Sass & Serendipity

by Ziegler, Jennifer

  “Okay,” Daphne said, without looking up. She sniffed a few times and turned the page, revealing more shots of their snow-day revelry.

  Gabby sighed. “I don’t get it,” she said. “Why do you always do this to yourself?”

  “Do what?”

  “This.” Gabby waved toward the photo albums. “Wallow in the past. It’s not like it can magically change the present, you know.”

  Daphne glanced up at her with watery, red-rimmed eyes. “I know. And I don’t always do this to myself. Just now and then. When I feel like it.”

  “But why do it at all? It only makes you depressed.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “What are you talking about? You’re bawling your eyes out.”

  “Of course it makes me cry. But then I feel better.”

  “What? You’re making no sense. If reliving the past upsets you, stop doing it.”

  “I like remembering that there were nice times. That things weren’t always so crazy.”

  “Whatever.” Gabby shook her head. God. It was like the girl wanted to be miserable.

  That was the thing about memories. It was impossible to recall only the good ones. Instead, you had to take good, bad, sad, and embarrassing all in the same bundle, like a cable TV plan.

  Gabby would give anything to eradicate all the awful moments of her life, to take a magic squeegee and wipe away her parents’ fights, her grandmother moaning in a hospital bed, excruciating situations at school, and all traces of Sonny.… Not that her time with Sonny had been bad; remembering it just brought on bad feelings. And yet here was Daphne deliberately seeking out such emotions, purposely reviving them. It seemed so pointless and reckless.

  Daphne flipped another page to reveal an eight-by-ten glossy of Gabby in the midst of a hellish puberty, all braces and pimples and crookedly cut bangs.

  “Oh, please!” Gabby exclaimed. “At least turn the damn page. I really hate that picture.”

  “I like it,” Daphne said in a completely serious tone. “You look so … happy. You never smile that way anymore.”

  Gabby gazed down at her younger, metal-enhanced grin. It was true. She did look happy, in a goofy and completely oblivious way. That girl’s biggest worry was that she’d never learn how to do a perfect cartwheel; she couldn’t even fathom how much suckage was just waiting to happen to her.

  Growing up, it seemed, was just a series of disenchantments. First you find out there’s no Santa Claus; then you find out there’s no such thing as a happily-ever-after. Then you end up working some soul-sapping job where you have to wear red knit polyester and get bossed around by an evil ghoul.

  So of course Gabby didn’t smile that way anymore. She knew things now that that girl didn’t.

  “Are you sure you won’t have any other units available in the next few weeks? … I see.… Yes, I understand.… Please hold on to my number and call me if anything should open up.… Thank you.” Mrs. Rivera turned off her phone and stood staring out her bedroom window.

  Gabby waited a few beats before saying “So … no luck, huh?”

  “No.”

  Just one tiny word, and it sounded distant, feeble. Gabby wanted to spring forward and throw her arms around her mom. Instead, she forced herself to stay in the squeaky vinyl office chair in front of her mom’s desk. The last thing Mom needed was for Gabby to behave like a scared little girl. She should act strong—even if she didn’t feel it. That would calm her mother better than any hug.

  She glanced back at the screen, searching for the most uplifting detail she could find. “There’s a duplex on Briar Street. It’s only one bedroom, but we’ve got that sleeper sofa.”

  Her mother turned just enough to shoot her a pained expression. “Please don’t tell me it’s come to that.”

  “No, no. There are other postings. I mean … not right now. But people put up new posts every day.”

  “I just can’t do a sleeper sofa every night. Not at my age.” Her mom shook her head over and over and over.

  “I could sleep on it,” Gabby suggested.

  “And I sleep with Daphne?”

  “Or maybe we could set up your bed in the living room and get rid of the couch?”

  “God, that sounds so pathetic,” her mom said, massaging her forehead with her fingertips. She slumped onto the stool in front of her vanity and faced herself in the mirror.

  “It’s just for a little while,” Gabby said, rising to her feet. She walked over and stood behind her mom. “I’m sure we could do it.”

