmen, but there were also a few juniors and seniors thrown in the mix.

  “Guess they aren’t scared to be seen with a very hot sophomore,” I said to Brina.

  “Guess not.” She put on her tough-girl face and skated off alone.

  Without Brina to hang out with, I found myself gliding next to a little girl in a sparkly purple velour dress and white headband. She was waving wildly at a man in the stands, staring at him with a mixture of awe and adoration. “I love you, Daddy,” she called happily as she skated by.

  It was such a sweet scene, I got a little teary-eyed. I put one finger alongside each of my temples and squeezed hard—a trick I learned to keep from crying when Jimmy Dolan decided to steal my winter hat every single day in second grade.

  I felt a tug on my pink puffy jacket, and the little girl said, “Don’t be sad. I’m sure your daddy will come skating with you next time.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I told her. “Thanks.” If I knew for sure who he was, I thought, I’d definitely invite him along—though I couldn’t quite see Bruce making an appearance at the local skate-o-rama with me. It would cause a complete riot, not to mention I’d feel pretty silly twirling around the rink with the Boss on my arm.

  “Hang on,” the little girl said, grabbing my hand and making me the end of a very long chain of people. A second later, I found myself shooting around the rink and clinging on for dear life.

  It was way too much fun to hog all to myself, so I grabbed on to Brina’s hand at the next corner. She picked up Brad, who stuck out his hand for Sully to get in on the action. “Hey Ya!” echoed as we whipped around the rink.

  When the last chorus faded into silence, the people chain fell apart. I slammed into the wall, Brad flew clear across the rink, and Brina tumbled to the ground. After unsuccessfully trying to do a hockey stop, Sully landed right on top of her. For a second it seemed like time stood still, and they just lay there staring at each other. Then Sully got up and dragged Brina to her feet, and they both skated away in opposite directions like it never happened.

  “Did you two just shake it like a Polaroid picture out there?” I asked Brina as we were returning our smelly rental skates.

  She put her hands on my shoulders. “Do I have to keep repeating myself? It is not going to happen. I’m about as attracted to Sully as I am to Justin Biggs.”

  “Do you mean Justin Timberlake or Jason Biggs?”

  “Either. Both. It doesn’t matter,” she said. “There’s not a chance in hell I’ll ever end up with Sully, so you can stop pushing it right now.”

  I grinned at her. “Methinks you doth protesteth too much.”

  Brina punched me in the arm. “And methinks you’re an insane loser. So give it up already.”

  On Wednesday, Brina had a huge smile on her face when I saw her in the hall bright and early. Her teeth were practically blinding me.

  “Trace, you-know-who wrote me again!” she said, waving yet another lovey-dovey yet cryptic note in my face.

  I fished my sunglasses out of my bottomless pit of a backpack and slid them up the bridge of my nose. “Give that to me,” I said, snatching the paper from her hands. Here’s what it said:

  Brina:

  I like to feel the warmth of your heart

  Always long to touch your soul

  But your fire’s just too hot, my love

  Maybe you could do a slow burn with me

  slp

  “Steven’s totally heating things up, isn’t he?” Brina was gushing. It was all I could do to keep from barfing my bowl of morning cornflakes.

  “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not Mr. Perry.”

  “You can’t ruin my buzz, so don’t even try,” she said.

  Brina was clearly not paying attention. “I can guarantee you it’s not Mr. Perry, and that whoever it is wouldn’t interest you in the least if you knew who he was.”

  Brina glanced at me sideways, trying to see whether I had any inside scoop or not. “Why would you say that?” she asked, deciding it might be possible.

  “First of all, because the guys you like can’t read, no less think up clever notes.” Mean, but true. “Plus,” I said, pointing to the first line, “it says right here, ‘I like to feel the warmth of your heart.’ That means you’ve already been up close and personal with slp—that he’s probably already touched you, for God’s sake—and you obviously weren’t impressed.”

  “I’ve met Steven Lee Perry. And you know what I forgot to tell you happened when he dropped me off after the cotillion?”

  Here we go again, I thought. “No, what?”

  “He gave me a hug,” she said, looking smug. “That’s about as close as you can get to the warmth of my heart.”

  “Two meetings to pick out colleges, a ride home to keep you from being killed, and a friendly embrace do not add up to his being slp, Brina.”


  “It doesn’t mean he’s not, either.”

