The next night, my mother announced that she was taking me out to dinner, just the two of us. Of course, right away I recognized this for what it was: a blatant attempt to make up for her appalling lack of awareness about my life. I told her no thanks. She wasn’t getting off the hook that easily. But then she told me she’d arranged for Richard and Tish to go across to our neighbor Mrs. Horowitz for the evening, and that she’d made reservations at Cassarino’s in Providence. It was my favorite restaurant and she knew it. I still wouldn’t have gone, though, except then she brought out the clincher:
“And for after dinner,” she said, “I rented us a movie.…”
“You did?” I asked, reluctantly looking up from a biography of Dogen Zenji, a Japanese Zen master from the thirteenth century.
She held up the box. It was Change of Habit. In this one, Elvis is an inner-city doctor who falls in love with Mary Tyler Moore, who falls in love with him, too. Unfortunately for them both, she’s actually an undercover nun.
One more relationship down the tubes.
I couldn’t say no. It was another one of our favorites.
In the mail the next day there was an envelope with what looked like Japanese writing printed on the edge.
Dear Floey,
I’m sorry somebody found out about the wedding, but you should know that I kept my promise to you. I haven’t said a word to anybody. The worst part of this is that you may not believe me. I’d hate to think that you don’t like me.
Here’s a haiku I wrote about you:
bright and wild like fire
suddenly she steps forward
out of gray nothing
I’d like to read your poems. If you can stop hating me, please send some to me.
Your friend, Calvin
Dear Calvin,
sorry—i was wrong
now i know it wasn’t you
can you forgive me?
do you really think
we don’t matter when compared
with the universe?
i sure hope we do—
if we are unimportant
why write anything?
thanks for the poem
thirteen words that made me smile
feel free to send more
—Floey
chaptertwelve:
deep wild violet
I’d already told Azra that I’d changed my mind about going to Dean Eagler’s party. Not only had Dean himself invited me, but this would also be a perfect opportunity to unveil the new, extraordinary Floey Packer in a big way. In front of a large crowd of the coolest kids in town I could show off a more confident, more together, happier me than ever before.
But first, I needed to prepare myself. I had a new look in mind.
Sunday, July 20, 2:00 p.m.
Ma just completely FLIPPED OUT on me! How can she actually forbid me to leave my room until I’m twenty-one?! It’s not like I’m the first person on earth to dye my hair! Anyway, it’s too late now—it’s already done. Tish helped. Doing it was kind of messy but now I’ll definitely stand out. And it looks great!
My hair is officially Deep Wild Violet!
A little after ten o’clock that night I snuck out my window. Tish promised to stay up and make sure Ma didn’t check on me, but I arranged my pillows under my blanket to make it look like I was sleeping, just in case. Earlier, I’d paid a visit to Lillian’s favorite used clothing store and picked out just the right clothes—a bright yellow strapless dress, funky yellow pumps and a yellow felt hat with a purple flower sewn to the front. It was perfect. Only someone truly confident, truly extraordinary would wear it.
I had to carry my pumps in one hand and pedal my bicycle barefooted. In such a short dress, I was glad it was dark. Still, this would be my first high school party, so I was very excited. Dean Eagler’s long driveway was packed with old cars. There were going to be even more people than I’d expected. By the time I finally reached the front door, my palms were sweating. Stepping over that threshold would be a symbolic moment, a public announcement of my new beginning. But what if nobody noticed? What if people looked right through me, like before?
Then I got a grip on myself. My hair was violet. They’d notice.
I took a deep breath, smiled my most self-confident smile and opened the door. What greeted me was a row of muscle T-shirts. It was a crowd of football players, shouting and laughing about God only knew what. I had to push through them to get by. When the wall of muscles noticed me, it quieted down a little. There aren’t a lot of people with violet hair in my town. Could some of these guys even know about the Web site?
Doesn’t matter, I decided. I pretended not to care.
I shoved my way deeper into the house. I could barely hear anything over the pounding music. Where was Azra, or Dean, or anybody I knew? I kept squeezing my way through the people. Outside in a big garden at the back of the house a bunch of kids my age stood around under the floodlights.
“Floey? Is that you?”
From the other end of the crowded yard, Leslie Dern weaved her way toward me with Kate Bates right behind her. The JCs.
Leslie put her hands to her thin, birdlike face and screamed. “Aaaah! Oh my God! What happened to your hair!” She stared at it for a long time and then screamed again. “It looks like you’re wearing a blueberry pie!”
Kate just stood there openmouthed, blinking at me.
“You don’t like it?” I asked, already losing my confidence.
They seemed unsure. Eventually, Kate just stammered, “It’s … well, it’s …”
But then Dean Eagler appeared between them. He looked good, all tanned and relaxed with his black hair slicked back, kind of the happy-go-lucky Elvis from Fun in Acapulco. He leaned in toward my head and put one arm on Leslie’s shoulder, the other on Kate’s.
“Floey,” he said, staring in amazement. “Is that really … purple?”
I nodded. “Violet, actually.”
