So Lyrical

by Trish Cook

  I stuffed the revealing picture into my back pocket and tapped Brina’s head. “Get moving, girl.”

  She wiggled and wriggled, but couldn’t seem to make any progress in getting herself unstuck. I pushed on one of her massive boobs, but that only made her cry out in pain. And punch me in the shins. “Hands off the merchandise, groper,” she hissed.

  “Oh, this is so cute, boopie,” a muffled-sounding Grandma said. “The kids are playing hide-and-seek.”

  “Now you just come on down here, Brina,” Grandpa hollered up the rickety old ladder. “We’ll help you find the other two.”

  “Your grandfather just tickled me in the ribs,” Brina whispered, writhing uncomfortably. “The hornbag.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. and Mrs. Tillingham,” Brina called back, finally popping back through the other side of the hole. “Let’s check out the basement. There are lots of good hiding places there.”

  As soon as their footsteps faded back down the hall, Zander and I bolted from the attic—but not before I had a chance to show him my great find.

  “Whoa.” He whistled through his teeth. “So we were on the right track all along.”

  “Looks that way,” I said, sliding the picture back into my pocket and scrambling down the ladder.

  Zander followed quickly, and after we replaced the little square ceiling tile, we both made a big to-do over running to the plastic couch and screaming, “Ollie ollie umption free!”

  “Darn,” Brina said, sauntering into the room and snapping her fingers. “You beat me again.”

  “Don’t worry, honey,” Grandma said, patting Brina’s still-white head until the room was totally cloudy with a chance of a dust storm. “You guys can play some more after dinner.”

  Grandma crooked her finger and led us into the dining room. The table was set with a horrifying display worthy of Fear Factor. All that was missing was some live maggots, Madagascar hissing cockroaches, and a blender.

  Brina, the major suck-up, gasped. “Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Tillingham. It all looks so wonderful.”

  “It certainly does,” added Zander, vying with her for the biggest-ass-kisser award.

  “Since you poor kids are so far from the ocean in Winnetka, we thought we’d treat you to a bit of the Jersey Shore.” Grandma smiled.

  Grandpa pointed to three bowls quivering with gelatinous sea creatures. I quivered along with them—in fear. “We’ve got crab salad, lobster salad, and scungilli.”

  Unable to postpone the inevitable, I plopped some stuff from each bowl onto my plate and said, “Speaking of the shore, Grandma, do you think we could borrow your car tonight so I can show Brina and Zander around a bit?”

  “I don’t think so,” Grandma said, frowning at the idea. “We all need to hit the hay early so we’ll have enough energy for our big day tomorrow.”

  “I can’t wait to find out what’s in store for us,” I said, rolling my eyes at my friends. Still, I was so pumped up at my find, a little thing like being sent to bed before Letterman wasn’t going to bring me down.

  Until I bit into something crunchy and picked a shell out of my mouth, that is. After that, I was officially one hundred percent grossed out. I laid my napkin over the scoops of shellfish and buried my dinner at sea.

  Soon enough, everyone else had had enough of the fishfest, too. “Thank you, it was delicious,” Brina said, folding her hands in her lap and plastering another fake smile to her face.

  After we’d cleared all the dishes, Grandma and Grandpa chased Brina and I into our room and Zander to the couch. “Nighty-night,” said Grandma, who had forgotten to even try to be gangsta by this point.

  “Sleep tight,” Grandpa added, blasting us with one of his famous hot-air burps. Then he slapped his knee and laughed. “What smells like squid?”

  CHAPTER 9

  I tugged on Brina’s hair as we were brushing our teeth in the bathroom. “Check this out.”

  I handed her the picture I’d discovered in the attic. Brina examined it, flipping it this way and that before freaking out. “Oh, my God, this confirms it. I’m actually best friends with Bruce Springsteen’s daughter!”

  I was ready to explode with excitement, but was trying to keep it all in perspective. “Well, it definitely keeps him on the suspect list.”

  “More like guilty as charged, I’d say.”

