“Definitely,” I say, my eyes misting a little. “Besides,” I add, to lighten the mood, “this will all be just a bad memory when we’re living in our New York loft and partying with Chris Brown or whoever.”
“Please!” Sienna says. “Chris Brown will be old news. We’ll be partying with the next Chris Brown.”
We laugh at this, but then Sienna sighs. “I’ve got to go. I promised my dad I’d pick up a video for Brody.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to get milk and cereal.” Standing, we shrug into our winter coats and then step outside into the night. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.
“Yeah.” Sienna rolls her eyes to show that she is not looking forward to her return to Red Cedars. “And remember our pact, okay?”
“I will—BFFs,” I say, trying to keep my chin from wobbling with emotion.
“BFFs.” Sienna gives me a quick hug and then departs.
With my BFF back at school, things feel surprisingly normal. I once again join Sienna and the others for lunch in the cafeteria. “Where have you been, Louise?” Kimber asks. “We haven’t seen you around.”
“I’ve been working on sets for Rent,” I reply.
“Ahhh . . . ” Jessie says, and then, adopting an announcer-like tone, “The Red Cedars Emmy-winning production of Rent!” Everyone bursts into laughter.
Tony-winning, Tony-winning, I am tempted to say, but don’t bother.
Sienna changes the subject. “So . . . you guys probably haven’t heard about my mom and Louise’s dad.”
“What?” Audrey asks.
Taking a sip of Diet Coke, Sienna says flippantly, “They’ve shacked up together.”
“NO!” the other girls gasp in unison.
I shoot Sienna a look. What happened to keeping it quiet? What happened to not letting the entire school know that her mom and my dad have found themselves a love shack where they can go at it like a couple of rabbits on E?
She reads my expression. “We’ll just tell our really close friends,” she explains. “You guys won’t say anything, right?”
“Of course not!” Audrey gushes. “Your secret is safe with us.”
“Definitely.” Kimber echoes, while Jessie mimes locking her lips and throwing away the key.
“So how long has their affair been going on?” Audrey asks, almost gleefully.
“We don’t know,” Sienna says with an indifferent shrug. “Could be years . . . Apparently, they have ‘very deep feelings for each other’ that grew out of their friendship.” She sticks her finger in her mouth and pretends to barf.
This is a very different side to the tearful girl I met for coffee last night. But maybe Sienna has the right idea. There’s no point letting our parents’ sick and twisted choices ruin our own lives. Why punish ourselves by crying and moping about it? “Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes. “They have a lot in common and enjoy each other’s company very much.”
“On the bright side,” Sienna continues, “Louise and I are sort of like sisters now.”
“Oh my god!” Kimber says. “That’s so cool!” She is looking at me as she says it. Obviously, being Sienna’s sister is the cool part and not the other way around.
“Well, you’re not really sisters,” Audrey says, and there is a jealous twinge to her voice.
Sienna looks to me. “So what are we then? Half-sisters?”
“Stepsisters,” I correct her. “If they get married.”
“Oooh!” Sienna cries excitedly. “We could be bridesmaids! We could wear matching pale pink dresses!”
“And tiaras!” I add. To my delight, the other girls are laughing. “We could read a poem,” I continue, enjoying my time in the limelight for something other than my drab hair. “Or sing!”
“Something really corny and romantic,” Sienna says. “Like . . . ‘I Will Always Love You.’”
“‘My Heart Will Go On’ by Celine,” Audrey contributes.
“Of course, it’ll be a little hard to read poetry and sing love songs at their wedding, since we won’t be attending.” Sienna says, taking a sip of her pop.
“We’ve disowned them,” I add.
“I don’t blame you,” Audrey says.
“It’s totally gross,” Sienna replies.
Then Kimber adds, “My dad’s new wife is, like, twenty-three and she acts like she’s my mom. So . . . at least it’s cool that you’re sort of sisters now.”
Sienna and I exchange looks. “It is,” my best friend says with a smile.
Suddenly, the bell rings. Sienna stands and tosses her pop can into the recycling bin. “Ugh, algebra,” she says, making a face. “I’ve gotta run. Mr. Bartley totally spazzes if you’re late.”