He shook his head and grinned. “Damn, that’s cool.” Then he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around me and lifted me up. “I’m so glad you made it!”
“Thanks!” I said, relieved, and surprised that my feet no longer touched the ground. I tried to look over at the JCs but I couldn’t turn my head that far with Dean squishing me. “Great party!” I shouted into his shirt.
He set me down and I shot a quick glance behind me. Leslie and Kate were bug-eyed, obviously amazed that Dean Eagler knew me.
“You still have that cold?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But thanks for asking.” Wow, did he have sexy lips! “Dean, I’d like you to meet my friends Leslie and Kate.”
“Yeah?” He hardly even glanced at them. “Nice to meet you.”
And then he took my hand, squeezed it and gave me another one of his killer smiles. “Gotta go hang with my boys for a minute, but I’ll come find you later.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll see you when I see you.”
He curled his lip again and left us. Kate’s and Leslie’s mouths hung open so wide I could practically see their tonsils. It was extremely satisfying.
Leslie leaned in close to me. “Your hair,” she said seriously, “has to be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”
Kate nodded.
Suddenly, I liked them a little better. For the moment, I could almost forgive Leslie for trying to steal Azra.
Chalk one up for the extraordinary, visible New Floey Packer.
Alone again, I found Wen standing against the house, gazing toward the other side of the lawn. He stood out because he was wearing his loud Hawaiian shirt. I was glad to see him. I went over and put my hand on his arm.
“There you are,” I said. “What are you looking at?”
He jumped. I guess I surprised him. When he saw it was me, he practically did a double take. “My God, Floey, what did you do?”
“It’s just dye,” I said casually. “Like it?”
He stared until I felt uncomforta
ble. Eventually he shrugged. “It’s very New Floey, I guess.”
I was a little disappointed. Of everybody I knew, I’d thought Wen would be the quickest to appreciate my new look. But since he didn’t, I changed the subject. “You didn’t answer my first question.”
He nodded toward the back of the yard. “Look. What does that remind you of?”
I tried to see what he meant, but I didn’t see anything except a dozen or so shadowy blobs moving around in the darkness beyond the floodlights. Soon, though, I realized these were people. Each blob was a couple making out in the grass.
“Remind me of? I don’t know. What do they remind you of? And how long have you been gawking at them?”
“I’m not gawking,” he said. “I’m just thinking.”
There were people lying on the open lawn, leaning against trees and hiding behind the Eaglers’ bushes. They whispered and kissed, their arms wrapped around each other. Even though I wouldn’t have admitted it, watching those couples made me think of Wen and me, and how it wasn’t meant to be.
nothing in the cry
of lovers suggests love is
just a fairy tale
I looked at Wen’s sweet face and then back at the people in the shrubs.
“It doesn’t remind me of anything,” I said.
“You know what it reminds me of?” he whispered. “The secret beach. You know—the naked people? Don’t you think so?”
“I guess,” I said, not really meaning it.
He looked embarrassed and shrugged again. “It’s just that they seemed so happy, like they were really in love. I hardly ever see people that happy together—not for long, anyway. Doesn’t it make you think that maybe some people really do live happily ever after?”
It took a second for that to sink in, but when it did my eyes nearly swelled up and popped.
He’d noticed the same thing I had!
Obviously, maybe Wen and I were even more alike than I’d ever suspected. I’d never mentioned anything to anyone about the Mystery of the Old Naked People. Since I’d written about it only in my spiral notebook, Richard never posted it on the Web page. And yet, here was Wen talking about how lasting love was so rare—the same thoughts I’d been having ever since that night.
Standing so close, I suddenly felt again that he and I had some spiritual connection. If I was one with everything, then I was one with Wen.
“It’s like a movie,” I whispered. “A Zen romance.”
We were standing very close and looking deep into each other’s eyes, and I felt a sudden, strange electricity. An unexpected thrill ran up my legs when I realized we were getting even closer.
“Floey,” he said, “I wanted to talk with you about what you wrote in your diary. About the deal between you and Azra. Don’t I get any say?”
Everything around us dropped away. I felt like we were all alone. I gazed up at him and waited, unable to breathe. I closed my eyes, ready to lean toward him.
But then I caught myself.
This wasn’t right. Azra and I had a deal. She was my best friend and she trusted me. Still, I could feel the Old Floey holding on for dear life, trying desperately not to be yanked out of this beautiful Zen moment. I had to get away from here, and right away.
That’s when somebody touched my back.
“Wow, Floey!” Azra’s voice said. “Leslie told me you made some changes, but I had no idea! Is it really you or am I talking to a very tall eggplant?”
I opened my eyes. Wen was studying my face.
“No, Azra,” I managed. “It’s just me.”
Azra must have said more, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I kept smiling, trying to act as normal as possible. I was glad I’d stayed loyal to our friendship, but I was frustrated, too. For a moment real love had seemed within reach, but once again it had been proven impossible after all.
After a few minutes, I felt I just had to leave. I told them I needed to go to the bathroom and then I bolted for the house.
