The rest of the setup doesn’t go any better.
Kitsy, Waverly, and I are chatting and Waverly loudly announces:
“Rodeo is such a cute theme. Maybe we’ll do this for school formal, and we can all dress up like rodeo characters. I am going to be a clown,” she says. “But a sexy one if that’s possible.”
Mind you, there are no clowns around.
Kitsy attempts small talk.
“Hope you are having fun. I’m glad that you came to Broken Spoke,” she says. “I’d love to come to New York, and maybe even work in makeup. I did Corrinne’s for a dance.”
“Oh, you want to come to New York to do makeup? That’s so cute,” Waverly responds. “That’s like all the girls that come to do modeling but then have to become call girls. Makeup’s probably more realistic. You probably won’t have to become a call girl.”
“Waverly,” I say, “I know that you think you’re funny, but Kitsy doesn’t know you, so maybe no call girl jokes.” Turning to look at Waverly, I grit my teeth.
Kitsy laughs. But really? That’s beyond low, even for Waverly, especially since the rumor is her grandma Wilhelmina did start out as a high-paid call girl. Like the actual inspiration for Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
Waverly turns to face Kitsy. “I apologize. Because you and Corrinne are such good friends, I thought I could tease you, too. Apparently, Corrinne’s gotten a bit more uptight since her life didn’t turn out how she thought it would. Is she always like this now?” Waverly asks. “It’s sad; she used to be so much fun.”
Kitsy’s eyes pop out. “No, no, Waverly,” Kitsy says. “Corrinne’s probably the most fun girl in Spoke. All the boys here are falling all over her. And there’s one of them now….”
Rider saunters up to the group. I quickly introduce Waverly to him. At this point, I am not that interested in impressing Waverly before she leaves. I am more focused on making sure she leaves alive, although I did appreciate Kitsy’s effort to make me look like the hottie of the Spoke.
“Pleased to meet you,” Rider says, smiling and tucking his hair behind his ears. He lingers when he shakes Waverly’s hand. Flipping fantastic. Rider flirting with Waverly—just one more thing to add to the list of why this day sucks.
“T.M.F.G.,” Waverly says, looking back over her shoulder at Rider as he walks away. “Now, I see why you haven’t thrown yourself under a horse.”
“What’s T.M.F.G.?” Kitsy asks.
“Total Material For Gossip,” I say, feeling silly about our old acronyms.
“I like that,” Kitsy says. “Okay, I am going to get Kiki ready for his big event. Good luck with the T-shirts and the auction.” Kitsy heads toward the mutton busters that are lining up.
“Wish Kiki good luck from me,” I call back. “Tell him to ride that sheep!”
Waverly just looks at me with big open eyes. “Ride that sheep! I didn’t think I’d ever hear those words out of your mouth.”
I laugh. “I didn’t either, Waverly. Good luck selling the T-shirts. I’ll come get you when the auction’s over.”
“Fine,” Waverly says. “But I am putting this on my college application as work experience.”
And before I am even out of her sight, I catch Waverly staring at Rider and his band as they warm up.
Once the rodeo gets under way, I almost forget about Waverly and the natural disaster this visit has become.
Checking the auction sheets, I see that someone bid three hundred dollars for Grandpa’s services. I can’t wait to tell him. And even Kitsy’s ten Sonic Blasts are going for over a hundred dollars, way more than the actual retail price.
Once the bidding slows down, I announce “Five more minutes” over the megaphone. A few people return and put in final bids.
Reading off the sheets, I ask the winners to meet up after the auction to pay and collect their prizes. I really like using the megaphone. Shocking, I know. Totaling everything up, we made way more money than I expected. It’s not pre-recession Barneys shopping money, but it’ll certainly pay for some of the equipment Ginger needs.
I run over to where the mutton busters are competing, hoping to catch Kiki, and find Mom and Kitsy watching from the fence.
“Hey, Corinne,” my mom says. “I am impressed. Maybe you’ll go into event planning. I’ve seen million-dollar galas that haven’t run as smoothly as this.”
“Has Kiki gone yet?” I say breathlessly.
“No,” Kitsy says, not taking her eyes off the ring. “He’s next. The record’s at twenty-four seconds.”
