She shakes her head. “I know. I grew up very sheltered. I never had the sort of bold go-where-you-will attitude that you have.”
“That’s what you think?” I’m surprised to hear her describe me that way. In my mind I’m the total opposite of bold.
“Should I think something else?” She pulls strings of cheese and broccoli off her slice and pops them into her mouth.
I finish chewing. “That’s how I’d describe Dana.”
“Huh.” She doesn’t press further.
When we’re done eating, we walk over to the Junkman’s Daughter, which is like the capitol of emo, goth, alternative accessory funk. Three picks up the conversation again.
“Interesting.” She pulls out some sort of black patent harness-slash-bodice thing. “Maybe you should find something to highlight your inner bold. My treat.”
I laugh despite myself. “That is not my kind of bold.” I push through hangers on the rack in front of me. “Here. A statement for you.” I pull out a T-shirt—though I’m not sure there’s enough fabric for it to qualify—covered in pink unicorns. “You know you love it.”
“Maybe sixth-grade me.”
“You were a unicorn girl?” Three keeps surprising me.
“My Little Pony.”
I dig some more, trying to find something outrageous, when Three plucks out a shirt, deep indigo and V-neck, with the slogan “Grrrrrl Power” in a cartoon bubble. “This is good.” She holds it up and I shrug, not wanting to admit I actually like it.
She drapes it over her arm. “I know you think Dana is the one with all the girl power, but what you’re doing this year is bold and courageous, too. Making new friends. Putting yourself in uncertain situations. Toeing the line we’ve asked of you. The radio show is a nice carrot, but you could have refused. You still could and it’s not like we could stop you.” She walks away to the cash register before I can respond.
No radio show, me, free to be myself. But I can’t refuse. My dad’s disappointment would slay me. Dana would be pissed if I lose our big summer of gay because Dad took back his permission. But here’s the thing I’m worried about. I feel like I’m losing my girl power. I’m scared of the fear building inside me. Fear that means—because we up and moved to Bumfuck, Georgia—I’m pretty content with my father and Three’s edict. Coming out the first time was easy. Coming out in Rome? Maybe not.
I hurry to the cash register. “I don’t want that.”
The salesgirl’s eyes narrow. “I’ve already rung it up.”
Three waves for her to finish. “It’s fine.”
The salesgirl points at the credit card swipe for a signature, then hands the bag over.
Three holds it out to me. “You can always give it to Dana.”
It’s still hours before school lets out and the time Dana usually shows up at Hellcat, so I drive Three around Candler Park, Decatur, and East Atlanta. I make her go by our old house and the Horizons School where I went until fifth grade. We pop into the Fernbank Museum to look at their display of rain forest frogs, then eventually we circle back down McClendon Avenue toward Moreland.
“You ready for coffee?” And Dana, I think.
“Sounds good, though I’d like to miss the worst of rush hour if possible. Can you keep it kind of brief? I know you miss her, but this was a spur-of-the-moment decision and I didn’t think through the traffic part.”
“No problem.”
There’s a parking spot right in front of Hellcat, and if I thought Three looked freaked outside Fellini’s, I was wrong. And I have to admit, this neighborhood is a tad sketchy.
We open the door and the chime purrs.
“Atmosphere,” I say.
“Baby girl.” Dahlia, the barista, smiles at me. “Where’ve you been? It’s like you dropped off the planet or something.” She’s totally checking Three out and winks at me, like she’s in on my secret. Oh God, maybe this wasn’t such a smart idea.
“What’s good here?” Three’s scanning the chalkboard menu, and suddenly the menu items, which I always thought were hilarious, seem a little juvenile. Things like Short Hair Sprout Sandwich and Honey Pot Chai (no teabags here).
“Baby.” Dahlia leans forward, purring at my stepmom. “I’m all the good you’ll need. If you ever get tired of this lollipop by your side.”
“Um.” Three looks at me, then looks at Dahlia. Then, oh my God, my stepmom puts her arm over my shoulder. “What do you think, sweetie? What should I get?”
What in the actual fuck is happening? “Uh.”
