The coolio-factor of playing Belle and wearing kick-butt costumes weren’t even enough to drag Caressa out of depressionville. She had joined the theater club because she likes makeup, not singing. No, she LOVES makeup—worships at the temple of Sephora.com on a regular basis, if you want the whole truth. She wanted to work behind the scenes, doing makeup and costuming for the various productions. But, of course, having Lehigh Thibodoux, aka Tibby Lee, for a father meant, once again, Caressa got jammed. The theater club sponsor, Mr. Cabbiatti, who is a celebrity-wannabe to an epic degree, couldn’t pass up the publicity opportunity. Now all the girls who wanted to play Belle were angry with Caressa for getting a part she didn’t even want, and Caressa was angry because she just wanted to put makeup on the beast. Go figure!
We were all sitting around that night, painting each other’s toenails, complaining about our parents and our horrid luck, and bemoaning the fact that homecoming loomed and none of us had dates or even prospects.
Surprising? No. Depressing? Uh, yes.
Fiona Apple was playing on the stereo, because we wanted to feed our already depressed moods, and so far, no directives from Mr. Thibodoux to “keep it down.”
Caressa was bent low over my feet painting my toe-nails with this sweet OPI shade she’d just bought, “I’m Not Really a Waitress.” It’s kind of a red with sparkly gold in it. I had a hard time deciding between that and another shade from OPI’s European collection called, “Amster-Damsel in Distress,” but the gold shimmer in “Waitress” really won me over.
Caressa always has the best makeup.
Anyway, she was concentrating on my pinky toe, left foot, when out of nowhere Meryl goes, “We need to change our lives. Homecoming is on the autumnal equinox this year.”
As though those two comments were related.
“Huh,” Caressa and I said in unison, not knowing what type of response was appropriate to the equinox-announcement-slash-life-change directive. I mean, we’d been talking about how much our lives sucked, but the equinox? All I knew for sure was that homecoming had been rescheduled and would commence the following Tuesday night. Yes, a freakin’ Tuesday, if you can believe that lunacy. The switch was the school district’s brilliant solution to avoiding a big, heinous snowstorm expected on Friday.
Whatever. Tuesday, Friday. Equinox Schmequinox. You could only complain for so long, and Meryl always launched interesting conversations, so we went with it. That’s one cool thing about having a friend who’s completely Laura Ingalls Wilder-ish out of touch with the American entertainment scene (or any entertainment scene, really)—she has tons of time to read stuff the rest of the high school universe would pass up in favor of this week’s installment of The Real World. She’s always popping off bits of useless but nevertheless pretty interesting trivia.
Meryl also works a couple of nights a week at the local metaphysical shop downtown, since Mr. Morgenstern put the giant kibosh on her first choice job at Blockbuster. Frankly, I think the metaphysical shop is a much better place to work anyway. It always smells good in there from the flickering candles and essential oils, and the tinkling bells and gurgling serenity fountains are soothing.
Compare that atmosphere to one of bright, corporate clone paint, fluorescent lights, zit-faced, overzealous assistant managers, and nonstop video background noise, and the choice is obvious. Plus, at Inner Power, she only has to work with the two way-mellow women who own the shop rather than all the mouth-breathing vidiots who work at Blockbuster, and she’s learning all kinds of sweet stuff about, well, metaphysics.
“Since we’re not going,” Meryl continued, “we should all spend the night at Caressa’s and have a dumb supper.”
That made both Caressa and I blink up at her in confusion.
“If it’s okay with your parents, of course,” she added, glancing over at Caressa.
“It always is.” Caressa shrugged. Her parents, as a rule, were totally cool about stuff like that.
“A dumb supper?” I interjected, just as Caressa and I exchanged a look. “You mean, like something we all hate? Great idea, Meryl,” I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. “Brilliant. That would really cheer us up.”
“No, goof. It’s a tradition that dates back to seventeenth-century England. It’s a midsummer’s eve custom—”
“Yeeeeeah, newsflash. It’s not summer,” I pointed out, even though it had to be obvious, even for a person who didn’t watch the evening news. Hello, snowstorm!
