Be Strong & Curvaceous

by Shelley Adina

  Vanessa

  * * *

  * * *

  To:caragon@spenceracad.edu

  From:alanaah@mac.com

  Date:May 1, 2009

  Re:Our dear mama

  Hey hermana menor, que pasa?

  So on the theory that organic waste rolls downhill, Mom is nagging me relentlessly to talk to you about this bridesmaid thing. I don’t have a problem standing up with her, but she says you do. Not to play monkey in the middle, but do you want to tell me what’s wrong?

  I know you don’t like Richard, and yeah, Mom walking out on us and getting married again so soon sucks. It’s like all these weepy country songs I’ve been forced to listen to at the studio lately. (Which—OT warning—make me appreciate alt-bluegrass and Tex-Mex even more.) But anyway, the deal is, it’s her life. We’re making our own way and she’s making hers, and let’s make the best of it.

  My take. Call me if you want.

  Love ya,

  Alana

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  GIRLFRIEND, WE HAVE to talk.”

  “Ow!” Shani’s bony fingers gripped my elbow so hard that I had trouble shaking her off. “What? I have core class in fifteen minutes.”

  She hustled me into the common room, which for once was empty. It was Friday morning and everyone was probably still at breakfast.

  “It won’t take that long for you to give me the scoop. How could you keep this a secret? I thought we were friends.”

  “Keep what a secret?” The only secrets I had were my job and Mac’s mystery e-mail stalker, and it wasn’t likely she would have told Shani about that.

  What did I know? Mac had blabbed about Brett, so maybe she’d decided to make Drifter this morning’s headline, too. If I’d seen her last night, I’d have ripped a strip off her, but I hadn’t. I couldn’t even tell if she’d come back to our room to sleep because she was gone by the time I woke up that morning.

  “Don’t play innocent.” Shani’s brown eyes practically snapped, but with anger or excitement, I couldn’t tell. “I got an IM from Gillian yesterday. Apparently you’re the big news around here.”

  I felt my face go cold.

  “Oh, come on, don’t look so shocked,” Shani said. “You’re never around, and when you are, you hardly talk. Now with what Gillian says, it all adds up.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out a hip. “When were you going to tell me you and Brett had hooked up?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement at the door. I turned just in time to see blond hair swing out of sight. “Lissa? Is that you?”

  Sheepishly, she came back into view. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, honest. I was just walking by and thought I heard your voices.”

  “Don’t leave.” I motioned her in. “Maybe you can make some sense of what this girl is saying, because I can’t.”

  Shani blew me a raspberry and rolled her eyes. “Don’t play coy with me. We haven’t seen you in a couple weeks. It’s all over school that you and Brett are an item. Since this is, like, your dream come true, I thought you would have at least shared the happy news with us.”

  I looked from one to the other. “But there isn’t any news. No item. I’m not going out with him. I’m not even sure he remembers who I am half the time.”

  “That’s not what I hear.” Lissa pulled us farther into the room, close to the hearth. A gas fire usually burned there in the winter, but now that it was May, a big vase of fresh peonies and lilies stood on the tile in front of it. “You’ve been keeping it pretty clandestine, but now the news is out. I hear you guys let yourselves be seen together the other night, and you’re going with him to the party at Callum’s.”

  “I was invited. Like I’d ever go. All I need is for the entire school to know I’m crushing on him.”

  “The entire school thinks he’s crushing on you,” Shani pointed out.

  “Yeah, but the big reveal is that it’s all gossip. Why would I want to go to that party and deliberately watch him forget my name in front of everyone? Or worse, not see me at all?”

  “You’re not going out,” Lissa repeated in an I’m-just-clarifying-this tone.

  “Are you kidding? He spoke to me on the lawn a couple nights ago. That’s it. That’s all that happened.” She and Shani exchanged a glance. “What? What was that look?”

  “Rumor has it that Vanessa found out and her little needle is buried in the red zone,” Shani said at last.

