Why even after all this work is there still a hole in me the shape of you?
Why do I still have all these questions when you’ve obviously found your answers?
Why do I still wish you had been there not just to see me leap, but to take my hand in your hand and jump with me?
Can I ever imagine a future when we could, without letting go of the rest?
Just as I finish writing that sentence, a message comes in: Please you have to go shopping with me. It’s Sanders.
??? I type back.
My dads always make me go back-to-school shopping, he explains. It’s unbearable. If I tell them I’m taking you instead at least I know I’ll end up with something cool.
I smile. Where and when?
Three days later (after insisting to Dad that Sanders is just a friend, plus letting him cross-reference this with Mom, and both of Sanders’s dads), Sanders’s dad Paulo is taking the two of us to Del Monte.
“Okay, sweetie, you sure this is all right?” Paulo asks, dropping us off.
“Yes, Dad.” Sanders groans.
“And Fiona, you promise you will not let him walk out of here with a bunch of tacky garbage?”
I tell Sanders’s dad I’m not interested in making my friend look like an idiot on the first day of school.
“Sanders will come out with plenty of respectable outfits.”
Paulo smiles, white teeth against tan skin. “You are a good friend to him.”
I grin back, shut the car door, and wave good-bye.
“Okay, so,” Sanders says, once we’re both free among the shops and corridors. “Where do we start?”
Usually I’m the one getting advice on my wardrobe, not giving it, so I’m unsure where to begin. Until I remember Aja and her accessories.
“Maybe shoes? Or a belt or a hat? Then we can build around it.”
“As long as it’s something other than blue and gray.” He tugs at the T-shirt he’s wearing. “The dads believe in a lot of mix-and-match pieces.”
I don’t know the significance of blue and gray, but I more than get that he wants something different. And after five separate shops with Sanders, I also get why his fathers have made him stick to two colors. Sanders is pickier about his clothes than Leelu is about her movies, and nearly everything I select is met with an “I don’t think so” or a disapproving look. After an hour, we’ve been to every clothing store that will have his size, with only one red T-shirt to show for it.
I point out that his dad will be back in an hour, trying not to sound too exasperated.
“How about we get some food?” Sanders suggests. “That way I can focus.”
I’m hungry too, not to mention tired from all the rejection, so we go for hoagies, chips, and giant sodas at a nearby vendor. As we take our table in the central pavilion, Sanders tells me about a new shogun movie his cousin showed him. It’s hard to concentrate on what he’s saying, though, because a distracting, familiar voice is cutting through the air behind us.
When I finally realize who it is, the back of my neck prickles, and my whole torso tenses up.
Sanders notices the shift in my mood. “What is it?”
“Shh.” I cock my ear so I can listen better. Through the surrounding din, I clearly hear Izzy’s stony voice: “Say he made her the main character in a video game he’s designing.”
“That’s stupid”—Kendra. “We don’t know if he can actually program them, just because he’s president of the Losers for Virtual Reality Club.”
“Who else is in that?” Cheyenne asks, sounding genuinely interested. I wonder if she has that denim purse with her this time.
“You’re so dumb,” Izzy says.
“You guys—just look at this.”
I sneak a glance over my shoulder, taking in Kendra’s back as she leans over the table to offer her phone to Izzy and Cheyenne, who are in the seats across from her. Neftali is there too, but she’s next to Kendra so has her back to me.
“Is she seven?” Neftali laughs. It’s the exact tone I’ve heard Cassie try to copy more than once.
“Make Cory tell her he wants a selfie,” Izzy suggests. “But a gross one. Something really embarrassing. Cassie’s so pathetic she’ll do it.”
Turning back to Sanders, I feel like I’m falling off Teamer Cliff again, hitting the water with a splash. But instead of sinking into the gentle, supporting ocean, I’m falling into cold, hard reality. Apparently, they’re pretending to be Cassie’s most secret crush: the one they know about only because they read my diary. I never used Cory’s real name in any of my entries—I know because I checked, several times—but she must’ve eventually told them herself. It stings to know she’s gotten close enough to share something like that with them, but what stands out more is that obviously they don’t think it’s cool.
