“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you let us down—again. Do you care that we’re in dire straits and Mom needs all the help we can give?”
“Of course I care.”
“Then why won’t you go find a job? And why are you out spending money on stupid things? Please don’t tell me you charged that dress.”
“No! She let me put it on a tab or whatever. I’m supposed to go pay it tomorrow. And don’t look at me that way. I’m going to use the money Grandma left me.”
Gabby’s eyes and mouth widened in a look of horror. “How could you do that at a time like this? What if we need that money for an emergency?”
“It’s my money.”
“It’s our house. It’s our well-being. God! It’s like you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”
“Shut up!” Daphne pressed her hands over her ears. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” It was so unfair. She’d had one of the best afternoons of her whole life and her sister was determined to ruin it.
“Girls! What on earth is going on here?” Great. Now Mom was swooping into the room, as usual. Like some wide-eyed, frowny superhero.
“More of the same,” Gabby said. “Daffy is going daffy over some guy again. What else is new?”
“Leave me alone! You’re just jealous because I found someone special.”
Gabby rolled her eyes and made a huffing sound. “Please! You’ve just met the guy. How can you even know that he’s so special?” She uttered the final two words in the breathy voice of a total ditz while waving her hands in the air.
“Because! I just do!” Daphne yelled. She quickly tried to think of some evidence to back up her claim. “He’s … different. He’s sweet. He reads Brontë and—”
Gabby started laughing. “Oh, my god. You are falling for a guy because you like the same books? If that’s the best basis for a relationship, you should date Mrs. Shropshire down the street. She has stacks of paperback romances all over the floor of her living room.”
“What do you know?” Daphne was really screaming now. Her throat felt warm and raw. “When did you ever even have a boyfriend? Real guys won’t even come near you!”
“Girls, stop! I’ve had enough of this!”
Daphne pointed at her sister. “It’s her fault! She jumped all over me for no reason! She thinks she’s the one in charge but she’s not—you are.”
Mrs. Rivera studied her for a moment and then nodded. “You’re right. Gabby, you really should let me handle things,” she said. But before Daphne had a chance to look triumphant, her mom added, “Although she does have a point, sweetheart. You really do tend to lose your head over these boys.”
“No! It’s not like that. This time it’s different. Why do you always have to take her side?”
“I’m not taking her side. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Now who’s jumping to conclusions? You’ve never even seen him and already you think he’s a jerk?”
“It’s not that, honey. I’ve lived longer. I know more about men.… Boys …” Her mom seemed to be struggling to find the right word. “… Relationships.”
She reached out and placed a hand on the back of Daphne’s head, stroking her hair. It seemed more condescending than tender, the same gesture a preschool teacher would use with a sad four-year-old. Daphne’s teeth clenched. It was more proof that they saw her as a baby.
“Real life, real love, isn’t the way you see it in movies or read about in books,” her mom went on. “I hate to see you risk yourself like this. I just wish you’d be more … sensible.”
“Sensible.” It was one of those words Daphne hated. Something she apparently wasn’t—along with being “responsible” or “mature.” “Sensible,” she repeated, considering the term. The opposite would be “foolish,” right? “Silly.” “Idiotic.” “Stupid.”
“Do you mean sensible like Gabby, who’s never even been on a real date? Or sensible like you, who couldn’t make her marriage work?”
Gabby sucked in her breath. “Who the hell do you think you are? You can’t say that to Mom! Say you’re sorry! Say you’re sorry right now!”
Daphne already felt bad. She knew she was hitting below the belt. But she couldn’t help it. She wanted them to take her seriously. To realize that her feelings for Luke were real and special.
She glanced over at her mom, expecting to see her looking shocked or hurt. Instead, she just seemed really tired—as always. For some reason, this made Daphne feel even more angry and desperate. They weren’t going to pull her down into their gloom. She wouldn’t let it happen.