Kiki gets onto the sheep; since he’s small, he needs to balance his weight. As the gates open up, the sheep takes off, trying its hardest to throw Kiki from his back. Who knew sheep could buck? For what seems like a lifetime, Kiki holds on, shifting his weight and even hanging off the side. Finally, he drops off onto the ground. The sheep hightails it for the other side of the ring. PETA would definitely not like this.
“Ohmigod,” I say, hugging Kitsy. “That must’ve been like three minutes.”
Kitsy looks down at her personal stopwatch. “Thirty-five seconds. I don’t think anyone will beat it, though, so it might as well be three minutes. He’s going to be psyched. It’s a blue trophy and fifty dollars,” she says.
After we all hug and congratulate Kiki, Mom disappears to go find Ginger. I figure I should find the Wicked Witch of Manhattan. Hopefully, she’s melted. When I approach the T-shirt table, I find no Waverly but rather Bubby. I look around and notice that Rider and his band are also missing from their area.
“Hey, Manhattan,” Bubby says. “Not bad for your first rodeo. I hope you don’t mind, but I sold most of your T-shirts for you.”
I realize there are only a couple shirts left on the table, and the boxes underneath are empty.
“Where’s Waverly?” I ask, scouting for her among the rodeo crowd.
“She doesn’t exactly have the best work ethic,” Bubby says. “She and Rider ran off like the dogs were after them. So I took over. You should have asked me to sell these since I am a local celebrity. I thought a city girl like you would know the power of a celebrity endorsement.”
Like the dogs were after them? I am never going to get Texan language down.
Shaking my head, I laugh. “Thanks, Bubby,” I say. “Waverly’s visit hasn’t turned out exactly like I hoped. I should’ve expected she’d bolt.” And then I realize that Bubby’s managed to pull a T-shirt over his jersey. It’s way too tight, but it’s probably the cutest I’ve seen him looking.
“Take the T-shirt for free,” I say. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Oh, I could think of some other things that you could do,” Bubby says, and raises his eyebrows. “Go enjoy your rodeo. I still have the last T-shirts to sell. And Manhattan, it was awfully nice of you to do that auction.”
“Thanks,” I say, and head toward the Rodeo Queen competition, where I find Rider and Waverly talking against the fence. Rider’s head is tipped toward Waverly’s, and he’s brushing a hair out of her face. Really, people? This is a rodeo, not a bedroom.
“Hi, y’all,” I say, coming up right in between them. Rider immediately drops his hand.
“You know, Rider,” I say, “I am not sure that Ginger’s paying you to take breaks.” Rider gets flushed and walks away without saying anything.
“Nice one,” I say to Waverly, shaking my head. “Apparently, you don’t want me to even have the one hot thing in Texas.”
“Please,” Waverly says, avoiding my eyes, “Rider’s a total douche. He was just asking me about music contacts. And he’s not that hot. Texas is just going to your brain.”
Kitsy bounds up at this moment and grabs my hand. “Did you hear?” she asks. “Your mom’s going to ride in an exhibition and then crown the new rodeo queen.”
“What?” I squeal. I grab Waverly’s hand and almost forget about her flirting with and nearly kissing Rider. “This we need to see,” I say, and I drag her to the fence where Grandma, Grandpa, and Tripp are s
tanding.
“Did you know about this?” I ask my grandparents. Still in shock, I watch my mom, in a bedazzled rodeo queen shirt complete with a Miss Rodeo Queen 1985 sash, get up and mount a horse—Smudge, to be exact.
Grandpa and Grandma shake their heads. “I have been dropping her off at Ginger’s during the day,” Grandpa says. “But I just thought she was lonely and wanted to catch up with her old friend.”
Waverly stares at me in total amazement. “Your mother is wearing jeans and is on a horse,” Waverly says. “And is her shirt bedazzled?”
“I know,” I say, double taking to make sure it’s not a mirage. “I guess she used to do the barrels before modeling, before New York, before my dad, before me.”
Before Waverly can ask about the barrels, Mom nudges Smudge and takes off. Dirt envelops the ring, creating a cloud of dust. Luckily, my mom handles Smudge with much more grace than I did. She goes left, she goes right, making tight figure eights through the barrels. In a flash, she’s completed the course. The crowd that’s gathered hollers and hoots.