Instead they’re using it to make fun of her.
“Fiona, are you all right?” Sanders asks.
I hold up a finger and aim my ear again at the girls behind us.
“Priceless,” Kendra says after a moment of waiting.
“What are you going to do with it?” Neftali jeers.
“Whatever I want.”
Kendra’s voice has the same mocking tone it did that day in the library—the one I’m sure she used when she was reading my diary out loud on the bus. Something about it makes me picture the ninjas from my writing camp story. Or Kendra’s thick red curls crawling with tiny bugs.
“What are you doing?” Sanders harsh-whispers when I pick up my soda and push my chair back.
“Just saying hi to some friends.”
Once I stand, I can see that Kendra’s group isn’t even three tables away from us. No wonder they felt so loud. But it also means I don’t have time to second-guess what I’m doing. I cross the distance between our tables in only a few strides, clenching my soda cup in my hand so hard I worry my fingers might punch through the Styrofoam. The other girls sense someone moving toward them and all look up, but I’m not intimidated this time. I lift the cup to shoulder height, and then turn the entire thirty-two ounces of my giant soda over Kendra’s head.
“What??” she shrieks, leaping up. Her glossy coils are stuck to her face and neck with Sprite, and her phone is swimming in a big puddle that’s threatening to drip into Izzy’s lap.
Which makes Izzy stand too, though slower than Kendra. Like a snake uncoiling. “Oh, you are finished, Diary Downer.”
Thoughts of immediately transferring to a new school are flashing through my head, but I’m too full of anger, and adrenaline, to back down. Kendra’s trying to mop soda out of her hair with paper napkins; Neftali leans across to help, getting her designer T-shirt soaked in the process. Cheyenne is looking at me with the same confusion I felt when I saw her at Plato’s Closet, and Izzy’s scowl has become far less threatening, since now I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing she knows how to do. These girls violated my privacy, humiliated me in front of nearly the whole seventh grade, and on top of that stole my best friend. But somehow, with the help of other friends, I’ve turned my shattered life into something good, and managed to make myself stronger.
I meet Izzy’s eye. “You’d better watch out,” I warn her. “Because I’m not afraid of you anymore.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Though she sounds less than convinced.
I keep my eyes locked on hers until she’s the one who finally breaks our stare. Only then do I turn my back on them and return to Sanders.
“Whoa” is all he says, still watching behind me.
I look too. Neftali and Cheyenne are trying to clean up the mess, but more Sprite spills onto Kendra’s sandals, and she yelps.
“That’s Kandra Black, isn’t it?” Sanders murmurs.
Eyes still on them, I nod.
“And you just totally vanquished her.”
Kendra’s friends give up on the sticky table and huddle around her to shuffle in a group to the bathrooms. A few kids are taking photos. Kendra’s pretending everything’s completely fi
ne, but even Izzy looks ruffled. It feels wonderful. And satisfying. And really, really funny, especially when I turn again to Sanders and see the reason he hasn’t said anything else is that he’s laughing too hard.
“That,” he gasps, trying to sit up straight, “was way better than lice.”
I bust up laughing too. “Thanks.”
We settle back into eating. Between bites, Sanders reenacts the whole thing for me, including Kendra’s shocked and horrified squeal of rage when I dumped the soda on her. It’s funny the way he does it, and I’m glad he was there, but as I listen, I can tell the smile on my face doesn’t quite penetrate my heart. Yes, I stood up to Kendra. Once I realized what she was doing, something clicked inside of me. Nobody deserves friends as mean as those girls—not even Cassie. But now Cassie’s miles and miles away, off with her cousin, and she’ll never hear about what happened. Kendra certainly won’t tell her, and from the look on her face, not even Izzy will breathe a word. Probably it won’t keep them from being mean to her, either. So even if I was sticking up for my old friend, it won’t make a difference. Even though Sanders keeps spontaneously chuckling about it as we move from store to store—there’s something terribly lonely inside me, knowing I’ll never get to tell Cassie about it myself.
