I roll over but then I hear Father say my name through the intercom.
Swear, grumble, sigh. I get up and shuffle down to the kitchen.
Mother’s fussing over something. She likes to pretend she does useful things around the house when really it’s Carmen that takes care of everything. Mother has a hard time figuring out the dishwasher. I have no idea how she completed a PhD.
“Oh, darling, there you are. I’ve been calling you forever. I had to get your father to try. Didn’t you hear me?”
I shake my head. “Were you outside my door?”
“Of course not, silly, I used the intercom. That’s why we got it.”
I shrug. “I didn’t hear a thing. The system must be broken.”
Mother sighs. “Again? They promised me it was the best but it’s been nothing but faulty. I’m glad I paid for that five-year guarantee.”
I don’t say anything as I head to the espresso machine. I wonder if David or maybe even Pink can dismantle the intercom completely. They’re supposed to be smart; it shouldn’t be too hard for them.
Father walks in then. He glares at me over the old-man glasses perched on the end of his nose. I shift away from his espresso machine. I pretend I was reaching for hot chocolate instead. He’s still staring at me.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Morning,” he replies. “How are your grades so far?”
“A’s, top of the class.”
“Good. That’s what we like to hear.” Then he picks up The New York Times from the breakfast table and returns to his study with it.
I go back to the espresso machine.
“Oh, darling, you don’t have time for that.”
I stare at my mother. “Why not?”
Mother makes faces at her reflection in the microwave. “We have appointments with Pierre in twenty minutes. My hair is an absolute mess and yours doesn’t look much better.”
She’s not looking at me. She’s not even looking at a dim version of me through the microwave. “And I set up appointments with Marissa for some waxing while we’re there. Hopefully she can do something about those eyebrows you got from your father. They look like something you’d expect to see on some exotic animal.”
“I plucked them last night,” I tell her. She’s given up on the microwave and is now rummaging around in her purse. She waves a hand in my general direction. I hate it when she does that.
“Of course you did, darling, and that’s fine, but won’t you feel better once Marissa works her magic touch?”
Again I keep quiet.
Mother waves a hand again, this time to dismiss me. “Hurry up and get dressed, we don’t want to be late. And make sure you put on clean underwear. It’s probably time for your bikini wax again. You don’t have your period right now, do you?”
“Yeah, I do.” Not really, but it’s worth a shot if it gets me out of a bikini wax.
“Then make sure you use the super tampons. You don’t want to bleed all over the place, now do you?”
I stare at her and wonder if it’s worth telling her that Tara’s mother thinks body hair is beautiful.
“Don’t look at me like that, young lady. I was your age once. I used to get my period too, you know. Now hurry up, we’re going to be late.”
I come down ten minutes later and Mother takes another fifteen before we leave the house. We get to the salon a good forty minutes late for our appointments. Not that it matters. Pierre isn’t ready for us. He never is, and yet he always charges for extra services. Mother never notices and I’ve never seen the point in telling her.
I go straight to the coffee machine at the salon. I add one sugar and one Sweet’N Low to my drink. I used to do two Sweet’N Lows, but Pink claims that artificial sweeteners cause cancer in lab animals. Personally, I think that’s bullshit (if it’s true, then why are they legal?), but I humor her anyway.
I thumb through the magazines and drink the coffee while I wait my turn. Although I won’t tell her, I’m glad Mother dragged me to the salon. My hair has been pissing me off for weeks. It’s time for a change. And Pierre’s a genius. He figured out that if he changed his name from Pete to Pierre, he can get paid more as a hairdresser by pretending to be ethnic. It adds to his exoticness and people pay for that. I can learn a lot about money from him.
And I guess I do need a bikini wax.
“Hi, sweetie.” Pierre comes up to me and gives me a kiss on each cheek like they do in Europe. “I swear you must keep those boys begging for mercy. Come. Let’s see if we can make you more gorgeous than you already are.” Pierre leads me down to the chair.
