Beau and Bett

by Kathryn Berla

Then Masie got wind of something big and started up with the questions.

  “Who’s The Beast?” she asked. “What are you guys talking about? What ranch, Beau?”

  I shook my head and made the turn onto the main road. The wind whipped through the hot truck. The top of Masie’s spiked hair flattened, giving her a whole different, more approachable look.

  “She’s a girl at my school and that’s what everyone calls her,” Khalil said.

  “Why? I didn’t think she was ugly—she looked okay,” Masie said. “She had nice hair.” As if nice hair was an important indicator of someone’s character.

  “No, not because of that. She’s just . . . she’s mean. She’s just plain not nice,” Khalil said.

  “Like how?” Masie was a hundred percent committed. The ice had instantly melted between Khalil and Masie, and they were bonded in their desire to hear gossip and deliver gossip. I felt like the odd man out. My bare arm was sticky against Masie’s. Khalil was wearing a sheen of sweat like a second skin.

  “Like once I accidentally bumped into her in the hallway and she said, ‘Watch where you’re going or the next time I’m going to step on the back of your sandal.’”

  Masie glanced quickly at me. “Anything else? I mean . . . to be called The Beast?”

  “I didn’t step on the back of her sandal. Or at least I don’t think I did,” Khalil said defensively. His brow creased in thought. His eyebrows moved together like they were hatching memories. “Once she told a guy that his jokes were dumb. And another time she threw someone’s calculator in the garbage can, or maybe it was hers. And some other stuff.”

  “I thought you said she made your life miserable,” I said. “Other than telling you to watch where you’re going, how does she make your life miserable?”

  “Every time she walks by the table where I eat lunch with my friends, she makes a nasty face at me. Like this.” Khalil did an angry duck face that looked ridiculous on him. It probably didn’t look as ridiculous on Bettina and caused Masie to crack up. “And once when I was putting something in my locker, she bumped me really hard and I knocked my forehead against the locker door.”

  “That’s brutal. Did she laugh?” Masie asked.

  “She never laughs, or even smiles,” Khalil said. “Not that I’ve ever seen.”

  “She sounds like a real witch,” Masie said, and Khalil nodded in silent agreement.

  And all the while I hadn’t said a word, but I had this feeling bubbling up inside me that something unjust was taking place and I should do something to make it right.

  “I talked to her at work last weekend,” I finally said. “And she was okay.”

  Why was I sticking up for her? The Diaz Ranch was my prison for the next month. In a way, she was my prison warden. Was this a case of Stockholm syndrome, where hostages bond with their captors?

  “Okay, you don’t know her, Beau, so be careful. Stay as far away from her as you can.”

  The hot air blowing through the truck’s windows alternated between drying my sweat and then kick-starting the sweat cycle again.

  “Wait . . . you work for her?” Masie asked. “When did that happen?”

  “No, I don’t work for her. I’m just doing some hourly stuff on the Ranch. Just part-time, seasonal. You know the Diaz Ranch?”

  “That’s her? That place is huge. She must be really rich. What do you do, Beau? Pick avocados or something?”

  “Different things,” I said. “Picking grapes, mostly.” How could I admit the only other things I’d done were to clean a clean pool and wash a clean car? Oh yeah, and lose at a game of croquet.

  “Is that where your dad worked?” she asked. “Is that why you’re only working there temporarily until your dad gets better?”

  I glanced over at Khalil who was staring at me blankly. How much had Maman told him about Papa’s accident? She wouldn’t have withheld that information, would she? Did Khalil even think or care about Maman’s life beyond what she represented to him—his surrogate mother? Maybe not. Wanting to be careful, just in case, I decided not to go into it.

  “No, it’s just a job. Short-term.”

