That night, Jessy went down to half-watch TV on the couch. Cupcake was sitting in the middle of the room, eyes closed, but her posture alert-looking. It was the Sphinx Pose. Twyla walked through, her jean jacket on, carrying the purse she’d made herself out of the butt of a pair of jeans, sewn together on the bottom where her legs used to stick out. She’d put patches on the back pockets, a heart with the American flag pattern inside it. Jessy had begged her sister to make one for her, but she didn’t have any jeans to cut up.
Twyla had feathered her hair a little bit, a clip on one side with a real brown feather dangling from it, and she wore a pair of boots with really high heels, but not quite as high as platforms. Jessy had never seen them before. They made a clopping noise when Twyla went into the kitchen, and it caught everybody’s attention.
Her mom got up from the corner chair where she was reading and followed Twyla into the kitchen.
“Where did you get those?” she demanded.
“I bought them.”
“With what? You're always complaining about how poor you are right now.”
“I saved my money. And it’s none of your business.”
“Don’t take that tone with me,” her mom snapped. “This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed you wearing something you couldn’t afford.”
“Where do you think I got it from then?”
“I think it would be better if you told me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Jessy heard water running in the sink.
“Don’t think you’re going out tonight,” their mom said.
“What?”
“I’m your mother. You go out when you have permission.”
Twyla swore.
“That’s it, young lady. You go right upstairs and take those clothes off. I don’t know what you’re trying to look like.”
“I’m trying to look like me,” Twyla cried. “And I’m going out.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I have plans,” she said. “You can’t just tell me what to do at the last minute.”
“I think your friends will get by without you at the bowling alley if you don’t show up,” Mom said, not even trying to disguise her sarcasm.
“I have plans and I’m keeping them, and you can’t stop me,” Twyla said. She stormed out of the house and slammed the door. Their mom marched into the living room.
“Where is your father?” she demanded.
Jessy felt frozen in place on the sofa. Cupcake had already run upstairs, and she wanted to follow, but at the same time she felt like she had to hold her ground.
“I guess he’s in the workshop,” she said, pretending to have been interrupted from her book, like she hadn’t heard anything.
“Typical,” her mom hissed, and headed in that direction.
****
The Jack-o-Lantern Box Page 13