“I’m sick of you both telling me what to think and feel!” she said in a shaky voice. “Maybe I don’t know anything, but you don’t either! You’re just … hypocrites!”
“You don’t get to judge Mom!” Gabby’s face had turned a deep red and her eyes flashed through thin slits. “Mom was just trying to help you! She was trying to stop you from embarrassing yourself over some redneck who thinks he can read!”
“Girls …”
Daphne shook her head. “Well, I don’t want y’all’s help! You guys are just sad and mean! I don’t want to be like you!”
“Girls, please!”
“Fine! Keep on being you! Keep on being thoughtless and ungrateful!”
“You always think you know everything, but you don’t!”
“And you think the world is just one big passionate drama and you’re the star!”
“At least I’m not a cold bitch!”
“Stop it right now!” The tremor in her mother’s voice made Daphne stop and stare at her. Now she looked sad as well as tired. Pink splotches had appeared on her nose and around her tear-filled eyes. “We can’t treat each other this way,” she said hoarsely. “I can’t take it.”
Daphne was used to the sighs and the pleading and the helpless glances at the ceiling. But sobbing? This was new—or rather, something she hadn’t seen since the first few months after the divorce. It scared her, and she couldn’t help feeling a rush of guilt.
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t mean it.”
Mrs. Rivera dabbed her eyes with the back of her right hand. “I know, sweetie. It’s okay. Now please, apologize to each other.” She set a hand on each of their shoulders and gently pushed them toward one another.
Gabby was the first to react. “Sorry,” she said, stepping forward. “I shouldn’t have been so bossy.”
Maybe it was the flat tone of Gabby’s voice, or the way she kept her chin raised at a snottier-than-thou angle, but Daphne was unmoved. She crossed her fingers and used them to push some hair out of her face as she mumbled, “Sorry too.” All the while she kept her eyes on Gabby’s, daring her to restart the fight by complaining.
She knew it was a babyish thing to do, but so what? They already thought of her as a baby. She had nothing to lose.
“Here’s a proposition,” Gabby said, pinning the phone against her shoulder with her chin as she pulled all the cereal bowls out of the dishwasher. “You always say it sucks to be an only child, so … I’ll give you a sister at a low cost. No, make that free. Hell, I’ll pay you to take her away from here. How about that?”
“Hmm. Does she know how to do an open C chord on a Stratocaster?”
She could hear some off-key strumming in the background. Lately Mule had been inspired to learn guitar but was upset to find that it wasn’t as easy as it was on the virtual rock band video games.
“Can’t say that she does,” Gabby replied.
“Then no. Sorry. Not interested.”
Gabby stacked all the bowls in the cupboard before speaking again. “So did you notice that technically I’m not complaining? That I’m not burdening you with the sordid tales of my evening here?”
“I did notice. Although I can tell you really want me to ask what happened.”
“You don’t have to,” she lied. “This is a new goal of mine. I’m going to stop unloading on you all the time.”
“Can I just ask
if it’s over? Has your sordid tale reached some sort of resolution?”
Gabby pushed herself onto the counter and held the phone with her hand again. “Well … kind of. We made up—in a way. But can you believe Daphne actually crossed her fingers when Mom asked her to apologize? Like a first grader! I swear, it’s useless for us to even talk. It’s like, no matter what, she just can’t be grown-up about stuff.”
“So … maybe you should?”
Gabby frowned. “Should what?”
“Be the grown-up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m just saying maybe you should keep on being the responsible one. Make peace—even if you’re right and she’s wrong. I mean … if you really want to help your mom and stuff. You said she’s been stressed.”
As much as she wanted sympathy, as much as she would have loved for him to join her in her outrage, Gabby had to admit he had a point.
Mule was always better at long algebraic equations. He could always spot solutions when she got hung up on the steps. In a similar way, he was good at sorting through the details of her life to get at the big picture.
And this skill—both of them, actually—was why she kept Mule around.
