Calli

by Jessica Anderson

  There are four of us living in this house with different last names. Clovis (Mom). Gilbeaux (me). Donahue (Liz). Ogilvie (Cherish).

  When I was only a couple of months old, my father moved back to Angers, France. Yes—Angers, France. I’ve seen a couple of pictures and he didn’t look red faced and ticked off, but he also didn’t look like I’d imagined. His body was small in comparison to my cowlike frame. His teeth weren’t crooked either. A large forehead was the only thing we had in common.

  I stand up and stretch before I continue writing the essay. “François Barbé-Marbois owed his liberty and life to Napoléon Bonaparte.” At this point I don’t care that the sentences in the essay sound more like the textbook than something Cherish would create independently. I’m up to three typed pages, a big difference from the previous two pages Cherish had written.

  I still can’t believe I had the nerve to steal and destroy her things, but maybe it will work out for the best.

  It’s long after midnight and I wonder if there are any shooting stars sailing across the night sky. Even though Dub did something as horrible as kiss Cherish, I can’t stop thinking about him. There may be guys with wicked sexy smiles who work at fast food chicken places, but Dub’s my first boyfriend. He’s been there for me.

  After the line about Napoléon I write, “THE END.” The essay isn’t done, but it has to be better than whatever Cherish wrote the first time. I’ll print it out tomorrow morning so I don’t wake anyone up.

  FORGET THE BIKINI

  Monday, April 21

  “BONJOUR, SLEEPYHEAD,” Mom says as she gently wobbles my shoulder. Sassy licks my cheek and her hot breath smells like meaty dog food.

  I roll over, smashing my face into the pillow.

  “Time to get out of bed so you won’t miss the bus. And don’t forget, no walking adventures after school because we’re meeting Liz.”

  Mondays are bad enough with Madame Mahoney’s quizzes, but to make things worse, Monday nights are family nights at Mardi Gras Buffet. We eat free at the restaurant because Liz has been friends with the manager since forever.

  Mom pulls the pillow from under my head and lightly pops me with it. When I was a little girl, I thought that was funny, but today I’m not laughing. “Knock it off.”

  “Okay, Cranky Calli.” Mom pouts, and I hate feeling like I’m disappointing her.

  I want to go back to sleep, but then I remember the agreement and the essay. I throw the covers off and stretch forward. “I’m up.”

  This seems to satisfy Mom and she leaves with Sassy.

  While I’m changing out of my nightgown there’s a knock at my door. From the force of it, I know it’s Cherish, and I know what she wants. It reminds me of the fairy tales Mom read to me when I was younger—I feel like I’m the miller’s daughter and Rumpelstiltskin has come to collect the gold.

  “Give me a minute,” I say, pulling my jeans up.

  The door swings open and I cover my bare chest with my hands. “Cherish, give me a minute means wait!”

  She stares at my stomach. “My bad,” she says and starts laughing.

  I know it’s because I’m huge compared to her and hail damaged with clumps of cellulite. I remind myself that I’m not going to take her crap. “What? You got a problem or something?”

  Cherish’s smirk fades. “Nothing.”

  “You want your paper or not? I still have to print it and you’re wasting my time.”

  She turns to the side so I can finish getting dressed in peace. I pull my pants over my granny panties with one hand while the other covers my cha-chas. I just about fall over when I grab the rest of my clothes.

  I’d like to crawl back into bed and stay there for a long, long time.

  I print all three pages, and Cherish snatches them from my hand and doesn’t even thank me. Yep, I love Mondays.

  “So how was your day, girls?” Mom asks while she steers the Hocus Focus to meet Liz at Lady Luck Casino. If the Hocus Focus had magical powers, I’d wish it would somehow fast-forward this dinner and the rest of the school year. I close my eyes and think happy New Orleans thoughts—eating beignets at Café Du Monde and walking around the French Quarter. The Frenchness of the place doesn’t even bother me.

  “Mr. Roberts said my history paper looked good,” Cherish says. I open my eyes. Cherish looks over her shoulder at me in the backseat. She’d called shotgun immediately.