“Still,” Meryl said, unfazed by my sarcasm. “I think it’s adaptable. It’s all about our intent.” She shrugged. “If they can hold homecoming on a school night, I figure we can host a dumb supper on the equinox rather than midsummer’s eve.”
She had a point.
“What do we have to do?” Caressa asked, her eyes glowing with curiosity that mirrored how I felt.
“Well, there are lots of details, but in general we have to hold a silent dinner that starts at midnight, with only black linens and total darkness. Well, except for candles. We have to make and serve everything backward, and—oh, it’s a long story. I’ll explain it all later.” She flipped her hand. “The point is, it’s supposed to help us predict who we’ll marry, but since we’re only sixteen, I’m thinking it will help us predict who we might date instead. What do you think?”
“Is it reliable?” asked Caressa.
Meryl quirked her mouth to the side. “Well, it’s been going on since the sixteen hundreds. It can’t be all stupid.” She looked from one of us to the other. “So?”
“I’m game,” I said. Anything to take my mind off how much my life blew major chunks.
“Me, too,” said Caressa.
Meryl’s face spread into a huge smile. “Then it’s a date.”
“A date? Well—” I said, “even if this dinner turns out to actually be dumb, at least we’ll each be able to say we had ONE date this year.”
We all laughed, but the truth was, we couldn’t wait. I could hear it in my own breathlessness, in the equally nervous and psyched laughter of my two best friends. It gave us something to look forward to, and boy, did we need it.
Little did we know how this harmless, losers’-alternative-to-homecoming, dumb supper would end up changing our entire lives.
two
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected]
SUBJECT: DUMB SUPPER, print and read!!!!!
TIME: 4:11:11 A.M., MST
*****CARESSA AND LILA, PRINT THIS EMAIL FOR FUTURE REFERENCE*****
Meryl’s Rules for the dumb supper
L&C—
I’ve read up on various dumb supper traditions, and I ended up incorporating a little of this and a little of that to make the ritual personalized for US. First, Lila, I think it’s so special that you’re willing to have your mother as our “spirit guest.” I’m glad it didn’t freak you out that we needed to invite someone who’d passed on.
Here is what I need each of you to bring: Lila—white gel pens and black notecards are VERY important. Also, please buy the following items at the party store:
1. black paper plates
2. black napkins
3. black plastic forks, spoons, knives
4. black tablecloth
5. black fabric (to shroud the “spirit chair” for your mom)
6. black cups
7. black and white votive candles (lots of black, one white)
8. black serving bowls
You’ll note the theme: BLACK. Holler if you have trouble finding any of this, and I’ll help.
Caressa, you’re already donating your house (along with stuff like lighters, etc.), but I’m going to make you in charge of getting the food together. The nine food items we decided on for our feast, in backward order, are:
1. Sara Lee cheesecake (dessert)
2. Turtle brownies (dessert)
3. Cheeze Whiz (cheese course)
4. Potato chips (side dish)
&nb
sp; 5. Rotisserie chicken (main course)
6. Celery with peanut butter (salad course)
7. Cup-a-Soup (soup course)
8. Taquitos (appetizer)
9. Fresca (beverage)
All of these items are available at Safeway, but you probably knew that.
As for me, I’m going to bring the ritual items we need, like sage sticks to purify the room and our chosen divination tools:
Lila: black scrying mirror
Caressa: brass singing bowl
Me: rosaline crystal ball
Here’s how the night will unfold:
Lila, I’ll pick you up. When we get to Caressa’s, we’ll prepare the food, and I’ll purify the feast room with sage sticks. We will also write our prayer/wishes on the black notecards. These prayer/wishes should have something to do with the guys we each hope to find.
