“Don’t let those lowlives get to you,” he went on. “They’re emotionally stunted and totally inhuman—believe me, I should know. And you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Daphne felt a rush of anger. “Yes, I do! I was stupid! Just like everyone says.” Her shouting dislodged tears, which were now streaking down her face, dotting the legs of her pajamas. Meanwhile, her hands balled into fists, the nails digging into her palms. It hurt, but she didn’t care. It was kind of nice to feel it—to feel something—after the dullness of the past few days.
Mule just sat there, watching her as she swiped her wet cheeks with her fists. “I don’t think you were stupid,” he said. “I think you were brave.”
“Brave … ha!” Daphne let out a snort. “I totally embarrassed myself. I said all kinds of crazy stuff to a guy because I thought he …” Her voice trailed off. She swallowed hard, stuffing the unsaid words back down inside.
“I know.” Mule stretched his arm across the back of the couch and let his fingertips graze her left shoulder. “It hurts when you realize you don’t mean as much to someone as they mean to you. Makes you feel like an idiot.”
Daphne nodded. She crossed her arms in a self-embrace and stared at the TV without really seeing it. He was right. Luke’s not wanting her was way more of a blow than what those jerks did.
She’d thought he was different—sweet and wonderful and heaven-sent. She’d thought they shared an almost magical connection. And then he went and … connected with Lynette. Lynette! Yes, she was pretty, but there was nothing at all old-fashioned or romantic about her. Like Gabby, she probably didn’t even believe in true love. She was the anti-Daphne. The polar opposite of Daphne. So … how could he even be with someone like that? More importantly, how could he be with Lynette and then move on to Daphne on the same night? She wasn’t even sure what had happened between Luke and Lynette, and she didn’t want to imagine. Whatever it was, she was certain it hadn’t been special. But then, he obviously didn’t think what he had with Daphne was special, either.
How could she have been so wrong? She’d been so sure Luke was meant to be with her. She’d literally felt it, like a flu. Now that he was gone, she was left weak and unsteady. Lost.
The world seemed harsher now, outside the fever dream. Even the colors looked washed-out. And the worst part was, this was reality. This was where she had to remain. She could never return to that fantasy realm.
She glanced over at Mule, astonished that he could understand this, at least partly. Suddenly it hit her: he’d been through it, too—sort of. He was in love with Gabby. Only Gabby was too stubborn and hard-hearted to let herself love him back.
A newer, stronger affection for Mule came over her. She smiled at him, but her face was still rigid from so much sleep, and she couldn’t be sure it looked friendly.
His mouth crooked into a semigrin and he hunched forward, fumbling with his hands. He seemed embarrassed to have revealed so much. “So anyway,” he said. “What are you going to do about school?”
Daphne frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, not to sound like a parent or anything, but you have been missing a lot. And it’s really tough to get caught up after you get way behind on stuff.”
“So?” Daphne slouched down on her cushions. “It doesn’t matter. I was probably going to fail anyway. At least in geometry.”
“Really? Is it hard?”
“Ms. Manbeck always explains things like it’s so obvious, but I can never follow her. Plus, she hates me.”
Mule chuckled. “Yeah, she’s a dried-up relic. It’s amazing she hasn’t retired yet. How come you don’t ask Gabby to help you?”
“Are you kidding? She’s way too busy. So’s Mom. I went to tutoring once, but Ms. Manbeck just got me more confused. And she kept yelling at me about not sitting like a lady—even though I was in jeans.”
“Hmm.” Mule tapped his fuzz-covered chin with his index finger. “I might have an idea. What if I came over Saturday afternoon and tutored you myself?”
“Really? You’d do that?”
“Sure. Maybe in exchange for those cookies you sometimes make? What do you call them?”
“Camp cookies.” They were basically oatmeal cookies with chocolate chips—the only thing she knew how to make that didn’t involve the microwave.
