So Lyrical

by Trish Cook

  I took a wild guess. “Asshole?”

  “No,” she said, scrunching up her face at me. “The Lion. Get it? S-L-P. Stu ‘the Lion’ Purcell.”

  “I don’t think Stu would waste his time writing anonymous love notes.” Not only was Stu a total A-list jock, but he had a horrible love’em-and-leave-’em reputation. He had dated the entire cheerleading squad and most of the gymnasts this year alone. “In fact, I’m not even sure he knows how to write.”

  “That just proves how little you know about Stu,” Brina said, shoving her hands on her hips. “I think he got sick of the meaningless hookups and wants something more from a girl. And that girl is me.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  It was so classic, Brina believing she was going to change a guy who so obviously had no interest in being changed. But my opinion didn’t matter anyway. By the end of the day it was a done deal.

  I walked to Brina’s locker after my last class only to find her and Stu involved in a major lip-lock. I ended up following them home like a little lost puppy, walking three steps behind as they gazed into each other’s eyes with lust. I wanted to puke.

  When we got to Brina’s house, I thought I’d try to diffuse their lovefest. “Hey, you guys want a snack?” I asked them.

  “Oh, yeah,” Stu growled, riffling through the refrigerator and cabinets. He resurfaced with a jar of maraschino cherries and a can of Reddi-wip.

  “Feeding time!” Stu said, winking at Brina. He sprayed a glob of whipped cream onto a cherry and dangled it by the stem from his mouth, grabbed Brina around the waist, and pulled her close. She licked the whipped cream off the cherry, then popped it off the stem and rolled it around on her tongue. Stu spit the stem out in a hurry—on the kitchen floor, no less—and the two of them took turns sucking the cherry from each other’s mouth. It was like a cheesy porn flick.

  “Uggghhh,” I muttered, and walked out of the kitchen, which they had long since forgotten I was in anyway. I headed upstairs and I stuck my head into Brad’s room. He and Sully were there, cranking tunes and making a vague attempt at homework.

  “Mind if I join you?” I asked.

  Brad looked up and smiled, clearing a space on his bed for me. “There’s always room for you, Trace.”

  “So where’s your partner in crime?” Sully asked, stretching his long arms above his head and turning around in his chair.

  “Downstairs devouring the biggest jock idiot in our class,” I said. “It was too embarrassing to witness, so here I am.” I flipped through Brad’s CDs, finally settling on some Nickelback. Thought it would help us all let off some steam.

  “Who’s the lucky guy?” Sully asked me.

  “Stu Purcell,” I said. “Brina even thinks he might be the mysterious note writer.”

  Sully buried his head back into his history book. “There’s no way it’s him,” he said. “That guy can’t even spell his own name.”

  Looking at Sully’s sad expression, I knew my suspicions had been right on the money. I was looking straight at slp. And boy, was he gorgeous—not to mention way smarter than that loser in the kitchen. I would just have to find the right time to convince Brina this one was worth breaking the rules for. Now was not that moment.

  “Try telling Brina that. She won’t listen to me.”

  “It won’t last more than two weeks,” Sully predicted, making long swipes in his textbook with a yellow highlighter.

  “Let’s hope not,” I said, winking at Sully. “For all our sakes, right?”

  He blushed a deep crimson. He knows I know, I thought. I decided it would be in all our best interests just to keep my mouth shut and see how everything played out.

  The nonmeddling me lasted about two hours. That night when we were in bed, Brina couldn’t stop talking about Stu, Stu, and more Stu. If I started discussing a specific class, she’d say how much Stu liked (or hated) that subject. If I mentioned my dad, suddenly Stu’s dad was the next topic. After a while, I was convinced if I talked about anything in the universe—necrophilia! Ashtanga yoga! rutabaga farming in the Netherlands!—Brina could somehow make it have something to do with Stu.

  “Brina, no offense, but can we stop talking about Stu?”

  “Trace, that horrible jealous streak of yours is showing again. You have Zander. Now let me have Stu.”