“Two Americanos,” Three says, squeezing me close to her side before letting go—she’s proving to be way cooler than I would ever have thought in a million years, despite how unbelievably awkward and gross this is.
Dahlia winks at me, then lingers at my stepmom’s hand as she takes the cash.
The door purrs.
“No. Fucking. Way.” Dana’s voice is unmistakable. “Jo! Finally, it’s you, in the flesh!”
I’d texted her to make sure she was coming here after school, but didn’t tell her I was in town. I wanted to surprise her.
“Well, hey there, MILF.” Dana has no shame. None. None at all.
Dahlia sets our coffees on the counter.
“How are you, Dana?” Three’s smile is counterfeit, like she stole the one from her mother’s face and put it on her own. So maybe not as cool when the gay girl’s not her stepdaughter.
“Great, now that y’all are here.” Dana shoves her hands into her back pockets, getting her flirtatious thing going. “I sure had a nice time at your wedding.”
Three pales and there went our good day, squashed under the memory of Mrs. Foley witnessing some skirt diving. “Yes, well, I’m sure Jo was happy to have you there.” She turns to me. “Car? Twenty minutes? I don’t want to get stuck in traffic.” Then to Dana, “Nice to see you again.” She keeps a smile plastered on her face as she grabs her coffee, but I can tell by the tone of her voice she doesn’t really mean it.
“Bitch ever going to get over her problem?” Dana watches her as the door shuts and Three walks past the windows to the car.
“She’s actually cooler than I thought.”
“Please tell me that housewife isn’t brainwashing your hot ass.”
It’s not worth the argument. I look over my shoulder and down at my butt. “Hot?”
“Yeah, even if you have gone all Mall Bitch 101 on me.” Her arms cross over her chest.
“Your idea.”
“You took to it like a duck to fucking water.”
“What’s your problem, Dana? You seem mad. You know I’m doing this for my dad. And for us.” More people are filtering in after school. Through the window, I see Three on the phone and I know she’s antsy to beat the Atlanta end-of-workday traffic out of town. But it’s been too long since I’ve seen Dana, and we need to work out whatever this attitude is.
Dana rocks on her Docs. Her hair is freshly buzzed except for one tiny curl of bang, and she’s upped the gauge in her ear. “Maybe you and me are just changing.”
“What?” The blood drains from my body, or at least it feels that way. “I’m still the same me as always, Dana. The me you always swore balanced you out.”
She points. “Look at you. All clean-cut and filled with Jesus. I bet you don’t even mind being in the closet up there. I bet it works for you.”
I clench my fists to keep from pushing her into the espresso machine. “Don’t bring Jesus into this.” But her point hits way too close to my fears.
“Whatever. Am I wrong?”
I can’t answer.
She rolls her eyes. “Unbelievable. I always knew you were a pussy, but I never thought you’d turn against your tribe.”
“I’m not turning, Dana. I came out to that kid George. Are you really going to keep being such an ass?” I nudge her with my elbow. “Come on. The only thing keeping me going is knowing we’re going to have an amazing summer. I thought you understood.” I grab her arm. “Please. I’m legit
begging here.”
She lifts a hand to some tatted girls walking through the door and keeps ignoring me, but when I add a thrust to my lower lip, she caves with a slug to my arm. “I’m not blowing you off. Though seeing you beg is definitely a point in favor of lesbian tough love.” She pulls me into a hug. “Can I remind you, though, you’re the one going to Bible study and football dudes’ houses. I’m left here, still doing my same old thing.” She pulls back. “And . . . I’m seeing somebody.”
Jealousy, and relief, course through me. Girlfriends and Dana are old news. And they never last. “That’s it? You haven’t been in touch because you have a new girlfriend.” Then I stop. “How bad is she?” It’s a known fact that new girlfriends do not like old friends. Especially ones as close as me.
Dana smirks. “Bad. Her name is Holly. She’ll be here in a minute, so maybe take a step back or two.”
I don’t have time to respond before this loud girl busts through the door. She’s dressed like a fifties pinup girl, all tits and red lipstick and platinum hair. I am a drab mouse in comparison.
