by Wendy Delsol
“Fru?” Penny said once we were out of earshot. “I didn’t know you were into the old ways.” Penny opened the door to her bedroom, revealing Tina sitting on her bed, also with wet hair.
“I’m not,” I said. “I’m into what’s new and hip and can blend on Rodeo Drive or Montana Avenue.” I paused and took a quick look around the room. It wasn’t bad, certainly nothing like the rest of the frumpy old house. Grim had about as much design sense as she had sense of humor. But Penny’s room showed promise. The comforter was zebra-print. There were black-and-white photos of winter scenes matted in white and framed in black. A desk fashioned out of an old door occupied an entire wall and had an assortment of clear glass vases and apothecary jars containing pencils, scissors, rubber bands, and other various supplies. And the room was painted eggplant, a bold statement, and just as difficult to decorate with as it was to make palatable. I was impressed.
“Great room.”
“Thanks.” Penny tucked a strand of wet hair behind an ear. “My amma doesn’t like it. She thinks it’s too forward. She thinks out of respect for my mom, I should leave it the way it was. Except that I was two when my mom painted my room pink. I’m really not into pink anymore. And besides, a coat of paint is not disrespectful.”
“Do you mind my asking where your parents are?” I asked. “You never mention them.”
Penny’s mouth twitched. “They died in a car accident.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It’s OK. My amma takes good care of me. She’s a little old-fashioned, but her heart’s in the right place.”
Maybe, but I’d like to see the X-ray. I wasn’t as convinced as Penny. Anyway, it helped to understand the household dynamics. “Does your amma make your sweater-vests?”
“Yes.”
“And who cuts your hair?”
“My amma.”
This was good news as far as I was concerned. It wasn’t necessarily that Penny had no flair, more that she had a roadblock. And how hard could it be to get around something so tall and so thin? My spirits did a little heel-kick at the opportunity to encourage Penny in her teenage right to freedom of expression. Defying Grim was just sprinkles on top. I pulled a pair of scissors, a hair dryer, and a hair relaxer, compliments of Jaelle, from my satchel. “Does she know why I’m here?”
“Yes.”
“Did she disapprove?”
Both Penny and Tina giggled. “Big-time,” Penny said.
“And you’re still willing to go through with it?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Excellent.” I had way underestimated Penny. Here was a girl with potential on several fronts. Number one: she could decorate. I have always appreciated an eye for design. Number two: she was willing to take a fashion risk, even at the peril of being grounded or shrugged into ill-fitting, handcrafted crochet wear. And three: we shared a basic philosophy. Democracy: enlightened, fair-minded, and stylishly New World. Monarchy: repressive, cliquish, and very Dark Ages. This had all the makings of a lasting friendship.
I dumped the rest of the contents of my bag onto Penny’s bed. Blouses, belts, scarves, bangly bracelets, and thick necklaces scattered into a tumble of color and texture. Penny fingered a white blouse embellished with floral patches and mismatched buttons.
“Did you make this?” Penny asked.
“Yes.”
“Where did you get all these crazy buttons?”
I hesitated, but then figured there was no reason to be secretive. “The store across from my afi’s, Hulda’s Fabric and Notions.”
“Recently?” Penny looked up with eyes the size and shine of spotlights.
“Yes.”
“Hulda’s in town?”
“She was briefly.”
Penny bit her thumbnail. “I wonder if my amma knows. They’re friends, but Hulda’s kind of eccentric. She never married. No kids. Comes and goes as it suits her. Nobody knows where she disappears to. Just vanishes for weeks at a time. Then one day she’ll just be there at church, or in her store. If she weren’t so rich, she’d probably be called crazy.”
“She’s rich?”
Penny laughed. “Are you kidding? She owns half the town.”
“Half the town?”
“That may be an exaggeration. Besides the store, she owns a big home, the abandoned paper factory, and all the land surrounding it.”
Why didn’t I know this? “What happened to the paper factory?”
Penny opened her arms in a gesture of futility. “That closed a long time ago. Cheaper to import, is what everyone says. Plus, it had been her father’s business, and it wasn’t like she needed the income.”
