Of All the Stupid Things

by Alexandra Diaz

  Pink puts her hands over her ears. “Stop it. It’s not true. I mean, Tara was with Brent for months. She’s not…And Riley, she can’t be…I mean, she’s so pretty.”

  “Argh!!!” I grab another branch and try to snap it. It bends, but doesn’t break. I pull it and end up just shaking the whole tree. A bucket of leaves drops on top of me. The branch still doesn’t break. Stupid tree. I kick it. It hurts like hell and worse yet, the tree ruins my shoe. I kick it again. “Will you shut up about Riley’s looks? First David, then Tara, and now you. I can’t take it anymore.”

  Pink forgets her hyperventilating to wrap me in a hug. I push her away again. “Whitney Blaire, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I just…it’s hard for me to believe this, if it’s true.”

  I take a deep breath and finally let Pink keep an arm around me. “Of course it’s true. Tara’s been in love with that bitch from the start.”

  “I still don’t think so.”

  I push her arm off. “Well, I know I’m right. They’re together. Now the question is, whose side are you on?”

  “I don’t—”

  I start walking away. It’s time to leave school. “You have my number.”

  Pink catches up. “Wait, you can’t make me do this.”

  I glare at her. “I’m not making you do anything. I’m just saying that I’m not hanging around people that hang out with that bitch. Tara’s made her choice. Now it’s your turn. I’m out of here.”

  “Whitney Blaire, wait.” Pink stops. “You can’t go. You have detention.”

  I keep walking. “Call me when you’ve made up your mind.”

  I shake my head and shift my purse. I give her two hours. Three at the most.

  Pinkie

  I GO THROUGH MY AFTERNOON CLASSES WITHOUT knowing what I’m doing. I write down everything the teachers say, but I don’t hear a word of it. By last period, I can’t take it anymore. I have to leave. I am only missing PE, a pass/fail class. And knowing the people who’ve passed that class before, I think it’s okay to miss one class. I can’t focus on gym right now. The last thing I want to worry about today is yellow balls aimed at my face.

  How could Whitney Blaire do this to me? How can she make me choose between her and Tara? And if what Whitney Blaire said is true, how could Tara do this to me? I don’t know which one is worse: Whitney Blaire telling me to choose between my friends or Whitney Blaire telling me that she thinks Tara and Riley are a…are doing…No, I can’t even think about that. It is too gross. I mean, what if Tara has always been that way? Oh my God! I’ve changed clothes around her. We’ve joked around about my bouncing monsters. What if she was checking me out? And that day we were joking about spying on Nash, she said I should go in drag. Did that mean something else? Like she had a crush on me? Oh God, oh God, oh God.

  I pull over to the side of the road because I can’t drive and drive myself crazy at the same time. Breathe, Pinkie, breathe. Inhale, exhale. Okay, now think of something else. Think about something that doesn’t have anything to do with Tara possibly being…Don’t think about Tara, and Tara and Riley together. Think of something else, someone else. Whitney Blaire saying it was her or Tara. No, no stop it. Don’t think about that either. You can’t possibly choose. It’s stupid. There’s no choice to make. You’re not going to choose Tara now that she’s a…But on the other hand, it’s really shallow of Whitney Blaire to even suggest that you should choose between them, so that’s not the right choice either. There’s no one to turn to. My best friends have abandoned me. I need to talk to someone. I can’t do this on my own.

  I pull out my phone. Who can I talk to? Mama. No, I need someone who will talk back. There has to be someone else.

  A car horn beeps. I look around me. I’m not exactly on the road, but since there isn’t much of a shoulder, I’m not actually off the road either. I wave apologetically at the guy who beeped at me. He gives me the finger. I need to get off the road, but I don’t want to drive. Okay, where am I? I recognize the street and put the car into gear. Ninety-six seconds later, I pull into David’s driveway. I ring the bell. Please be home, please don’t be so sick you’re under quarantine.