  Her mom’s reflection shot her a wry smile. “By ‘we’ you mean me and you, right? My god, can you imagine your sister’s reaction?” she asked, chuckling. “She’d disown us.”

  “Hey. Another plus.”

  “Be nice, now.”

  Gabby shrugged. “I’m just saying, more room for us. That’s all.”

  “Where is Daphne, anyway?”

  “Not here helping, that’s for sure. Probably off somewhere moping. Or daydreaming over her latest guy obsession.”

  “What am I going to do with that girl?” her mom muttered. “I have this horrible feeling she’s going to end up making the same mistakes I made.”

  “Like what?” Gabby asked, knowing she needed to let her mom vent the way Mule did for her. Meanwhile, she moved to the dresser, picking up and putting down displayed keepsakes as if she were browsing in a gift shop. Framed school portraits of her and her sister. A green ceramic box where her mom stored her earrings. A sculpture Gabby had made in second grade of what was supposed to be a peacock but instead resembled an emaciated turkey.

  It was a lame attempt to appear calm when, in fact, her insides felt heavy and twisted, just like the grade-school art in her hand. She knew exactly what her mother was going to say.

  “Making a man my whole life.”

  Gabby had listened to this lament many times, and it never failed to brew up a frothy mix of emotions. On the one hand, she was proud that her mom thought her mature enough to confide in, treating Gabby as if she were an equal. But it also made her feel a little insecure. She wished her mother would stop blaming herself for putting too much faith in her marriage, especially since she wasn’t the one who had given up on it.

  Plus, there was still a side of Gabby that hated hearing it. The marriage couldn’t have been all bad. After all, Gabby and Daphne had come out of it. So did their mother regret having them, too?

  Gabby set down the deformed peacock and walked up behind her mother, resting her hands on her shoulders. “It’ll be okay,” she said, staring at her mom’s image in the mirror. Her face looked as if it had cracked from too much pressure, creating stern fissures on her brow and around her mouth. Her mom seemed literally broken. Gabby had to protect her.

  “And don’t waste time worrying about Daphne,” Gabby added. “You know she’ll be fine. The girl can bounce back from anything.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “We’ll find a place to move into. You’ll see. Tomorrow they’ll have new ads online, I’ll be able to ask Pinkwater for a raise, and Daphne will get that hostess job. It’ll all work out.”

  Gabby’s mom reached up and patted her left hand. “Thanks, sweetie. I’m so glad you’re sensible. Promise me you’ll always keep both feet on the ground, okay? Promise me you won’t go crazy over a handsome face and mess up your life.”

  “Not much chance of that in this rat hole of a town,” Gabby said, smiling crookedly. Her mom looked relieved.

  Gabby didn’t want to tell her that her warnings were unnecessary. She’d made up her mind soon after the divorce to never end up in her mom’s situation: alone, panicked over bills, with a child or two to look after. She would always have money, independence, job skills, and a backup plan—or five. Plus, she’d already gone crazy over a handsome face. Losing Sonny and that silly alternate universe she’d hoped for with him had messed her up enough as it was; she couldn’t imagine how badly it would have hurt if there’d been an actual relation
ship.

  So no. Gabby had learned her lesson: you can only rely on yourself in life. She knew that fairy-tale endings only happened in books.

  Daphne, on the other hand, was a lost cause.

  Daphne lay sprawled on the green and beige striped couch they’d gotten from Grandma’s house—the one that still smelled like a mixture of White Linen perfume and Aqua Net. Her eyes were raw and crusted from her big cryfest the day before, which had lasted late into the evening. She felt as she usually did after those bouts of sobbing: purged, weary, and noble in her sadness. She imagined herself as a tragic character in an epic miniseries, the kind who wore beautiful dresses while staring pensively out rain-streaked windows. Lonely and misunderstood, but not too far gone to forget to brush her hair and apply a light coating of Tawny Mountain lipstick. In those films the heroine was always rescued from her predicament by a handsome and very well-off guy who could somehow look manly in leggings. And that was exactly how Daphne wanted her story to end. (Only without the form-fitting man pants.)