“Ah yes. Camp cookies. Snack food of the gods. You make me some of them, and I’ll guarantee you at least a C in Manbeck’s class. Deal?”
Daphne felt her mouth stretch into her first real grin in days. “Deal.”
There was nothing grosser than movie theater hot dogs. Those raspberry-colored oblong shapes gleaming in brown bubbly grease as they rolled on the warmer certainly didn’t look edible. Their smell was more reminiscent of bathroom cleaner than any sort of food. And their taste, going by a half-buried memory from Gabby’s childhood, could only be summed up as garden-hose-meets-expired-baloney.
Who on earth would think up such a recipe, anyway? Who decided it would be a great idea to take all the unmentionable parts of an animal, grind them up, pump the mixture full of dye and chemicals, and then squeeze everything into a protective casing, as if it were some sort of explosive? Her grandma’s tamales, which probably shared some of the same meat components, had been far less offensive. Or at least more sincere.
And yet every Wednesday evening, with their half-price admission special, the cinema sold gobs of hot dogs. It was amazing half the residents of Barton weren’t red and glistening.
Nothing made Gabby more glum than having to serve an overweight townsperson one of their “Date Night Dawgs” with a bucket of extrabuttered popcorn and a thirty-two-ounce soda—usually a Diet Coke, ironically enough.
“I’m a murderer,” she said to Lila after serving Letty Pension, who was four feet tall and almost as wide. “I’m poisoning our neighbors.”
“Please!” Lila tossed away the comment with a flick of her long-nailed hand. “It isn’t like you’re forcing them to eat it.”
“I’m still an accomplice.”
“Oh, give them a break. They’re here to have fun. Anyway, you can’t stay away from all bad stuff all the time.”
Perhaps Lila was right. Maybe they ate nothing but salad, tofu, and flaxseed bread the rest of the week. Besides, Gabby had eaten a few corn dogs recently and she’d survived.
Gabby stared back down at the rotating hot dog rack and thought about her call with Prentiss earlier. He was bad stuff, and yet he’d done her a favor. She’d really gone off on him, too. She supposed it had been unfair of her—not to mention unwise, since he was technically their landlord. She didn’t have to like the guy, but she should probably be a little more civil, if only for the sake of her family.
“Hey, girl. The next movie rush isn’t for a while. Mind if I go outside and take a smoke break?” Lila asked, patting the rectangular-shaped bulge in the pocket of her uniform.
Gabby nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks, sweetie. Cover for me if Old Raisin-Face comes out of his office.”
She watched as Lila sashayed out of the theater and disappeared around the side of the building. The lobby was quiet, except for the steady hum of the fountain machine and the intermittent buzzing of the tube lights. Looking around to make sure no patrons were headed her way for popcorn refills, she slipped her cell phone out of her pocket and redialed Prentiss’s number.
“Hello?” he answered.
Gabby took a breath. “It’s me again. Gabby. Listen, um … I think before when we were talking, we might have gotten cut off. Sorry about that.”
“No big deal,” he said. He didn’t sound mad at all.
“Okay then.” Gabby kept nodding, as if he could somehow see her. “Well, I better—”
“Are you having a good day?”
“What?”
“I said, are you having a good day?”
Gabby frowned. “I … uh … It’s okay.”
“Good.”
“Are you having a g
ood day?” she asked, only because she felt like she should.
“I am,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “Especially now.”
A weird sensation came over her, as if a pitcher of molasses had been poured onto her head and was slowly oozing down her body. “Yeah, so … I gotta go. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Gabby hung up the phone and rested her head on the counter. God, what was she thinking calling him? What did it matter if he thought she was rude? It was preferable to his thinking she was hot for his tan, muscular body. Which she so was not—ever. Never, never, never.
Ugh. Suddenly the day didn’t feel so okay anymore.
The front door banged open, making Daphne and Mule jump, and suddenly Gabby was there.