“Hulda’s rich?” I knew I was acting thick, but my brain was having a tough time processing the information. For starters, she dressed in rags. And the three times I’d been face-to-face with her, they’d been the same rags at that. And those heavy brown lace-up man shoes were vintage Dust Bowl, with the layer of dirt to prove it. I shook myself back to the job at hand, stating, “OK, girls, let’s stay on task. We’ve got some hair issues to tackle.”
Within an hour, and with enough hair spray to glue a cat to the wall and an arsenal of my own accessories, I had transformed my two subjects. Penny’s hair was tugged into a single flip and had a sheen that even I hadn’t thought possible. She wore jeans, heeled boots, a crisp white blouse, belted linen jacket, and a smile that could light Disney’s Electrical Parade. Tina had promised — and had even written it out ten times on a tablet of paper — never again to lift a curling iron to her poor bangs. I couldn’t help but wonder how such a simple tool could get the better of someone so smart and with such excellent penmanship. And it turned out that Tina had pretty hair, auburn with honey streaks that I scrunched into an attractive tumble of natural curls. She wore a long denim skirt, shirttails poking out from a corduroy coat, and a silky scarf wrapped stylishly at her neck. I’d been worried about finding the right look for Tina. Not only was she tall, five-eleven slouched, but she was a serious athlete: cross country, basketball, and track. For the school paper, she covered girls’ sports and crusaded for equal time and equal coverage. I wanted to find a style that respected her sporty side, while adding a touch of femininity.
I stepped back and looked her over, rubbing my chin. “Hmmm. Something’s missing.”
Penny held up a thick silver bracelet. I shook my head no. The two of us stood scrutinizing Tina. “I know just the thing,” Penny said with a clap of her hands. “I’ll be right back.” She returned carrying a cloth shopping bag full of hats. She rummaged through it, extracting the teal blue cloche with peacock feather that I’d have recognized anywhere. “It’s my amma’s. Isn’t it crazy?” She dropped it onto Tina’s head. It looked ridiculous. We got the giggles.
“It’s a showstopper, all right,” I said. “Just not sure what kind of show.” We got the guffaws. Penny snorted like a circus elephant. We laughed louder.
There was a knock at the door. “Is everything OK in there?”
Penny snatched the hat from Tina’s head and kicked it and the cloth shopping bag under her bed. Grim opened the door and poked her horsey nose into the room. She took a long look at Penny, and then Tina.
“What on earth?” Grim said.
“What do you think?” Penny asked.
“I think you girls should get going.” Grim closed the door with a thud.
We got the giggles again. I doubled over with spasms of laughter rolling through me. I couldn’t have told you the last time I’d had anything to laugh about. I righted myself and looked at my two new friends. “You guys look great.”
“Nobody’s going to recognize us,” Tina said, fingering her bangs. I promptly swatted her hand away.
“You could get community service hours for this,” Penny said, checking herself out in a full-length mirror. “Or at least extra credit with Ms. Bryant.”
I gathered my things and shoved them into my bag. “It was fun. And if you guys like the results, then tha
t’s all I need.” I really did get a kick out of seeing them preen in the mirror. “Should we get going?” I asked, bundling myself into a thick cream-colored fisherman’s sweater, knee-length down vest, nubby wool scarf, and fur-lined trapper hat with ear flaps.
Penny looked at me and giggled. “It’s supposed to be pretty mild tonight.”
I shrugged. “I take no chances with the cold.”
It actually was a beautiful fall evening, and I probably was too warmly dressed. Still, it wasn’t completely nightfall yet. And the weather here was more fickle than the Hollywood press.
The Asking Fire took place on a remote acreage. We walked along an old trail lit by hanging lanterns, skirting thick woods until we came to a wide-open field. The bonfire, a towering inferno of at least ten feet, was already burning brightly. It emitted a heat that gave the crowd golden complexions and rosy cheeks. There were benches and picnic tables set around the area, and a stage off to one side of the fire. Some kids had brought their own blankets, and these were laid out in front of the stage. Cups of punch and boxes of sugary donuts lined a refreshments table. At another table were boxes of pencils and colored squares of paper.