“I know!” I agree.
“But at least he’s got nice arms,” Kimber says with a giggle.
“And buns!” Audrey adds.
“Gross! He’s a teacher!” Sienna shrieks. Then she turns to me. “Bye, sis!”
“Bye, sis!”
8
As the week continues, I think I’ve found the silver lining in my father’s desertion of us. Obviously, it’s a shame that my mom has been wearing the same pair of sweatpants for ten days and that my brother will likely turn into some kind of sexual deviant because of what he witnessed, but I choose to focus on the positive. Sienna and I are practically sisters! We’ve been BFFs for years, but now we are more like family. Of course, the parental situation is far from ideal, but I can’t help but think that being Sienna Marshall’s stepsister might bump me from the periphery of the in-crowd, a little closer to the center.
When I arrive home after school on Thursday, Troy is sitting at the breakfast bar eating a bowl of ice cream. “Where’s Mom?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“She’s lying down,” he says, shoving a heaping spoonful of Neapolitan into his mouth.
I go to the fridge. “How’s she doing?”
He shrugs. “She came out and said hi when I got home, but she says she has a headache.”
Obviously, this means I’ll be on dinner duty again. I grab a Jell-O pudding cup to sustain me. Then my brother says, “Oh yeah . . . some guy called for you.”
I nearly drop the cup. I can’t believe it’s happening already. Sienna and I have only been stepsisters for a few days and already guys are calling me! This is basically the first phone call I’ve received from the opposite sex. Well, technically that’s not true. David Hyslop called once to get my notes from biology class when he’d been out for two weeks with mono. And only last month Aaron Hansen called to see if I had any family members in the medical profession who could get us the numerous syringes we would require as props for Rent.
“Who was it?” I ask, trying to contain my excitement. It was probably one of the cute popular boys who has just never noticed me before. I know I’d previously said I didn’t like the cute and popular type, but maybe I was too hasty? It’s not really fair to judge someone just because they’re rich and good-looking. But now, I am on the radar. I can almost hear their conversation:
Cute popular boy #1: That Sienna Marshall is so hot.
Cute popular boy #2: Yeah. Have you noticed her stepsister?
Cute popular boy #1: She has a stepsister?
Cute popular boy #2: Louise Harrison. She’s pretty hot too.
Cute popular boy #1: Yeah, she is. I think I’ll phone her after school.
But in answer to my question, Troy shrugs. “I can’t remember his name.”
“WHAT?” I scream. “What do you mean you can’t remember his name? Who called, Troy?”
“God! Relax, you fat bitch. I wrote down the number.” He points to a pad of paper on the counter near the phone.
“What good is a number without a name?” I grumble, hurrying toward the phone. Grabbing the notepad, I decipher my brother’s scratchy handwriting. Below the number it says: Manager, Orange Julius.
My heart plummets. I’d been a fool to think that one of the popular boys had been calling me. I am still lank of hair an
d big of bone, despite my tenuous family relationship with Sienna. It’s time I faced it. There is no bright side to my dad’s relationship with Sunny.
Tearing the piece of paper off the pad, I crumple it in my hand. Of all the places I applied, the only one that calls me back is Orange Julius? That’s not even going to help me with my career in fashion. And I can’t take a job now. Who would make sure we didn’t run out of milk and cereal? Who would put the frozen chicken strips in the oven and boil the water for Kraft Dinner? While the average fourteen-year-old should be capable of assuming this responsibility, Troy cannot be trusted around electricity. Blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over, I hurry to my room. I don’t want my brother to witness my breakdown.
Later that night, when my mom emerges to nibble on an overcooked chicken finger, she notices the crumpled phone message still on the counter. Smoothing out the slip of paper, she asks, “Did Orange Julius offer you a job?”
“Don’t worry,” I sulk, staring at my algebra textbook, “I’m not going to take it.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” I say, “someone’s got to make sure we don’t run out of food and Troy does his homework and doesn’t start torturing cats.” She gives me a confused look, so I elaborate. “The kid’s got problems, whether you want to deal with them or not.”