“Pinkwater kept me after closing so he could ream me out for being late. I guess the trick is to make it a habit, like Lila does; then you can get away with it. But if you’re usually responsible and prompt, you better not come in fifteen minutes after your start time or you’ll get a major chewing-out.”
Daphne was amazed at how her sister’s presence changed everything. Her voice drowned out all other sound; her rapid motions distracted from the cartoon on the TV; even the temperature seemed to fall. It was as if all the energy in the room had been diverted to Gabby’s end.
Daphne was disappointed to see her. She’d actually enjoyed being there with just Mule, watching TV and occasionally talking. It was shocking how nice he was being to her—especially considering how awful she must look. And she appreciated the way he took her seriously. He didn’t shy away from mentioning the craziness at school, and instead of lecturing her about her grades, he’d actually offered to tutor her.
She still felt miserable, but not quite as helpless. As if she’d been thrown a thin tether of a lifeline.
“Well, I guess we should get started,” Gabby said, standing over Mule. She turned to Daphne. “You didn’t have any supper, did you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Really? What did you eat?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean, I don’t know what it’s called. There was this yellow stuff in a plastic thing in the fridge. It was like … spicy fruit salad.”
Gabby and Mule exchanged looks. Mule started laughing.
Daphne frowned. “What? There really was. It was pretty good, too.”
“Just … never mind,” Gabby said, waving her off. “Why don’t you go take a shower or something? We have to do homework.”
Being so near her gorgeous sister, Daphne suddenly felt self-conscious about her tangled hair and half-marinated sleepwear. The urge to run and hide returned. “Fine,” she mumbled, and stood to head off toward her room.
Mule reached up and touched her elbow as she passed. “Hey,” he said. “So I’m still coming by Saturday to help you, right?”
Daphne smiled. “Right,” she said. “See you then.”
“And I’ll expect cookies!” he yelled after her as she rounded the corner of the hallway.
“What are you talking about? What’s going on Saturday?” came Gabby’s whispered voice. Daphne paused outside her door to listen to them.
“She’s having a hard time in Manbeck’s class, so I told her I’d help her out,” Mule said.
“Really?” Gabby exclaimed. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s no problem.”
“Well … thanks. And thanks for sitting with her tonight, too.”
Mule made a scoffing sound. “You make it sound like she’s seven or something. It was no big deal. We talked. It was kinda cool.”
“You talked? What did you talk about?”
There came a pause. “Nothing, really. So tell me, when Pinkwater gets mad, does he unzip his skin and reveal his true form? Does he have tentacles?”
Their voices became muffled as they pulled out books and papers and drinks from the fridge. Daphne stopped eavesdropping and continued to her darkened room.
She was glad Mule hadn’t shared any of the stuff they’d discussed. And she wouldn’t say anything, either—even though he’d practically confessed to being in love with Gabby. She owed him that.
If only her sister would wise up and go for him. After all, at least one Rivera girl deserved to be happy.
Sunlight streamed through the dining room window, casting a bright square on the table and making the salt on the rim of the shaker glisten like microscopic gems.
Gabby yawned over her cup of coffee. It was one of those gigantic yawns—the kind that brings tears to the eyes and nearly unhinges the jawbone. It was one in the afternoon on a Saturday and she still had a crapload of stuff to do. But even after a second brewing of Colombian Supremo her brain was like a dawdling child who was always five steps behind.
For the first time since she was three years old, she had a room to herself. It should have been wonderful. Mom’s bed was cozy, and there was no fidgety sister a few steps away. And yet, for some reason, sleep was eluding her. Every night since Daphne’s sneaking out to the party, she had found it difficult to drift off. She’d stew over the events of the day. She’d worry that she’d been too tough with Daphne, then worry that she hadn’t been strict enough. She’d toy with the idea of calling her mother and asking her how to handle a despondent, hooky-playing little sis, then scold herself for even thinking about ruining things for Mom. And she thought about Mule, and whether the slight weirdness that had crept between them was there to stay, and what, if anything, she should do about it. Thus, deep, uninterrupted sleep had become a tantalizing lover to Gabby (or so she imagined, never having actually been tantalized, or with a lover).