At EXACTLY midnight, we will all enter the feast room and set our prayer/wish cards at our designated places. After that, Caressa and I will begin carrying items in to set up the table. Remember, ABSOLUTELY NO TALKING, LAUGHING, ETC. in the feast room. Caressa, you and I have to carry each item in together, with your hand on one side and mine on the other. It will take a while, but we can make it go faster if we plan it all out beforehand, maybe even rehearse. Here’s the order:
1. Tablecloth
2. Candles
3. Spirit chair shroud
4. Plates
5. Napkins
6. Silverware
7. Cups
8. Food items, in order
Once all the food is on the table, Caressa and I will enter the feast room backward and sit in the chairs backward. Lila, you’ll come in backward and lay your hands on the back of the spirit chair. Welcome your mother’s spirit (SILENTLY!) to our supper. Light the white votive candle and place it on the plate in front of her chair, then light one black votive candle for each of us and place them, one by one, on the plates in front of us. Take a seat backward on your chair, Lila, and then we’ll eat. Dessert to appetizers, the way it should be in REAL LIFE.
YUM!
At the end of the meal, we will, one by one, pull our prayer/wishes out from under our plates, and we’ll burn them with our black votive candles.
The prediction part goes like this: whichever guy each of us sees FIRST at the end of this ritual will be the guy we’re supposed to date. What fun, huh?????? Junior prom, here we come! Let me know if you have any questions.
L&K, Meryl
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected]
SUBJECT: re: DUMB SUPPER, print and read!!!!!
TIME: 6:29:33 A.M., MST
Mer:
A) What are you doing up at four in the morning??????
B) Are you sure I can get black stuff at the party store? Won’t it have something written on it like, “Over the Hill,” or something? If it does say “Over the Hill” or “Happy Halloween,” is it still okay?
C) I did think it was slightly creepazoid at first that we had to invite a dead relative, but I got to thinking it will be pretty cool having my mom “participate” in finding me a boyfriend. I’m sure she would’ve given me help/advice if she was still here. So, no worries. I’m not freaked.
D) The menu sounds great!
E) I CAN’T WAIT FOR NEXT TUESDAY!!!!! I agree, junior prom, HERE WE COME!
—Lila
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected]
SUBJECT: re: DUMB SUPPER, print and read!!!!!
TIME: 7:37:03 A.M., MST
Lila:
To answer your questions and comment on your comments:
A) I couldn’t sleep—excited!
B) Yes, you can find black stuff at the party store. NO, it won’t all have “Over the Hill” or “Happy Halloween” on it, and don’t buy it if it does.
C) I’m glad re: your mom. It really was our only choice, since neither Caressa nor I have lost anyone we love, so it’s good you’re okay with it. I think it’s really nice to have your mom there, too. In spirit.
D) The food does sound yummy! We should be chefs.
E) Me neither!
L&K,
Meryl
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected]
SUBJECT: re: DUMB SUPPER, print and read!!!!!
TIME: 7:45:47 A.M., MST
Meryl and Lila—
This sounds like SO MUCH FUN! I told my parents we were studying old English customs for school, and they not only bought it, they agreed to go into Denver, see a show, and stay in a hotel so we can have “an authentic experience” without interruption. I felt guilty for the LWL at first, then I realized we really ARE studying old English customs, and although it’s not EXACTLY for school, it is to find boyfriends. Boyfriends are at school, boyfriends will make going to school BETTER, so by a few degrees of separation, we are studying old English customs for school.
Poof, guilt gone.
I will do my shopping ASAP. Lila, since you don’t have a car or a license (NO OFFENSE—HUGS!!), and you’re grounded, you can give me your list and $$$ if you want and I’ll shop for you. Let me know. Tuesday can’t come soon enough for me! I really feel like we’ll all have dates to the Junior Prom!
—Love, C
FROM: [email protected]
TO: [email protected], [email protected]
SUBJECT: re: DUMB SUPPER, print and read!!!!!
TIME: 8:40:02 A.M., MST
At 7:45:47 A.M., MST, [[email protected]] wrote:
Lila, since you don’t have a car or a license (NO OFFENSE—HUGS!!), and you’re grounded, you can give me your list and $$$ if you want and I’ll shop for you. Let me know.
