Oh, Brother!

by Cochran, Peg

  The boys don’t seem to realize how boring Amber is. All she does is talk about herself, and every couple of minutes she checks her hair for split ends. Or wets the tips of her fingers and smoothes her bangs. Which are always perfect.

  At least when she’s not trying to convince me to get her Travis’ email password. I would have rather been watching Celia chew with her mouth open or having Emily rattling everything because she was practicing her dance steps under the table.

  The day didn’t get any better. Celia and Emily ignored me all the way home on the bus. I couldn’t wait to veg out in front of the television with a big bag of chips. Preferably sour cream and onion. Always assuming there was finally some real food in the house.

  Rufus was at the door when I got home. He got drool all over my favorite jeans—the ones that fit absolutely perfectly although my mother says they’re too tight, and what did I do anyway, paint them on?

  I dropped my backpack in the hall and went into the kitchen.

  “Hey,” Travis came bounding halfway up the steps from the basement. “Can you throw us down another bag of chips?” he yelled up the stairs.

  Another bag? Mom rarely ever buys more than one. I opened the pantry door, and the chips were gone. Vanished. I ran down the stairs to the basement and screeched to a halt on the bottom step. Kristen was there, lounging on the sofa with Travis.

  She’s even prettier than Amber with long, straight honey-colored hair. She had one long leg thrown over the arm of the sofa and was swinging it in time to the music from the CD player.

  “Did you bring the chips?” She didn’t even say hello. She didn’t take her eyes off of Travis.

  Honestly, who did she think she was anyway?

  “Can you bring down some more Coke too?” Travis didn’t look at me either. He was too busy admiring Kristen.

  Who did they think I was? The maid? I could hear them laughing as I stormed back up the stairs. I’d show them. Maybe I’d do what Amber wanted after all.

  Chapter 13

  Dear Lucy Love,

  Is it okay to kiss a boy you don’t know?

  Sincerely,

  Puckered Up

  Dear Puckered,

  Sure. Just get his name first.

  Yours,

  Lucy Love

  It is like the Arctic in here with icicles hanging from the chandelier, and everyone practically able to see their breath. My mother and Mark still aren’t talking. My mother is going around with her arms crossed over her chest like she’s cold. Well, of course she is, we’re all living at the North Pole. When I asked her what was wrong she said “nothing”. She hates when I do that to her, so how come she’s doing it to me now? Parents can be so thoughtless at times.

  On top of it, Mark is late for dinner. My mother is sighing so much it sounds like a storm brewing, hurricane winds and all. We are sitting around the table waiting. Travis is turning his fork over and over and over again. He looked up at me and shrugged. I shrugged back. We could hear the meatloaf sizzling and spitting in the oven. It sounded angry too. If Mark didn’t come home soon, it would turn to ashes, and we would all starve to death, and he would have to live with that on his conscience.

  My mother’s lips are getting so thin I think they might disappear, swallowed into her mouth and down her throat. She gave another huge sigh and the edge of her napkin fluttered.

  Suddenly Rufus jumped up and began to bark in that ridiculous way of his—all gruff and tough on the outside, but we know he is a quivering mass of jelly on the inside. All you have to do is say “boo” and he runs under the bed, shaking and shivering.

  “What is it, boy?” Travis sounded excited. We all were. At least it was a break from sitting at the table listening to my mother sigh.

  “Well, well, well. Sorry to be late.” The back door opened and in came Mark.

  Although you could hardly see him behind this enormous bunch of greenery he was holding. It was all wrapped up in white paper, but you could smell the roses even before he got through the door.

  “A little something for the sweetest of the sweet.” He smiled and held the bouquet out to my mother.

  My mother took such a deep breath I was surprised she didn’t suck the place settings right off the table.

  “Oh, Mark. You shouldn’t have.” She peeled back some of the paper and buried her nose in what looked like an entire rose garden.

  Why do women always say that? Because you know if Mark turned around and said “okay, dear, I’ll return them to the store pronto”, the air would become so frigid that we’d be trapped under ice for eons and eons like those wooly mammoths Mr. Belagio told us about in science class.

  Fortunately for all of us, she didn’t say anything. Just scurried off to find a vase.

  Amber’s party is on Saturday night. My mother wanted to call Amber’s mother to make sure there would be plenty of chaperones, and I thought I would die, but fortunately she forgot about it because of some crisis or other at the bank. I guess all she really thinks about is her job.

  Unfortunately, Amber’s party is the same night as the party Celia’s parents are giving her. For getting some award for the violin or something. But I can’t miss Amber’s party. It is just about my last chance at meeting a guy and getting him to take me to the Snow Ball. Even if I have to pay him.

  I called Celia and did my best sore-throat-coughing-can-hardly-talk routine. It helps if you hold your nose while you’re talking. I felt a little guilty, but when I explain, I know she will understand.

  Amber helped me pick out this really hot dress that I have been hiding in the back of my closet so my mother wouldn’t see it. Although as my mother says, no one could find anything in my room even if they wanted to, so I guess it was safe, but I wasn’t taking any chances. It has spaghetti straps and is cut real low. I stood in front of the mirror and kind of pushed my arms in toward my bosom. That shoved them together more, and I almost had cleavage. Why boys go crazy for it, I don’t know.