Daphne, on the other hand, still did nothing but sleep. And while this made Gabby somewhat jealous, it also worried the hell out of her. She never thought she’d wish her sister would be more talkative, more energetic, or more cheerful. But lately there was just so little life emanating from Daphne. Even when she was awake, she plodded around the house as if she were dragging an IV pole behind her, her features slack and her eyes dull and half-closed. It made Gabby feel powerless. And scared.
Just as she was slurping down the last sip of coffee in her cup, the doorbell rang. Gabby leaned back and squinted through the gleaming window. “No way. No freaking way,” she muttered. There on the porch, fidgeting like a little kid, stood her father.
She ran to the door and threw it open. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Hi, mija.”
“It’s not your day to visit.”
“I know,” he said, chuckling. “Do I need a reason to come see my beautiful daughters?”
“Yes. We have stuff to do, you know. We can’t just drop everything because you’ve shown up.” Her eyes were wide with panic and her voice had risen to screech level. This was so not what she needed. She was dead tired and overloaded with chores and deadlines—not to mention busy dealing with a catatonic sister. It was the absolute worst time for a family reunion.
His smile faded. “You’re right,” he said, nodding. “But I do have a reason. I … feel bad. The last time I talked to your sister, well … it didn’t go so well. She took it pretty hard.”
“What are you talking about? Took what hard?”
He looked at her searchingly, as if checking to see whether she was teasing him. “You mean she didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Her dad moved his eyes from hers, staring instead at the freshly painted red door flung open beside them. “I told Daphne about Sheila, my new girlfriend, who’s living with me now. She was pretty upset.”
“Y-you have …?” A strange unfastening sensation swept through Gabby, as if a key fragment of herself had disengaged from the rest of her. “How long has this been going on?”
“Seven months.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Don’t talk that way, mija. It’s offensive.”
“Don’t tell me how to talk!” she shouted. “Since wh
en do you care? You’re the one shacking up with some chica you hardly even know!”
Her dad’s gaze sharpened and his nostrils flared. “You want to be rude to your own father? Fine. I just came to check on Daphne and apologize to her.”
“No,” Gabby said, shaking her head. No way was she going to let him in. Daphne was wounded enough.
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
“I mean you can’t see her! She’s sleeping.”
“Still?” He glanced at his watch. “Don’t you think it’s time she got up?”
“She hasn’t been feeling good and she needs her sleep. You can’t go in there. This is our property, not yours.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“She’s my sister. And you’re here, unannounced, on the wrong day!” Gabby was really losing it now. Pumping her fist and screaming like a banshee. She had a sudden urge to hurt her father. To push him backward or toss a rock at him. Why wouldn’t he just leave?
Her dad’s eyes reddened and filled with tears. “Gabriella, mija,” he said, “what have I done to make you hate me so much?”
She stayed silent, averting her gaze so that she was squinting at the nearby bushes instead.
“You’re becoming so cold. So hard,” he said. “What happened to my happy little girl?”
Gabby gritted her teeth. She wanted to ask what had happened to her loyal, reliable father, but she didn’t. She wanted to ask how he had turned cold, how he could have stopped loving his wife and abandoned his family. But she couldn’t. Plus, she didn’t need to—she already knew the answer. Love was just a flash flame. It burned bright and then disappeared. Unless people stayed strong and committed, they left, too. Most people, it seemed, went away.
“You want to push me away? Okay. I understand,” he went on, his voice shaky. “But don’t push me away from my baby, too. Please let me see my little girl.”
She stared right at him. “Daphne isn’t a baby anymore,” she said. “We’re growing up. Maybe you should, too.”
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