  “You’re welcome to him,” I said. “I just think there’s a guy out there who likes you more, would treat you better, and is completely right for you.”

  “You told me I had to wait until the school year is over to go after Steve, remember?”

  “I’m totally not talking about Mr. Perry,” I said, ready to drop the bomb. “It’s Sully, Brina. Slp is Sully.”

  “Sully?” Brina said, laughing. “His initials are pls, remember?”

  “Whatever. Chalk it up to dyslexia. It’s him.”

  Brina was quiet. Finally, she said, “Ewwwwww. You really think so?”

  “I know so,” I said, disappointed by her reaction. “Brina, how can you even put the words ‘ewwwwwww’ and ‘Sully’ in the same sentence?”

  “It’s easy. Ewwwwww, Sully. Still in diapers. Too young. Sophomore meat. Not Stu.”

  With that, she dismissed the subject and went back to Stu-ifying me. My eyelids starting burning and I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, she was shaking me and asking, “Is that cool with you, Trace?”

  “Hmmmmm? What? Oh, sure,” I said, rolling over and closing my eyes again. I had no idea what she was talking about, but agreeing seemed to be the best way to get her to stop blabbing about Stu.

  “Great. I knew you’d understand,” she said. “Sleep tight.”

  I mumbled good night, already halfway back into my coma.

  When I shuffled downstairs the next morning in my pink bunny slippers, Mrs. Maldonati and Brad were already at the kitchen table. I wondered briefly where Brina had gone so early in the morning.

  “Are you doing all of your interviewing this morning, as well, Trace?” Mrs. Maldonati chirped brightly.

  I was still half asleep, my head just barely bobbing above the teacup. “What?” I asked groggily.

  “You know, the instant-admissions college fair,” she said, bustling around the kitchen and cleaning every already-spotless crevice.

  “Mmmmmmmm,” I said, trying to be noncommittal. Had I been awake enough, I would have had to pinch myself to keep from laughing. First of all, as far as I knew there was no such thing as an instant-admission interview. And second, there was certainly no college fair like that at Northshore—today or any other day. The fact was, most college application deadlines had come and gone more than a month ago.

  Mrs. Maldonati sat down next to me and touched my leg. “Something’s fishy here, isn’t it, Trace?”

  “I don’t think so, Mrs. Maldonati.” I stared down into my tea, hoping the conversation was over.

  It wasn’t. Mrs. Maldonati pinched my cheeks in one birdlike hand, forcing me to look at her. “I smell a rat,” she said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Nothing, Mrs. Maldonati,” I said. “No seafood, no rodents. No wildlife whatsoever.”

  She dropped her hand long enough to dial Northshore’s guidance office. “Yes, Mr. Perry, could you tell me which colleges are participating in the instant-admissions fair today?” She paused, turning beet red. “Yes, I see. No, I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  Mrs. M. slammed the phone down and glared at me. “And I know someone else who’s going to be very sorry when she gets home.”

  I have to tell Brina, I thought. She needs to come up with a good alibi or she’s going to be grounded for life.

  I ran to school as fast as I could. When I arrived at Brina’s locker, panting and out of breath, I found her in much the same state, though not due to exertion. Brina and Stu were so seriously intertwined, it was hard to tell where she ended and he began.

  I tapped on Brina’s shoulder. “I need to talk to you.”

  Stu intervened, his bead
y little pigeon eyes staring back at me. “Not now. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  I thought he might have mistaken me for one of his many gymnasts, so I tried again. “You are in deep doo-doo, Brina.”

  Stu glared up at me again, even more annoyed by this second interruption. “Can you tell your friend to beat it?” he said to Brina, sucking away at her beautiful neck and marking his territory like the dog he was.

  Brina waved me away with a smile. “I’ll catch you later,” she said.

  I retreated, pausing for a second to look back over my shoulder. Those two were locked into another appalling PDA. Two weeks would seem like an eternity at this rate. Oh, well, I thought. I tried. It was no skin off my butt that Brina was gonna have her ass handed to her later.

  When I got back to Brina’s house after school, all hell had broken loose.