  Normally on Sundays she stayed in bed until noon, but today, she was up by nine-forty-five. At ten-thirty she figured it was late enough to text Luke, so she sent him a quick message—HOW WUZ BOWLING AND HOT DOGS?—and then sat cradling her cell phone as if it were a baby bird, eagerly awaiting his reply.

  She could hear her mom and sister in the next room. The door was shut, so she couldn’t make out any words, only the rising and falling of their voices like droning bumblebees. But she could tell by their tones that they were still in ultraserious mode about having to move.

  She supposed she should go help them, but why? They’d only tell her she was doing everything wrong. Besides, the more she thought about it, the more she was kind of glad they had to leave. They’d moved into this slummy little house right after the divorce two years ago, and Daphne had always hated it. It reeked of sadness. And also—because the previous tenant had had a lot of cats—it reeked of cat pee and tuna fish. The windows were too few, the closets too small, and the rooms impossible to brighten. Even when they opened all the curtains and switched on all the lights and lamps, it still seemed as if they lived at the bottom of a well.

  Daphne set her phone on the coffee table. Then she stood and stretched her arms, glancing around the living room to see if there was anything, any corner or nook or view, that she would miss about the house. But she couldn’t find a thing. The main problem was that there were no good memories here. Since they’d arrived it had been an endless blur of crying, arguing, and freak-outs about money. All that negativity seemed to have seeped into the fake wooden paneling and gathered like moss on the bumpy spray-acoustic ceilings.

  It had never been a home. Instead, it had always felt like one of those cheap motel rooms they used to stay at on their way to some vacation destination. A place to shower and crash in but not truly live in.

  All of a sudden Daphne’s cell phone let out an irritable buzz and scooted three inches across the coffee table. She quickly snatched it up. She was so startled and excited that her fingers trembled, and it took a couple of fumbling tries before she managed to call up her message on the screen.

  HAD FUN THX. THIS IS DAFNE RIGHT?

  It felt as if a mini-explosion went off in her chest. Yes! He’d written back!

  Daphne ran her fingertip across the line of text. Somehow the words looked sweet coming from him. The font seemed pretty, and the sentences brimmed with meaning. He’d thanked her for her message, which meant he was happy to hear from her. And he’d used her name! He couldn’t spell it, but so what? Just knowing that his fingers had typed it out made her shudder with excitement.

  YEP ITS DA

  She paused. She really didn’t want to point out his misspelling, so she backed up and tried again.

  YEP ITS ME. GLAD U HAD FUN.

  She hit Send and perched on the edge of the couch, rocking back and forth with anticipation. And she waited. Her hands were so sweaty, she had to wipe them on her lap a couple of times so she didn’t lose her grip on the phone. And she waited, and rocked, and waited some more.

  Finally the phone vibrated. Even though she’d been expecting it, she gave a little yelp of surprise.

  NEED HANDS. CALL ME INSTEAD?

  Yes! Of course she would call him!

  She chose him off her contacts list and pressed the button to connect. Two rings later she heard his voice in her right ear. “Hello?”

  “Luke, it’s Daphne.”

  “I figured,” he said with a chuckle. “This is better. I’m trying to make something to eat and I can’t really do that and text too.”

  “Wow. You’re cooking?”

  “Well … it’s just a sandwich. It’s going to be a really good one, though.”

  She laughed. “Hey, that counts.”

  “Besides, I’m not much into texting. All that typing and writing—it feels too much like school.”

  Daphne wasn’t sure what to say, so she just giggled again. How come she hadn’t noticed how sexy his voice was before?

  “Maybe I’m just old-fashioned.”

  “Me too!” she said. “I’m so old-fashioned, sometimes I feel like a freak.”

  “Ha! I know what you mean. My friends at my old school kept teasing me about moving to the backwoods. They think it must be so boring here. But you know, I like small towns. You guys actually have a Main Street. And that’s its actual name.”

