‘Can we sit for a second?’ Kali asks. ‘I think I’m going to faint.’
‘For a second,’ Syd says, reluctantly sinking to the grass near Littlefield Fountain. I stare at the bronze horses rearing in a steady spray of water, and feel a bit cooler.
Kali starts in on Syd again. ‘So your boyfriend … does he go to Austin High? Or did you meet him at the Maternity Ward?’
‘Do you even know the meaning of personal boundaries?’Syd asks.
‘Excuse me for taking an interest in your life,’ Kali says, plucking possible four-leaf clovers from the grass beside her. ‘Anyway, I can’t help it. I love hearing about successful relationships.’
‘Me too,’ I say. ‘It makes me feel like anything is possible.’
‘Who said anything about success?’ Syd says.
Kali switches on a dime. ‘What happened? When did you break up? Did you end it or did he? Is that why your graffiti is so dark?’
‘Kali,’ I say. ‘Give her a chance.’
As I feared, the barrage shuts Syd down. ‘It’s complicated,’ is all she says, before focusing on the list of clues again. After a few seconds, she adds, ‘The Lone Star.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Kali says, following Syd’s gaze to a guy sitting alone under a tree, strumming his guitar. ‘They’re definitely the sexiest. All the mystery, wrapped up in—’
‘Question seven,’ Syd says. ‘“Find a heavenly body that marks a gateway to our state’s past.” That’s gotta be the Lone Star sculpture at the Bob Bullock Museum.’
‘Right,’ Kali says. ‘So, how heavenly was your boyfriend’s body?’
‘Dieter is a cruel man,’ Kali says, lagging behind as we make our way toward Zilker Metropolitan Park and the Umlauf Sculpture Garden, site of the final clue. ‘He could have warned us not to wear heels.’
Syd and I are holding up better than Kali, but we’re all pretty beat. Despite Syd’s laughable early prediction, it’s taken us four and a half hours to solve the clues and take the photos. The sun is low in the sky and we’re almost back to where we started the hunt. In fact, we’ve covered every inch of downtown Austin, and despite our efforts to plan ahead, we’ve covered some parts of it twice.
‘Dieter’s not stupid,’ Syd says. ‘I don’t have the energy to hate you guys anymore.’
Kali holds out her arms for a hug. ‘I knew I’d grow on you.’
‘Back off, Sweaty Betty,’ Syd says. But she digs a granola bar out of her bag, breaks it in three, and shares it. We crunch in silence as we walk the home stretch.
There’s more to these two than I expected. Kali’s a quirky free spirit, but she’s also bubbly, adventurous, and fun. Syd bubbles in a different way – like a volcano – but she’s not quite as intimidating as she seemed. She’s pissed off at her parents, like we all are, and probably her boyfriend, too. Some day she may feel like talking about it. I, for one, won’t pressure her.
‘I thought we’d have to admit defeat on the Tom Miller Dam,’ Syd says. ‘Nice one, Kali.’
The second to last cryptic clue read: ‘I’m over seventy, named for a mayor, and known for my power and control.’
‘Again, I’ll ignore the wonder in your voice,’ Kali says, finding the strength to reapply her lip gloss yet again. ‘Air guitar and airhead are separate concepts, you know. And tree hugging requires some knowledge of man and the environment.’
‘Point taken,’ Syd says.
But Kali is just warming up. ‘I care about the earth, so flood control and hydroelectric power are two things I happen to know a bit about. Hydroelectricity is renewable energy. It produces far fewer greenhouse gases than fossil fuels.’
‘You might consider producing less hot air yourself,’ Syd says. ‘To help your immediate environment.’
Instead, Kali starts singing. ‘Hydropower, help save the nation. Spare us from greenhouse radiation.’
A woman with a stroller gives Kali a suspicious look and crosses the street. Far from being embarrassed, Kali calls after her, ‘You can’t run away from global warming!’
‘She had to ruin the moment,’ Syd says, shaking her head wearily.
‘I don’t think she can help herself,’ I say.
Kali breaks into rap as we enter the sculpture garden: ‘Atmosphere containing gases, generated by the masses …’
‘Don’t worry,’ Syd says to an old woman nearby. ‘She’s doing her part to Keep Austin Weird.’
The unofficial city slogan fits Kali, and the old lady smiles.