  I put my hand on her shoulder. “Listen. Even if slp was Mr. Perry—which he isn’t—there’s not a thing you can do about it. He’s too old for you. He’d get fired. It’d never work.”

  Brina frowned, refolding her note. Nothing like pissing off your best friend before you’ve even hit homeroom.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I called after her as she stomped down the hall.

  “Not if I see you first,” she yelled back over her shoulder.

  Though Brina and I had planned a wild night of drinking and debauchery at some junior football player’s open house, she left a short, pissed-off-sounding message on my machine nixing it. “Can’t go tonight, Trace. I’ve got cramps. Yeah, that’s it. Really bad ones. Sorry.”

  I knew she was just trying to get back at me for not buying into the Mr.-Perry-is-slp theory—though even I had to admit there was the slightest possibility it could be him—and also for expressing my disapproval of their union if it turned out to be true. I also knew I wasn’t really up for going to the party alone or with the cheerleaders Brina and I sometimes hung out with, so I got in my jammies and went in search of my mama.

  “Want to watch Almost Famous with me again tonight, Bebe?”

  Every time we see it, she always says, “I feel like Penny Lane and I could have been best friends.” Penny is this hot groupie for bands that actually rock—we’re talking more along the lines of Led Zeppelin than Culture Club—so the truth was, the two of them really didn’t have all that much in common. In fact, I’d be willing to bet Penny would have thought Bebe was a total dork.

  “Thanks, but no, thanks,” she said, carefully applying lipstick. “I’ve got plans.” I should have known. She never wears makeup otherwise.

  “What’s on your agenda?” I asked, wondering if I could get any more pathetic. My own mother was going out for a night of drunken debauchery, while I stayed at home and watched reruns of her life. Well, not really her life, but a cooler version of it.

  “Some dinner. A few drinks,” she said. “And hopefully a little nooky for a nightcap.”

  “You just crossed the line,” I said, shaking my head to try to get the gross picture I’d conjured up out of it. “Who’s the lucky guy? Or should I say, who’s the guy who’s gonna get lucky?”

  “Actually, Trace, he’s—” The doorbell interrupted her. “Would you go get that? I’m not quite ready yet.”

  “Sure.” I ran downstairs. “C’mon in,” I said as I opened the door. “Bebe’s almost—” I stopped short as my tongue went into shock.

  “Hi, Tracey.” It was none other than Mr. Perry. “Who’s Bebe?”

  “My mom.” My jaw must have been hanging somewhere around my knees by this point.

  “I thought her name was Belinda.”

  “It is,” I said, still gawking.

  He shrugged, looking a little confused. “I guess Belinda . . . Bebe . . . what am I supposed to call her, anyway?”

  “Belinda, I guess.”

  “I take it she neglected to tell you we were going out tonight.”

  “Isn’t Bebe a little too old for you?” I muttered under my breath.

  “Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he said, giving me a look that told me he actually had. Uh-oh.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “If you’re referring to Melinda the volleyball captain, let me just stop you right there,” he said, apparently having borrowed Superman ears for the date. “It’s an urban legend that just won’t die. Melinda’s my cousin. I drove her to school once in a while, and people got the wrong impression. That’s it.”

  “Yeah, right,” I muttered again.

  “It’s true.”

  “Well, then, what about that ride home you gave my best friend the other night?”

  “Who, Brina?” he said.

  “You make a habit of picking up random high school girls at cotillions?” I asked. “Yes, Brina.”

  “She was going to get herself raped if she followed her original plan, which was hitchhiking home wearing that dress,” he said. Oh, yeah, I thought. The J. Lo one. He was right. “I couldn’t in good conscience let her do it, so I drove her home. End of story.”

  “You actually drove her to Bobby Pantano’s house,” I corrected him. “Remember Brina’s week of hobbling around with her feet in two casts? That’s really the end of the story.”

  “You’ll have to tell me all the gory details sometime,” Mr. Perry said, laughing. “That girl is quite a drama queen, isn’t she?” OK, so maybe it wasn’t so bad that Bebe was going out with him. At least he laughed at my jokes.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” I said, still suspicious. “Why were you at the cotillion, anyway? It seems a little sketchy, if you ask me.”

  “It was my cousin Melinda’s big coming-out party,” he said. “My whole family was there.”

  I was about to launch into the rest of Brina’s tale of woe when Bebe came down the stairs wearing these awesome Paper Denim & Cloth low-slung flared jeans and a tight black button-down shirt that hugged her curves just the right way. Unlike me, Bebe actually has some, though they’re not nearly as big as Brina’s.