  But I wondered why I was so quick to stick up for Bettina. She was odd for sure, but she’d given me easy jobs to fill the hours she knew I had to fill. Was she doing it out of kindness or boredom or some other unknowable reason? There were a few clues that made me think the first, but plenty of clues that made me wonder about other motivations. I just wasn’t ready to let Bettina be thrown to the wolves so the rest of us could have something to talk about. Something to feel superior about. Something to take our minds off our own personal problems. And the hot truck. And the people in the cab of that truck who were so physically close, but in reality were a million miles apart.

  Sixteen

  The rest of the drive to Khalil’s house was pretty uneventful, allowing Khalil to get comfortable enough with Masie to start throwing some compliments her way.

  “Your eyes are amazing,” he said. “I’ve never seen eyes that intense shade of green.”

  Masie lowered her head and cupped a hand under her face. When she looked back up, she was cradling a tiny green contact lens.

  “Presto, change-o!” she said. “This is my real color. I’m just wearing tinted lenses.”

  She stared at Khalil and he sputtered, “Holy shit!”

  “Let me see,” I said.

  Masie turned and stared wide-eyed at me. One eye was that mesmerizing emerald green. The other was goldish with maybe a hint of subtle green tones. I quickly turned my focus back to the road.

  “Your real eye color is pretty,” I said. “Why do you wear the tinted ones?”

  “Just for fun. Same reason I bleach my hair.”

  “Wait,” Khalil said. “Now you’re going to tell me you’re not really blond?”

  “Nope. My hair is probably just a shade lighter than yours.”

  I tried to envision Masie with hair almost as dark as Khalil’s, golden eyes and that ivory-toned skin color. It seemed even more awesome than the way she looked now. A new fantasy for me to mull over in my darkest hours.

  Masie balanced the contact on the tip of her finger and poked it back in her eye. “By the way, where are we going?”

  “We’re dropping Khalil off,” I said before Khalil could muscle his way into our plans.

  “No rush,” Khalil said. “I have no plans if you guys want to go somewhere. In fact, let’s stop off and get something to eat. My treat.”

  That was exactly what I was hoping to avoid but Masie turned to me. “Yes, let’s, Beau. Can we? Do you have time?”

  Well, if I was going to claim I didn’t have the time, then I’d have to drop Masie off at her place. If I said I did have the time, then we’d be spending most of it with Khalil. It was one of those lose-lose situations.

  “Sure,” I said. “But I can’t stay too long.”

  Hedge my losses.

  Khalil wanted to stop at some place that was supposed to look like a funky old diner but in reality was an upscale restaurant with upscale prices posing as a funky old diner. He ordered the works, which meant hamburger, milkshake, and fries, while Masie and I stuck with a Coke. I thought about Maman and how she’d have a snack waiting for Khalil, one that she’d carefully prepared just for him—fresh-baked cookies, spiced cider, something along those lines. I felt guilty thinking about her going to the trouble while we were sitting in the booth talking, laughing, having a good old time. I pulled out my phone and, holding it under the edge of the table, surreptitiously typed out a message letting her know we wouldn’t be back for a while and that Khalil didn’t need a snack. When I was done, I rejoined the conversation in progress, acting like I’d been listening all along.

  “So, then my biology teacher told her to go out and stand in the hall until the message came through.” Khalil took an enormous bite from his hamburger, and then used his napkin to mop up the ketchup and meat juices dribbling dow
n his chin.

  Masie was cracking up like he’d just said the funniest thing and I joined in even though I had no idea what they were talking about.

  “Oh my God, that’s hilarious,” she said. “He didn’t really do that, did he? You’re just playing.”

  “No, for real. I’m telling you exactly the way it went down.”

  By then, I’d already finished my soda and Masie had finished hers.

  “We’d better get going, Khalil. It’s getting late.”

  I thought about Papa at home with the twins, helpless without me or Maman there. I thought about how I finally had some alone time with a girl I’d been fantasizing about since my sophomore year, and I’d just blown it because of Khalil. Then I looked at my watch and realized the bind I was in. This was one of those days I was supposed to be saving Maman some time, so she could leave early and get things done at home. There was no way I could drive Masie all the home and then turn around and get back to Khalil’s house to pick Maman up without being late. Not even if I took Khalil with us to drop off Masie, which was more than I could bear. Nope, I’d have to take Khalil home and pick up Maman before taking Masie home.