  “Why should she care?” I demanded. “She kicked him to the curb before spring break.”

  “I’ll tell you what I think.” Lissa sat on the upholstered arm of the couch. “I know for a fact she really wants Callum. I bet she’s hanging on to Brett to save her pride because Callum can’t see her as anything but his buddy from when they were kids.”

  “Well, someone better tell Brett that,” I said, “because as far as I know, he’s got a thing for Mac.”

  “But does she have a thing for him?” Lissa wanted to know.

  “I think so,” I said. “She’s the one who’s been out with him and his friends. In fact, I don’t think she even came in last night.”

  Shani’s eyes widened. “Now that’s a headline. Where was she?”

  I shrugged. “If they weren’t together, then I have no idea. Listen, now that we have this cleared up, I have to get to core class.”

  “Watch your back,” Shani warned. “We may know the truth, and you may know the truth, but Vanessa and the rest of the school don’t know it.”

  I nodded and gave them both the warmest smile I could muster, then headed down the corridor. On top of everything else, now this? At least my feelings for Brett weren’t public knowledge. If they were gossiping about us going out, that implied people thought he had feelings for me. I knew he didn’t, but at least my pride wouldn’t go down in a gale of laughter.

  Concentrating on History of the Ancient World was nearly impossible, so it was a relief to get out and head for Life Sciences and my fashion-design elective. I could think of no better way to lose all my stress than to immerse myself in plans for my dress. As I approached the door, I was so busy compiling a list in my head of the materials I’d need for the hands-on part of the class, which happened after the lecture, that I didn’t see Emily Overton until I practically walked into her.

  “Hey,” she said. “Just the person I was looking for. Are you coming?”

  “Hi. Coming where?”

  “To the DYD meeting. Vanessa sent an e-mail last night. Didn’t you get it?”

  I shook my head. “I haven’t checked my mail since yesterday afternoon.”

  “It’s a good thing I ran into you, then. Come on. It’s at Starbucks.”

  I glanced frantically into the classroom, with its pattern-drafting equipment and dress forms and yards of muslin for experimenting, all waiting for me. “I—I—wait, Emily.” I shook my arm free of her leechy grip.

  “What’s to wait for?” she demanded. “The Life Sciences teachers all know what we’re doing. It’s not like you’re going to get a demerit.”

  Two girls pushed past us, and commandeered a dress form. That left four. If I didn’t lose Emily, they’d all be gone. “It’s not that. It’s just that I, um . . . I really need to do some work in here today.”

  “And Vanessa really needs us to know what’s going on. Don’t you want to hear who the designers are going to be?”

  Sure, but that would be common knowledge by dinnertime. And the meeting? They’d order their extra-hot nonfat no-whip lattes and spend forty-five seconds on an update and the rest of the time talking about me and Brett—right in front of us. And truthfully, I could go a few more days without seeing Vanessa. At least until her needle got back down into the black, you know what I mean?

  I stepped past Emily and into the classroom. “Tell her I’m sorry, okay?”

  “Okay,” Emily said slowly. “But she’s not going to be happy that you blew her off.”

  “You said that sometimes the boys d
on’t come. What’s the difference?”

  “They’re boys. All the girls come.”

  “Well, I can’t,” I said firmly. I was taking a calculated risk, but I needed to get my hands on some muslin, stat. Besides, even if Vanessa did want to cut me from the committee, she’d have Mac to deal with. We were showing definite signs of becoming friends, what with all the secrets between us, and she’d want me to stay. “I’ll see you later.”

  And I headed over to the window to bag a dress form before she could say another word. As I sat through a pretty interesting lecture on how to turn a tailored collar and afterward began the hands-on work with the form and my muslin, pleating and draping and marking cutting lines, keeping Eleanor Spencer’s dress in my mind’s eye for reference, a sense of calm began to wash away the edge of my anxiety.

  Gillian once told me she talked to God all the time, in her head. Asking Him to walk her through tense moments. Thanking Him for good things. I remember thinking at the time that she had some nerve, yakking away to the Creator of everything like they were best buds.