  I took a deep breath before broaching my biggest fear. “But it could also be the other guy in the picture, right?” I asked Brina, unable to meet her eyes. I just couldn’t bear to think that my mom had kept my dad from me this long if he was someone so boringly normal and unfamous.

  Brina snorted. “Look at how Bruce and Bebe are lost in each other’s eyes, Trace,” she said, pointing at them. “Look at what Bebe wrote, for God’s sake.”

  I stared at the picture again for the millionth time since I’d found it. Bebe was flanked by some random guy and none other than Mr. Springsteen himself. Random man had his arm snaked around Bebe’s waist, but it was the Boss’s darling twinkly eyes and off-center grin she was gazing up at. I flipped the picture over and read the words inscribed on the back again for the trillionth time since I’d found it: The love of my life. August 1986. Brina was right, I decided. Random man was just a friend for sure.

  Since it was ridiculously early—not to mention the fact that I was still reeling over my amazing discovery—there wasn’t a shot in hell that I was going to be able to fall asleep. Especially after I’d counted back and realized August 1986 was the month and year in which I’d been conceived. I decided to beseech my best friend for some time alone with my honey instead.

  “Brina, would you mind trading places with Zander for a bit?”

  Brina groaned. “Trace, unlike you, I really am tired. Can’t you two fool around in the morning?”

  “What, with Grandma and Grandpa taking pictures and calling me a garden ho or bumble bee-atch?”

  “Oh, all right,” she sighed, looking at her watch. It was only nine o’clock. “You’ve got a half an hour.”

  Brina plopped down miserably on the couch as I took Zander by the hand. We tiptoed into the bedroom and shut the door quietly.

  “Danger turns me on,” he whispered, throwing me on the bed. “But are you sure your grandparents are asleep?”

  “Didn’t you hear the wall-rumbling snoring when you went to brush your teeth?”

  “I thought it was thunder,” Zander laughed, pulling me on top of him. “Or maybe farts to go along with those awesome burps your grandfather blows all day long.”

  “Gross,” I said, cringing at the mere thought of being subjected to Gramps’s gas from down below, too.

  We quickly got down to the business of love, but were interrupted a few minutes later by the sound of shuffling slippers in the hallway. “Please, please tell me that’s Brina coming to claim her bed back,” I whispered.

  No such luck. “Are you OK there on the couch, son?” Grandpa’s voice boomed. Thank God it was dark and he hadn’t turned on any lights.

  Brina cleared her throat. “Yes, sir,” she said, in a fake tenor.

  “You have a cold, Zander?” Grandpa asked. “Your voice sounds funny.”

  “Allergies,” Brina said, in an even lower and faker baritone.

  “Hmmpph,” Grandpa snorted, shuffling on over to our room. He knocked and opened the door a crack. “You girls all right in here?”

  “We’re fine, Grandpa,” I said. “Just a little sleepy.”

  “How about you, Brina?”

  I threw my hand over Zander’s mouth and tried to change my voice. “Just dandy, Mr. Tillingham.”

  “You sound like you have allergies, too.”

  Zander was silently laughing so hard the bed shook. As soon as we heard Grandpa shuffle back to his room and shut the door, Brina came bounding in. “Get out of here, Zander!”

  “Brina, just give us ten minutes more.”

  “No.”

  “You promised,” I said with a little whine in my voice.

&nbs
p; “Fine, but you owe me big-time,” Brina said, stomping back to that sticky plastic-covered couch.

  I woke with a start much later and stuck my nose up against the clock. Five forty-five a.m. I snuggled farther into Zander’s back until I realized what had happened. “Z.,” I whispered, shaking him. “You gotta get on the couch before my grandparents wake up.”

  He looked at me bleary-eyed and fell out of bed. “No problem,” he mumbled.

  Zander practically sleepwalked to the den and started to lie down on the couch with Brina still on it. “Just a sec, bub,” I said, poking Brina in the shoulder. “Honey, it’s time to go to bed.”

  “ ’Kay,” Brina said, stumbling into our room. She threw herself on the bed and pulled the covers over her head. “Night.”

