by Sheri Duff
CHAPTER TWO
I force myself to go back into the reception. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
My friends are sitting with the old guy, and they are laughing. They actually look like they’re having fun, and not at his expense. I take my time crossing the room so I can fully evaluate the situation. Instead of going directly toward the table, I circle the outer wall. My goal is to eavesdrop once I’m close enough.
I know my friends have my back—they always have—but I need to know what I’m getting myself into.
Vianna and I met Natalie in the fourth grade. That’s when Natalie moved to Pine Gulch. Usually groups of three don’t work, especially with girls. We do. Natalie’s the drama queen, Vianna the sensible one, and I’m the one in between. This all according to my mom. Vianna and I have been friends since preschool.
Back in fourth grade, after lunch, Vianna and I found Natalie on the playground with her fists balled up, tears fighting their way out as she staring at Sidney Jacobson, the stuck-up princess of the elementary school. Not much has changed. When we asked her what was wrong, Natalie sucked air through the gap in her front teeth and said, “Sidney says my mommy’s fat.”
“My mom says to ignore mean people.” Vianna patted her back.
Natalie punched her fist into her other hand.
“Sidney’s mom is ugly,” I said, loud enough for Sidney. “And stupid. Don’t worry, Natalie. Sidney called my mom dumb because she works at a clothes store. Sidney probably can’t even spell the word dumb.”
When Natalie’s fists softened, Vianna and I pulled her away from Sidney—which was a good thing for Sidney. After school that day, Natalie came to my house, and the three of us formed an inseparable bond. We ate Thin Mints broken up and covered with milk in small plastic cups like it was cereal. Then my mom had us compose what she called “The Contract of Three.”
“We’re going to make a very cool list,” my mom said, clearing the clutter from our oak kitchen table.
Natalie sat next to my mom, Vianna took a seat on the other side of the table, and I went in search of paper and pens. I loved lists back then. I still do.
I returned with my art supplies: blank paper, crayons, colored pencils, pens, and markers. It’s what I used to draw when I would sit with my dad and create masterpieces.
Mom helped me spread the supplies out onto the table. “Sometimes it’s hard when three girls try to be friends. So we are going to make some rules.”
“Why can’t three girls be friends?” Vianna asked.
“Because of stupid girls like Sidney.” Natalie took a red marker and, in big bold letters, wrote on a piece of paper: Don’t say mean things about each other.
Then she said, “At least don’t say something about me to someone else. If you don’t like me, tell me. If you can’t tell me then you should shut your mouth.”
My mom had Natalie make two more copies.
Vianna grabbed a piece of turquoise paper and a white gel pen and wrote: Don’t take sides.
“I guess you can take sides but you have to make sure you know all the sides before you do. ’Cause what if you only know one story and the other person didn’t tell their story and you take the wrong side?”
“Yeah, ’cause sometimes things get mixed up and you say stuff you don’t really mean and then someone takes it wrong—you know what I mean,” I said, looking at my mom.
Mom nodded and had Vianna make two more copies of the rule.
Don’t fight over boys!
“My mom is always fighting over my dad. He doesn’t want her anymore, so I don’t know why she keeps trying to get him back. He has a skinny girlfriend.” Natalie dug the pen into the sheet.
“Skinny girls are always hungry,” my mom said.
I grabbed a pink piece of paper and a darker pink marker and wrote: Listen to each other.
“I hate when people don’t listen,” I said. Then I wrote it twice more.
Mom helped us tweak the rules, and then we mounted them on white eleven-by-fourteen poster boards and decorated them. I drew three pollywogs on the mine. Then my friends made me draw them on their versions. It was the beginning stages of me drawing the little creatures. They didn’t look very good, but nobody has ever said a word.
The Contract of Three
1. No talking behind each others’ backs. If you have something to say you need to say it in front of the person you’re talking about. If you can’t do that, keep your mouth shut!