“So how does this thing work?” I asked.
Penny and Tina looked at each other with giddy expressions. “You write down the name of the boy you hope will ask you,” Penny said. “Then you offer the paper to the fire. If your heart is true, then he’ll ask you.”
“You seriously believe that?”
Penny shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt to try, even if it is a long shot.” She picked up a pencil and a small square of light blue paper. She scribbled something quickly.
Tina also jotted something down and then folded the pink paper over twice. “Aren’t you going to write down a name?” she asked.
“No way,” I said quickly. “I’m just here for the show.”
“What happened to you two?” I recognized Jack’s voice and turned to find him standing behind me. He was staring at Penny and Tina, as was his friend Pedro.
“Don’t they look great?” I said.
Pedro was the first to answer. “You both look very pretty.” Though he used the word both, I noticed that his eyes were focused on Penny.
“Sure. I guess,” Jack said. The guy obviously had zero appreciation for clothing or style. He wore a purple-and-gold Vikings T-shirt, under which the collar of an orange-and-blue plaid short-sleeved shirt was visible. I hadn’t seen colors so misused since kindergarten. And short sleeves? It had to be in the forties. The work boots were OK, I supposed. And the jeans fit well, anyway. At least he wasn’t wearing a cap and I could actually see his blue eyes, which I noticed, in the firelight, had flecks of green. Luckily, his lack of enthusiasm hadn’t dampened Penny’s mood. She was still smiling winningly. So much, in fact, that I worried the volume of aerosol hair spray had frozen more than her flip.
“So are you girls feeding the fire tonight?” Pedro asked.
Penny quickly stuffed the scrap of blue paper into her jean pocket. “We’ll never tell.”
“I’m not,” I said, realizing immediately that I’d not only cut Penny off but had contradicted her as well. “Just watching.” Jack gave me a long, hard look. You’d think I’d have been used to it by then, but somehow the guy still unnerved me. “I don’t believe in magic anyway,” I found myself saying. This from, of all people, a girl who had recently discovered she was a human Stork and had input on the placement of infant souls. Something about the guy caused my neurons to backfire, and made me say things and do things just to be contrary.
Monique and two of her orbiting moonies walked by. She glanced at our group dismissively and then did a head snap, taking in Penny and Tina’s makeovers.
“Don’t you two look nice tonight.” She flashed one of her campaign smiles.
Of course, it was too good to be true. As they walked away, I distinctly heard Monique say, “Talk about lipstick on a pig.” She and her friends then dissolved into a fit of giggles.
My concerns about Penny’s exposure to harmful chemicals evaporated with Penny’s smile. Even her hair seemed to droop a little.
“Don’t listen to her.” I dropped an arm across Penny’s shoulders. “Evil. And wicked. And deserving of an overthrow. Remember?”
Penny managed the slightest of shrugs. “I know.” I didn’t detect much confidence in her tone.
“You’re twice the person she is,” Jack said, looking fondly at Penny. For the first time since I met the big doodah, he’d finished a sentence without me wanting to stuff his tongue down his throat. I nodded at him. In fact, I couldn’t have agreed more. “Prettier, too,” he continued. Had I a pardon to bestow, I’d have granted him one. Heck, if I had a sword, I might have knighted him.
It seemed a perfect opportunity to give them a few moments alone. “Tina, do you want to get some punch?” I took Tina by the elbow. “You want us to bring you some, Penny?”
Penny looked at us like we’d just dropped her onto a deserted island with only a nail file and a birthday candle. Now if only I had a way of hog-tying Pedro, the bothersome third wheel. I steered Tina toward the refreshments, noticing that groups of kids were starting to gather around the stage.
“Now what?” I asked.
“The class president will give a speech,” Tina said. “And then the band will start.”