  “Wonderful,” Mom says, probably thinking she had something to do with the teacher’s semiglowing remark. “And your day, Calli?”

  Hmm, let’s see: 1. This morning Cherish knocked her elbow into my side when she pushed her way to the back of the bus and didn’t apologize.

  2. Delia and I barely spoke.

  3. Someone asked me if I really am a bull dyke.

  4. After school Dub cornered me by my locker to tell me he was sorry and we needed to talk.

  5. I failed the French quiz.

  Mom speeds onto the I-210 ramp. “Earth to Calli.”

  “It was fine. Yours?” The sun makes L’Auberge du Lac Casino glow like bronze. Bet the buffet is better there.

  “My appointment with Dr. Inez went well,” she says. “He wants me to try an antimalarial drug.”

  “You don’t have malaria, do you?” Lupus is bad enough. As we drive over the bridge, I stare at the blue water surrounding Coon Island. I shiver when I think about a diseased mosquito biting Mom.

  “No,” Mom says. “The medicine should help the rashes and my mouth ulcers heal quicker.”

  “Gross,” Cherish says, kicking her feet up on the dashboard. Mom lets it go. She’s all about making Cherish as comfortable as possible.

  We finally get to Westlake, the casino and refinery area. The web of pipes and smoky towers dizzies my eyes. One pipe shoots fire and looks like it’s pointed at me. I practically cough inside the car thinking about the pollutants being spewed in the air. Some tourist attraction.

  You’d think people would visit Lake Charles because of Cajun Country’s rich culture, as Madame Mahoney always goes on and on about. Or maybe visitors might come to see live gators or ride along the Cajun Riviera. Nope. Busloads and truckloads and carloads of folks come to gamble. They must break the slot machines, because Liz stays busy repairing them.

  Mom met Liz at the casino when she used to gamble from time to time. One special day Mom hit a five hundred dollar jackpot, but the machine malfunctioned when she tried to cash out. Liz came to her rescue, and Mom gave her a big tip. They started dating soon after, and now Mom likes to say that you really can buy love.

  The three of us wait outside Mardi Gras Buffet for Liz. The restaurant sign sparkles green. Gold and purple beads hang from each letter, and there are two party masks on either side of the name, but this place is no party. Outside the restaurant, it smells like liver and onions with a hint of fried fish.

  Cherish walks away from Mom and me and stands close to the casino entrance with her hands on her hips. The guy checking IDs looks her up and down. When I walk near her, ID Guy doesn’t even look in my direction. I certainly don’t have the body Cherish does and I don’t wear skintight tank tops or formfitting jeans.

  Call it pride, but I’m happy my boobs are bigger than hers, even if Cherish says it’s because my body fat percentage is way higher. Delia is right. My foster sister is a piece of work.

  The ocean of lights inside the gambling area is blinding and the machines clank and roar. An old lady is bent over a slot machine, pressing buttons while a cigarette hangs from her lips. The billboards around town make gambling look fun with young people smiling and cheering—what a joke.

  “Hey, ladies,” Liz says, walking up to us in her Lady Luck Casino suit. There’s a green clover embroidered on each side of her collar. On these family nights she dresses up for Mom. Tonight her hair is brushed to the side and she’s wearing eyeliner and lip gloss to accentuate her best features (according to Mom). “You ready for a fun dinner together?”

  Mom nods her head, b
ut Cherish and I sigh. There are some things we can agree about.

  Most of the food on the buffet line could be labeled braces friendly on account of the mush factor. I ignore one of the few crunchy items, the fried shrimp, because it’s Dub’s favorite food. I get the peel-and-eat kind instead. It’s not so bad. Plus I’ll be saving a few grams of grease and will be that much closer to wearing a bikini this summer.

  I scoop a spoonful of rice and beans onto my plate, as well as a chunk of baked sweet potato. I refuse a salad because it’s next to the dessert bar, but that’s all Cherish gets. A salad—not dessert.

  “Colorful,” Mom says when we sit down. She has a plate full of broiled fish sprinkled with some red powder and steamed broccoli. “Good to see you making healthy food choices, Calli.”

