I smile at them, but they don’t smile back. I act like I don’t care and busy myself fixing my hair, trying to make it look messy but cool. I rub fresh deodorant on my armpits and hope I don’t smell too gross. I spritz on the vanilla body spray I got at Walgreens. I see the other girls sharing a hot-pink bottle of Ralph Lauren Cool perfume. I wish I had something like that. I’ve never had a real bottle of perfume. I always borrowed Emily’s. I’d like to smell expensive. As it is, I think I smell a bit cheap. As the other girls spray themselves, one of them complains because the Mini Cooper her parents just got her for her sweet sixteen was the wrong color. “I wanted red,” she says, almost in tears. “I told them, like, a thousand times I wanted red. And they got me black. Black! It’s awful. I hate them. I have to take it back.”
I try not to stare at them, but I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I’d kill for a black Mini Cooper. She has no idea how lucky she is.
As I’m walking to Mr. Big’s class, I feel someone bump into me. I turn to find Jessica and her friends laughing.
“Oh, sorry,” says Jessica with a fake smile. “Did I do that? I didn’t mean to.”
I keep walking and notice that Haley looks embarrassed for me again. She seems like a nice person who is caught being friends with the wrong people.
Jessica bumps into me again, and this time, when I look at her, she holds out a piece of folded paper.
“For you,” she says. “Special delivery.”
I take the note, and the girls sashay down the hall. I stand to the side and open the note. In bubbly letters with circles for dots on the letter I, I find these words: Chris is mine. Don’t mess with him or you’ll have to deal with me. Destroy this note or we’ll destroy you. I mean it.
I fold the note and stuff it in my backpack, my gut in knots of fear. I don’t need this. I really don’t. At the end of the hall, I see Jessica toss her shiny dark hair and laugh, like she’s just heard the funniest joke in the world. As I watch her, I get the noise in my head, the noise of warning. On my neck, the amulet grows warm. In that instant, I see the vision again. Jessica in a body cast and flowers all around. I can’t tell if she’s dead or alive, and I don’t want to know. Then I see myself in a mirror and my face is covered with huge bloody cuts. I shiver in fear and fight my desire to run away, go home and crawl into bed. What does this mean?
I manage to make it through the rest of the day without any more harassment from Jessica, mostly because I avoid her. If I see her coming, I turn and scurry away. I pity myself for being so afraid, but it’s not just Jessica’s power that scares me. It’s the feeling I get around her. Like she is purely evil.
During lunch, I take off on the bike trail instead of waiting around for Tina. I don’t know why, but the thought of Tina today makes me depressed. I call my grandmother from my cell phone and tell her about the Japanese grandmother. She listens without saying anything. Then I ask about the visions of Jessica.
“The universe is trying to get you to help that poor girl.”
“Poor girl?” I ask with a laugh. “Grandma, this is the richest girl in school.”
“That’s not what I meant,” says Grandma. “I mean poor as in spiritually poor.”
“Oh, please,” I retort. “She’s one of the meanest people I’ve ever met. She’s a total spoiled bitch.”
At the word “bitch,” my grandmother goes silent. After a moment, she says, “Please don’t use that word to describe other girls, Paski, you know better than that.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just, you don’t know what it’s like.”
Grandma laughs lightly. “I don’t know exactly what it’s like for you right now, no. But I have a feeling.”
“I want to come home.”
“I know, honey, but everything in life happens for a reason,” says grandma. “You’re there for a reason that isn’t clear right now but will be. Just remember, do not ignore your gift or —”
“Or bad things will happen,” I finish. I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me. How many times does she think she has to tell me this?
Grandma ignores me. “Whether Jessica is nice or mean right now, as a teenager, is not important. Few of us remain the way we are as teenagers once we’ve grown up. It’s hard for you to understand, but there is a bigger purpose for you being where you are right now.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I can’t tell you. All I can do is encourage you to make peace with your vision about Jessica Nguyen.”
