"How's the cross training?" When I'm home, Mom thinks of herself as my private ballet coach. At times she's a bit much, but at least she cares.
"Still jogging every morning and light strength training."
"Body weight only," she emphasizes. "You don't want to look like a bodybuilder in a tutu."
"I'm sure there's no danger of that, Bobbi." My dad sighs and takes a large bite of his turkey meat loaf. Like me, he's lean and lanky. Not the best figure to have in high school when your friends are all C cups, but it's ideal for dancing professionally.
I scoop a mouthful of cauliflower mash into my mouth. I pretend they're real, buttery mashed potatoes with homemade gravy. It makes them taste better. Meals at home weren't always this way. Silent. Stiff. Sometimes tasteless. My Grandma Liz was the kitchen whiz. She taught me everything I know about food, but now that she's gone the kitchen rarely gets used. My mom has the same old oak cabinets and linoleum floor that were here when I was born. Since she doesn't care much for cooking, she's focused all her efforts on updating the rest of the house. The kitchen still remains an afterthought.
"Your brother agreed to come for a visit next month." My mom goes on.
"It's a miracle he found the time."
"Poppy," she scolds me. My brother, Mark, and I don't speak much these days. There was no epic argument that forced us to part ways or anything. We just grew apart. That, and he's more of a robot than an older brother. In high school he was all about having the best grades. As an adult it's work, work, work.
"Sorry," I lie.
She refocuses her glare on her dinner plate, and delicately brings a tiny taste of turkey loaf to her lips. A knock on the door disturbs her mid-bite. I drop my fork and jump to my feet. Any excuse to leave the kitchen before Mom starts asking me if I've been dating anyone.
"I'll get it," I say before either of them volunteer.
I run for the front door, feeling the heavy humidity as I open it.
"Poopy!" My neighbor and old school friend, Evie, dives in for a hug. Even as young adults she still finds it funny that I once misspelled my name on a fifth-grade math exam. I wrote Poopy instead of Poppy. Imagine the havoc that one little letter can unleash.
"Evie, I didn't know you were home."
"Oh yeah, I'm back for the summer. I'm interning at the Tribune." She tucks a strand of ruby red hair behind her ear. When we were kids it was a brownish auburn color. Now, she dyes it. The color reminds me of blood when it catches the sun. "Will you be stalking your old conservatory like usual?"
"Of course," I answer. "Mrs. Beamish wants me to visit the beginner's pointe class, and show them a thing or two."
"Before you spend your summer practically babysitting eight year olds, you should come to the beach with me for the weekend. A friend of mine has a family house next to the ocean that they're letting us use. A bunch of my friends from school are coming."
"Oh, I have—"
"Don't make some lame excuse about how you're training, or practicing for some audition," Evie butts in. She does a once-over of my tiny frame hidden beneath jeans and a T-shirt. "You could use a weekend binge."
I glance behind me, making sure my mom didn't follow me out of the kitchen.
"What type of grub are we talking about here?" I lean on the doorframe.
"The usual beach party junk." She smiles, knowing my weakness. Good food. "Burgers. Fries. Chips. Mountains of chocolate. We'll be staying with three other girls."
"When are you leaving?"
"Friday morning," she responds.
"It'll cost you a box of donuts." I say it jokingly, but on the inside I'm serious. A little voice in the back on my brain whispers what's the harm really?
"Donuts," Evie repeats, raising her eyebrows. "Aren't those forbidden in this household?"
"No contraband, no beach house."
"Deal," she agrees. I nod, unsure if she sees my request as an actual joke or not. "Your mom can spare you for a few days. See you this weekend."
I begin closing the door, but Evie's hand blocks me.
"Was there something else?" I ask.
"I almost forgot." Evie's friendly smile turns into a hopeful smirk. "How comfortable are you with co-ed sleepovers?"
RASPBERRY BOMBES
Friday morning my bag is packed, and my stomach is growling. I left with only a small coffee to satisfy my hunger. Black. No sugar. I throw my bag into Evie's trunk and hop into the passenger's seat. It's a warm summer morning. The sun is out full blast, and the dewdrops from last night's rain shower are beginning to evaporate. I fan my face as best I can to keep my makeup from running.