  I wondered how I could get them to stay like that? I mean, I couldn’t walk around all night with my arms pressed to my sides like some kind of female Frankenstein. I’d read that models sometimes use tape. I wasn’t sure what kind, but plain old scotch tape didn’t work. It kept coming off and was very uncomfortable. Maybe masking tape would do it. But just my luck we didn’t have any. My mother has become so disorganized since she got married that we are all being forced to go without the basic necessities of life around here.

  I found some black electrical tape that looked quite strong. I finally got it on right, and it worked! I had cleavage. I admired myself this way and that in the mirror. It wasn’t very comfortable, but I didn’t care. I looked glamorous and sophisticated and very sexy.

  My mother was off with Aunt Janice at some kind of baby shower which obviously Mark wasn’t invited to. He was in the living room staring at the television with the remote control in his hand. Zap! He’d change the channel. Zap! He’d change it again. I had to stand in front of the television and wave for a minute or two to get his attention.

  “Ah, Mac, ready for the big party?” He smiled at me. He is sooo disgusting. He has hair on his knuckles like wolfman or something. I do not know how my mother can stand him.

  But I smiled a lot because he had agreed to take me to the party. Being the brilliant person I am, I took my coat up to my room earlier in the day. I had it on and buttoned up as far as possible so he couldn’t see a) my dress and b) my cleavage. Which I hoped was still there, but I could feel the tape pulling out the tiny, invisible hairs on my skin so I imagined it was okay.

  Mark has this ancient Volvo that is practically prehistoric and makes this hideous noise when you start it up. I tried to slink down in my seat in case anyone was around, but everyone was inside eating their dinner or doing their taxes or something.

  I flew out of the car at Amber’s house before Mark had the chance to walk me to the door. He gave this kind of goofy salute as he drove off, but fortunately no one was looki
ng.

  Amber’s house is huge. I wonder what her father does? My mother is always telling me to marry a professional when I grow up so I can have a nice life.

  She told me to be sure to say hello to Amber’s parents when I arrived, but I couldn’t find them anywhere, and this girl came up to me and asked if I wanted something to drink, so I forgot all about it.

  The party was down in the basement, but it wasn’t like our basement. It was all fixed up with beige wall-to-wall carpeting, this bar thingie with a sink, a big screen TV and a mini-fridge. There was even a fireplace.

  “Honestly, Mac, why don’t you take your coat off.” Amber went by, laughing, on the arm of Brett Ventura. Maybe she had forgotten all about the Travis thing, and I wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

  I threw my coat on the pile on the sofa and found the powder room as my mother would call it. You would think bathroom is a dirty word the way she wrinkles her nose up every time I say it in public.

  Time for a boob check to make sure the tape was still holding firm. It was. I powdered my nose which was already shiny. I didn’t want it standing out like some kind of beacon. I might be mistaken for a lighthouse or something and that would be embarrassing.

  I edged my way back into the party. The CD player was on, and some couples were dancing. Actually, it was more like they were just leaning on each other and swaying a bit. Brett Ventura had his arms around Amber’s waist, and his head on her shoulder.

  Nobody paid any attention to me in spite of my sensational new figure. I sidled over to the bar and had a few chips.

  “Hey, what’s your name?” This guy came over and leaned against the wall. He put his cup down on the bar.

  “Mac.”

  He was staring at my newly acquired cleavage. It felt weird, and I suddenly wished I was wearing a turtleneck or a nun’s habit or something.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Mathew Tacy.” He burped.

  The name rang a bell. He was captain of the baseball team or something like that. It just goes to show what kind of guy a girl can attract when she has a bit of a figure.

  “Want to dance?”

  “Sure.”

  We moved over to the cleared space where people were dancing. It was a slow song. Mathew put his arms around me and pulled me toward him. I almost lost my balance and kind of fell against him. He didn’t seem to mind. We swayed in time to the music. I could feel his breath on my neck, and it tickled, but I didn’t think this would be a good time to laugh.

  He was leaning on me more and more, and he was getting heavy. My knees were starting to buckle when the song ended.

  “How about a drink?” He led me back to the bar and picked up his cup. “Come on, let’s find a quiet place to sit.”

  I followed in back of him. “Where are we going?” I glanced behind me at the other guests.

  “Just in here. It’s quiet, and nobody will bother us.”

  Why would anyone bother us, I wondered, but I followed him into this other room.

  There was a bed in it.

  I started to back up.

  “Wass the matter?” He swung his cup at me. “Here, have a drink.”

  I was thirsty. I took a gulp and nearly spit it out. It was beer. How gross! How can adults drink that stuff?

  “Come on, babe.” He pulled me into the room.

  At first I thought there was a pile of coats on the bed, but then I realized they were people. Amber and Brett Ventura to be exact.

  “I don’t think…”

  I didn’t get to finish my sentence because Mathew Tacy was all over me. He was trying to kiss me, and it was gross! His lips were all blubbery and drooly. I always thought kisses would be sort of firm...and...well...dry.