  The two were passed out again in a matter of seconds. But I was wide-awake by this point, so I wrote Grandma a note, strapped on my Brooks, and headed out for a run. Having been one hundred percent faithful to my marathon training thus far, I wasn’t about to let things slide just because I was on the road.

  Outside, it was crisp and clear—perfect for the twelve miles I was planning on doing over the next couple of hours. Here and there, a blast of arctic air would slap me in the face, but for the most part I felt invigorated. As I watched the sun dance around on top of the bare trees, I let my thoughts wander from potential papa Springsteen to Zander to Bebe to college. I couldn’t ask for more right now, I thought. From there on in, I relaxed and enjoyed my run.

  The resulting peace that washed over me was shattered the minute I got back to Grandma’s house. Brina and Zander both jumped like I’d caught them doing something immoral or illegal when I walked in. Possibly both.

  “Go on, Zander. Tell her,” she said. I made a mental note: Do not leave these two alone again. Ever. Even with Grandma and Grandpa as chaperones.

  “No, you tell her,” the Prince of Darkness replied.

  “No, you,” she countered right back.

  I crunched down into the plastic-covered couch, trying not to think about what might have happened on it while I was gone. Zander plunked himself down next to me, draping his arm around my shoulder. I quickly shrugged it off.

  “Guess where your grandparents are taking us today?” he said.

  “To the senior center to learn to moonwalk?” I pretty much hated my friends being the two musketeers with me starring as the third wheel, so my sarcastic self was back at it again.

  “Not even close,” Brina said, not noticing the edge in my voice.

  “We’re hitting NYC. More specifically, Broadway. Your grandparents want to buy discount tickets for The Lion King at some place in Times Square.”

  Much as I love music, I am in no way, shape, or form a musical-theater lover. So I didn’t exactly savor the thought of being held captive all afternoon for endless Disney sing-alongs. “Oh, Christ. I’m sorry,” I told them, feeling semi-bad even though I still didn’t like the way they were grinning and poking at each other.

  “You know what else is in Times Square?” Zander asked me, practically sweating with excitement now.

  “Will you just freaking tell me already?” I hissed, sick of their annoying little tryst.

  “MTV,” Brina said, frowning over my completely uncalled-for snake routine.

  “Home to Total Request Live,” Zander said, grabbing my hand and looking intently into my eyes.

  “And?” I said, not quite getting where they were going with the whole thing. “So what?”

  “And so we’re going to very nicely blow your grandparents off while they enjoy the afternoon matinee of Lion King, and hit TRL with these,” Brina said, reaching under the couch and pulling out three T-shirts.

  “Here’s mine,” Zander said, lifting up the one that was BeDazzled with Miss Your Bliss?

  “And here’s mine,” said Brina, showing me a shirt that sparkled with Then Find Your Bliss!

  “Finally, the pièce de résistance,” said Zander, holding my T-shirt, which said You + Bliss = Me 4ever!

  I stared at Zander, then at Brina, then at the shirts again. What were they up to? “Thanks for the effort, but I’m totally confused,” I told them.

  “When I woke up, I turned on MTV,” Zander explained. “And they were showing clips of kids waiting in line for Total Request Live. Everyone was waving posters around and wearing personalized T-shirts on national TV.”

  “So I thought, today that’s gonna be us,” Brina said, too excited to let him finish. “Maybe someone with information about your dad will see these and call in. Who knows? Maybe Bruce himself will call in and fess up.”

  I was warming up to this idea, even if it was concocted under semi-questionable circumstances. Plus, I’d always wanted to see the MTV studios up close and personal. “But how are we going to convince my grandparents to go to the show without us?” I whispered before heading off for a glass of water.

  “I’ve got that part covered,” Zander said, so chock-full of confidence I had to believe he had it all under control. “No worries.”

  In the kitchen, the smell of seafood hit me like a rotten water balloon. It was a pretty unpleasant reality slap, to say the least. “Hey, Grandma,” I said, hugging her little body to mine while I held my breath. “I hear you have a big day planned for us.”

  “ ‘I just can’t wait to be king,’ ” she warbled, sliding a seafood omelet across the table at me. I spied a few tentacles that had escaped the egg part and almost puked.