  His youngest sister, Carolyn, answers the door. Her face is covered with blue eye shadow and red lipstick, but not necessarily in the right places.

  “David,” she shouts. “Your girlfriend is here.”

  “I’m not his girlfriend,” I mumble.

  Three seconds later, I hear thundering from upstairs and then the thumping of stairs being taken quickly. When David sees me his face changes from excited to surprised. “Oh, it’s you, Pink. Why aren’t you at school? Are you okay?”

  “No.” I start crying. I fall into his arms and he lets me hug him without breaking away.

  “Eww, smoochy, smoochy,” Carolyn says. I can feel her watching us, even though my eyes are closed.

  “Beat it, Carolyn, or I’ll tell Sophie you’ve been in her room.”

  Carolyn stomps away. David rubs my back and I hold on tighter.

  I pull away from David as soon as my nose starts running. It’s one thing to wet his shirt with tears; it is something else to get snot all over it. I take myself to the bathroom and blow my nose. I grab some extra tissues and stuff them in my pocket. Okay, Pinkie. Pull yourself together. I wash my face and make the mistake of looking in the mirror. Oh, great. Creature from the black lagoon with blotchy red skin. Oh, what does it matter, it’s just David. Still, I run a hand through my hair before coming out and hope it helped just a bit.

  David is waiting for me. “Better?”

  I nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I just lost it. I guess I need someone to talk to.”

  David grabs his coat. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “You’re not sick? You weren’t at school.”

  “It was just a headache. It was gone when I woke up again a few hours ago. Let’s go.”

  I nod again and follow him out. The second the door closes behind us, I let it all out. “Tara and Whitney Blaire had a big fight at school where Tara falsely accused Whitney Blaire of having an affair with Brent because of something that Riley said, so that got Whitney Blaire all angry and now she wants me to choose who I want to be friends with, but Whitney Blaire also thinks that Tara is now a lesbian in a relationship with Riley.”

  David lets out a whistle. “Damn.”

  “And I don’t know what to do or what to think.”

  David blinks a few times. “So, Tara and Riley? That’s big.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t believe it. I mean, Whitney Blaire has no proof. She just assumed that since Tara took Riley’s side in believing something untrue about Whitney Blaire, that they’re a couple. But it can’t be true.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it just can’t be—it doesn’t make sense. Tara dated Brent for months, and she went out with other guys before him. And it’s just wrong.”

  David takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “It’s not wrong. You just didn’t expect it to happen to a close friend.”

  I sniff and pull out a tissue. “That’s just it, Tara’s not the sort. I think this is just another of Whitney Blaire’s dramas. Her imagination working overtime.”

  David stops walking to look at me. “If you really thought it wasn’t true, would you be so upset?”

  “I—” I stop. I force myself to really think about it. The looks Tara sent Riley from across the room, the eagerness to spend as much time with her as possible, and the giddy smile on Tara’s face when they were together all come to mind. I suppose it could be true, or at the very least possible. “You’re right. I just don’t want to believe it. It’s such a shock.”

  We start walking again, his hand still holding mine. “It is, but we still should have seen it coming. They have so much in common, always at the gym together. Anyway, I bet Riley’s gay.”

  I look up at him. “What makes you say that?”

  David shrugs as if he knows a secret. “Pinkie, I’m
a guy. It’s what makes her so hot—but don’t you dare tell Whitney I just said Riley was hot. Besides, it’s all in Riley’s signals. And, she looks gay.”

  I pull my hand out of David’s and stare at him. “Are we talking about the same Riley looking like a lesbian? Because the one I’m talking about could win Miss America if she were taller—though if you tell Whitney Blaire that, I will hurt you.”

  “I didn’t mean like diesel-dyke gay. It’s just there’s something about her, about the way she acts. Look who she always eats lunch with. And she could have any guy in school but isn’t interested in any of them. Maybe I’m wrong, but I have been thinking it for a while. Well, fantasizing about it.” David grins impishly.