“I don’t want to make peace with it. I want it to go away.”
“Oh, Pasquala.” My grandmother heaves a deep, heavy sigh. “It won’t. Please take my advice and honor your gifts.”
“I don’t want gifts. Other than clothes and maybe nice perfume. Those are all the gifts I want.” I start to whine. “I just want to be normal.”
Grandma sighs again. The guilt sigh. She’s very good at it. “Honor the vision,” she says. “Try to understand what it’s telling you. Pay attention to the voices, sweetie.”
“No. I don’t want to. I want to forget all about Jessica Nguyen and her stupid friends.”
“Well, you can try. But I don’t think I have to tell you that when we try to run from our spirits, they only work harder to find us.”
I get chills. “Yeah, well I don’t want spirits. I want clothes. And I want a boyfriend who doesn’t cheat on me. I want a car that isn’t embarrassing. I want a normal family.”
My grandmother laughs. “Okay, Pasquala. Keep your chin up, and have faith that it’s all what it is meant to be.”
I look at my watch and I have to get back for the end of lunch. “I’ll talk to you later, Grandma.”
I go back to school and muddle through my last two classes. I don’t want to have anything to do with Jessica. I don’t want to honor the spirits that are trying to warn me about her. If I’m supposed to help her, I don’t want to. I want my own life. Maybe that’s a selfish way to be. I don’t know. Probably. But what if I didn’t have this “gift"? No one would warn anyone about the things I see. And life would be what life was supposed to be.
After school, I go to Miss Munn’s room. She’s the senior English teacher who oversees operations of the school newspaper. About ten kids are working at different tasks on computers and desks around the room. I like the look of these kids better than I’ve liked the looks of most kids at this school. They seem normal — well, all except the one who’s breathing through his mouth. He might be a little abnormal. That or he’s got allergies.
I introduce myself to Miss Munn and hand her a folder with copies of the school paper from Taos, so she can see that I’m serious. She shakes my hand, asks me if I’d like a bottle of water, and invites me to have a seat next to her. She doesn’t sit at her desk. She sits with the students. She almost looks like a student. I like her. As I sip the bottle of water, she reads through my clips.
“These are great,” she says. Then she asks me to go talk to someone named Sydney. Miss Munn points to a chunky girl with a black ponytail and funky red eyeglasses. “She’s our editor. You can check with her to see what she thinks.”
I approach Sydney. She’s focused on her computer, biting her lower lip as she taps away, and doesn’t seem to notice me. I know I shouldn’t look at what she’s doing, but I peek at the computer screen anyway. It looks like she’s doing layout for an entertainment page, with a photo of the singer Jesse McCartney and the headline: talented, or just hot? I answer the question in my head: talented, but he reminds me too much of Ethan.
I tap Sydney on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” I say. She turns her head. Her eyes are dark black, with long lashes, and they look amazing in her glasses. Few people can pull off a good look with glasses on, but this girl does it. She has milky-white skin and very pink cheeks. She’s pretty, but I can see how the average hot boy around here might overlook her because she’s a little overweight.
“Can I help you?” she asks with a smile. I can tell she’s friendly and I a
m so relieved by her friendliness. I tell her who I am, and what I want to do. I tell her I used to edit the paper at my school and all that, and she doesn’t get territorial, which is excellent. I think that if it were me, I’d probably get a little nervous if some new kid showed up saying she was an editor, too.
“That’s awesome news.” Then she makes a funny face. “No pun intended. I was just sitting and wishing we had another reporter around here.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Sure. If you don’t mind reporting. I know you probably want to edit.”
“No, it’s okay, I just want to work at the paper.”
“That’s great, then. I was just trying to think of someone to do a sports feature I’ve been meaning to run for a while.”
Sports? Like, scores and plays and all that? Uh-oh. Better to be honest and let her know I’m clueless about organized sports. “I don’t really know how to cover games,” I say. “I didn’t do any before.”