I was so thirsty. There was a keg of beer in the kitchen, but after my bizarre champagne-induced performance at Lillian’s wedding I didn’t want to take any chances. Instead, I helped myself to the punch. I leaned back against the kitchen counter with a plastic cup full of the stuff and gulped it all down very quickly.
What was wrong with me? Where was my hard-earned emotional independence? I wanted to be extraordinary, but instead I’d discovered that I was just an extraordinary puddle of hormones.
I tried to pull myself together, but after a few minutes in the Eaglers’ kitchen my head was spinning. I wondered vaguely if somebody had spiked the punch. I decided I should leave right away.
But then I thought, No. Don’t panic. What would Lillian do?
“There you are,” Dean Eagler said, his face close to my ear. “I’ve been looking for you.” I turned to him, but it was hard to focus with the room gently rocking around us. “Listen,” he said, “you like music, right?”
I just stared at him.
“Come with me.”
After the Wen incident, you might think there would have been a little voice in my head telling me to be cautious. Another potential emotional disaster! Get away while you can! Unfortunately, it turned out that deep down I was exactly like all the other girls I knew who would have given up two bust sizes if Dean Eagler would even glance in their general direction. This was definitely an un-wallpaper-like opportunity.
“Yes!” I said a little more enthusiastically than I meant to. “Yes, I’ll come with you!”
I followed him to the back of the living room, where three ceiling-high bookshelves formed a private little nook. The stereo was on two of the shelves. As soon as we reached it, he turned the music down.
“Somebody keeps cranking it too high,” he said. “It’s so loud you can’t really hear anything. I don’t like that song anyway, do you?”
I shook my head. Actually, I hadn’t even noticed the song.
There were rows and rows of alphabetically arranged CDs on five or six shelves. It reminded me of Wen’s music collection, except it was much neater. Why did I always seem to be attracted to boys with enormous CD collections?
“You do like music, Floey. Right?”
“Sure. Yes.” Uh-oh, my monosyllabic alter ego was rearing her ugly voice again.
He smiled. “What kind of music?”
I forced myself to say something intelligent. “I like all different kinds. New, old, pop, classical, punk, jazz, thrash, whatever. Surprise me.” Right! That was more like it!
He scanned the shelves with his finger and reached for a CD on one of the middle rows. I was already feeling much better. I didn’t need Wen. I had a tall, dark Elvis taking care of me.
“Here’s something. Tell me what you think about this.” He pulled it out, opened up the box and placed the CD in the slot. Before the music came on I noticed the cover—it was Mudslide Crush. Dean had chosen his own CD, the new one.
He put his arm around my shoulders. I hadn’t expected that, but since he’d already lifted me right up into the air earlier in the evening, I decided it probably wasn’t a big deal. The first song came on. It was one of my favorites, slow and moody and very, very cool, with a deep bass line that sounded like wading through a swamp.
“This is pretty good,” I said casually. “Is it you?”
He flashed his killer smile. “Yeah. Glad you like it.”
I nearly keeled over with happiness.
His hand slid down my back until it rested on my waist. That felt a little weird. Nice, but weird. I supposed he was just an affectionate guy. I wondered when I would get used to him standing next to me. He leaned in even closer. “I had a feeling you were into music,” he said.
“You did?” I asked. “How come?”
“I can tell. I feel like I know you. You’re an artist, like me.”
“I am? What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on, Floey. The only difference between us is that I express myself through music wh
ile you express yourself with words.” In the confusion of the moment, I wondered what he meant. I also wondered how long he was going to leave his hand on my waist. “This sleepy little town is no place for people like us. I can hardly breathe here.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. I just nodded.
“I’m so sick of all the average people crowding me with their average ideas, telling me what I can and can’t do, man.” I turned my head. His breath smelled of beer. He moved closer and spoke into my ear. “I know you know what I’m talking about, don’t you? We’re different from all the wallpaper people. We’re in a class by ourselves.”
Only then did I notice what he was wearing under the long plaid shirt that dangled below his waist. In the dark, I’d missed it.
Bike shorts.
That’s when his hand slipped a little lower and I felt his fingers pressing firmly on my butt.
I suddenly felt like a fool.
Not long ago he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in my existence, and now here he was with his hand on my bum trying to convince me we were soul mates. Who knows, maybe he even believed it. He’d obviously read about me online and now he figured he knew all about me.
He stared into my eyes. Apparently, this was my cue to tell him I agreed with everything he was saying.
That’s when I felt another hand, this one on my shoulder.
“We wondered where you went, Floey.” It was Wen. “Everything okay?”
I was relieved Wen was here, but I didn’t take my eyes off Dean. Suddenly he wasn’t the young Elvis anymore; he was the old, fat Elvis—and I hated him. I gave him my angriest look, hoping it would deflate him.
“Yes,” I said, suddenly the Frost Queen. “I’m just fine.” I reached around and calmly lifted his hand off my waist and dropped it back to his side. “Dean was just telling me all about myself.”
Dean’s face changed. At first he looked confused, and then he shifted his weight and seemed almost angry, as if I were the one who’d insulted him.
I Am the Wallpaper Page 12