  I ignore that comment. I don’t understand what it is about boys and lesbians.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I sniff again. David not telling me hurts almost as much as all the other stuff.

  David shrugs. “Like I said, it was mostly just in my imagination, though I did convince myself of it. Besides, Whitney hates her so much, I didn’t want to bring her name up. And I know you don’t like gays.”

  I shake my head. “I have nothing against gays. I just don’t like them near me.”

  David nods. “I know. And since you girls have these massive makeover slumber parties that all girls are known for, you’ve seen each other without clothes on.”

  I think about that. It’s not the only thing that bothers me, but it’s certainly a part of it. “Well yes, but it’s not like we’ve really looked at each other. Not like that. But if Tara was looking at me and I didn’t know it…Eww, that’s just gross.”

  David gets a guilty smile. “So, how does Whitney look without a shirt on?”

  I playfully hit him on the shoulder. “I just told you I don’t look. But for the record, she doesn’t look any different than the rest of us.”

  David sighs, but I can’t tell if it’s a happy sigh or a sad sigh. “Do you think I’ll ever have a chance with her?”

  “Well, she certainly likes you.” I pause for the right way to say that what I think Whitney Blaire really likes is not so much David himself, but rather the admiration she gets from him. “So maybe if you’re patient.”

  David lets out a sarcastic laugh. “I’ve been after her since that day in first grade when you introduced us. She stuck her tongue out at me and then winked. I don’t think I even knew what a wink meant, but it worked.”

  We walk a bit in silence, David no doubt wondering what he could do to finally win over Whitney Blaire, and me glad that I talked things over with him. I still don’t know what to do and how to feel, but at least I feel a bit calmer about it.

  David suddenly stops and I see that we have ended up right in front of the cemetery. I pick up his hand again and squeeze it. “Do you mind if I say hello real quick?”

  “Course not. I like cemeteries. They’re cool. But I didn’t think you would want to.”

  I lead the way down the path and then to the right. “It’s fine. I come here a lot, at least a few times a month.”

  I take a detour to the pump and fill the watering can the caretaker leaves out. Even though it’s November and the marigolds are either dead or on their last leg (which I guess they’re not, since marigolds don’t have legs), it’s a habit I can’t give up. David offers to carry the watering can and I let him. Not because it is the guy thing to let him take it but because I know he’s trying to help and it’s sweet of him to offer.

  A few buds still have orange and red petals. I give those the most water, but make sure even the dead ones get a drink. Then I crouch down and speak to her.

  “Hi, Mama, it’s me Pinkie. I brought David here with me today. He’s been great in helping me cheer up. Tara and Whitney Blaire aren’t speaking, and I’m stuck in the middle, yet again. The only problem is that I don’t know if they will patch things up this time around. They said some pretty bad things to each other, and truthfully, I don’t like what either one is doing or saying, so in a way I don’t feel like talking to either one at the moment. So no one is talking to anyone right now. It’s nice to at least have David to talk to. Thank you for taking that prenatal class with his mama seventeen years ago; he’s turned out to be a great friend. I love you and I’ll be back soon, probably with Daddy on the anniversary. Don’t forget me.”

  I kiss the air and trace the headstone with my fingertips.

  Behind me I hear David reading the engraving. “‘Aurora Pauline Ricci. Beloved wife of Dino and adored mother of Pinkie. At peace.’”

  I get back on my feet and take one more look. David stands behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. I lean into him just a bit.

  “You know, considering we’ve known each other since forever, I can’t remember ever hearing your real name.”

  I turn to face David. “Who says Pinkie isn’t my real name?”

  David rolls his eyes. “Come on, you can’t expect me to believe your parents named you after a newborn hairless mouse.”

  I sigh and start walking back to return the watering can. Leave it to David to know exactly what a pinkie is. At least he’s not calling me “Snake Food.”

  “When I was born, Mama said that I looked like a baby mouse, all small, pink, and helpless. She always called me Pinkie, except when she was mad. Being Pinkie is one of the few things I have to remember her by.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” He looks down and kicks the dry leaves on the path. “I liked your mom. I remember she gave me an extra popcorn ball on Halloween.”