2. No Taking Sides. Unless you follow Rule Number 1.
3. NEVER fight over a boy. Boys come and go. Friendships last forever if you follow the rules.
4. Listen to each other.
5. Support each other.
6. Respect each other.
7. Love each other.
8. Rules can be added if agreed by Massie, Vianna, and Natalie.
We each signed a copy, and my mom placed the rules in hot-pink frames. Then she changed the Vianna’s to black-and-white zebra print, since Vianna hated pink. We each hung our copy in our rooms. They remain the same without updates or changes. Although we’re always adding a rule number nine. Rule number nine always changes and has never been written down. The rules don’t always stop us from fighting, but the rules usually settle an argument.
Now I look at my friends talking to the old guy. I can’t imagine my life without Natalie or Vianna. I creep closer as Natalie drops the bomb. “So how do you know that your daughter will not turn into an evil queen?”
I step back. It is definitely not time to get to know the old guy. Once I’ve put enough distance between us, I sit in a chair against the wall and wait for my friends to notice me. It doesn’t take long, since Natalie can’t sit still for longer than five minutes at a time. My friends leave Mr. Morales and find their way through the dance floor to me.
“Why are you sitting all the way over here by yourself?” Natalie asks.
“Because you’re over there asking questions that could land me time in the dungeon. I don’t need you making it worse.”
Vianna cuts in, “I don’t think she’s that bad. And her dad is funny.”
“That’s what you said about Dia—”
I interrupt Natalie: “Don’t say her name.”
“Hey, I’m on your side. I was just trying to say that Vianna wanted you to give her a chance, too, and look where that got you.” Natalie is talking about her, the woman who ruined it all.
“Let’s get out of here.” As far as I’m concerned, I’ve been “present” for long enough. It’s time to go home.
We all pile into Vianna’s car and drive to my house. The drive is quiet. I don’t feel like talking and my friends know my mood. The only thing they don’t know is that besides being upset about the wedding, I can’t get that boy off my brain. But at this point I don’t want to talk about him either.
When we hit the front door, my mom opens it, looks down at her watch, and says, “It’s only nine. You okay?”
“Can I have service to my phone back now?” I’m not trying to be rude; I just don’t want to talk about it. Mom nods and then moves out of the way. My friends go in first. When I walk by she puts her arm around me and squeezes tight. The tears start to fall as my head hits my mom’s shoulder. “I can’t talk about this now. Okay?” I say, without looking up.
“Okay. I love you and I’m very proud that you went,” she says. She lets go but not before kissing the top of my head.
I follow my friends back to my room. My dog Buster follows me. Natalie jumps onto my unmade bed. The dog jumps up next. He kneads the pillow to his liking and then plops. My big-eared, bug-eyed brindle dog with barely any muzzle starts snoring, loud. It’s a Boston Terrier thing. Vianna sits on the chair in the corner, by my desk. It’s the only place that is clean. I don’t put anything on my desk because it is where I do all the details in my sketches. The shelf above my desk is filled with cheap, worn-down colored pencils and used erasers, and the drawers are filled with half-filled sketch books.
I grab a pile of clothes and shove them into a full laundry basket. The clothes that don’t fit fall out onto my wooden floor.
Plopping down next to Natalie I ask, “Do all stepmoms have psychotic personalities? Do they take a test? And what’s on it?”
What I really want to know is when the evil queen is going to show her secondary colors, the ones hiding behind that white dress she wore today. We all have them. Most of the time when primary colors are mixed, the new hue radiates beauty. But when they are not mixed properly, the color turns to mud. I need to be ready for mud.
“I’ll tell you what’s on the damn test,” Natalie says. She grabs a composition book off my dresser and rummages through a drawer until she finds a pen. Then she starts writing:
The Evil Step Monster Test
“‘Number One: Do you like children that aren’t yours?’” Natalie looks up for our answer.
Vianna shakes her head. I don’t answer because I really don’t know what to say. I’ve never had a stepmom before. I’ve only been cursed with my father’s crazy ex-girlfriend.