“Oh, this isn’t a game. It’s a race. Motocross. You know, like, motorcycle racing. Jessica Nguyen. She’s —”
At mention of Jessica’s name, I feel my pulse accelerate. My grandmother’s voice echoes in my head, about how when you run from the spirit voices, they just work harder to catch up to you. “I know who she is.”
“Oh, okay, cool,” Sydney responds with another smile. “So then you know she’s a pro motocross racer?”
I nod. But I don’t want to do any kind of story about Jessica. I really don’t.
Sydney lowers her voice, with a secretive look, and I lean in to hear her. “I mean, around here everyone seems to think Jessica is all that. But it might be cool if, during the course of the race, you interviewed some of the other racers to see how they feel about her. See if she’s all that to them, too, or if there’s another side of Jessica that nobody here knows about.”
Great. I’m new at school, and my first assignment is to do an expose on the most popular girl who totally hates me. Maybe I shouldn’t be a reporter. “What if she turns out to be nice?”
Sydney shakes her head and laughs. “You are new here. For now just cover the race. But later, we’ll get you or someone else to dig around for the dirt on Nguyen. What if she turns out nice, you ask?” Sydney laughs. “And maybe the earth is actually flat.”
16
After I’ve met all the people on the Wolverine newspaper staff, I ride my bike back to the apartment to get the money Dad promised me. It’s already almost five p.m., and Andrew Van Dyke is planning to pick me up at eight, so I better hurry. I know there’s an Old Navy in the same mall where Tina works, so that’s where I’m planning to go. I don’t know of any other stores yet, and even if I did, I don’t have transportation.
I find a pink envelope stuck to the refrigerator door with a United Farm Worker magnet. I pour myself a glass of milk, get some graham crackers out of the cabinet, and sit down to eat and look over the Orange County Register. I open the pink envelope and find a card inside. My dad is the master of cards. He leaves them for me all the time, congratulating me on everything, telling me how much he loves and respects me. His middle name should be Hallmark.
The card has an inspirational saying on the front with flowers, and inside, my dad has written the usual stuff. Oh, and there are six hundred-dollar bills, crisp and neat.
Six hundred dollars?!?
I hold the crisp bills in my fingers and rub them together. They’re almost like sandpaper, they’re so new. It’s a fortune. I have never known my dad to have this much money. And usually, the money he does have is crumpled and sweaty at the bottom of his pants pocket. He’s unrecognizable, this new version of my father. I don’t know what to do with all this money, so I set it down on the table and place it in the shape of a fan. It’s so pretty.
Oye Chinita,
I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday, and I know that’s a cliché but I truly do. I will always think of the moment you first opened your little brown eyes as the most incredible spot in time for me.
I want you to know that I am proud of you. I know I’m not around as much as I should be, and as I get my new career off the ground in Los Angeles it’s going to be like this for a while. But I want you to know that I am your dad, and I love you, and that no matter what you need I’m here for you, to listen, to talk, to be your biggest fan.
Every day you grow into a more incredible and interesting young lady. I am honored to be your father. There were times, raising you on my own, when I didn’t know if I was doing anything right. But to see you now, so strong and confident, so funny and self-assured, even in those times when you argue with me and talk back, I feel great knowing that you turned out exactly as any parent could have hoped.
You are the greatest kid in the world. Have fun shopping. I can’t wait to see what cool clothes you pick out. You have your mother’s looks but my taste — thank God.
Be careful tonight, and call me with the “harmless” boy’s phone number and information. You forgot to leave it for me earlier today. I’m not mad, I just want to make sure we’re on the same page and I know where you are. I want you to know that I trust you to make good decisions in life, and I do, but I am still your dad and I still need to know who you’re with and what you’re doing. I worry about you and want you to be safe. That’s what dads do.
Love,
Dad
I look closely at the ink, and I can’t be sure, but it looks like it might have gotten smeared by a couple of drops of salty water. I guess he hasn’t changed in some ways. Another thing about my dad? He’s sappy, so his eyes tend to leak.