“Speech? From the president?” Who I knew to be Wade. I wasn’t sure I could stomach him pontificating. What I wouldn’t give for a magic carpet ride to the Century City Mall or the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica right now. And what would the Asking Fire think of that request? Tina was called over by a small group of girls. I watched as she fluffed her hair for them, obviously a reaction to their compliments. I felt like a proud mother hen, happy and peace-filled, until I noticed Wade hovering around the table. He nodded to me, reached for two cups of punch, and walked my way.
“Beverage?” he asked, holding out a cup for me.
“No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” He pounded down one, crushed the cup with his fist, and then gulped the other, finishing with a loud “Aaah.” He looked around and then dipped his head forward. “I’ve been thinking about you lately. And I like a girl with a little fire in her. Maybe we should try again.”
“Over my dead body.”
He laughed menacingly. “You really are a little hell cat, aren’t you?” He dipped his head closer. “Thing is, I don’t mind a challenge. Routine gets boring, if you know what I mean.”
I took two steps back; he took three forward.
I then heard a loud, shrill call from behind me. “Wade!”
I turned, though it wasn’t necessary. Monique’s voice was as distinctive as a sonic boom, and just as subtle.
“You’re being paged,” I said.
“Duty calls.” He lifted his eyes toward the towering flames. “Don’t forget to feed the fire.”
I watched as he sauntered off and grabbed Monique by the waist with a playful growl. She squealed and wriggled to get free. It was very loud and very dramatic — so was childbirth, according to most accounts.
After they left, I took a cup of punch if for nothing else than to cleanse my palate of the aftertaste of arrogance. It didn’t help much, but at least it filled my mouth with more than just unused stinging barbs. I took another sip and turned to find Jack at my elbow.
“Was he bothering you?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Not at all. I don’t even know the guy.”
“Really? ’Cause it looked like . . .”
“Just seen him around is all,” I said. “Barely know his name.”
Jack stared in the direction Wade had walked off. I couldn’t decide if the emotion twitching across his brow was anger or relief. “What you did for Penny was nice,” he said finally, turning his piercingly blue eyes back to me.
I looked to where I had left Penny, who remained with Pedro — darn him.
“I didn’t do much. A little hair product, a big rou
nd brush . . .”
“I was talking about the pep talk after Monique was so mean.”
“Oh. That. No biggie. Monique will get what she deserves.”
“You mean Wade?” Something dark inked across his irises.
A wind howled through the trees behind us. I gathered my vest to my throat. “That and more.” As in morning sickness, swollen ankles, and a squirming belly.
Feedback from the PA system screeched through the air. I looked up to see Wade with a microphone in his hand.
Jack looked left and right. “I don’t see Chris. I’d better make sure he’s getting photos for the paper.” He glanced up at the stage with a scowl and then hurried off.
Whatever had happened between them last year, it wasn’t forgiven.
“Welcome, everyone,” Wade said. “Just a few words about this year’s Homecoming.” He stood with a confidence beyond his years, his thick legs set apart in a boxer’s stance. “Ballots for this year’s king and queen will be available first thing Monday morning. Stop by the front table before or after school to vote.” I noticed there was barely an umm or hesitation to his words. The gift of gab. A born salesman. “Tickets to the dance also go on sale Monday morning. Remember, they’re only sold in twos, so make the right request of the Asking Fire.”
What a crock. Only sold in twos? What, do they have a bouncer at the door checking? Couples’ police? Ark patrol? This was a boat that definitely needed rocking. Which at least went with the dance’s under-the-sea theme.
Wade then slid from class president duties to those of football captain. He praised the team and its coaches, cheered their unbeaten record for the year, and announced that he and his defensive line were going to make Pinewood pay for last year’s game. I noticed he spoke only of the defense, with brutish words like crush, pound, wreck, and ruin. It was clear that Wade took his tackles seriously. He didn’t acknowledge Jack, the quarterback, or the rest of the offense. Whatever was between them was mutual. “And finally,” he said, “Let me declare the Asking Fire open for bids.” He lifted his arms in a wide gesture and affected a poet’s cadence.