‘And this weirdo just nailed it for our team,’ Kali proclaims.
The old lady offers to take a picture of the three us in front of the sculpture garden sign. ‘Bunch up!’ she says, when we’re in position. ‘I can’t get you all in the frame.’
Since I’m standing in the middle, Kali and Syd move a little closer, and Banksy sits on my foot.
‘Closer,’ the old lady says. ‘You’re friends, aren’t you?’
‘Not exactly,’ Kali whispers.
‘Shut up and get this over with,’ Syd says under her breath.
Now our shoulders are almost touching, and I’m hoping the woman doesn’t ask us to put our arms around each other. The day could end in fisticuffs.
Fortunately, the lady has another idea. ‘Let’s see the three wise monkeys,’ she says.
Kali immediately puts her hands over her ears, I put mine over my eyes, and Syd puts hers over her mouth.
‘Perfect!’ the woman says, snapping off a couple of shots.
‘Better three wise monkeys than the Three Stooges,’ Kali says, pointing to another trio approaching.
Even from a distance, it’s obvious that Lauren is the worse for wear. She’s dragging her handbag by a single broken strap, and her hair is stringy and lank. Her clothes are clinging to her.
‘Maybe she threw herself in the UT fountain to cool off,’ Kali says.
Our opposition is in such a heated argument that they don’t even notice us. Lauren turns and hits Simon with her bag.
‘Should we help her?’ I ask.
Evan kneels in front of Lauren, begging for mercy.
We look at each other and say, ‘Nah.’ Then we burst into laughter and collapse onto a bench together.
‘Much better,’ the old lady says, snapping another picture. ‘Now you look like friends.’
That’s probably a stretch, but it will be nice not to have to sit alone at lunch on Monday.
Chapter Four
Weaving through the packed cafeteria, I try to ignore the warning stares of people who don’t want the new kid at their table. Instead, I scan for Kali’s blond curls or Syd’s black bob.
In the end, it’s Kali’s voice I hear. ‘Reduce your carbon footprint,’ she calls, above the lunchtime din. ‘Sign the petition for cafeteria watercoolers and student discounts on reusable bottles.’
I follow the voice past a long table filled with football players, where I get stalled in traffic.
‘You are not joining the jazz band,’ one of the guys says. I look down to see Fletcher Longland laying down the law for Hollis Messina.
‘Why not?’ Hollis says. ‘Singing is the only thing I’m good at.’
Fletcher sighs. ‘Do I really have to explain this to you? Bands are for geeks.’
‘But Mr Jamieson asked me.’ She strokes his arm. ‘Please, Fletch?’
Why is it even a question? Fletcher’s her boyfriend, not her dad.
Fletcher shakes his tiny head. ‘Forget it.’
But Hollis persists. ‘Is this about Bronco Garcia?’
‘Quiet,’ Fletcher says, suddenly fierce. ‘And no.’
‘Because he knows I wouldn’t be interested even if you and I weren’t together.’
‘What kind of guy plays the clarinet?’ Fletcher asks. ‘He’s obviously on the wrong team anyway.’
‘Yeah, I think he’s gay, too,’ Hollis says, taking the path of least resistance. ‘He likes show tunes.’
‘What did I tell you?’ Fletcher turns to share this n
ews with his teammates.
I stare down at Hollis, knowing Bronco could be in for a world of hurt because she’s afraid to stand up to her swamp-eyed boyfriend.
‘What do you want?’ she says, noticing me at last.
‘Nothing, I was—’ I glance around and see the crowd has thinned. It looks like I’ve been deliberately eavesdropping.
‘Spying?’ Fletcher asks. Without waiting for an answer, he continues. ‘So, did the steak get you laid or what?’
I try to move on, but my feet are frozen to the dirty linoleum. Meanwhile, Fletcher fills the team in on my dinner plans. Some of the guys openly check me out, laughing when I clutch my bag to my chest.
‘Most girls don’t have to go to that kind of trouble,’ Hollis says, slipping her arm through Fletcher’s.
‘But I never say no to a steak,’ Fletcher says, smiling suggestively.
Finally my brain connects to my feet, and I start moving again. Kali has stopped shouting, but I see her ahead of me, going from table to table with her petition. She passes Syd, who’s sitting at a table with two guys I assume are Stains and Rambo. One guy is big, sloppy, and unshaven. The other is short, skinny, and pale, yet somehow more menacing than the bigger guy. Syd sees Kali and drops her eyes to her fries.