I look over at Mother. She’s sitting with foil on her head, explaining the basic psychology behind effective parenting to the woman next to her. She doesn’t even remember I’m here. I wonder if she’d notice if I suddenly pulled out a gun and took Pierre hostage. Probably not. At least not for another half hour, until it was time for the next step in her hair treatment. So instead of pulling out a gun, I put on my public face and smile.
I reply to Pierre’s teasing with a laugh. “Ah, but the one guy I want won’t look at me.” I wink at him.
He laughs. “Sweetie, when I’m done with you, even the gay boys will be on their knees, you’re so gorgeous. So what will it be? Trim and touch-up on the highlights? Add a bit of body?”
I make a face while Pierre runs his fingers through my hair. “I need something different. Maybe a little cut, but I think I’ll go back to dark hair. Dark brown. And then with some burgundy highlights?”
Pierre closes his eyes for a second to imagine it. “Okay, I like it! You’re right. Blonde is so yesterday and there are so many fake blondes it doesn’t make a statement anymore. A rich dark brown is definitely the way to go, but not too dark or you’d go goth, and that wouldn’t be a good look on you.”
I nod. Dark hair is good. I also know that if Pierre really thinks it’s a bad idea, he would suggest something else. And he’s right about blondes, they aren’t getting noticed anymore. It’s people with dark hair who are turning heads these days.
It takes a few hours and a bit of pain (from Marissa waxing my legs and bikini line while the color sets) before Pierre lets me look in the mirror.
“Oh, sweetie, I love it,” Pierre says as he blow-dries my hair. “I swear, if you were an actress, we’d start a craze all over Hollywood in two weeks tops.”
I have to admit he’s right. I look good. Damn good. I can’t wait to show everyone.
Mother comes around then talking on her phone. She doesn’t even look at me. She just gives Pierre a wad of hundred-dollar bills and blows him a kiss. Then she waves her hand for me to follow her to the car. Three guys’ heads turn as I walk by. It’s nice to have at least some people notice.
We drive off as Mother pushes multitasking to the extreme. At the moment, she’s still talking on the phone, touching up her lipstick in the rearview mirror, and driving the car. With her so preoccupied, it’s only moments before I can launch my plan.
She’s talking to her secretary because she keeps going on about some patient and how she can’t stop by the office on a Saturday.
“I have a family too, and we have prior commitments. I promised to spend the day with my daughter.”
I didn’t know that was the plan, and Mother probably didn’t either, but I see my chance anyway.
“Shopping,” I whisper.
Mother raises her penciled eyebrows. (She always has Marissa wax them off completely so she can match them with her mood of the day. Today, they are perfect arches. They make her look happier than she does on antidepressants.) “No I really can’t, I need to get my daughter some school clothes.”
I smile to myself. Perfect. Maybe I can get some shoes too, and then an early dinner at Lay Bone From-age. If I play it right, I might get to spy on Nash for Pink as well.
“Okay, fine,” she says into the phone. “I’ll see if I can swing by the office after we’re done.”
My smile disappears.
/> I pull out my own phone to play some music and notice a text from David. He asks if I want to see the new cheesy thriller with him this afternoon. I write that I just got my hair done and am now going shopping with my mother. He writes back immediately wondering what I look like. I tell him that I shaved most of it off and what’s left is in rainbow dreads. He sends a laughing smiley and says to send him a picture and if I’m telling the truth, he’ll pay me a hundred bucks. I would have told Mother to turn the car around to dash back to Pierre’s but she’s still on the phone. Instead, I check my makeup and realize I haven’t put any on. I debate between staying as is or using my mother’s. No question. Besides, I remember Cosmo saying that the natural look is back. Fluffing my hair a bit with my hands, I take six pictures and send him the best one. It takes him a few minutes to write back: DAM! WHEN CAN I COME OVER?!
I laugh and tell him in his dreams. But then I write that if he’s still up for the movie, I’d text him when we’re done shopping.