Natalie digs the pen into the notebook. “The answer is ‘Hell, no. Who would? Have you seen his stupid kids? They look like their mother. Our child, unlike hers, is perfect.’”
“Crap, I hadn’t thought about children. Are they gonna have kids?” I look at my friends in horror. “That’s all I need—some baby,” I say. “And Natalie, you’re beautiful.”
“Welcome to my pathetic world. Pretty soon you’ll have your own little half-sister.” Natalie shoves the black-and-white book away and flops onto her back. Her eyes shut. “And whatever. I’m not all that.”
“I agree with Massie. You are very pretty, Natalie. And Annabelle is a sweet baby sister,” Vianna says, pulling her feet off the floor onto the chair. She wraps her hands around her legs. “Try dealing with a stepbrother.”
“I’m not sure what would be worse, baby sister or pot-smoking, high-school-dropout stepbrother who can’t keep a job,” I say.
My friends argue over this. Natalie has the five-year-old half-sister, while Vianna has the twenty-year-old stepbrother. I’d choose the baby sister. She’s cute. I’ve met the brother once and he’s kind of slimy. I don’t say this out loud, though. It would be like taking sides and I don’t need to take sides on this one.
“Okay, Natalie, you win. Your baby sister is so much worse than my stepbrother. At least I don’t have to compete with an adorable kid.” Vianna winks at me. Then she announces, “I have a question.”
Natalie reaches to her side and grabs the book, then sits up. She’s ready and willing to be the appointed dictation taker for the quiz.
“‘Number Two: Will you make your stepchildren’s lives miserable?’” Vianna asks.
“That goes without saying,” Natalie says. “The answer should be, ‘Yes, every chance I get,’ because that shit happens as soon as they say I do.”
“They pretend to like us. But they don’t,” Vianna says. “I really thought Wendy would be nice. She acted nice in the beginning. I don’t know what I did wrong.”
“I’m sure they have a list of ways to make our lives suck. Not like mine can get much worse. Since Stephanie came into the picture, my life completely, totally sucks.” Natalie taps the pen against the notebook. Then she starts to write again. “‘Number Three: Will you keep your new husband away from his children?’”
“Do you really think they plan it out?” Vianna asks.
“Of course they do,” Natalie answers. “I’m sure the minute my dad put that stupid ring on her finger, Stephanie was like, ‘He’s mine now. His kids have a mother, and she can take care of them.’” Natalie pauses before finishing. She can’t talk and write this out at the same time. “‘Besides, my daughter needs her daddy more than his other kids do. That was his past life, we are his life now.’”
“My plan is to keep my distance,” I say. “I think it’s better to be the one to stay away than to be the one who’s removed.”
“Yeah, Wendy removed me quickly.” Vianna’s eyes focus on the floor.
“Stephanie, too.” Natalie tosses the notebook.
Vianna lets her feet hit the floor. She stands and walks to the bed, picks up the book, returns to the desk, and writes, “‘Number Four: Will you make sure your husband spends more time with your children than his own?’” Vianna answers the question with, “‘Yes, I will.’”
Natalie marches over and takes the book away. “You can answer better than that. The answer should be, ‘My son needs him more than his daughter.’ But we all know it’s only because your son’s dad left you when you cheated on him. Skank. I think she’s on husband number four, if I’m not mistaken.”
Vianna looks worried about Natalie’s new entry. “Is anyone going to read this besides us?”
“No. My mom won’t even look at it,” I say. “And even if she did, she would never in a million years believe you would write that. Only Natalie would.” I think about the differences between my friends and me. “Alicia doesn’t have kids. But she does come with a father who is old and likes to talk. Not sure which is worse, kids or instant wanna-be grandpa. All I know is, I don’t have to babysit kids. I’m not babysitting the old man either.”
“He probably uses those grown-up diapers,” Natalie says.
“That’s nasty.” I push Natalie.