Kali stops at the table beside Syd’s and asks people to sign her petition. She’s either ignoring Syd, too, or completely oblivious. Either way, I decide not to risk more embarrassment today.
Instead, I find an empty table, pull out my laptop, and start complaining about my life in an e-mail to Shanna and Morgan. While I eat my sandwich, I write about having to take over most of the housework since Dad shrunk two of my favorite T-shirts in the laundry, then dropped my new cookbook into a pot of stew he was making. I move on to describe the highlights of my first group session.
That’s when a cloud of cheap perfume blocks my windpipe. ‘What’s Transitions?’ Hollis asks, reading over my shoulder.
‘Nothing,’ I say, slamming the screen shut. Her features look pointier from below. I was wrong about great hair fixing everything.
‘So, the invasion of privacy only goes one way, spy?’
‘I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,’ I say. ‘But since you brought it up, you should join the jazz band if you want to. You don’t need Fletcher’s permission.’
She stares down at me. ‘You’re trying to break us up, aren’t you?’
‘What? How could you even think that?’ Surely my disgust for Fletcher shows?
Three of Hollis’s friends gather behind her. ‘Zahra, here, is into Fletch,’ Hollis tells them.
A dark-haired girl with a ruby nose stud that looks like a drop of blood laughs. ‘She doesn’t stand a chance.’
‘What’s Transitions?’ Hollis asks more forcefully, drawing strength from her crew.
‘It’s a community group,’ I say. ‘Where I volunteer.’
Ruby Stud shakes her head. ‘She’s lying. I’ve heard of Transitions. My cousin’s ex-boyfriend had to go when his parents split up. It’s group therapy.’
‘That explains so much,’ Hollis says, grinning. ‘Remember I told you about the weirdo from Spanish class and her fantasy menus? Well, this is her.’
I try to remember what I’ve heard about handling bullies, but theory isn’t much use when you’re in the moment.
‘So tell us, spy,’ Hollis says, ‘do you talk about your fantasies in group?’
‘She does.’ Kali is standing to my right, petition in hand. ‘We all do. It gets pretty steamy, actually. I wish I could say more, but what happens in group stays in group. Right, Z?’
‘Right,’ I say.
‘So the Jolly Green Flake’s back in therapy, too,’ Hollis says, savoring the news. ‘I heard about your first trip from Fletcher’s friend, Ace. But I’m not too surprised that you’re double-crazy. Poor thing.’
I’m sure Kali’s considered eccentric, with her eco-causes and spontaneous singing, but she’s also very pretty from any angle, a fact that can’t be lost on Hollis.
‘Thanks for caring,’ Kali says. ‘Sign my petition?’
Ruby Stud pushes the clipboard aside. ‘What happened this time, Flake? Another daddy take off?’
‘None of your business,’ I say, since Kali doesn’t have a comeback.
Hollis ignores me. ‘And what happens the third time you go nuts? The psych ward?’
‘Push us over the edge and you’ll find out,’ a raspy voice says. Syd looks old-school punk today, in combat boots, a blue kilt, leather cuffs, and an oversized T-shirt.
Hollis takes a step backward. Obviously Kali was wrong about Syd needing Stains and Rambo to scare people. She does just fine on her own.
‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Hollis,’ Syd continues. ‘I’ve got a problem with your pinhead boyfriend making out with Juanita Lopes next to my locker. Their slobber creates a health hazard. Could you have a word with him?’
‘You’re lying, you … psycho,’ Hollis says.
‘Is that the best you can do?’ Syd asks, taking a step closer. ‘And you must know I’m not lying.’
Syd looks from Kali to me. ‘This strikes me as a teachable moment.’ She turns back to the bullies. ‘Listen up, Hollis, and loser friends of Hollis. Dealing with problems in a constructive way doesn’t mean we’re nuts, it means we’re mature. Sticking with a boyfriend who treats you like crap? That’s nuts.’
Hollis’s hair seems to have lost its luster. ‘I—’
‘Don’t,’ Syd interrupts. ‘Anything you say will only make us pity you more. Run back to Fletcher and see if there’s any slobber left for you.’
Hollis and crew turn to go, firing every synonym for ‘crazy’ they can think of over their shoulders.
