My Big Nose and Other Natural Disasters

by Sydney Salter

  What kind of weird guy wants to talk about problems and stuff? I wasn't about to spill my guts to some guy with glowing toenails and a big nose, even if he did have eyelashes to die for and amazingly dark hair. And great eyes. Great eyes that looked right at me. He kind of tilted his head, like, Well, are you going to say something?

  "There's nothing to talk about, really." I looked straight ahead at a plump ceramic fairy with a mischievous grin sitting under a flowery shrub. She was the one who'd cursed me!

  "Come on." Gideon's voice sounded soft.

  "Some drunk guy came on to me. I'm supposed to be flattered, I guess?"

  Hannah had tried to help me find the "positives in the situation," like she used to do for herself when people called her Hunchback Hannah in middle school. But getting attacked by a drunk guy at a party wasn't the same as having a medical condition. And it definitely wasn't flattering.

  "He had you up against that wall," Gideon said. "It looked like—"

  "Well, it wasn't."

  "No, I know that now. I mean—he looked incredibly aggressive. That's reprehensible." Gideon shook his head. "Why are men such assholes?" He patted my knee. "Come on, you need a slice of cake."

  "Oh, no. I can't. After working there, you know."

  "Oh, yeah. That's why I don't wear many necklaces."

  I smiled. "You're kind of funny."

  "And you have beautiful hazel eyes."

  "Thanks," I mumbled.

  "Quit looking at my feet all the time." Gideon stepped one foot over the other as he had the other night. "You're giving me a complex."

  "Sorry." I looked up at his hair falling over one eye like a thundercloud. "You make me kind of nervous." Oh, God. Why did I say that? I looked down.

  "I make you nervous." He laughed. "You're the one that's got me wearing socks when it's ninety-five degrees outside. I've even thought of inventing some kind of reverse toe sock. Everything would be open, except the toes. I'd market it to podiatrists and the foot-fungus-pharmaceuticals companies."

  I kind of smiled, not sure if he was serious or joking.

  "Okay, I guess I should shut up before I totally creep you out."

  "Maybe." I risked looking into his eyes. Quick. He stared right at me. "I better get back to work." I glanced at my watch. "I've already got one lady threatening to call my boss."

  "See you around." He pushed his toes into the ground. "Stop looking at my feet."

  "Sorry. Again. Well, bye." I turned and ran through the kitchen, past all the ladies beading in the classroom, and out the front door.

  As I pulled the van back into the street, I laughed hard for the first time in days.

  Chapter Fifteen

  POUTING AND PICNICS

  The following Saturday, Hannah dragged me and Megan all the way out to Bower's Mansion Park so we could "refresh our friendship." Sounded more like a deodorant ad—and I still thought Megan stunk! We both refused until she e-mailed us a top-ten list of our Best Friendship Moments (so far!):

  10. Our first slumber-not party

  9. The Red Vines vs. Twizzlers survey

  8. Popularity ploys (especially horrible-yet-hilarious cheerleading tryouts)

  7. Sloppy slippy sledding (remember the sweater dudes?)

  6. Worst first-day-of-school-outfit fashion show ("paging store security")

  5. Rodeo Carnival roller coasters (spinning with fries!)

  4. Operation Secret Locker Decorating

  3. November 1 (you know the details!)

  2. 3 A.M. breakfast at the Peppermill (the time ZZ was there!)

  1. TBA—something from this summer!

  After a long phone conversation about the "freeing feeling of forgiveness," I agreed to come along, but only because Hannah sounded so sad and pathetic, begging and everything.

  "What do you guys think?" Hannah surveyed the picnic tables at the park. "I like the spirit this spot has. Plus, we'll have a view of the valley, plenty of sun, and it looks like we're near three family reunions and a couple of company picnics with good-looking guys close to our age."

  I watched some guys tossing a Frisbee with a group of kids. They looked like dads.

  "Whatever." Megan threw her towel in front of her and lay down, sticking her face into some definitely-not-a-beach-read novel. Typical Megan: always showing off.

  "It's nice." I pulled on my frilly brimmed hat. No more nose freckles! After a week of nose peeling after the Fourth, I'd almost smeared that sticky white stuff all over my nose, except someone might've been tempted to mogul ski down it.

  "Why don't you lay out by Megan?" Hannah asked.