I finish my snack, tuck four of the hundred-dollar bills into my underwear drawer, and haul ass to Old Navy. My iPod battery charge is running out. I’ll have to recharge it when I get back to the apartment. There are just too many things to remember right now.
Top on the list is what I came here to buy. I had a list in my head of what I thought would look good but not so good that it might seem like I was trying to impress anyone. There is a fine line between wanting to look cool but not wanting to seem like I want to look cool, if that makes sense.
I chain my bike outside, on a trash-can stand, and head inside. I see a couple of girls I recognize from school browsing at the front of the store. They see me and we kind of say hi, like we recognize each other and respect the fact that we’re all here shopping. It’s the first time I’ve felt like I’m starting to be a part of the school. When girls you don’t really know say hello to you because they recognize you, it’s a good sign.
I get a rolling cart, the kind they usually have in grocery stores, and start to look around. The clothes are so new and cute! The only thing I wish is that Emily and Janet were here to shop with me. We would have a blast. They’re so crazy, I bet they’d try to get inside that display-truck thing in the middle, with the fake dog. I don’t think you’re supposed to go in it, but I can just imagine Janet doing just that.
I love the smell of new clothes. I actually stop and pick up the corner of a long beige peasant skirt and hold it up to sniff it. I don’t know what that smell is, but there’s no way to get it back once you’ve washed the clothes. I look at the prices. Things aren’t very expensive here. Four hundred bucks could go a really long way, actually. I think I’ll just get a couple of things for the party tonight and save the rest of the money for later.
Even though I don’t want to, I keep thinking of Jessica and her friends and the clothes they wear. They always look cute. I want to dress like them. I don’t want to want to dress like them. But I do anyway. No one has to know.
I pick out a couple of cute skirts, short and flirty. Most of my pants are blue jeans, so just for some variety, I force myself to get some pink pants and a pair of black capris. I get some tank tops with sparkles around the neckline and some T-shirts. I get a sexy spaghetti-strap top, black like the pants. I have no idea what to wear tonight. Andrew mentioned there’d be a swimming pool, but I don’t think I like the idea of Jessica look
ing at me in a bathing suit. She wouldn’t be very nice about it. I’m not fat or anything, but around Jessica, I feel fat.
Now for accessories and shoes. I find a straw hat, sort of like a cowboy hat but way cuter, and try it on. It looks good. At least I think it does. I need my friends here to check me on this stuff. Emily and Janet never let me go out looking like a dork. They always saved me from myself. You don’t realize how important that is in life until you don’t have it anymore.
I find a little sequined handbag that’s only twenty dollars, and I throw it in the cart. This is incredibly fun! I love shopping where you can actually feel what you’re buying. Out in Taos, for cool clothes the only real shopping option was online. I always ended up sending something back. This is way, way better.
I find some bracelets and earrings and beads. I even find some shiny, strappy gold sandals. They’re flat, but they wind all around the foot and ankle in a real sexy way. I might actually really look hot. This is too cool.
I head to the register and pile all the stuff onto the counter. I see a tube of the sparkling lip gloss like the one the girls had at school today. I want it but somehow feel like I’ve already gotten too much stuff. Like I don’t deserve it. I’ve gotten way more than I thought I would, and the cashier, a boy I recognize from school, looks at me with sad eyes. “Find everything you were looking for?” he asks.
I realize in that instant that he probably has to work for spending money and he must think I’m one of the shallow rich girls around here. “I did,” I say. Then I blurt, “I have never bought this much stuff at once in my entire life.”
He misunderstands my apology and seems to think I’m bragging. He blushes and looks hurt. “Must be nice,” he says with a shrug. There are more apartment kids around here than I realized. In fact, I bet we’re the majority. But maybe it’s like Tina says: The few rule the many until the many stand up and fight back.
I grab the tube of lip gloss and put it in the pile and apologize to the boy. I’m not sure why.
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