When the coast is clear, Kali and Syd drop into the seats beside me.
‘You handled that so well,’ Kali tells Syd. Her face is flushed and her green eyes sparkle with excitement.
‘I’ll ignore the wonder in your voice,’ Syd says. ‘I’m not just an awesome artist with a bad attitude, you know.’
We laugh, and it goes a long way toward taking the sting out of what just happened – at least for me.
‘Thanks, guys,’ I say, pulling out some chocolate shortbread cookies I baked in the hopes of having lunch with them today. I’m pretty sure girls are immune to the Cookie Curse.
Syd takes one and pops the whole thing in her mouth. ‘I’ve been dying to give Hollis Messina a reality check,’ she mumbles. ‘Thanks for giving me an excuse.’
‘I went out with one of Fletcher’s friends a couple of times last year,’ Kali says. ‘I mentioned my mom’s exes and my first trip to Transitions – obviously a huge mistake.’
‘Not as big a mistake as going out with Fletcher himself,’ Syd says. ‘Everyone knows he plays around on Hollis. She must have heard the rumors.’
‘Why does she put up with it?’ I ask. ‘She seems so tough.’
‘Hollis is a marshmallow wrapped in barbed wire,’ Kali says. ‘She cuts everyone to make up for a serious lack of self-esteem.’ She grins at my expression. ‘You learn a few things at group.’
‘I guess Hollis hopes he’ll change for her,’ I say. I can understand that. Fabulous as Rico is, there are things I’d change about him. For starters, I’d like to hear from him more often. And I’d love to set up dates in advance instead of on the fly, so I’d have something to look forward to. But I guess that’s what happens when you’re lucky enough to hook up with a busy, popular guy.
‘Fool for love …’ Kali’s fingers move into air guitar position. ‘“Nothing but a fo-oo-well …”’
‘Don’t do it,’ Syd says. ‘Do not sing, you psycho.’
Laughing again, I open my laptop to show Syd and Kali the map I’ve made for Dieter with our scavenger hunt photos. Although I’m far from arty, Dad’s a graphic designer and is always happy to teach me the latest technology.
They love it, and we spend the rest of the lunch period reliving the high points of the
scavenger hunt. By the time the bell rings, the cookies have disappeared, along with my anxiety.
I’m glad the map turned out so well. I’ve never been much of a navigator and it’s good to have some help finding my way.
‘You missed our turn,’ I shout to Rico over the noise of the engine and the rattling of windows and loose sun visors.
‘There’s less traffic on this street,’ he says, pressing harder on the accelerator.
We’re already going ten miles over the speed limit, but I know better than to worry out loud about old brakes, balding tires, or hidden state troopers. When you’re riding in Miss Daisy, you keep your eyes open and your mouth shut.
Miss Daisy is a 1986 Shelby Charger, custom-painted powder blue with white racing stripes. She’s the number one girl in Rico’s life, and it didn’t take me long to figure out that anyone else would come second at best.
When it comes to ‘Miz D,’ as the vanity plate reads, there’s an unwritten code of conduct. Doors are not slammed, seats are not adjusted, buttons are not touched, and food and drink are not permitted. Anyone privileged enough to enter Miss Daisy is informed once and at length about the history of the Shelby Charger and is thereafter tested on a regular basis.
It’s a lot of pressure for someone who generally judges a car solely by its color.
Rico squeals around another corner, and I brace myself on the dashboard. He looks at me sideways, and I know he’s wondering if my hand is clean. I tuck it under my leg and brace myself with my elbow instead. I don’t want Rico to regret picking me up from work tonight.
Spontaneous as always, he showed up just as my shift ended with a box full of Sweet Tooth gear – dish towels, a mug, even a key chain. René was impressed, although I sense he’s not big on Rico. That’s probably because Miss Daisy left a wicked oil patch in front of the Recipe Box. I think of Rico every time I see it.
I think about him all the time anyway, even more since Sunday, when he suggested a bike ride around town with a picnic in Zilker Park. I didn’t mention that I’d been there only the day before with Syd and Kali, since group is still my dirty little secret. I just enjoyed lying on the sun-warmed grass beside Rico, watching the colorful kites soar overhead. The food he picked up at my favorite bakery was delicious. All in all, it was the perfect antidote to my ill-fated dinner.
Love Inc. Page 5