  I rummaged around in my tote bag for my magazines. With more than $1,400 in my bank account, I had to get serious about the new-nose search. Plus, Mom had asked me why I hadn't been spending any money on myself, so I showed her a few magazines and talked about looking for new fall looks (so what if she thought fashion while I thought nose).

  "This is good," I said. "We can both talk to you."

  "And not each other," Hannah mumbled. "Come on, guys. Let's stop this feud thingy." She held up her too-cute picnic basket. "We're on a summer picnic, making memories and stuff."

  Megan sat up. "Maybe you need to convince Jory that I didn't steal the boyfriend she never had in the first place. Maybe you can explain that he's not exactly going out with me either. Three movies, one dinner, a walk around Virginia Lake, and a disastrous Fourth of July apparently doesn't make a boyfriend."

  "You walked around Virginia Lake with him? You never told me that!"

  "Because it didn't matter. Since when does feeding the ducks leftover popcorn equal a hot-and-heavy romance?" Megan stared at me through her dark sunglasses. Unnerving.

  I glanced away and watched some kid cry over a dropped hot dog. Just wait, kid, I thought. Life gets much worse.

  "This is so good." Hannah scooted back on her towel and wrapped her hands around her bent legs, nodding at us like some bikini-clad therapist. "At least you're talking."

  Lately I'd been wishing that Hannah spent more time reading romance novels instead of all that self-improvement Zen stuff, because then she'd understand the severity of Megan's traitorous crimes.

  "You guys seemed plenty chummy up at the lake." I narrowed my eyes at Megan's Darth Vader stare. "I heard him trying to get all cozy with you that night. All whispering and stuff."

  "FYI, Jory, he was not whispering with me." Megan's voice wavered with tears.

  "Was he trying to hook up with Kayla? Omigod, is that why he carried her off to the fireworks?"

  "You want to know why he ran off with Kayla?" Megan's lip trembled slightly.

  "Because she's as darling as teddy bears, cupcakes, and ladybugs put together? And she's got more moves than a porn star?"

  "I really don't want to talk about this." Megan ran her hand through her glossy dark hair. "I kissed him. Okay—" She surrendered, her hands in the air. "Go ahead and scream at me."

  "I'd expect nothing less from a traitor." No way would I scream now—that's what she expected. I bit my cheek hard instead.

  "Jory, they have been hanging out and doing things together since school got out." Hannah put her hand on my shoulder. "They do work together."

  "But I've liked him for over a year and we've had some moments. Actual moments. And I was trying to build on them." I shrugged her hand off me. "I'm not over at your church all of the time trying to get cozy with Alex. There are boundaries with friends' crushes, right?" I pulled my hat down tight around my ears until it hurt.

  "You don't even go to my church." Hannah did that cute, scrunchy I-don't-understand thing with her nose. "You've never even met Alex."

  Sometimes Hannah could be as dense as pound cake.

  "That's not the point. The point is boundaries."

  "You're not even listening to me," Megan said. "Forget it." She stuck her classically beautiful nose back into her book but wasn't turning any pages. I made a big show of flipping through my magazine. My eye caught a "Friend
or Frenemy" article. Didn't need to read that one! I slapped the magazine shut. My head felt itchy and sweaty under my stupid hat.

  "Come on," Hannah said. "We want to listen to you, Megan. Right, Jory?"

  "Oh, God, Hannah." I ripped my hat off my head and flung it down by my feet.

  Hannah gave me her don't-use-God's-name-in-vain-with-mine look.

  "Okay, so I'm listening."

  "Well, the issue is..." Megan's voice trembled. "He freaked out when I kissed him. He actually ran away, scooping that ridiculous sophomore into his arms, then sitting next to Drew at the fireworks. Ignoring me completely." Megan wiped underneath her dark glasses. "Talk about humiliation."

  "So that's why you were so pissed," I said. "But later he tried to make up with you, so what's the big deal?"

  "No, Jory. You're not hearing me. Later he climbed up onto the top bunk and tried to convince Drew to take a walk. To the rocks."

  I sucked in my breath and clapped my hand over my mouth.

  "That's weird," Hannah said. "But maybe he just wanted to talk. Get the male perspective."

  "Han, I love ya, but hello?" Megan twisted her hair around and around her finger. "Drew isn't exactly the go-to guy about girl trouble. I should've been the one climbing into bed with Drew, asking him about boy trouble, if you know what I mean."