Someone behind me whispers, “Jenny Jo’s back five minutes, and she’s already stolen the spotlight again.”
I ignore them; it ain’t worth it.
“Our princess back on her throne.” Grandpa whistles and smiles.
“No, Grandpa,” I correct him. “She’s a queen. A Rodeo Queen.”
In my loudest voice, I cheer, “Vive La Reine,” which means long live the queen. Thanks, Marie Antoinette and French history. I guess I didn’t totally forget everything from my prep school life.
Then Grandma hugs nearly the whole town and accepts everyone’s congratulations on my mother’s return to the ring.
Mom dismounts the horse, and she helps to crown the newest Rodeo Queen, a girl from Broken Spoke High named Angela.
Mom’s still beaming by the time she makes it back to us.
“Wow, Mrs. Corcoran,” Waverly says. “If Fifth Avenue could just see you now…”
My mom looks down at her shirt and laughs. “Funny how things work out. Who knows, Waverly? Bedazzling might just make a comeback; there’s certainly something fun about it.” Mom turns to me. “I am going to call your father. He’s the one who encouraged me with this little secret,” my mom says.
Apparently, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about my mom, her past, and my dad. I guess Grandpa was right that day in the car. My mom isn’t boring after all.
Kitsy looks at Waverly and me. “So how about the field tonight?”
“A football field?” Waverly says, and flares a nostril; it’s not a pretty sight. “I don’t do football,” she says. “I’d much rather get hot and sweaty with a boy than watch them do it together.”
“No, a different field,” I say. But I figure the last thing that Waverly and I need to do is participate in another Texan rite of passage. It’s about time that we talked, really talked.
I look at Waverly and say, “We need to have a chat, so we’ll probably skip the field.”
“For sure,” Kitsy says. “Y’all chat. I am going to tend to my own knitting and take Kiki to Sonic to celebrate. Call me when you get back from the airport, Corrinne. Nice to meet you, Waverly.”
Waverly responds, “I didn’t know you knitted. That was in vogue in New York for, like, a hot moment. Bye now, Katsy. It was such a fun experience to meet a real Texan.”
Kitsy turns back around to face Waverly.
“It’s Kitsy, Waverly,” she says. “Kitsy Kidd. And by the way, you’d look a lot better in purple eye shadow. Blue doesn’t really do it for you.”
Waverly just stands and watches Kitsy go. Activating my filter, I stifle a laugh and only silently agree that Kitsy’s totally dead-on about the blue.
“I need help with putting away these tables; then we can go,” I say to Waverly, who’s eyeing the parking lot.
“Finally,” Waverly says, taking off her T-shirt to reveal just a skimpy tank top. “How do you live in this sauna?”
I don’t answer.
In silence Waverly and I carry the fold-up tables back to the barn. Ginger’s standing inside, and she bear hugs me.
“Best rodeo ever,” she says. “Everyone thinks that we should do a spring rodeo too. Thanks for all your work. I think with this money, all Spokers who want to ride will be able to. Corrinne, you do remind me a lot of your momma, but you must have gotten that business savvy from your dad.”
My dad, I think. I’ll have to send him some pictures, but not for pity this time. I am proud to be part of this Texan scene.
I smile big and nod while Waverly rolls her eyes.
On the car ride back home, I ask Grandpa to drop Waverly and me off at Chin’s.
My mom gives me twenty dollars for dinner. “Thanks, I’ll call you when we need a ride.”
“Are we eating here?” Waverly says, looking at Chin’s advertisement for a $7.99 all-you-can-eat lunch buffet.
“Yes,” I say, and open the door. “It’s good. I ate here before a dance with Bubby. New York doesn’t hold the patent on Chinese food. Or anything else for that matter.”
“I seriously distrust your taste these days,” Waverly says, and pauses before she follows me in.
Mr. Chin sits us in the back of the restaurant, and I am glad to be out of sight from the other customers.
Looking at her menu, Waverly says, “I am not sure if I can eat anything here since I have to fit into my clothes when I get home. T-shirts and jeans don’t exactly cut it at Kent, especially when everyone’s going to come back all tan from their exotic fall breaks.”