  Awkward.

  Seventeen

  Once Maman got over the shock of seeing a girl in the truck with me, she and Masie took to each other like peanut butter to jelly. Naturally, Maman insisted on sitting in the middle. She wouldn’t hear of Masie having to take the “uncomfortable” seat.

  “Masie, you and Beau know each other how?”

  “We have our lockers next to each other, Maman.”

  “Plus we had a class together last year,” Masie offered helpfully.

  “Where did you get this skateboard, Beau?” After bonking her head on it, Maman turned to examine the brilliantly painted board wedged into the narrow space between the bench seat and the rear window of the cab.

  “Oh, that’s mine, Mrs. LeFrancois. Sorry, I hope it’s not in your way.”

  “Not at all.” Maman turned around with renewed interest once she learned it belonged to Masie. “That’s a beautiful design.”

  “Thank you! I painted it myself—sort of a hobby of mine.”

  “And you ride this thing too? Or you just paint them?”

  “Both.” Masie laughed, flashing her fascinating pearly whites.

  But after that it was more or less smooth sailing once Maman got used to the idea of (A) a girl in my truck, and (B) a girl who rides skateboards. Everything else was a piece of cake, even with Maman being a barrier between me and Masie.

  “Did you all have a good time at the diner? That was nice of Khalil to treat you,” Maman said. “Will you still be hungry for a big dinner, Beau?”

  I froze a little because I’d tried so hard to text Maman on the down-low without drawing attention to myself. I didn’t want Masie to think I was a kid who needed to report his every move to Mommy. But then I thought about it for a second. I didn’t mention Khalil treating us in the text. And I didn’t think I’d mentioned a diner either.

  “How did you know?” A risky move since Maman could come right back at me and say From your text, of course.

  “Khalil texted me. Right after you picked him up.”

  A bittersweet moment because I was no longer under suspicion of being the guy who reported to Mommy. On the other hand, was Khalil a better son than me? He’d provided more details and texted much earlier. But wait. That sneak! He had it all figured out as soon as he laid eyes on Masie—he planned the whole thing of stopping off at the diner, not exactly a spur-of-the-moment decision like he made it seem. Khalil was smooth, I’ll give him that.

  “Awww . . . that’s so cute. He’s so sweet to text you and let you know where we were.” Masie said it like she really meant it, and I think she did. Which, of course, made my mom like her even more. What mom could resist a girl who wanted the boy she was with to report back their every move? I couldn’t even win at being a mama’s boy.

  “Mrs. LeFrancois, I’ll bet you’re really excited about Angie’s wedding.”

  This girl knew how to pick topics near and dear to Maman’s heart.

  “We’re all really excited, aren’t we, Beau?”

  To which I nodded to demonstrate my excitement, even though I wasn’t generally a fan of weddings, and specifically a fan of my sister’s fiancé.

  “If you need anyone to do calligraphy, I’m really good at it,” Masie said. “I can do place cards since you’ve probably already done the invitations.”

  “It’s very informal,” Maman said. “We’re trying to keep the budget low and it’s just going to be family. But place cards,” she said dreamily. This was an unexpected touch of class she hadn’t considered. “Place cards would be delightful if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “I’d love it!” Masie said. “I need to practice my calligraphy more and I don’t get many opportunities to show it off. I’m pretty artistic so I can help in other ways if you need someone to draw anything. Or help with flower arrangements.”

  “I’m afraid the only way I could pay you back is with an invitation to the wedding,” Maman said. “We have to cut back on flowers because her wedding cake is so expensive. And we decided to pay for a professional photographer even though Beau offered to do that.”

  “I offered . . . ,” I said, “ . . . to do that.”