  “In the future, can you please be a good little friend and just keep your mouth shut?” Stu snarled at me as he was leaving. “Mrs. Maldonati just kicked me out. Told me to come back some other time.”

  “Poor baby,” I said, slamming the door in his face. It was incredible to me that Brina couldn’t see past his muscles and into the black hole that occupied his skull where his brain should be.

  I ran up the stairs but stopped short at Brina’s closed bedroom door. I could hear Mrs. Maldonati bitching inside. A few choice words like “liar,” “lazy,” and “irresponsible” wafted out through the walls.

  Brad was in his room with his ear plastered to a glass he was holding against the wall. He waved me in. I crouched beside him, waiting to hear the scoop.

  “This is awesome. Brina is sooooo busted,” Brad whispered. “And so grounded.”

  Mrs. Maldonati burst out the door and stormed downstairs. A few seconds later, I started hearing thunk after thunk against the wall. When I finally got up the courage to find out what was going on, I saw that Brina had used every college catalog she’d ever received for pitching practice. The books now lay in a useless heap on the far side of Brina’s room.

  “What do you do for an encore?” she asked, giving me a fierce look.

  “What did I do?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me,” she said, practically growling now. “It’s your fault I’m in this mess.” She threw Antioch’s viewbook straight at me. It missed my left knee by inches.

  “It’s my fault you didn’t finish any of your applications on time?” Brina looked at me like I was as stupid as Stu really is. “No. It’s your fault I’m grounded,” she said. “You really blew it.”

  “I blew it?” I said, pointing at my chest. “You’re the one who blew it. I tried to warn you at your locker, but your leading man told me to buzz off.”

  “Why are you pretending you have no idea what happened here?” she asked me. “Last night you promised to cover for me, and this morning you chirped like a little birdie.”

  “Ohhhhh,” I said. So that was what this was all about. “I didn’t even hear you. I was half asleep.”

  “All you had to do was say so.” She threw another catalog at my feet. I picked it up. Valparaiso this time. “You really screwed me. Now I can’t see Stu for a whole week.”

  “That’s a gift, not a punishment.” I couldn’t help it. The words slipped out of my mouth before I could lap them back up.

  Brina freaked out and threw four catalogs at me at once. I ducked just before they hit me in the head. “You know what, Trace? You’ve overstayed your welcome,” she said. “Go home and leave me alone.”

  “You’re kicking me out of your house for not backing up your incredibly stupid lie? What were you going to do, fake admissions letters and pretend to go to college next year?”

  “Something like that,” she said, and kicked the door closed. A second later she opened it back up just long enough to throw my stuff out into the hall, and then slammed it in my face again.

  I gathered my stuff and went downstairs. “Do you think you could drive me home, Mrs. Maldonati?”

  “Sure thing, honey. Just let me get my keys.”

  “I want to thank you for making me feel welcome,” I told Mrs. M. as she looked for her purse. “I really appreciate it.”

  “And I really appreciate the fact that you didn’t lie to me, Tracey,” she said, wrapping her birdlike wings around me. I could feel every bone in her body. It was like hugging Mr. No-Skin, the skeleton in biology class. “Brina could use more friends like you.”

  “I don’t think she feels that way right now,” I said, hoping our fight would blow over quickly, though I wasn’t counting on it.

  “She’ll get over it,” Mrs. M. said, giving me another one of her hummingbird hugs as we pulled into the driveway right next to Mr. Steve’s little car. “And listen. I know your mother’s a little unconventional, but I do believe she means well. Don’t forget that.”

  I dragged my stuff back inside, feeling like a frigging nomad. Leaving everything in the front hall, I plunked myself down in an overstuffed chair in the library and curled my legs under me.

  I wondered how something so right could turn out to be so wrong. All my mom wanted to do that summer was have some fun before college started and look what happened instead. She got pregnant, became a single teenage mom, had her heart broken in a million little pieces. Much as I didn’t want to give it to her, I realized Bebe needed my support, not my anger. So maybe I couldn’t forget what she’d done. But maybe, just maybe, I could forgive her.