  Cherish laughs. I swear our waiter does too as he hands me a Diet Coke. He looks like he’s in college. He’s cute even if he isn’t Chick-fil-A Guy cute. When the waiter reaches to give Cherish her drink, she tilts her head and smiles her most charming of smiles. She may not do well at school, but she excels at flirting.

  The waiter hands Liz a glass of iced tea with lemon and Mom a glass of water without lemon. She has a few food allergies, which may be related to lupus, and lemons are one of them.

  “Thanks.” Mom opens an alcohol wipe to clean her hands even though she washed them a moment ago.

  As the waiter walks off, Cherish stands up. “I need some extra salad dressing.”

  I watch her as she struts. She doesn’t go near the salad bar; she follows the waiter instead. He stops with the tray still in his hand and the two of them chat and laugh for a moment. Cute Waiter Guy sets the tray down and writes something on a piece of paper and hands it to her. I bet it’s his number. I’m surprised I didn’t find a huge collection of them when I raided her room.

  Mom’s too consumed with scraping the spice off her fish to notice Cherish flirting, and Liz is elbow deep in her pile of steamed crab legs and fried okra. Not that they’d have a problem with it. They want her to have a healthy social life. I don’t think they have a clue how healthy it is.

  Cherish leans into Cute Waiter Guy the same way she did when she kissed Dub. My stomach twists and aches. When it feels like this, all I want to do is stuff it with something sweet.

  Forget the bikini.

  When Cherish returns to the table, I move my colorful, nutritious plate to the side for Cute Waiter Guy to pick up. “Excuse me.”

  I make no excuses when I return with an enormous slice of pie. French silk. If Mom says anything, I’ll tell her I’m getting in touch with my heritage. She doesn’t make a comment, but she purses her lips when she sees my selection.

  EARTH DAY

  Tuesday, April 22

  “HAPPY EARTH DAY,” Mr. Hatley, my biology teacher, says as I enter his class. Newspaper streamers taped to the doorframe brush against the top of my head.

  “You too.” Globe-looking beach balls dangle from the ceiling. Gunner bops one and it flies across the room. Mr. Hatley is too busy greeting students with Earth Day cheer to notice.

  After the tardy bell, Mr. Hatley sits on top of his desk. “Earth Day brings me hope.” He stretches out his arms like he wants to hug the air. “Today people around the world will celebrate this diverse planet we call home. So let’s do the same and promise to protect it!” Mr. Hatley claps his hands as if a play had just ended. He pauses like we should clap too, but the room is dead silent.

  I have to give him credit—he’s passionate. He got teary eyed at the beginning of the year talking about the ecological effects of the hurricane. Salty ocean water blew into fresh water, killing gators and other animals.

  “If our society didn’t require so much energy to heat and cool our homes, run our machines, and fuel our cars, would we need as many refineries and power plants?”

  Just when I’m sure he’s going to start in on toxic air pollution all over again, he says, “So let’s go on a Waste Walk to see what you can do as students to lessen energy needs on campus. Pack your belongings, except for a piece of paper and something to write with.”

  Gunner groans, but getting out of the classroom is welcome news, especially since French was beyond boring.

  Outside the air is chilly damp and the clouds are thick. Off to the right the sky looks fuzzy, like it’s raining in the distance. Mr. Hatley would probably say Mother Earth is crying tears of joy.

  “Let’s head to an environmental hot spot—the cafeteria.” He leads us through Building B to the only place worse than Mardi Gras Buffet. If the cafeteria would start cooking tastier food, then we’d eat more instead of wasting it.

  “Calli, wait!” someone shouts in the hallway. I stop breathing. It sounds like Dub.

  I turn around, and so does the entire class, including Mr. Hatley.

  French toast! It is Dub.

  Gunner glares at him.

  “Please don’t ignore me,” Dub says, rushing up to me. Several people in my class crack up. I’d like to ignore Dub more than ever. He’s holding a carved miniature wooden toilet with the words “bathroom pass” written on it. I turn away from him, but he presses something against the back of my arm.

  Just when I think it’s the tiny toilet, Dub tells me it’s a note.