"Here." Evie shoves a plain cardboard box into my lap. "We have a long drive ahead of us, and we need to make it there before lunch."
I open the box and find a dozen assorted donuts. I inhale the sugary scent, and it makes me feel as if I'm stepping into a bakery right as it's opening. My eyes dart to the donut in the middle—round with a shiny chocolate glaze.
"I see you sprang for the good stuff," I comment. "None of that day-old glazed crap."
"If you're going to live it up this weekend, you might as well go all the way."
My eyes stay fixed on the box as Evie pulls out of our neighborhood. It takes a couple of hours to get to the coast, but Evie is a fast driver. Getting caught in heavy traffic turns her into a hothead. She's the type to actually yell at the drivers around her until her cheeks match the color of her ruby mane. She has gotten much better since our junior year of high school though. Evie made the mistake of slamming on her breaks just so she could jump out of her car and scream at the seniors who were tailgating us. A girl with a greasy bun and drawn-on eyebrows stepped out with a baseball bat.
"So, tell me," I say, attempting to take my mind off of the fried balls of dough in my lap. "Whose house is this we're going to?"
"It belongs to my roommate Tansy's family," she answers. "She invited me up, along with some other friends of hers."
"And we're all going to fit into a three-bedroom?"
"I don't know where the guys are staying," she admits. "Maybe the living room, maybe not? I'm not sure. You're okay with that, right?"
"Do you know how many guys have seen me change backstage?" During a performance, seeing your fellow cast mates in their skivvies is the norm. In fact, you can tell how long someone has been performing based on the amount of time he or she spends sneaking peeks in between acts. You get to a point where you've seen it all.
"Point taken." Evie glances at my lap. "Aren't you going to try one?"
"I haven't decided yet. Mostly because once I start, I know I won't be able to stop."
"Can you really put on ten pounds in two days?" she asks. "Eat one, Poppy. Actually…" She briefly glances at the box and then picks one for herself—cinnamon sugar. She takes a large bite and smiles. "Mmm. I would hate myself if I died tomorrow not knowing what this tastes like."
"Okay, okay." I clear my throat and choose the donut that first caught my eye. The one with chocolate glaze. It feels unnatural to hold it in my hand. I've learned to go without sweets for so long that I'm nervous about what this donut will do to my insides.
The smell is enticing, but I can't help but think of how many plié squats it will take to burn it off. My fingers sink deeper into the pastry until a tiny dot of cream oozes out the side. Biting into a morning donut shouldn't be this hard. All those years of dieting and calorie counting have messed with your head.
"Poppy," Evie says quietly, "don't do this."
"What?"
"This," she continues. "You always get that devious look on your face around sweets. You'd think we were at Chippendales."
"I'm just…taking my time." I bring the donut closer to my lips.
"One donut won't ruin years and years of intense ballet training, and trust me, you're skinny enough as it is."
"Pastries like this one dance around in my dreams every night," I comment. And sadly it's true. "That's not normal, is it?"
; "You're talking to a girl who eats spoonfuls of peanut butter dipped in chocolate sprinkles when she's bored. We've all got weird food quirks."
"You're right," I admit. I force myself to take the first bite, expecting Mom to pop up from the backseat and knock it right out of my hand. I can hear her voice in my head telling me what the carbs will do to my thighs. No one wants to hear your skin flapping when you pirouette, she would say.
I inhale the rest.
"Whoa, pace yourself. There's going to be plenty where that came from." Evie merges onto the freeway and turns up the radio. "Tansy's parents hired a caterer for the party."
"Party?"
"Oh." She laughs. "Sorry. It's Tansy's birthday."
"You know for someone studying to be a journalist, you're not very forthcoming with details."
"And for someone studying to become a prima ballerina," she replies, "you're the opposite of graceful when you eat."
I pull down the visor and glance at my reflection. There is chocolate in the corners of my lips.