“Shut up, Waverly,” I say, and slam my menu shut. It makes a loud smacking noise. “All you’ve done since you’ve gotten here is complain and make me feel bad.”
“Please, Corrinne,” Waverly says, from behind her menu. “This visit hasn’t been all champagne and roses for me. Does this place at least have good sake?”
“No, they don’t have sake. One, Broken Spoke is a dry county. Two, it’s a Chinese restaurant, not Japanese,” I say. “Three, you are so ignorant.”
Waverly slams down her menu. “Ignorant? Oh, sorry, Corrinne,” she nearly shouts. “I forgot that you moved to the middle of nowhere and that makes you worldly. I don’t really remember you of all people as the educated one. I am pretty sure I always had the better grades, and well, better everything.”
Timidly, Mr. Chin approaches the table.
“Girls, what would you like to eat?”
“Um,” I say, noticing the other customers have begun to stare at us. “We’ll take egg rolls and General Tso’s chicken with a side of fried rice.”
Waverly looks up at Mr. Chin. “And we’ll take that to go.”
Mr. Chin retrieves our menus. “Okay then, I’ll get that as quickly as we can.” He almost breaks into a run on his way back to the kitchen. I think Waverly’s New York attitude totally freaked him out. Hell, she’s even freaking me out and I am a New Yorker.
“I guess I’ll call my grandpa to pick us up, then,” I say.
“And I’ll call the airline to change my flight to tomorrow,” Waverly says. “I really can’t be here any longer, and Monday’s too far away.”
“Do whatever you want,” I say, and get out my phone. “It’s all about you anyway, right?”
Waverly stands up from the table. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she says, and shoves in her chair.
“Terrific,” I say, already dialing my grandparents’ home phone.
After a car ride in silence, Waverly and I sit down at the kitchen table to eat our Chinese food. Mom, Grandpa, Grandma, and Tripp just watch us from the couch as if we were a reality program. Teen Manhattanites in Texas.
I reach into the bag to pull out the fortune cookies.
“Do you want your fortune cookie, Waverly?” I ask, holding it out to her.
“Not unless there’s a helicopter to New York in it,” Waverly says, not even looking up from the fried rice.
Has Waverly always been like t
his? Some best friend she is. And all I did was take her to a rodeo!
“I’ll take the cookie,” Tripp pipes up from the couch. I toss it to him, and he breaks it open.
“Waverly,” Tripp says, “your fortune is ‘Tough times don’t last, tough people do.’ Can I eat the cookie?”
“Sure,” Waverly says. “If you don’t mind, I am going to shower today’s adventure off of me and go to bed. I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Whatever,” I say. Turning around, I announce, “By the way, we need to take Waverly to the airport tomorrow instead of Monday. She changed her flight.”
The eyes of everyone on the couch perk up. My grandparents look at each other, Mom looks at me, and Tripp looks down at the ground. Waverly gets up from the table, throws her food out, and heads for the bathroom.
“Tripp,” my mom says, “why don’t you go to your room?”
“I always miss the good stuff,” Tripp says, and follows my mother’s directions.
Grandpa does a dramatic stretch. “You know,” he says, “I am tired myself. I’ll head to bed too.” Grandpa stands up and walks over to me. He puts his hand on my head. “Corrinne,” he says, “what a rodeo! I am so proud of you.”
Looking over at my mom, Grandpa says “Jenny Jo, it was really great to see you back on the horse.”
After Grandpa leaves the kitchen, Grandma walks up to the stove. “How about some hot cider, girls? It’s that fall time of year.”
“Thanks, Mom,” my mom says, and comes to sit with me at the table. “What’s going on, Corrinne?”
“Waverly hates it here so she’s leaving,” I say, and try not to tear up. “She’s going to tell everyone how I am now the star of a reverse Beverly Hillbillies. A debutante gone redneck.”
“I am sorry, baby,” my mom says, rubbing my back. “This has been a bad fall, huh?”
“Bad?” I say. “I think you need to seriously expand your vocabulary. It’s been unfathomably depressing.”
“You know,” Grandma says as she puts the hot water on, “your bad luck has turned into the best luck I’ve ever had. I got to spend time with my grandchildren and I got to see my daughter back in Broken Spoke. I am starting to like this whole recession.”
Where I Belong Page 17