“Hey, baby.” She marches straight to Dana, grabs her around the waist, and gives her a deep kiss. Then breaks away and looks at me. “Who’s the cream puff?”
I don’t give her the benefit of an answer, because, hello, rude. “Dana. I better head out. Three wants to beat the traffic.”
Holly narrows her eyes. “Are you Jo?” It’s like she can’t believe I’m flesh and blood.
“The one and only. BFF to your shining star here.” In a normal situation, the BFF would take the time to get to know the new girlfriend. Ease the jealousy. But my instant impression of Holly is trouble. And my long-term knowledge of Dana includes her mercurial relationship tendencies. Why bother. Besides, Holly is type bitch with a capital B.
She responds with a “huh,” then, “You’re not what I thought.” She leans into Dana, whispering something in her ear.
Dana’s still watching me but looks away quickly, like I might be able to read Holly’s whispered words in her eyes and she’s embarrassed for me to see whatever they say.
I pick up my coffee when the air gets awkward. “Well, it was nice to meet you.” I lift my cup to Holly, then to Dana. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Holly waves each finger. “See you around, Little Suburbia. Maybe next time you can stay and play.”
Yeah. No way I’m being the mouse to your cat.
As I walk out the door, Holly’s raucous laugh pounds my ears and her words slam against me. “That’s who I’ve been jealous of? Oh come here, baby D, you don’t have to worry about that boredom anymore. You’ve got your Holly now.”
The door shuts behind me and it’s nothing but the static sound of traffic. I gulp in air, forcing my way to calm. Dear heavenly Mother, forgive me for my current murderess feelings. And please give Dana the guidance to deal with that evil demon. My gut tells me she’s going to need it. I pause. And thanks for this day with Elizabeth. It was pretty good up until now. Amen. Joanna.
When I get in the passenger seat, Three smiles. “How’d it go?”
I hook my seat belt. “It involved prayer, Elizabeth.”
She nods and acts like my use of her real name is no big deal, but I can tell by the slight smile and the crinkle near her eyes that it meant a whole lot. It’s a good way to leave the sour taste of Hellcat Holly behind.
Seventeen
TUESDAY MORNING, GEORGE GREETS ME in the parking lot. “Where were you yesterday?”
I start to answer but he cuts me off. “Never mind. That was insane what you pulled with Gemma on Sunday.” He bro-punches me. “You’re brilliant. Roller coasters—she’ll be sure to need to grab my hand or something.”
I tug my T-shirt out from where it’s bunched under my backpack straps and shift the pack to the opposite side. “Careful there, killer. You need to play this right. Don’t want to seem like you’re throwing me off the bus too quickly. That’s the way to get yourself a reputation.”
“Right.” He does the bang push thing. “So what do I do?”
I hook my hand through his elbow. “Be yourself.” The irony of my own advice is not lost on me as Mary Carlson and B.T.B. pull into their parking spot a few yards up from us.
B.T.B. hops out first. “Jo . . . anna! You were gone yesterday. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, buddy. Needed a day.”
Mary Carlson appears at the back of the car and her eyes land on my arm looped through George’s elbow. I move it.
“Nice frames.” I point. She’s got on a huge pair of pink glasses instead of her usual ones.
She moves her hand up and fidgets with them, a little blush rising in her cheeks. “Eighth-grade me. I secretly wanted to be a K-pop star. I left my regular glasses at the club yesterday.”
We walk four across toward the school. It seems like she’s gotten over being upset.
“K-pop, huh? Did you have the little skirts to go with those frames? Maybe a pair of suspenders? A bow tie?” I nudge her. “The whole sexy schoolgirl look.”
She drops her face, her hair making a curtain, but there’s a smile there. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
And, sweet holy mother of all things not lying low, we are flirting. Or are we? I blow past it. “Actually, I would pay good money to see the pictures, because I know, deep in my fortune-teller’s soul, that you dressed up K-pop for Halloween one year.”
B.T.B. laughs. “She is right, sister. I remember. You and Gemma and Betsy. You even did a performance for me in our living room.”
“Freeeeshhhh. That video must be shown.”
Mary Carlson is laughing now. “No way, city girl. You are not getting a chance to make fun of my choreography.” She looks up and the sun glints off the edge of the pink frames. “Even if I did look hot.”