"You look like my Humanities Professor freshmen year. Except he always came in with powdered sugar on his lips. From the back row it looked like he was foaming at the mouth."
"Charming." I place the box of donuts on the backseat to keep myself from inhaling another.
"Just thought you might want to know in case you spot some eye candy. You don't want to let Mr. Right see you scarf down sweets like that. It might be a bit of a turn off." She exhales loudly, passing a duo of cars that are driving at the speed of molasses.
"You know my luck with guys," I respond. What luck? "The only eye candy I'll be gawking at is that second piece of birthday cake I can't have."
"You should see a therapist," she jokes.
"Ten years from now, I might just have to."
I flex the muscles in my torso and correct my posture. Something I have to consciously think about or else I tend to slouch. I stare out the window as the city fades behind us, leaving nothing but forest on either side of the highway. I smile when I see bursts of orange and sunshine yellow in the grass. The wildflowers in Oregon do as they please, no questions asked.
No boundaries.
No rules.
Why can't I be like that?
* * *
We exit the freeway and head toward the sleepy seaside town of Sugar Beach. I see the ocean in the distance and all of Main Street. A few houses are lined up near the shoreline and more are back toward the woods. A giant cedar tree waves in the brisk breeze, and my heart races as we near Tansy's beach house.
Evie drives down the little Main Street in the center of town consisting of a grocery store, a book shop, a flower shop, a couple of souvenir shops, a diner, and the local pub and grill. We speed toward the shore and turn onto a road that winds parallel with the seaside. The homes are modest and some even look like they were built with driftwood. Evie stops at one with white trim surrounding the front door and window and a matching porch swing. Several potted plants are tucked along the base of the house. I brush against a petal as I follow Evie to the front door. I cringe, thinking it's a spider.
Through the open window a pair of beige curtains is swaying in the breeze. Evie knocks, and I immediately hear laughter coming from inside. The door flies open, and a girl wearing a flowery sundress answers. She smiles wide, showing off bleached teeth and glowing skin. Her blonde hair matches the yellow sunflower on her skirt.
"Hi," the girl says.
"Hey," Evie replies. "Is Tansy here?"
"Yeah, of course." The girl looks over her shoulder. "Tansy! Your friend is here!"
A girl looking very much the opposite comes walking into view. Her hands are tightly clasped together, and her dark hair is hidden beneath a baseball cap. She is wearing a long-sleeved blouse even though it's sunny outside.
"Tansy," Eve greets her. She steps inside and gives her friend a hug. I expected Tansy to be more like the cheery girl who answered the door—living up to her name. I'm surprised to see the nervous thumb-twiddler in front of me is named after a beaming perennial. "This is my friend from back home, Poppy."
"Yes, the ballerina," Tansy responds. "I've heard all about you."
"You have?" I say, glancing at Evie suspiciously.
Evie shrugs.
"We'll grab our bags," Evie suggests. The two of us grab our things from the trunk, and Evie remembers the leftover donuts in the backseat. I bite the inside of my cheek when I see the box.
"You two will be sharing the guest room," Tansy says. We follow her through the front entrance and into the small foyer.
The inside of the house matches the outside—simple and modest. The wooden floors are shiny as though they've just been polished. We walk through a formal living area with a brick fireplace and beige furniture. The walls are powder blue, and I spot several paintings of lighthouses as we continue on to our room. We set our things down on a queen-size bed with coral pillows. There's a bathroom for us to share and a window looking out at the backyard.
"Where can I put these?" Evie asks, holding up the box of donuts.
"The kitchen," she answers. "We'll just add them to the rest of the stuff my mom ordered."
"How much stuff is there?" Evie inquires.
"Enough for a wild weekend," Tansy replies. For the first time she raises her voice a little, but her overall demeanor remains timid. Evie and I follow her to the kitchen. With white cabinets and white tile counter tops, I almost have to squint. So far the kitchen is the brightest room in the house. It has a window overlooking the ocean. I see waves crashing back and forth against the pale sand. Sugar-like sand.