Gabby had been standing in the doorway of their bedroom for two whole minutes and still Daphne hadn’t noticed her. She was sitting up against her headboard with her right thumbnail in her mouth, staring at some invisible point in the middle of the room. It was annoying, but also kind of amazing how Daphne could completely disappear into her thoughts. Must be nice.
Eventually Daphne became aware of her presence.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“I was wondering …” Gabby took a breath and forced the words up out of her. “Could I see your dress?”
Daphne studied Gabby suspiciously. “Why?”
“I’m just curious. That’s all.”
She watched as Daphne’s features slowly softened. “I guess.” Her sister bounced up from the bed and over to the closet; then she reached into its depths and pulled out the plastic-sheathed garment. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she said, holding the hanger up next to her collarbone.
Gabby stepped forward for a closer look and immediately froze. It was the dress in the window, the horrendous one she and Mule had made fun of. Sweetheart neckline. Layers and layers of skirt. The same shade of pink as a plastic flamingo lawn ornament.
But of course Daphne would love it. It was the kind of dress you’d see on the cover of a cheap romance novel. All she needed was to stand on a cliff with some muscleman’s arms around her and the wind blowing her hair back into a billowy cloud.
“It’s very …” Gabby fumbled for the right thing to say. “… romantic.”
Daphne’s face beamed so brightly and so fast, she practically made the same ping! noise as the computer when it sparked up. “Want to see it on?” she asked.
“Um …” Gabby wanted to say no and make a quick excuse about homework. But she knew it would sound lame. Besides, Daphne looked so wide-eyed and happy-hopeful—the exact same expression she woke Gabby up with on Christmas mornings when they were young. “Sure.”
Daphne wriggled out of her school clothes at amazing speed. Then she carefully pulled off the plastic, unhooked the dress from the hanger, and stepped into it. “Could you zip me?” she asked, pointing to her back.
As soon as Gabby zipped her in, Daphne whirled about and struck a pose. “Well? What do you think?” she asked, grabbing hold of the skirt and swishing from side to side.
Gabby felt a tug of envy. Every day she told herself she wasn’t jealous of her sister, but she was. Majorly. The girl was just so effortlessly adorable. All big brown eyes, broad smile, and dimples. And when she grinned really wide, her two dimples actually turned into four. Four! Even her dimples had dimples. Plus, she was just so cute and bouncy. Bouncy hair, a bouncy-sounding laugh, a bouncy frame—and two bouncy round globes that no guy could keep his eyes off of.
Gabby hated that this bothered her, but it did. She knew that in the Great Scheme of Things it was no big deal that she was a B-cup with room to spare while Daphne busted out of Ds. The logical side of her could fill a spiral notebook with reasons why her chest size wasn’t important—and was even preferable in some situations (like distance running—which, unfortunately, she didn’t do). But then they’d go someplace like the local pool and Gabby would feel like a drab twig next to her jiggly sister, and suddenly it all mattered. The inequality of their genetics. The way the lifeguard would lend Daphne money when she didn’t have enough for the soda machine.
Just more proof that no matter how hard Gabby worked, Daphne would continue to have things easier in life.
“You look … amazing,” Gabby replied truthfully.
“Thanks!” Daphne’s eyes seemed to increase their wattage. “Oh, and look. I also bought this.” She held up a small see-through jar full of silvery flecks.
“What is that?”
“Body glitter. Isn’t it pretty? And don’t give me that look. It was only a few dollars.”
Gabby hadn’t realized she was making a face. “What’s it for?” she asked, trying to appear neutral.
“I’m going to put a little around my collarbone and maybe dab some on my temples. I just thought it would make it seem more … what’s the word?”
“Las Vegas showgirl?”
“No!” Daphne laughed. “More magical. Doesn’t this stuff remind you of pixie dust?”
“I guess.” Gabby always thought Daphne had overdosed on fairy tales as a kid.