  “Yep,” she said. “We’re very Norman Rockwell around here. We even have swimming holes.” She congratulated herself on remembering the name of the artist known for his wholesome and funny pictures of small-town life. Of course, she only knew about him because Gabby referred to him all the time when talking about Barton—usually in a snide tone. But still, Daphne was impressed with herself and hoped he would think she sounded smart.

  “I love that the guy at the nearby gas station already knows my name,” Luke said.

  “Gus?”

  “Yeah! Gus! I love that his name is Gus, too.”

  “We used to have a drive-in theater, but that closed when they built the new cineplex. And there was this general-store-type place, but that closed when the Walmart came.”

  “Aw, too bad.”

  “But Quick’s Pharmacy still has a real old-fashioned soda fountain.”

  “Really? Cool! You know, we should go there and, like, get a sundae with two spoons.”

  Daphne felt like squealing, only she wouldn’t let herself. Instead, the squeals built up inside her until it seemed her upper body might burst open. “That would be so great,” she said. “I wish I had something old-fashioned to wear. Like … a poodle skirt.”

  “You’d look nice in a poodle skirt,” he said, his voice a low murmur.

  Daphne fell sideways on the couch and hugged herself with her free arm. This was by far the sweetest conversation she’d ever had in her life.

  “So … when do you want to go there?” she asked, barely able to take in enough breath to speak.

  “I don’t know. Do you have plans tomorrow after school?”

  Daphne thought about her promise to stop by the restaurant and apply for the hostessing job. But there would still be plenty of time to do that after hanging with Luke, right? There was no reason she couldn’t do both.

  “No. No plans. Let’s go.”

  “Sam Milburn has the most amazing tongue!” Lynette Harkrider exclaimed, gazing upward as if she could see a little thought bubble with his image in it.

  Eight other girls, including Daphne, leaned toward her as if she were magnetized.

  “He’s so cute!” Sheri Purnell said, emphasizing every word in her sentence.

  Daphne thought Sam resembled a lizard too much to ever be considered good-looking. His eyes were so far apart, they were practically on the sides of his head, and he seemed almost hairless with his crew cut and sparse brows. Plus, like his reptilian brethren, he apparently had mad tongue skills. But she kept quiet. As a junior varsity cheerleader, Daphne had to defer to the va
rsity cheerleaders’ superiority. And Lynette was the most alpha one of them all.

  She wasn’t even head cheerleader—that was Tricia Albright. But Lynette was the mouthiest and, according to public opinion, the prettiest. She had expertly styled honey-colored hair and skin that was a matching honey hue, and her daily makeup job was as elaborate as a Monet painting. Daphne didn’t think Lynette was anywhere near as beautiful as Gabby; in fact, underneath all those dabs of color, Lynette was rather freckled and ordinary. But she did have the best legs of all the cheerleaders, and her painstaking morning routine probably should count for something. Thus, Lynette reigned as Queen Supreme at Barton High. And, of course, Gabby was too much of a sourpuss to seriously compete for the title.

  “And he’s got these killer abs,” Lynette went on. “I mean, like, underwear model abs.”

  “Is he taking you to prom?” Tricia asked.

  Lynette made a face as if it was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. “No way. It’s not serious or anything. We’re just having sex.”

  Daphne stared at Lynette, with all her sultry confidence, and then studied the rest of the girls in her pre- and post-school hangout crowd. Being a cheerleader with a perky personality, she was part of the group by default, yet she often didn’t feel like one of them. She tried to emulate their style, painting her nails the color of the month, wearing slinky tops from the accepted stores (which she often had to hide under sweaters around her mom and dad), flirting with the jocks, and subscribing to similar views on boys, fashion, and which celebrities were considered awesome and should be copied. She didn’t have the years of gossip experience or the income bracket to be pitch-perfect, but she had managed to fake it so far. However, the one thing she never succeeded in adopting, or even credibly imitating, was their laid-back attitude toward sex.