  As if she’d read my mind, Bebe walked into the library and gave me a huge hug. “I missed you,” she said, burying her face into my hair.

  I hugged her back, hard and tight. “I missed you, too.” And I meant it. Who knows what I would have done in Bebe’s position? Possibly the same thing.

  “I’m so sorry for everything,” Bebe said, smoothing my hair like she always does when I’m upset.

  “Me, too.”

  “So can we just move on?” There was a hint of desperation in her voice.

  “Seems like the only thing we can do,” I told her. “We’ve reached an impasse.”

  What I didn’t tell Bebe was that there was no way I was giving up my search. I was merely taking her out of the picture. If I didn’t expect her help, I couldn’t get frustrated when she wouldn’t give it to me.

  Every day, I checked my e-mail for a reply from Macky-D, as I had taken to referring to him. But the lame response that trickled in over the next few weeks was like having my fingernails pulled out slowly, one by one. I had gotten back only four backstreets.com replies, none of which brought me any closer to solving my mystery.

  A couple were polite “Sorry, can’t help you, never heard of this Mac guy” kinds of responses. Some were encouraging, wishing me luck. One even said I sounded hot and then went on to list every sick thing he wanted to do to me.

  Funny thing was, even as I was drowning in this “so close yet so far” quicksand, Brina had basically died and gone to heaven. Not only had she and Stu survived her grounding, but it ended up throwing massive fuel on their romantic fire.

  “What are you doing this weekend?” Brina asked me on our way into the cafeteria for lunch.

  “I thought we were hanging out at your house tonight,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Did I forget to tell you? Stu asked me to the Decades of Fun dance,” she said. “We’re going in wild seventies disco outfits. Why don’t you bring Zander along and we’ll all go together?”

  “I’ll pass,” I told her. I was still a little miffed about being unceremoniously booted out of her house over a misunderstanding, as well as unceremoniously booted out of her life for a guy as dumb as toast. Stu had been so all-consuming lately, I only got to see or talk to Brina when he wasn’t available.

  I rolled my eyes when I saw Stu approaching our table. Brina stood up to greet him, and he grabbed her butt. “Hey, babe.”

  “Stu-u-u! I told you, not in public!” she giggled.

  “The Lion needs his meat!” Stu growled, pretending to bite her fann
y.

  Ugh. I couldn’t believe this total Neanderthal had stolen my funny, cynical best friend and turned her into nothing more than a freakin’ hamburger patty. As they walked away arm in arm, I banged my head against the table. “Please let the Lion rip her heart out and eat it soon,” I whispered to myself. “I can’t take much more of this.”

  That night, I spent a very boring evening alone, clicking through channels trying to find a show that would take my mind off things. At about ten, I gave up in disgust and went to bed.

  Shrill ringing shattered my slumber a couple of hours later. I fumbled around my nightstand, looking for the phone. I finally found it on the floor, pressed the TALK button, and croaked, “Hello?”

  “Trace?” It was Brina. “You were right. Stu is a total idiot.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said, giddy at the thought of having Stu out of our lives once and for all.

  “Let’s just say Stu’s not exactly a poet. Or even a poetry lover,” Brina said. “In fact, he didn’t even recognize the verses from the slp notes when I quoted them to him during a slow dance.”

  “So that pretty much confirms he’s not the one,” I said, stating the obvious.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too,” she said. “But I wanted to make sure. So I asked him what his favorite poem was.”

  I couldn’t wait to hear the answer. “And?”

  “And Stu said the only kind of poetry he can stand is limericks. He’s especially fond of ‘There once was a man from Nantucket.’ ”

  “Good God,” I said, appalled once again by Stu’s lack of brain cells. “So does this mean Stu is in, out, or somewhere in between?”

  “Trace, he’s so five minutes ago,” Brina said, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry I let him come between us. I got a little carried away, thinking he was my slp in shining armor.”

  “Happens to the best of us.” Hey, I thought, I’m getting really good at this forgiveness thing. First Bebe, now Brina. Who next—my dad? “Was the dance fun otherwise?”