George chimes in. He seems utterly clueless about the thick slice of heat he narrowly cut in two. “I remember that dance. Mr. Mulroney fell and broke his leg and the ambulance came. Gemma was the only one not completely freaked out by the angle of his leg.”
“Doctor parents,” Mary Carlson says.
“Ah.” George swings his book bag up under his arm. “Is that why she wants to go premed?”
“Gemma would be a very good doctor. I would let her be mine.” B.T.B. nods in serious consideration.
“I think she’s into it. Science and all that stuff.” Mary Carlson tilts her head. “Why are we talking about Gemma?”
I grab George’s arm again. “Because George here is secretly worried about launching off a coaster and wants to make sure he’s accompanied to Six Flags by a qualified companion. Plus he doesn’t want to lose out on those free tickets.”
“Hey!” George protests. “I’ll be the one trying to stand in the front car. That’s my true coaster secret.”
Mary Carlson laughs, then B.T.B. points to Mr. Ned standing by the wheelchair bus. “I need to help with Zeke. He likes to see me in the mornings.” He leaves us at a jog.
George grins. “Your brother’s awesome.”
Mary Carlson hugs her books to her chest and watches him go. “Yeah, at the risk of sounding cheesy, my future career is for him. I’m already accepted into West Georgia. They’ve got a special education degree and a ladies golf team.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Mary Carlson and George both look at me when I don’t pull it out immediately, but I know it’s Dana.
“I, um, I’ll catch up with y’all later.” I pivot away from them before they answer and walk to a bench. One glance back and I see Mary Carlson watching, then turning so I don’t notice. I can’t stop the flutter under my rib cage or the smile on my lips when I’m around her.
Check this out. Dana’s attached a picture. It’s a Rosie the Riveter tat, her bandana in rainbow colors, another Rosie tat on the tat’s arm.
The Russian nesting doll of cool tattoos.
I’m getting it.
Won’t your mom die? She won’t sign off. Isn’t it like a taboo thing in your
house?
She can’t stop me. Besides Holly knows a girl who’ll do it without the form. And please, who listens to their parents about tats.
Point. Prison tattooist? I know it’s low, but Dana’s new girlfriend hit me with a double whammy of bad intuition.
Maybe.
Okay, I deserved that. Expensive?
Bank for sure. But Holly baby’s got us covered.
What? She got a preacher daddy, too? Not that I ever would have convinced Dad to let me pay for Dana’s tat. Not that he has anything against tats—on other people.
Naw. Girl has means. Love ya. Oops, better delete that.
Did you stick your head willingly in this noose?
Har, har. You ran off and left me, remember? Besides, her whole thing intrigues me.
Eewww.
Not THAT thing. She has skills in other areas. Business areas. Oops. Gotta run for the bell.
My own first bell rings. Shit. I push my phone into my pocket and get ready to hit the hall at a run, but Gemma stops me. “Who you talking to, new girl? Is that George?” She draws his name out all middle-school singsongy as she catches up to me.
“No.” I try not to look guilty. “An old friend down in Atlanta.” We kick into mall walk trying to make it to our classrooms.
My answer seems to satisfy her curiosity. “You sure you’re okay with Saturday? I really don’t want to stir anything up or cause hard feelings.”
“Hard feelings? I’m totally fine with it. It’s cool that you’re both so into amusement parks. Couple of brainiacs out on a bender.”
She rolls her eyes but smiles. “Because hitting tiny little white balls with a stick is so enlightening.”
“Exactly.” I point to my classroom. “Later.”
“See you, new girl.” Gemma rolls into a jog as she leaves.
Saturday’s arrival is fast and interminably slow. Every morning, all week long, I’ve rolled out of bed thinking about it. A whole day of Mary Carlson and me, without the girl gang, without B.T.B., without George. I’m glad we’re going to be somewhere public, because my crush, instead of diminishing, is only getting stronger. And Dana’s no help. We were supposed to Skype every night, but she’s been so busy with Holly doing whatever they’re doing that she’s had no time for me.
Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit Page 11