  “That’s from The Lion King, right?” I said, inching away from the platter o’ grossness. “What fun.”

  Grandma pushed the plate even closer to me. There was no way I was going to touch that rancid thing. “You kids are going to love it.”

  “I’m sure we will,” I said, backing away from the table and running toward my room. “In fact, I’m going to get dressed right now so we’re sure to be on time.”

  Later that morning, after we somehow got out of eating the leftover fish eggs, my grandparents loaded us back into their decades-old Country Squire station wagon and soon had us hurtling down the highway. Once we got to the PATH station in Hoboken, Grandma and Grandpa immediately hit the restrooms.

  “Are you sure none of you has to go potty before we get on the train?” Grandma yelled, leaning her head out of the doorway. “It’s a pretty long ride, you know.”

  I stared at my shoes, Brina examined her fingernails, and Zander ran his hands through his bed head. Not one of us acknowledged we’d even heard her. Eventually, she gave up and went inside to do her business.

  “I’m never eating again,” I told Zander and Brina after Grandma had disappeared behind the door. My intestines had been rumbling all morning. “The recycled seafood is really starting to take its toll on me.”

  “Just be grateful that wasn’t on the menu.” Zander gestured toward an enormous woman in a muumuu and hiking boots who kept dipping her fingers into a jar of Vaseline and then licking the clear goo off her hands with obscene pleasure.

  “It probably tastes better than our breakfast did,” I said, looking away. The combination of probable food poisoning and watching someone eat petroleum jelly was definitely not agreeing with me.

  Brina, on the other hand, was riveted, analyzing the homeless lady’s every move like a sportscaster for the Sicko Games. “Oh, look, she’s digging out crust from under her fingernails and using it as topping for her Vaseline. Ooh, now she’s putting it all in her hair. Just look at those shiny strands. Maybe they’ll turn into superconditioned dreads. . . .”

  I pushed Brina forward, trying to get her to move in the direction of our train’s platform. “Let’s go, please.”

  But Brina kept staring over her shoulder at the wacko woman as we headed far, far away. “On the bright side, I’ll bet she’s never constipated.”

  “Brina?” I said.

  Brina looked at me, probably hoping I’d want to delve further into the habits of People Who Eat Vaseline. “What?”

  “Shut up, already
.”

  Zander walked over to a map and pointed to a red dot representing the Ninth Street station. “Looks like I might be spending a lot of time here next year.”

  “Really?” I said. “Funny, I don’t remember Ninth Street in New York being anywhere near Stanford University.”

  “It isn’t. But NYU is, and it has one of the best film schools in the country,” he explained, as if I had any clue he was interested in filmmaking.

  “How are you going to break it to your dad that you’re blowing off his alma mater?”

  “I might not have anything to explain,” Zander said, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and slouching uncomfortably. “My application got deferred to regular admission. They’ll review it again in the spring.”

  I hugged him tight. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Either way, things will work out. So, where’d you apply, Brina?” he asked, taking the college spotlight off himself and placing it directly onto her.

  Brina stared around the station and said nothing. I grabbed her face in my hands and forced her to look at me. “Sabrina Maldonati. Please tell me you’ve done something about your future.”

  “I’m going to get right on it when I get home,” she said, still refusing to make eye contact.

  I threw my arms up in disgust. “Don’t expect to come flying out to see me every weekend because you have no social life of your own at Lake-Cook Community College,” I said. “It’ll be your own damn fault.”

  “You’re right. I’m turning over a new leaf today,” she said. “I’m going to pick up an NYU application once we’re in the city.”

  “Not so fast, kimosabe,” I said, grabbing the sleeve of her black leather jacket.

  “What?” she asked, trying to look innocent.

  “NYU is practically Ivy League, girlfriend,” I said. “Your high school record wouldn’t even get you into the kindergarten T-ball league.”

  “Fine,” Brina said. “That’s just fine.” I could only hope Brina would figure her life out before she was stuck at home next year with her crazy mother on her ass all the time about the way she ate, looked, and acted. It was a fate worse than hell as far as I was concerned.