  But maybe there was something in it.

  You are here with me, Father. Thank You for helping me see that. Thank You for this class and for letting me discover something that I really love to do.

  Help me figure out how to handle this Brett rumor. If I have to look like an idiot because of my feelings, help me get through it gracefully.

  And help me know what to do about Drifter. I don’t like the sound of him, Father. I’m asking for Your protection here and Your hand around Mac. I don’t think she believes in You, but for my sake, could You keep an eye on her? Thanks, Lord.

  Gillian was right. Prayer wasn’t something you had to do. It was something you loved to do. I felt twenty times better after putting my problems in front of God. I might be clumsy and undecided and not very well equipped to handle things, but He wasn’t. He had everything I needed—I just had to ask.

  During dance practice, I felt so confident that I got through a complicated hip-hop routine with only one mistake. “Nice work, Miss Aragon,” the instructor called to me. “A few more performances like that and you’ll be ready for the recital in June—which, may I remind you all, is your final exam.”

  At lunch, I grabbed a panini sandwich and stopped by Lissa’s and Shani’s table. “I have so much homework I’m just going to go out in the quad and work all afternoon,” I told them. “If I don’t see you, have a good weekend.”

  “Are you going down to San Jose?” Shani asked. “And blowing off that party?”

  I slid right past the first question, since I’d be going to work as usual at four, and answered the second. “I wouldn’t go on a bet. If they want entertainment, they can hire a juggler or a trained monkey. I have better things to do.”

  “Good for you.” Lissa air-clapped for me. “Nine out of ten people here would sell their little brothers for an invitation.”

  I had to laugh. “Antony may be a pain, but he’s worth more than that. Hey, has anyone seen Mac yet?”

  “She stumbled into core class looking like the morning after,” Lissa said. “No books. She had to borrow a piece of paper from me to take notes on. Maybe your grades don’t count in an exchange term.”

  “Oh, I think they do,” Shani said. “I’ll bet she gets an A in Party 101.”

  “What did your teacher say?” I asked.

  Lissa shrugged. “He handed her his textbook and asked her to stand up and read a sonnet. Which she did, flawlessly. I think he just likes to listen to her accent.”

  It must be nice to party all night and use charm and your friends’ notes to pass your classes. Mac and her classes aren’t your problem. Neither is her stalker. She won’t let them be your problem, so just let it go.

  “See you guys later.”

  I found an empty table in a sunny part of the quad and did a fast triage on my homework assignments. Just how much could I get done before I caught the three-thirty bus to work? AP Chem: that could wait for study group Sunday night. English: Read a chapter of the textbook and the first ten chapters of Clarissa. I could do that tomorrow before I went to sleep. Spanish: vocab, no problem. A quick review before class and I’d be good to go. Math: the end-of-chapter test.

  Groan. I could feel the headache coming on already.

  But it wasn’t like I could put it off. Mr. Jackson, our math teacher, was relentless, and she who fell behind got left behind. Resigning myself to the pain, I got to work.

  An hour later a shadow fell across my books and I looked up.

  “Trying for the Dean’s list?” Brett Loyola asked.

  I stared into that smile, which was at least as dazzling as the sun behind his head, and lost the ability to speak. He sat down opposite me as though a star-struck female wasn’t anything unusual—which it probably wasn’t—and turned my textbook toward him to see what I was working on.

  “Math,” he said in a knowing tone. “But you’ve done the word problems, right?”

  I nodded. “Another week and we’re moving on to trig. If we all survive that long.”

  He laughed. “Most girls wouldn’t be happy about that.”

  “I like something I can visualize on paper. Give me a triangle or the volume of water in a pipe and I’m good. Word problems just confuse me.”

  “I had to give Christine Powell emergency tutoring to get her through her first midterm. She’s in worse shape than you.”

  I bet.