UGH, that was HARSH-O-RAMA, Caressa! But yes, I’ll give you my money and you can hook me up. Thanks.
—Carless Lila, living in hell
“No way.”
I gaped at my father, bug-eyed with horror, mouth hanging open, so totally NOT believing what I was hearing. This arbitrary decision of his could very well ruin my life! Why couldn’t he remember way, way, way back to when he was my age and, just this once, show a little compassion for my plight? I know Grandma and Grandpa Moreno snapped a big ol’ knot in his butt on a regular basis when he was a teenager, but he seemed to be suffering from some sort of parental amnesia that completely wiped out that memory.
I was halfway convinced that parents got secret monetary kickbacks from the government for conveniently forgetting how it was to be a teenager and making their own kids’ lives hell, perpetuating some big, ugly cycle. I can tell you, when I have kids someday, I won’t put them through this trauma. But, hey, I might NEVER have kids. I attended health class, just like every other girl at WPHS, and I’m pretty clear about the fact that, in order for one to eventually get to the point of GIVING BIRTH, one must first come into CONTACT with the opposite sex. I hadn’t even reached step one. And now it looked like I might not.
“W-what do you mean, no way?” I sputtered to my father at last. My throat tightened as I fought to hold back the full-on rant that wanted to erupt. As a result, my voice came out sounding like Minnie Mouse if she were choking on a Jolly Rancher. “You said I was allowed to study with the girls,” I squeaked. “We’re going to be studying.”
“Study in the evening and plan accordingly so you can come home when you’re done.”
“But—”
“Lila.” He dipped his chin in that annoying way that made me feel like I was being charged with a crime and had about an ice cube’s chance in hell of getting off by reason of insanity (or any other reason). “I know you operate under the assumption that I was born yesterday, my dear daughter, but no one studies at midnight.”
He had a point. I hadn’t thought that through. And I hated when he called me “my dear daughter,” becau
se it always meant he was on to me. He never called my brothers “my dear sons.”
“Not to mention, you’re grounded,” he added unnecessarily.
“But—”
“Which means, no overnights. And no manipulating me to get out of your punishment this time.”
Dangit. He left me without grounds for an argument. I did have a reputation for trying to, shall we say, finesse my way out of consequences, but hey, I was good at it. All that aside, the burning question remained: how could I miss the dumb supper? It was the one and only event, other than the prospect of moving away from White Peaks forEVER, that gave me hope for the future.
“B-but, Dad—” I couldn’t think of a good angle with which to state my case, so I resorted to stomping my foot and regressing to fifth grade. “It’s not fair!”
“Callaté.”
Uh-oh. He only ordered me to shut my trap in Spanish when I’d pushed him to the very edge of his patience. I pressed my lips together but continued to scowl. My chest rose and fell with fury. It flooded through my veins like liquid fire, causing my body temperature to spike. “But—”
“But, nada.” Dad’s face hardened in that all-too-familiar stubborn-cop way. His voice got meaner, too. “Lila Jane Moreno, read my lips. You are not staying over at Caressa’s on homecoming night. Now, drop it.” His hand sliced out to the side, palm down. “I had a long day at work and I want a little peace and quiet.”
I rolled my eyes so hard, my contact lens curled up on the edge. Oh, sure. HIS heinous day mattered, but my entire awful existence didn’t. I knew it was useless to argue, so instead I whirled in my stocking feet, planning on a dramatic, Oscar-worthy exit at the very LEAST. Instead, I crashed facefirst into my brother’s chest, smashing my nose to the side hard enough to make my eyes water.
“Shut your hole,” I snapped, grabbing onto my nose in case it started spurting blood.
He spread his arms. “I didn’t say anything, hormone queen!”
I shoved him aside as my eyes watered harder. “Shut it anyway!”
“Lila,” I heard my dad call out, “don’t say ‘shut your hole.’ It’s vulgar.”
Who's Your Daddy? Page 2