  “I love you, babe.” He was muttering as he stuck his face in my neck and began to nibble.

  I was beginning to wish I had gone over to Celia’s house instead. Even if it is gross watching her eat all the time. But not half as gross as Mathew Tacy’s hands. They were hot and sweaty and disgusting.

  I kept slapping at him, but it didn’t stop him. I thought of kneeing him in the groin the way they taught us in that self-defense class, but that seemed sort of extreme under the circumstances.

  Then he stuck his hand down the front of my dress.

  “Stop that!” I tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t take his hand out. I could feel it wiggling down there like a fish flopping around or something.

  “I said, stop it.”

  “I can’t. I’m stuck.”

  My mother is right. Boys will say anything to get what they want.

  “Get your hand out of there.” I gave him a gentle kneeing. Just enough to let him know I meant business.

  By now both Amber and Brett were staring at us.

  “I’m trying.” Mathew gave another yank.

  A bright light went off, and we both blinked like moles coming out from underground.

  “What the...”

  “Gotcha.” Amber smiled and tucked the camera into the pocket of Brett’s hoodie. “Thanks, Matt.” Amber smiled at him.

  But Mathew wasn’t paying any attention. “You’ve got to help me. I’m stuck.” He yanked again, and this time his hand came out.

  With black electrical tape stuck to it.

  And my bosom was as flat as a fallen soufflé.

  My life is over, and I am only fourteen. I would never, ever, be able to face school again. Not after what happened. I’d have to go around wearing a mask or something.

  What if Amber brought the picture to school? I would die. I hate Amber, I really do.

  My mother kept chirping at me, “how was the party?” every fifteen seconds. She wasn’t going to leave me alone until I told her everything so I made up a whole bunch of stuff about how great it was—everyone playing charades, listening to music and helping Amber’s mother clean up. Just the kind of stuff she likes to hear. So now maybe she will leave me alone.

  But, no. She is insisting I go to school in spite of my pretending to barf this morning. It’s easy. You just run into the bathroom, slam the door, make some really nasty retching sounds and then dump a glass of water into the toilet.

  It always worked before, but when I came out of the bathroom, she gave me that “we’ll see about that” look. And she wouldn’t even drive me or let me go in late. It would serve her right if I barfed all over Kevin Austin in English class and got sent to the nurse, and she had to come to school to pick me up on her lunch hour instead of going shopping like she usually does.

  I spent as much time as possible hiding behind the open door of my locker hoping no one would see me. Brett Ventura walked by, and I stuck my head waaay inside. The warning bell rang, and I figured I was safe.

  I turned around and walked right into Celia and Emily. Emily had her little piggy eyes all squinted up. “My brother saw you at Amber’s party,” she said. “And you told Celia you couldn’t go to her party because you were sick.”

  I tried to remember if I had seen Emily’s brother there. He has the same piggy eyes as Emily and is the color of pie crust before it’s baked.

  “Look, if you don’t want to hang around with us anymore, just tell us.” Celia was digging around in her back molars with her index finger. Probably looking for something to eat.

  “You don’t understand. I didn’t have a choice. I had to go to Amber’s party.”

  “Oh sure.” Emily sneered.

  “No, really. Just let me explain.”

  The bell rang. “Sorry, but we’ve got to go.” Emily took Celia’s arm and they flounced off down the hall.

  I told the nurse I had cramps so I got to lie down on that cot thingie in her office during lunch. I didn’t want to sit with Amber. I never wanted to see her again. And I didn’t think Celia and Emily would let me sit with them. I’d be like a leper or something, skulking around the edges of the cafeteria. My skin would break out in boils, and people would throw rocks at me to keep me away.

  We had a
substitute in French class named

  Mrs. Eckl. Of course the boys were all calling her Mrs. Ickl and instead of giving her their real names, they said they were Pierre and Jean-Paul and Guillaume and stuff like that. Mrs. Eckl didn’t seem to find it unusual that so many kids in Central High School would have foreign names, but that’s substitutes for you.

  She showed us some French movie which was a good thing since she said she didn’t know anything about the language, but they just called her and told her to come in and be a substitute anyway.

  The movie was really dumb. I think all the French do is drink coffee in little cups and ride around on bicycles with a huge loaf of French bread sticking out the back.

  I was half falling asleep when Bob Waldorf poked me with his elbow. “Pssst.” He passed me a folded piece of paper.

  It was a note from Amber. “Have you decided about the Travis thing yet?”

  I groaned. I was hoping she had become too occupied with Brett Ventura to care anymore.

  When there was a loud moment in the movie, I carefully tore a piece of paper out of my notebook. “Dear Amber,” I wrote. “I really don’t think I can do it. Sorry.”

  I tried to go back to watching the movie, but it was so boring and dark and hot in the classroom that I could barely keep my eyes open.

  Bob Waldorf poked me again and handed me a piece of paper back.

  I opened it up. It was a photocopy of the picture Amber took at her party. It made my nose look huge and my skin all pasty white.

  Even worse, you could clearly see Mathew Tacy’s hand stuck down my top.