  “So, what are you up to?” I amazed myself, sounding so casual. As if the very sight of him sitting in front of me, his arms crossed on the table, didn’t make me forget to breathe. Heroically, I resisted the urge to dabble my fingers in his shadow, which fell across my papers just inches from my pencil.

  “I just got done with crew and saw you out here, working away.”

  Do not blush. Do not. “I have a busy weekend, so I wanted to get as much done now as I could. You know how Jackson is. He told us fifty times he does the Bay to Breakers marathon. He thinks math is something you train for, too. ‘You have to do it every day.’ ” I mimicked Mr. Jackson’s beefy voice.

  To my amazement, Brett laughed. “Busy weekend, huh? Whatcha got going?”

  Stories—okay, fibs—flapped in my skull like a flock of birds. I shook them off. “Just stuff. Personal stuff.”

  “I see,” he said knowingly, as if that were code for something else. Like a mad, passionate affair, maybe. Uh-huh. That was so me. “So are you coming to the party?”

  I swallowed. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” Not after I’d decided not to go.

  “Christine invited you, right?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “I get it. More personal stuff?”

  Had he heard the rumors or not? And if he had, how did he feel? What did he think of me? Did he think of me at all?

  “Look, Brett, this is kind of awkward.” I sounded desperately uncomfortable. I knew that. But I plunged on anyway, knowing it would shoot down any chance at all of him seeing me the way I wanted him to. “There’s a rumor going around. About—about you. And me. About us.”

  Oh, Lord. I need You now. Please help me to not be such a dork.

  “Yeah?”

  He hadn’t heard. I felt like banging my head on the table. Why hadn’t I kept my mouth shut?

  “Maybe you haven’t heard it. Anyway. I—I wanted you to know I didn’t start it. I don’t know who did. Someone with a big imagination and nothing to do, I guess.”

  “Someone is always spreading rumors. You get used to it. Don’t let it bother you, Carly.”

  My name. Ohmigosh, he remembered my name!

  “It does bother me. Did. Because it involved you. And it wasn’t true.”

  Could I sound any more idiotic? He was going to wonder how I got past the admissions board, at this rate.

  “Are you so sure about that?”

  I stared at him. “About what?”

  “That it isn’t true. Because I was hoping you’d go wi
th me.”

  Welcome back to the Twilight Zone, ladies and gentlemen. I’m your host, Carly Aragon, and I’ve just been abducted by aliens and replaced by a popular fashionista on whom Brett Loyola would appear to have a crush.

  CAragon Hola, Enrique. Cancel tonight’s pickup, OK?

  LimoGuy That’s 3 in a row. Esta OK?

  CAragon Totally OK. Hot date.

  LimoGuy You tell him he’d better be good to you or he answers to me.

  CAragon I love you too, Enrique.

  Chapter 13

  HI, PAPA, it’s me.”

  My father took me off his office speakerphone right away and picked up the receiver. “Carolina, it’s good to hear your voice. I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight.”

  I moistened my lips and chose my words carefully. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. Would it be okay if I came home Saturday night instead?”

  “Saturday? But that would only give us Sunday together, and then Enrique comes at five. What’s going on that’s more important than being with Antony and me?”

  “Um . . . I have a date.”

  Silence fell while my father digested the unthinkable. “A date? With a boy? Do I know him?”

  “Of course with a boy, and no, you haven’t met him personally, but you’ve seen him. At the Benefactors’ Day Ball in October.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “He was dancing with the committee chair. Tall, dark hair, very handsome. His name is Brett Loyola and his family owns a bunch of restaurants and things up here.”

  “Loyola? Wasn’t there a mayor by that name?”

  “That was his abuelito.”

  “I see.”

  “He’s really nice, Papa.”

  “If he’s so nice, why haven’t I met him? You know how important it is to me that I know who your friends are.”

  I bit down on the urge to say, Because you’re never here. “He only asked me this afternoon.” And I was still expecting to get a text message that said:

  TEXT MESSAGE_________________________________________________