  I feel like I’m starring in the reality TV show Mom, Liz, and Cherish watch together. The longer I don’t take his note, the longer he’ll stand here pleading with me, and the longer the class will keep gawking at us.

  I snatch Dub’s note, bury it in my pocket, and march forward. A few girls whisper behind my back.

  Mr. Hatley clears his throat and announces, “Thanks, Calli, for our first example of how to reduce waste. If you’d all pass fewer notes in the hallway, fewer trees would be depleted.”

  My face burns hot, but I manage to say, “You’re welcome.”

  Delia meets me at my locker after school. It’s covered in a coat of fresh paint. “I heard Dub gave you something.”

  Word spreads fast at Calcasieu High. “He did—a note.” I set my backpack on the ground to make it easier to switch out my books.

  “You should’ve heard the rumors. Torey overheard someone say that Dub gave you a ring, but you refused it because you have a new girlfriend.”

  I laugh out loud. Delia cracks up too. “So what did he tell you?”

  “I don’t know. I plan on reading the note alone in my room.” Once I grab the last book, I zip my backpack up and put it on. It’s so heavy that the straps dig into my shoulders.

  “Want me to come over so you don’t have to be alone?” Delia asks, readjusting her backpack after watching me struggle.

  “Sure, but promise me you won’t trash talk him. It won’t help things.”

  She reluctantly agrees.

  Once we get to my house, I wish we would’ve gone to Delia’s instead. Her home is much more peaceful and the air always smells like fresh-cut flowers. Sassy barks at Delia for several minutes before calming down, and Cherish turns on the TV to some celebrity news program. The television blares so loud we can hear the latest gossip in my room, even with the door closed. If that isn’t enough, the whole house reeks of vinegar because Mom’s been cleaning. Harsh chemicals in some cleaners make my mother sick, but vinegar doesn’t bother her.

  I crack the window open, even though it’s a waste of energy with the air-conditioning on. I don’t waste time though and pull the note from my pocket. The paper is folded four times.

  My handwriting looks like my letters have bad posture and fall forward, but Dub’s words lean back like they’re chilling.

  I read the note aloud: “Calli, this space is killing me.”

  “Good,” Delia says, and then she slaps a hand over her mouth since she clearly forgot her bad-mouthing promise.

  “I’m sorry. Cherish planted one on me and my body reacted before my brain. The kiss didn’t mean anything.”

  I stop reading. The room seems thick like the clouds in the sky earlier. Delia grabs the note from me and finis
hes reading. “I pushed her away, but it was too late. You’d already run off. I hope you can forgive me. Our anniversary is less than a month away.”

  I stand up and hover near the window, sucking in fresh air.

  “Are you going to pass out or what?”

  I shake my head no even though I feel light-headed. If what he says is true, have I been overreacting? Cherish surprised him with a kiss and he kissed back reflexively. He pushed her away. It’s not like he got drunk and slept with someone like on that reality TV show.

  If Hot Chick-fil-A Guy had done more than just brush his hand against mine, would my body have reacted before my mind?

  “Are you going to respond?”

  “I don’t know.” The phone starts ringing, but I can barely hear it with the TV announcer guy reporting which celebrity babies are about to celebrate their first birthdays in style. Someone else in the house can answer the phone.

  I fold the note un, deux, trois, quatre times. Dub has never lied to me before, but doubt still finds a way of creeping into my messed-up mind. “Maybe he only wrote this because Cherish talked to him. It was our deal,” I say out loud.

  “What deal?”

  “Calli?” Mom calls out.

  “Hold on!” I yell back.

  “Between you and me, I wrote Cherish’s paper after it, well, ‘disappeared,’ and to ‘thank me’ she said she’d make sure they leave each other alone.”

  “Wow, that’s pathetic, Calli.”

  I hadn’t expected her to say this. “But—”

  Mom barges into the room. The butterfly-shaped rash across her nose seems to throb. “Young lady, you come when I call your name!”

  Doesn’t she realize I’m not Sassy, and doesn’t she realize she shouldn’t embarrass me in front of my friend? “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I just got off of the phone with one of your teachers. You care to explain?”