Pinkie
I SEE NASH FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THE LECTURE. IT’S been exactly two weeks (well, thirteen days and eighteen hours, give or take five minutes) since I last saw him. I’ve convinced myself that the moment we shared after the lecture was either imagined or a mistake, and that he’s never going to have anything to do with me again. But now, he gives me his usual hug and he whispers, “I’ve missed you, ma chérie.”
He leads me to the space between the supply closet and the wall. He leans me against the wall with his hands on my hips. Then he kisses me and everything that I wanted to say to him melts away. The world is perfect: Nash is a god in human manifestation. Nothing else matters because I love my life. All my worries disappear. He does like me. This is real. And it’s happening to me.
We break away as we hear someone approaching the door.
“This weekend,” he whispers. “We’ll definitely get together.”
“When?” I have to know.
“I’m not sure. Maybe Saturday. I’ll call you.” He squeezes my hand as the door starts to open.
“Really, you’ll call?” I ask as I straighten a desk.
Nash smiles as if I’m confirming that two plus two equals four. “Of course!”
During the rest of the meeting, Nash keeps winking at me or finding ways to brush my arm or back when he walks by. Nobody notices a thing except for David. He sends me looks of disapproval that I don’t even get from Daddy. I just smile back. When the world is this perfect, I don’t need to worry about the little things.
Whitney Blaire
THE GIRL IS PURE EVIL. SHE HAS A PLAN. IT INVOLVES TARA and Brent. It involves breaking up Tara and Brent for good. That’s why she’s getting friendly with Tara, to weasel her way in. Become an insider so that she knows all the secrets. Riley wants Brent for herself. But Tara doesn’t listen when I tell her.
I see Riley up ahead. She’s talking with some kid I don’t know. I’m about to ignore her but then I hear Tara’s name. And Brent’s.
I slouch down against the lockers and I put on my sunglasses. I pull out a nail file and pretend I’m not there. With everyone walking around, Riley and the other kid don’t even notice me. It’s noisy, but I can still get what they say.
“So I hear Tara and Brent are getting back together,” the kid says.
“It looks like it.” Riley puts her hands behind her head. “They’re meeting at the gym today at four thirty. It’s the perfect setting for them to reunite.”
The kid shrugs. “Maybe you can stop them? You’ll be at the gym, won’t you?”
“Yeah, but I’ll be in training,” Riley says. “I sometimes dream about what it’d be like to…No, I shouldn’t think about that. But on the other hand, I can’t stand it. I was starting to think I might have a chance.”
The kid puts a hand on Riley’s shoulder. “You never know. Brent might get bored with her.”
Riley sighs. “I hope so. Brent doesn’t deserve a girl like Tara.”
I watch them walk away and then kick myself for not taking Riley out then and there. I knew she was up to no good and now I have the proof. Riley is after Brent. I just have to get to the gym this afternoon. And find Brent before Riley does.
Tara
LUNCHTIME WITH THE GIRLS IS AWKWARD. WHITNEY Blaire is brooding about something. It’s obviously serious because she’s wearing her sunglasses inside and not stealing food off Pinkie’s tray. I’m likewise quiet, thinking how Riley is much better company. Pinkie is the only one chatting, pretending that everything is normal.
“You know what we need to do?” Pinkie says. “Sleepover at my house. We rent some girly movies, get some greasy pizza. Have an early start to the weekend. What do you say?”
I shake my head. “I can’t, you know I’m in training.”
Whitney Blaire grunts. My guess is she’s either going to complain that I stick to my diet better than she does or is about to say something about friends being more important than training. Whatever it is she doesn’t say it, because Pinkie continues.
“We can get pizza from Gio’s. I know they do a whole wheat crust, and all their ingredients are natural.”
“We better get a regular one too, and we’ll see which one gets eaten first,” Whitney Blaire adds.
Pinkie smiles as she assumes all is well in her little hen-house. “And if we start right after school, then you can still get to bed early for your morning run, Tara. It’s been ages since we did something just the three of us.”
I’m not in the mood for a girls’ night. I don’t want to hear all about Pinkie’s worries or Whitney Blaire’s bitchiness. Of course I don’t tell them that. “I’d love to, but I don’t think I can. I have to hit the gym after school.”