  "Drew is—?" Hannah's brown eyes grew large. "Oh, my gosh!"

  "Came out after graduation." I remembered Finn telling Mom. Drew had told the soccer team that he wanted to start the next phase of his life honestly.

  "But he dated Claire for three years," Hannah said.

  Megan picked at a loose thread on her shorts. "And apparently nothing ever happened."

  "So?" A feeling of dread pushed through my body. "Does that really mean—"

  "Think about it," Megan said. "Has Tyler ever had a serious girlfriend? Or even any serious rumors?"

  I thought about his McQueen prom date, but didn't say anything.

  "But he went home with that sleazy what's-her-name at the bonfire." Hannah bit her lip. "Everyone knows that she'll, you know, do whatever, with anyone."

  "Maybe, but—" Megan looked over at the playground.

  "What did he say at work?" I asked.

  Megan pressed her fingers to her temples. "I don't know. I've called in sick three days in a row."

  "That's so not like you." Hannah shot me a worried look.

  "I know, but I didn't want to—couldn't—see him quite yet." Megan's voice sounded shaky again. "He tried to call me. Twice. I felt so stupid. Why couldn't he have simply told me so I didn't go and make a fool out of myself? And sorry, Jory, but I did like him. A lot. And I did think we were sort of going out."

  All kinds of emotion flooded me: fear, anger, sadness, shock.

  "I'm going to go for a swim." I jumped up and ran across the grass and through the gates to the pool, leaving my towel and everything behind. I dove into the deep end and sank to the bottom. I sat on the bottom screaming until I needed to breathe. I pushed up to the surface, choking on pool water, and swam hard, lap after lap. I heard the lifeguard ask if I was okay, but I just kept swimming and he left me alone. When my arms got so tired that I couldn't push them through the water any longer, I sank again and allowed myself to drift up into a dead-man's float. Finally, my mind felt empty. I rolled over and stared at the clear blue sky. What would it feel like to stand up there on the tiptop of Mount Rose and reach out to the sky? I breathed in the scent of chlorine, roasting hot dogs, and the teensy hint of pine trees as a breeze rippled the water around me. Maybe I'd take up hiking. I could become Solitary Nature Woman, writing poems about baby birds in spring and the death of leaves in autumn. When I turned forty, I could drink myself to death with my own homemade bootleg whiskey. Bears would eat my corpse. I stood up in the water and wrung out my hair.

  "You swim fast, lady," a little kid said to me. "And you float good." His Popsicle dripped into the pool.

  "Thanks." I smiled. "Keep practicing and you'll get fast too."

  I shivered a bit in the breeze that swept down from the mountains as I walked back to our towels in the picnic area. Megan and Hannah sat on the swings in the playground and twisted. Let Hannah play psychologist, I thought as I lay down on my towel, enjoying the warmth of the sun soaking into my skin. All that swimming had made me hungry so I peeked into Hannah's picnic basket. The brownies were gone, which left carrot and celery sticks and peanut butter sandwiches. No, thanks.

  I fished my wallet out of my tote, wrapped a sarong around my waist, tied my hair up in a big wet knot, and went searching for a vending machine or snack stand, anything but raw veggies or peanut butter.

  "Jory!" Someone called my name as I walked past one of the pavilions. I turned around and saw Wooster Tom jogging toward me. He wore a light green IGT shirt and sported even more freckles than he'd had the last time I saw him.

  "What are you doing here?" My voice sounded as sharp as one of Katie's pastry knives.

  "Uh, sorry." He took a step backward. "My dad's company picnic."

  "No, no. You surprised me. That's all." I tried to sound perky. "So, how are you doing?" I untwisted my hair and let it flap onto my bare back, all cold and wet. I shivered.

  "The breeze is kind of cold, huh? Want to borrow a towel?"

  "I've got one." Oh, God. Why was I so flirting challenged?

  "Yeah, okay." He scooted back another step.

  "I'm sorry." I wrapped my arms around my chest, feeling totally self-conscious in my swimsuit. "I'm just so starving and all my friends brought were peanut butter and raw foods and brownies, but they ate all the brownies while I was swimming and I don't think I'll ever eat peanut butter again—"

  He smiled. "So let me guess. Your mom's wacky diets have made you hate everything but burgers and chips and maybe ice cream sundaes."