Daphne flounced to the mirror over the dresser and ran her fingers through her long, silky tresses. “Do you think I should wear my hair up? Or keep it down?”
“Up.” Gabby was amazed to hear herself answer so quickly and decisively. But she always did think Daphne looked good with her hair pulled away from her face. It made her seem more sophisticated.
“Okay.” Daphne flashed her a grateful smile. She lifted her mass of dark, shiny hair into a loose bun and studied her image in the mirror.
Gabby sat down on her bed and watched her sister. Strange that her opinion would mean so much to Daphne—especially since Gabby had never been to prom, or even been asked. No big tragedy, since she didn’t want to go. Still, the fact that her thoughts mattered to her sister made her feel good for some reason. And she appreciated that Daphne wasn’t holding a grudge from their fight. The girl was quick to cry over stuff, but she was also quick to forgive, something Gabby found incredibly hard to do.
She decided to continue being big about things and show some real interest. “So what about your shoes?” she asked.
“I’ve got those silver heels from when we went to Tía Olivia’s wedding,” Daphne replied, still staring dreamily at her reflection. “And I’m hoping Mom will let me wear some of Grandma’s antique jewelry.” She turned her head from side to side, as if imagining a pair of earrings dangling from her lobes.
“Do you think Luke will take you someplace fancy for dinner?” Gabby asked.
Daphne’s shoulders hunched and her gaze drifted down to the top of the dresser, as if she were suddenly unable to look herself in the eye. “I don’t really know. I hope so,” she said. Her pitch was higher and the words took on a singsong quality, like someone trying to sound casual.
Gabby sensed deception. “So tell me,” she went on, hoping to gather more clues. “How did Luke ask you to prom? Was he all romantic?”
Daphne let go of her hair and stuck the first two fingernails of her right hand between her teeth.
“Daphne?” Gabby repeated, adding a warning edge to her voice. She knew she was supposed to be acting supportive, but it was too strong an instinct. She had to trap Daphne, catch her, make her submit. It was the natural order. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just … he hasn’t exactly asked me yet.”
“What?”
“But he will. I’m sure. He just needs … the right opportunity.�
�
“Wait a minute. Let me get this straight,” Gabby said. “You spent all that money on a dress—money we need to live on—and you don’t even have a date yet?”
Daphne shrugged. “So?”
That did it. That one word, spoken with all the petulance of a bratty six-year-old, eradicated any residual warmth toward her little sister.
“God! I just don’t get you. You know Mom needs that money, but you go spend it on some tacky dress you’ll only wear once!”
Daphne looked as if she’d been slapped. “You said you liked it.”
“Forget the stupid dress! We’re in a real financial crisis here. Why can’t you be more considerate?”
“You mean like you?” Daphne’s skirt rustled as she stomped over to her bed and sat down, sounding as if she were tramping through a pile of leaves.
“Yes, like me! I work hard and give most of the money to Mom. And I still do more chores around here than you do. You don’t seem to care about anyone but yourself.”
“Neither do you! Here I thought you were being my friend. But you’re never nice on purpose. You were just trying to trick me so you could yell some more. Why can’t you just be a normal big sister? Why do you have to hate me?”
Gabby opened her mouth to say something … and let it hang there. The thing was, Daphne was right. Not about Gabby deliberately tricking her, but about everything else. She was only pretending to be interested in the dress. She had lied. And she didn’t exactly hate Daphne, but she did hate spending time with her. When they were together, they were either fighting or ignoring each other.
She was never purposely nice to Daphne. She never wanted her around.
“Fine!” Daphne yelled when it became clear that Gabby had no response. “Then I hate you, too! I wish you weren’t my sister. I wish I could divorce you like Dad did Mom!”
Gabby stood motionless as Daphne swished out of the room. A second later she could hear the bathroom door slam.
Maybe it wasn’t the fact that Daphne wanted to live in a fairy tale that bothered her. Maybe it was the fact that she kind of was living in one.
And Gabby was the evil villain.
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