  “Hi, Steve,” she said. “I see you sprung our big surprise on Trace.” She turned to me. “Remember the day I had to go meet with Mr. Flagstaff about your trig problems?”

  “How could I forget?” I said. “I got demoted to the sped class after it.”

  “Well, I got lost as usual trying to find the right classroom,” she said. I wasn’t surprised. Bebe couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag. “So Steve here volunteered to be my escort. It was all the way over in Building C, so we got to talking. Turns out we have a lot in common.”

  “Like our taste in music, for one thing,” he said, smiling at Bebe. If that was the case, he was absolutely perfect for her and they could spend the rest of their lives listening to the Buggles sing “Video Killed the Radio Star.” It was a frightening thought.

  “I waited a while to call, to see if I could get Belinda out of my head, but I couldn’t. I hope you’re not upset, Tracey.”

  “I think it’s great you two found each other,” I said, opening the front door for them. Hey, wait, I thought, those are my jeans. I should have known Bebe would never have something so trendy in her closet. “Nice pants,” I told Bebe on her way out.

  “I kinda thought you’d like them,” she said, winking at me over her shoulder. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

  “Make what up later?” Mr. Perry wanted to know.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Bebe said, patting him on the cheek. My God, she was actually flirting and having fun. I hadn’t seen her like this in—oh, I don’t know—let’s say my whole entire life?

  “You kids be careful,” I called after them as they got in the car. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “That shouldn’t be hard,” Bebe said, her head disappearing into Mr. Perry’s red Mini Cooper. “It doesn’t leave much.”

  “Ha-ha,” I said, and went to put the popcorn in the microwave.

  CHAPTER 7

  When Bebe and I arrived at the Maldonatis’ the next morning, the big bird preparations were already in full swing. Though we offered to help in the kitchen, Brina’s grandma and aunt shooed and tsked us out.

  “You young girls go have fun. Let the old ladies do the cooking.” Aunt Rose’s cheeks were flushed from the heat. Probably from all the wine she was guzzling, too.

  “Ina!” I heard her say to Brina’s grandmother. “The oven temperature is way too high. Turn it down or the turkey will be dry as a bone.” Then she added under her breath, “Just like last year.”

  Grandma Ina got right in Aunt Rose’s face. “I learned to cook back in the old country, Rose, so clamp it,” she said, trying to tower over Rose. Grandma Ina was wider than she was tall, and she looked like she was carrying half a basketball under the back of her dress. I prayed I wouldn’t look like her when I got old. “
You’ll see. This turkey will be so juicy you’ll need two napkins and a bib.”

  I could barely tear myself away from the old-lady bitch fight, but I guess Bebe wasn’t quite as engrossed as I was. “I’m going to go find Debbie to see if there’s anything I can do to help her get ready for dinner,” she said, and took off in search of Mrs. Maldonati.

  “What are you staring at?” Grandma Ina asked me, all annoyed that I was still standing there. “Haven’t you ever seen anyone cook before?” The truth was, I had—just not a baby humpback whale.

  I stopped gaping and went to find Brina. I found her lying on the floor of the family room, watching TV and looking like hell. Her grandpa and dad were playing poker at the portable card table while her uncle Mario snored on the couch loud enough to shake the rafters. His pants were already unbuttoned, even though the meal wasn’t supposed to be ready for hours.

  “He chowed down on a whole platter of calamari and then complained about being bloated,” Brina said when she noticed me staring. “Says squid gives him gas.”

  “Well, that explains Uncle Mario,” I said. “Now how about you? Are you sick or something?”

  “No, I’m totally fine,” she said, putting her finger to her lips and shushing me quietly so her dad wouldn’t hear.

  But Mr. Maldonati seemed to have acquired super hearing powers, too. “Brina came rolling in way after curfew last night,” her dad said, his eyes peeking over the top of his cards. “We think she’s got the Irish flu today.”

  “I already told you I was late because Reece’s car died and we had to wait for that dope Stu to jump-start it,” Brina said.

  I couldn’t believe she had blown me off for Reece, Northshore’s bright and beautiful cheerleading captain. She knew I hated Reece. And why Brina was even talking to Stu again was a whole other can of worms I wasn’t ready to open yet. “And I am not hungover, Daddy,” Brina said, looking totally hungover.