“He was really nice,” Vianna says.
“‘Number Five.’” Natalie grabs the composition tablet. “‘Will you pout if your husband talks to his children without you around?’”
“Why would they do that?” I ask.
Natalie looks at me like I’m stupid. “Because our fathers shouldn’t even consider talking to us without their wives around? They need to know what everyone is saying at all times. Because what if we’re talking about them? Because you know it’s all about the wives. Our dads can’t love us more than them.”
“I swear I’ll disown my father for good. I had to deal with that crap when he was with his ex-girlfriend.” I say. “I didn’t think the stepmom would be the same. Girlfriends and stepmoms should be different, don’t you think?”
Natalie and Vianna eyes widen. I never talk about her.
“Don’t get too excited. I will not spend another minute discussing…her. I will say that I won’t put up with another whiny hag ever again.”
“You don’t know whiny hags,” Natalie says.
Vianna turns to Natalie. “If Alicia is anything like our father’s wives, she will. But I think you have a chance of being the lucky one.”
Natalie keeps the book. She rolls her eyes and says, “‘Number Six: Will you make sure his children don’t feel welcome in your home, especially if this was the home they grew up in?’” This time Natalie doesn’t wait even a second for us to answer. “‘I vow to move their belongings out of the room that they once occupied and turn it into either:
“‘a.) A baby’s room for my baby
“‘b.) A study for me
“‘c.) A workout room for me, or
“‘d.) A storage area for my things.
“‘This is my house now. Not their mother’s. It’s all about me, me, me.’”
“Thank God my mom kept the house and my father moved out, is all I have to say.” I look over Natalie’s shoulder at the list. I wonder when my new stepmother (I hate calling her this) will join this group of women. Alicia at the present time remains childless, but she’ll probably take that task on first. Take Dad off to the beaches of Hawaii for a little romance and to produce their precious little spawn.
“I can’t believe Alicia asked me to join them the second week of their trip.” I doodle on the list we’ve created. “I’d love to see Hawaii, but I there’s no way I’m tagging along on their honeymoon. What kind of woman wants to take her stepdaughter on any part of her honeymoon? That’s creepy.”
“That bitch just did that to get on your dad’s good side.” Natalie says.
“Alicia doesn’t need to get on
his good side. One, she’s all he talks about. He calls her at least five times a day. I’ve watched him do it. And two, he doesn’t care about me.” My father calls Alicia to say he loves her, or to see how her day is, or to share his day. It’s really quite gross. And I can’t remember the last time he called me.
Natalie’s still plotting to get me to go. “I still say you should’ve said yes. Maybe you can still get them to fly you over there.”
“Um,” I pause. “Not no—but hell no.”
“Maybe she’s trying to be nice?” Vianna’s always looking for the bright side of things when it doesn’t involve her stepmom.
“Oh, yeah? Like when your stepmom took you out to get your hair done? That was jacked up.” Natalie says.
Vianna’s stepmom Wendy took her to a cheap salon. They fried Vianna’s hair. Wendy acted like she was taking her stepdaughter out for the day to bond. Wendy really wanted to show her husband the importance of a good haircut even if it cost hundreds of dollars. Only Vianna’s stepmom wouldn’t sacrifice her own hair to make the point. She canceled her appointment at the discount hair salon following Vianna’s disaster. It’s a good thing Vianna’s hair grows fast.
Vianna didn’t fight back, she never does. Thank God she has a mom who will. I hear it wasn’t pretty. I’m still mad that I didn’t get to witness the event. Not the scalping, but the throwdown with Ms. Bryant. Ms. Bryant is bad-ass cool. I love Vianna’s mom.
“I’m not going to Hawaii and I’m not calling to see if I can join them. Again, who takes their stepkid with them on their honeymoon? Whacked. And I’m not falling into any kind of trap. You two have taught me better than that. Those women, the ones who took our fathers away, can’t be trusted—ever.”