  "Pretty much. How did you—?"

  "You were a little bitter about peanut butter back when I met you at the carnival."

  "Oh, yeah, right. Guess I've starved too many brain cells." I shivered as another gust of air blew through the valley. "It's July. Why is it so cold?"

  "Wear this." Tom pulled off his shirt. "I'm not wet."

  "I can't take your shirt." I tried not to stare at the curly blond hairs fluffing all around his big built-with-hours-of-free-weights muscles. I slipped the musky boy-smelling shirt over my head. The pit area was a tad damp, but when had a boy ever loaned me his shirt?

  "Trust me. You're doing me a favor," Tom said. "It looks much better on you—brings out your eyes." Tom kind of flexed his muscles in a showing-off way. Again, I tried not to totally stare.

  "Thanks, I guess." Come on, Jory. Try to channel Kayla Neal, Hannah, anyone. "I mean, thanks a whole bunch."

  "Come on. We've got more burgers than all those skinny company wives will eat."

  "Won't they know that I don't, you know, belong?" I glanced over at Hannah and Megan, deep in some conversation about the stupid Tyler issue.

  "Naw, you're wearing the official shirt."

  "I am starving." I followed Tom into the pavilion. A bunch of kids chased one another around, sticking their wet hands into various bags of chips. Thankfully, Tom opened a new bag and piled my plate with chips, a cheeseburger, and three brownies.

  Tom nodded at me with approval. "Bet you're hungry after all that swimming."

  "You saw me?" Hadn't I looked like a complete idiot? Did he see me screaming on the bottom of the pool like a mental patient? I glanced away to a group of dads by the barbecue, their beer bellies hanging out. The giant bald guy had to be Tom's dad.

  "Yeah, I tried calling to you, but you were so focused," Tom said. "My coach would be impressed. You never told me you were a swimmer."

  "I'm not. I was just, you know, upset." I twisted my wet hair into a knot again.

  "Boy problems? I saw you leaving the movies with some guy and not looking too happy. That dandy giving you trouble? Is he here? I'll beat him up." He smacked his fist into his open palm.
>
  I laughed, even though the thought of Tom hitting Tyler made a nervous shiver shoot through my stomach.

  "What are you doing, spying on me?" I licked ketchup and mustard that had dripped down my chin. Great. I follow a half-decent comment with a disgusting tongue maneuver.

  "You're the one stalking me. First the movies, now my dad's company picnic. I'm going to have to get a restraining order."

  I giggled, sounding stupid to myself, but I noticed a couple of girls staring at us and whispering and that made me feel kind of good. But I couldn't help wondering if Tom had experience with restraining orders. Though maybe he could help me out with Gold Dust West Stalker Guy.

  "More like friend problems. My friend Hannah, the one from the carnival, dragged me and my other friend Megan out here to get us to start talking to each other again." I shook my head back and forth and rolled my eyes, hoping to look alluring, not demented.

  "She trying to steal your boyfriend or something?"

  "God, you're nosy!" I clapped my hand over my mouth. Oh, no. I used the N word. Jory Rule #1: Never draw attention to your nose in any manner, especially when talking to a guy who actually has six-pack abs, even if they are covered with curly blond hairs and freckles, which makes him look a little bit like a hairy slice of chocolate chip cake.

  "What's wrong? You don't want to talk about it?"

  I took another bite of my burger and shook my head while I chewed. I'm sure I looked fabulous—like the cows in the pastures near Washoe Lake.

  When my mouth was empty, I finally said, "It's a long story. Long and—"

  "Jory! There you are. Tom! What are you doing here?" Hannah's eyes popped, but she quickly moved into adorable mode. "You've got to tell José that I'm still waiting for him to answer my text message. It's been, like, three whole days."

  Hannah was still texting José? I had no idea. Tom mumbled something about José camping with his family but he'd be sure to tell him. He told Hannah that José talked about her all the time; the two girls who had whispered about me shot daggers at Hannah.

  I munched handfuls of chips while Hannah engaged in the kind of darling banter I could never manage when talking to an actual human being. Finally, as I finished my first brownie, Hannah said, "Jory, we've got to go. Megan—" She bobbed her head and nodded toward the car. "I've got all your stuff packed up."