"What's all this?" Evie turns in a circle, observing our weekend feast. The counters are full of bowls and platters containing almost every snack imaginable. And if that weren't enough, the kitchen table is filled with food as well. My eyes scan my options. Tansy has everything from chocolate bars to potato chips. I even spot a package of Double Stuf Oreos.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Tansy bounces on the balls of her feet. "And wait until you see the best part. She slowly opens the freezer, letting out a cloud of cool air. "Look at these. We have more than enough for the next couple of days."
I take my turn glancing into the freezer and see several mini-spherical desserts of different colors. Tansy chooses one. She sets it down on the counter and uncovers it to give us a better look. The dessert is dome-shaped, pink, and topped with raspberries.
"Is it ice cream?" I ask.
"Layers of fruit and ice cream." Tansy corrects me. "It's an ice cream bombe. This one looks good for lunch. I'm saving the chocolate and cookie caramel ones for later."
"I'm going to have to do a weeklong fast after all this," a voice says from the family room. We are joined by the cheery blonde who answered the door and another girl who looks like she could be her twin. The only thing that helps me tell them apart is the orangey color of the other girl's skin. Cheap tanner.
"Evie, this is Kaime," Tansy introduces the girl in the sundress. "And this is her cousin Kara." The girl with orangey skin smirks.
"How do you know each other?" Evie raises her eyebrows, looking surprised.
"Remember that intro to cooking class we signed up for, then you backed out to take creative writing instead?" Tansy tilts her head.
"Oh. Nice to meet you both." Evie nudges me. "This is my girlfriend, Poppy."
"Ohhh." Kara nods. "See Kaime, I was right."
"Right about what?" Evie asks.
"I thought you gave off a sort of bi vibe." Kara chuckles.
"Poppy is my friend from back home," Evie clarifies, placing her hands on her hips. "We're not an item."
"Wait so you're straight?" Kara looks at Kaime and laughs. "My bad. It must be the shoes."
Evie clenches her jaw, most likely counting to ten in her head. It helps her hold her temper. She used to count out loud, but after hearing it for the zillionth time I asked her to keep her numbers to herself.
Our weekend isn't off to a good start.
"Love some," Kaime responds. She gracefully strolls to the kitchen table and takes a seat. Kara mimics her, and the two of them wait patiently to be served.
"Seriously?" Evie mutters. Her cheeks start turning red.
"I'll get it," Tansy volunteers. She begins speeding around the kitchen collecting plates, cups, and forks to set the table. "I have sub sandwiches and macaroni salad."
"Ugh, more carbs?" Kara comments. "Please, tell me there's something better for dinner?"
"We should go to the pub in town," Kaime suggests.
"Oh yeah." Kara's tone of voice matches Kaime's—upbeat and…fake.
"We have a barbeque planned for tonight," Tansy says shyly. She quickly sets the table while Evie and I watch. I cross my arms, baffled that a seemingly sweet girl like Tansy would be friends with people like Kaime and Kara.
"But the guys will be here," Kaime informs her. "We're supposed to chomp on ribs in front of them? Ewww."
Tansy looks down at the floor as she brings premade sandwiches and a bowl of homemade macaroni salad to the table. I help her fill cups with water and try not to spit in the one meant for Kaime.
Evie would have.
"Then eat something else," Evie argues, sitting across from her. Kaime frowns. "You do have that option, you know?" She leans in closer, staring at Kaime fiercely.
Kaime takes a deep breath and sits back casually in her chair.
"Look," she says, "I think we all got off on the wrong foot here." She glances at Kara. "Kara, say sorry for calling Evie a lesbian."
"What—"
"Do it," Kaime orders her.
"Sorry," Kara apologizes. "I was only joking about your shoes."
"I realize that we come across as a bit…" Kaime pauses to search for the right word.
"Vain?" Evie finishes.
"We're not really like that," Kaime insists. "Can we all start over?"
"Can Tansy sit down?" Evie argues. "After all, it is her birthday. And it is her house."
"Oh, Tansy honey." Kaime jumps to her feet and helps her bring the rest of the food to the table. "I didn't notice you needed help. Ask next time, okay?"
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