Chapter Eighteen
Apparently dumping soda on your worst enemy is a great way to inspire your friend into some serious shopping, because after lunch, Sanders whirls through a single store and comes out with a whole new wardrobe. After all the try-ons, plus the crazy lingering high of the soda dumping, when Paulo drops me back off at Dad’s (because Mom is on her way to San Francisco for a business trip) I’m exhausted. The last thing I want to see is Jennifer’s white Lexus in our driveway. I open the front door, slow, hoping she and Leelu won’t hear me.
But right away Jennifer calls, “Hi, Fee,” from the kitchen, followed by Leelu’s cheerful hello. I’ve tried demonstrating to Jennifer in the past (by not responding) how much I dislike her calling me that, but apparently it hasn’t worked. I should ignore her again and head straight to my room, but I’m too curious to see what new bonding experience she and Leelu are having. I step silently across the living room and carefully peer around the edge of the pass-through between our high-ceilinged dining room and the kitchen.
I’m not sneaky enough, though, because they both immediately look up.
“Why are you here?” I demand when I’m caught.
Jennifer’s big smile drops a little. She tries to hide it by licking a finger that’s sticky with cookie dough. “Your sister’s helping me make cookies. It’s my terrible secret—that I can’t really cook.”
“But what happened to Maritza?”
“Jenny’s the babysitter now!” Leelu bounces on her stool.
“Well, not quite.” Jennifer hands the spoon to Leelu and tells her to finish up the last row on their cookie sheet. To me, she more carefully says, “Your father and I planned a special dinner with you girls tonight, so my boss let me take off for the weekend early. I thought I’d spend some extra time with you two beforehand. Maritza’s fine. She’ll be here tomorrow with you just like normal.”
I’m not liking this answer. Not one bit. Maritza’s never been released early before, not unless Mom or Dad get time off.
“Where are we going?”
Jennifer’s lips smile, but her eyes flicker with doubt. “It’s a surprise. Your dad should be home by six. I’d love it if you’d make cookies with us until then.” She pats one of Leelu’s newly unbraided pigtail pom-poms, and my stomach curls as my sister flashes her a loving grin.
Of course I’d love to make cookies with Leelu, especially after pouring a giant cup of soda on the most powerful girl in my entire grade, but I certainly don’t want to do that with her around.
Dad comes in the front door then, booming, “I’m home early too, so it’s time to get changed! Fancy dinner clothes for you all.”
“Where are we going?” I insist again, over Jennifer and Leelu’s happy sounds.
Dad lifts an arm over his head like a dramatic waiter. “Passionfish!”
Passionfish is even better than Sardine Factory. But I’m not giving in.
“Jennifer can’t go like that,” I say, indicating her cargo capris.
She and Dad exchange a look.
“I brought something,” she says. “I’ll get changed in the guest room.”
“Sissie, we can get oysters and do I spy with the boats,” Leelu interrupts.
I’m too mad to get excited. This is not what I want at all, even if my afternoon hadn’t been such a roller coaster. “I’m tired of going out all the time,” I tell Dad. “I don’t know why we can’t just stay home for once, on our own.”
I stress our own as firmly as I can and then stomp off to my room. I know I don’t have a choice, since they’ve obviously both orchestrated this “surprise,” but maybe I’ll spite Dad and refuse to order anything, even at the best seafood restaurant in possibly the whole world.
No one cares that I’m giving them all the silent treatment in the car. The second we sit down, Dad orders champagne, and then ginger ale for me and Leelu, which she and Jennifer have apparently dubbed “beauty juice” while at Disneyland. It transforms my resentment about this evening into real dread. If I had my journal, I’d let loose and fill pages with creative insults and complaints, but right now all I can think is No.
“We have something to tell you,” Dad says when our glasses are filled. He takes Jennifer’s hand. “After such a great day all together at the park, we know that’s what we want for always. It’s a little sooner than we expected”—he smiles at Jennifer, who’s smiling back at him big and warm—“but we’ve decided to get married, so that we can all be a family. We wanted to tell you together, since that’s how we’ll be from now on.”