  I smile. Mama’s popcorn balls were the best: made with homemade buttery caramel and a few peanuts to perfectly balance the sweet-and-salty combination. “That was to make up for the later years with the Blaires not welcoming trick-or-treaters and Tara’s mama giving us packets of unsalted sunflower seeds.”

  David grins mischievously. “I always gave the sunflower seeds to Sophie and told her all the big kids ate them with the shells. Later on she realized that even the birds don’t eat the shells. But I think Carolyn still eats them that way.”

  I chuckle. I never thought of feeding Angela the sunflower seeds Ms. De Paul gave us. Every year I tried to grow them for Mama without any success. Probably because I always planted them in November.

  “Those were good times,” I say. “It’s a shame they won’t be the same again.”

  David drapes an arm over my shoulders. “You really think the friendship’s over?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just fed up with them right now. I’ll probably call them in a couple days and do everything I can to get us all back together. Hopefully, they’ll forgive each other. But I’ve never seen them fight like this.”

  David steps right in front of me. “You know, Pinkie, it’s not your responsibility to work things out for everyone. It’s not your fault Tara and Whitney are fighting.”

  I pick up David’s hand again. It’s a nice thing for him to say. Even if it isn’t true.

  Whitney Blaire

  I EXPECTED TO GET A LECTURE FROM THE PARENTS FOR coming home late last night without calling. I even thought I might be grounded if the school called and told them I missed detention. But there was nothing. When I wake up in the morning, I find out why.

  There’s a note. I must have missed it last night. It says:

  Darling,

  I just found out I have to join your father for the conference in San Diego this weekend. I know we were going to see Riverdance , but there is no way of getting out of it. If you still want to go, call Patrick at the box office. He knows how to charge it to our account—I’ll leave his number. I’ve asked Carmen to stop by on Sunday to check up on you. If you need anything, do give her a call. I’ll leave you her number as well, in case you don’t have it. I’ll be back Monday afternoon. Your father says to remind you to make sure you get to school on time Monday morning.

  Affectionately,

  Your Mother

  P.S. You may invite your friends over for pizza one night if you are lonely.

/>   Next to the note, there’s a fifty instead of the usual twenty. It’s a new one, all crisp and sticky. I hold it, rubbing my fingers over the ends to see if there are two stuck together. With the other hand I crumple Mother’s note into a tiny ball. Then I stop.

  A smile crosses my face. I set down the money and open up the letter carefully. I read the last line again. The smile widens. I press my hand over the note to smooth out the creases. I go upstairs with the two pieces of paper. The money I place in its usual spot in the leather wallet on the top shelf of my closet. The note goes in my sock drawer. If anything goes wrong, I have the proof of permission kept safe. I haven’t grown up with a lawyer and a psychologist in the house without learning something.

  Back downstairs, I look all over for the school directory. It’s not by the phonebook or by any of the other phones around the house. I try Father’s office door, but it’s locked. With the deadbolt. What a surprise. I guess the school directory wouldn’t be there anyway.

  I think of calling up Pinkie. I haven’t heard from her since yesterday. I know she hasn’t taken Tara’s side, probably just busy with church or something stupid like that. But I don’t call her; I’d have to explain why I need the number. Not a good idea. I’ll tell her after everything is planned; when there’s no way for her to stop me from doing it. I get my phone out of its case and look through the contacts; there has to be someone who has his number. Actually, I have it myself. No idea how I got it but who cares.

  He answers on the fifth ring.

  “Hey.”

  “Gator, it’s Whitney Blaire.”

  “’Sup?”

  “Do you still have a band?”

  “Yup.”

  “Cool. Any chance you’re free tonight?”

  “You paying?”

  “Gator, it’s a chance for everyone who’s anyone to hear how great you are. You should be paying me for promoting you. You know, like an agent.”