Whitney Blaire scowls. “I hope you’re not spending more time with that freak kid. I’m telling you, stay away from her. She’s evil.”
I drop the apologetic attitude. “Lay off Riley. She hasn’t done anything to you.”
“No, just to you,” she growls.
My eyes narrow and I press my lips together. “If you must know, I’m not meeting Riley. I’m spending time with Brent.”
Whitney Blaire’s voice suddenly changes to sugary sweet. “So you two are back together now?”
I feel my back grow tense. “No, we’re just working out. It’s no big deal.”
Pinkie takes a deep breath. “Tara, are you sure that’s a good idea? Getting close to him again? I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I roll my eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
“That’s what you think,” Whitney Blaire says under her breath.
“What are you talking about?” I demand.
“Nothing. You just go and have fun.”
“I will.” I grab my bag and take off.
“Stop by my house afterward if you can,” Pinkie calls out. “I’ll get the pizza.”
I keep walking, keep moving. If I walk fast enough maybe I can get around the whole school before the bell rings. No need to tell Pinkie that even though Gio makes a great pizza, I really don’t want to hang out with Whitney Blaire at the moment.
Whitney Blaire
I KNOW I HAVE TO FOLLOW RILEY AFTER SCHOOL. OR AT least get to the gym by four thirty. I still don’t know exactly what the plan is and how I’m going to stop it, but it doesn’t matter. I can lie my way through anything. And I’m good at thinking on the spot.
The only problem is that the gym is far away. I need to drive there. But I still haven’t passed the stupid test to get my license. Pink usually drives me around. She has this loud, clunky old thing that smells like little kids, but as Pink always reminds me, at least it usually runs. But I can’t get Pink to drive this time. She wouldn’t approve. She’ll probably call Riley up and try to sort things out. Like mothers do when their kids are fighting in the playground: “Now children, what seems to be the problem here? Why don’t you hug and make it feel better? There, there, good children.” Screw that. Pink isn’t the only answer to my driving problems. I
can find someone else with wheels.
I look around the school parking lot and recognize a kid from one of my classes. He’s unlocking the door of a VW. It isn’t a great car, but it’s a newer model. I think he is just barely sixteen, but if he can drive, that’s all that matters. Shoulders back and swaying my hips, I walk toward him.
He glances my way and then pretends to be looking at something else, yet I know his eyes are on me. I flip my hair, smile, and give him a little wave. His mouth drops a bit. I want him to look behind him to double-check that it’s him I’m looking at and not some other random guy, but he doesn’t. His eyes stay on me. Which is fine too.
“Hi.” I have no idea what his name is, but when you smile as sweetly as I am, names don’t matter. “I was wondering, would you mind giving me a ride? See, my friend was going to take me to the gym, you know the one out by Target, but she must have left without me. I really need to work on my…” Shit! What is the fitness word for ass muscles? “On my squats. So can you? Give me a lift?”
The guy blinks a couple times. “Ah, sure. Hop in.”
I give him another smile. “That’s great. You’re a lifesaver.”
He shrugs me off, but I can tell he’s blushing.
I chat with him the whole way to the gym. Don’t ask me about what. My mouth might be blabbing away, but my mind is thinking about a plan. A good plan to counteract Riley’s bad one, which I still don’t have the details on.
I wave good-bye to my ride before he can ask for my number. I walk around the parking lot. I find Riley’s skankmobile hiding out by the emergency exits, but there’s no sign of Brent’s car. That’s okay. It isn’t four thirty yet. I have to find Riley.
I walk into the gym as if I belong there. I don’t stop to pay. Although I can feel the glares of the people working the front desk, no one stops me either. Just goes to show, if you act like you should be doing something, no one questions you.
Now the trick is to find Riley, and hopefully without her or Tara seeing me. Let Tara thank me later when I’ve saved her relationship with Brent and showed the world the kind of person Riley really is.
Of All the Stupid Things Page 7