Leelu claps and holds up her ginger ale in a grown-up, toast-like way, but my blood turns to ice as Jennifer clinks glasses with Leelu, and Dad looks at them both proudly. Jennifer says something about how much we mean to her, blinking back misty tears. She knows she’ll never be our mom, she goes on, but she hopes she can be a confidante and a comfort to us in her own way. Leelu immediately starts asking about the wedding, and if we get to be flower girls, or carry the ring, but I can barely listen. Instead I picture myself throwing a fit, which is probably why Dad brought us to such a fancy public place to tell us. Jennifer is still blubbering something about never imagining she’d have such beautiful kids, and the dreamy smile on Leelu’s face is all I need to think ahead to when Jennifer’s living with us (Dad says not before the end of the year, but it is happening eventually), and I’ll have to share my sister forever.
I stand up and excuse myself to the bathroom. I’m too angry to cry, and too sad to make a scene. It’s not just because of Dad and Jennifer’s announcement, but because there’s no one around who can fully understand the severity of this situation. Sanders would start another revenge plot, Evie would just try to make me feel better by telling me about her own parents’ divorce, and Mom might not even know yet.
There’s only one person who could make this better, but she’s the one I’m still supposed to hate the most.
Lost, forever lost. Gone, forever gone. Alone, forever alone. Empty, forever empty, is all I can write when we finally get home.
Wanted to let you sleep since it seemed you needed it, my phone blings from Dad in the morning. I’m taking a break from work so we can have lunch at 1:00. Hope you three have fun together until then.
It’s a stiff message to receive the moment I wake up, but since I barely spoke to Dad the rest of the night, I’m not surprised. I didn’t set an alarm because I wanted to sleep through his leaving the house, and luckily, he didn’t come in to check on me. I miss Cassie, I’m still furious at Dad, Leelu will be full of nothing but excited wedding talk all morning, and now I have this unpleasant lunch to sit through, too. I don’t need to write it down to know this will be a terrible day.
From downsta
irs Maritza exclaims in surprise, and Leelu laughs. It makes me mad that Leelu isn’t upset too, but of course she isn’t.
I sit up and push my covers back anyway, remembering the conversation Mom and I had about anger. My time with Leelu (before Jennifer moves in) is limited now. And if it’s going to be any good, like Mom said, I have to be intentional about it. Focus on the positive. Besides, getting absorbed in one of Leelu’s genius make-believe games might also help me forget this wedding for a while, the way planning Reverse Spirit Week helped me forget Cassie, at least through a weekend.
When I finish dressing and head downstairs, I’m relieved to see Maritza and Leelu have every single one of Leelu’s Legos out on our giant shiny dining room table, working on a construction. It is exactly what I need.
“I wanted to wake you up, but Maritza says I couldn’t. We’ve been waiting all this time!” Leelu spreads her arms wide to present her work-in-progress. “It’s called Queen Liliuokalani’s Millennium Falcon Taylor Swift Concert Hall and Corn Dog Stand.”
I smile a little. At least she isn’t calling it the Crystal Palace of Jennifer Is Going to Be My Mom. Yet.
I join them at the table and suggest we add a rooftop pool for it, which we then spend the next hour constructing. The happy sound of Leelu’s humming mixed with the calming zen of making something together does help time and everything else drop away, as I hoped. Once Dad picks me up, Queen Liliuokalani’s Concert Hall has long been sailed through the grounds outside before being parked in Leelu’s room, where her various dolls and stuffed animals start lining up for corn dogs. We’ve also created a Cupcake-O-Matic, using every one of Leelu’s gears and pulleys in a single invention, and a Cyborg Regeneration Palace, too. Neither of us mentions what happened last night at dinner, and I’m so cheered up, I almost forget why Dad’s taking me to lunch.
This Is All Your Fault, Cassie Parker Page 14