  This was getting out of hand. Masie was being usurped by Maman before I even had a chance to win her over with my natural charms. And what if things didn’t work out the way I hoped they would? Four weeks was an eternity as I’d come to find out. We could fall in love and break up two or three times before Angie’s wedding.

  “No, you definitely want a professional photographer,” Masie agreed. “That’s one thing you don’t want to scrimp on. I mean . . . we’re talking about lasting memories to share with your grandchildren.”

  Who would’ve thought this sassy and sexy yet tough skater girl would be pondering grandchildren? We were still just grandchildren ourselves. What alternate universe had I just landed in?

  “My feelings exactly,” Maman said.

  This conversation was taking a depressing turn: Maman and Masie semiofficially aligned against me and my pathetic attempt to play a role at the wedding that I didn’t really want in the first place. I had only offered to take pictures to be nice but now it seemed vitally important that I should be the photographer. Dang, Khalil and his diner!

  Without even thinking about what I was doing, I drove straight to Masie’s house, and it wasn’t until I pulled into her driveway that I realized I should have asked her for directions and pretended I had no idea where she lived. Now, she’d think I’d been Student Directory stalking her, which I had been. It wasn’t far from my house, but there was no good reason I should know where she lived. We had no common friends.

  “Oh, wow. I’m already home. Thanks for the ride, Beau.” If any red flags were raised in her mind, she at least didn’t let on. “Why don’t I come by your place sometime after school this week, Beau, and we can get started on the place cards?”

  We? Place cards? Papa. Del. Claude.

  “Sure,” I answered weakly.

  “What days do you have to pick up Khalil?”

  “He’s free Thursday after school,” Maman generously offered. “Do you have our address?”

  “No, why don’t you give it to me.”

  Which she did.

  “Bye sweetie,” were Maman’s parting words.

  Sweetie?

  Eighteen

  Thursday afternoon came around with nothing much to disprove Papa’s often repeated theory about the LeFrancois family being unlucky in life but lucky in love. I wasn’t exactly lucky in love yet, but Masie’s expected appearance at any moment was at least trending in the right direction, even if it was just to work on place cards for the wedding.

  But looming over everything was the single image I couldn’t shake: Bettina’s fierce gaze when I was driving out of the Castlegate
parking lot a couple of days earlier. It was just like in the movies, where two eyes meet across a crowded room and time stands still while the rest of the world carries on. But this wasn’t one of those moments in a love story where the girls in the audience are going aww, and if the boys are being totally honest, they’d admit they were doing the same thing, only keeping quiet about it. Instead, this was one of those moments in a horror movie where the guy is shaving and he looks in the bathroom mirror to catch the reflection of a killer holding a knife that is just about to plunge between his shoulder blades.

  So, yeah. Bettina. In another forty hours, I’d be heading back into the lair of The Beast. But first, the place cards.

  Masie showed up, skateboard under her arm, wearing a knit beanie and black, chunky-framed glasses instead of her contacts.

  “I can see better with my glasses when I’m doing calligraphy,” she announced, addressing my surprised look.

  I had full view of her true golden eyes, somewhat amplified behind the lenses of her glasses. With the dark beanie covering most of her short hair, I got an inkling of her natural beauty, which was substantial.

  If Papa could’ve thrown himself off the sofa to greet her, he would have. Everyone was so obviously excited a girl had come to visit me, it was humiliating. Even Claude and Del opted to stay inside, in order to observe us. Maman had left a list of the wedding guests and set up a card table in the living room where Masie could work and where Papa could more easily embarrass me. There was no real role for me, but that didn’t stop Maman from setting two seats at the table. I took the spare seat, mainly to prevent Claude or Del from sitting there and getting on Masie’s nerves even more than they already were.

  Papa kept up a steady commentary, while Masie focused on the card in front of her, holding her pen as carefully as if it was a stick of dynamite. While she wrote, the tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips, but when she’d pause to examine her work, she’d bite her bottom lip in concentration.

  “You go to school with my boy?”