While my mom goes to the fridge and pours herself a glass of water, I continue. “Besides, I’m starting to like my hair limp and mousy. It suits my personality.”
She closes the fridge and looks at me. I’m preparing for a lecture on my poor attitude, which, I will admit, I sort of deserve, but instead she says, “I haven’t been much of a mom for the past couple weeks, have I?”
“Oh, you’ve been great,” I reply with a healthy chunk of sarcasm.
“Things won’t always be this bad,” she says frankly. “I just need a little more time. I’ve lost the man I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with and my best friend in one fell swoop. I think I deserve to mope for a few weeks.”
I suddenly feel incredibly selfish. “I know,” I mumble, on the verge of tears. “You do.”
She walks over to face me across the breakfast bar. “I want you to take that job.”
“What?”
“It’ll look great on your college applications, and it’ll give you a little extra money to play with.”
“But—”
She cuts me off. “Just because we’re going through a rough patch, doesn’t mean we should forget about the future. Take the job, Louise.”
I shrug. “I don’t even know if I want it. I’d rather work in a clothing store or something. And it’s not like he offered me the job. I probably have to have an interview and everything.”
My mom reaches out and takes my hand. “I promise that if you get the job, I’ll pull myself together. It’ll be the kick in the pants I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and start living again. If you’re not here to take care of everything, I’ll have to, won’t I?”
“I guess. I mean, I may as well call him back.”
She gives my hand a squeeze. “You’ll knock ’em dead at the interview. I have faith in you.”
And so, at 8:00 p.m., I call the number my brother so carelessly scribbled down for me. It turns out to be the cell phone of a man named Grant, who is not the manager of Orange Julius, but the owner of a number of franchises in the area. He asks me to meet him at the Willowbrook location on Saturday morning. While I don’t want to be too confident, it does sort of sound like I’ve already got the job when he asks what size uniform I’ll need. Rather sheepishly, I tell him extra large . . . if they have it.
For the rest of the week, I try to remain calm, though I can’t deny the life-altering implications of this new job. Obviously, the hair thing is huge, but it could also mark my mother’s return to normal life. That means she’ll once again prepare meals for us, maybe use the vacuum occasionally, and throw in the odd load of laundry. And, not that she was ever a fashion plate, it will be nice to see her in some presentable clothing again. Once my mom gets herself together, I can go back to being my regular old self. Well, plus grappling with how to have a relationship with my dad now that he’s living with my best friend’s mom.
I don’t have a chance to share the news of my potential employment with Sienna until after school on Thursday. Sienna, Jessie, Kimber, and I are seated at the Starbucks two blocks from Red Cedars. I rarely join them on these after-school caffeine binges. The last time I did, they all ordered triple venti mochas and tried to outtalk one another for two hours. But since my days of after-school freedom may be numbered, I force myself to go.
We are discussing Sienna’s new, and extremely subtle, highlights that her guilt-riddled mother was all too happy to shell out for. Part of me wishes I’d thought of asking my guilt-riddled father to pay for my hair makeover. Judging by his regular Wednesday-night phone calls (I, at least, will carry on a stilted conversation with him; my brother prefers to swear and punch furniture), he’d be all too happy to fork over some money to ease his conscience. But I’ve gone so far with the job thing that I can’t back out now. Besides, I doubt getting my dad to pay would have a positive impact on my mom.
“So,” I begin when there is a break in the conversation, “I’ve got a job interview on Saturday.”
“What?” Sienna says, incredulous.
“At Orange Julius,” I explain.
“Oooh! Rockin’!” Jessie says sarcastically.
Sienna gives her a look, causing Kimber to say, “I’m, like, totally addicted to the Blueberrathon Smoothie!”
“Yeah,” Jessie says with a guilty laugh. “Maybe you can get us a discount?”
“Well . . . I don’t know, but if I get the job, I can ask,” I say lamely.
Sienna looks at me. “I can’t believe you have to get a job. That sucks.”
“Well, I don’t have to . . . ” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“Your dad is such a prick. First, he deserts you, and now he’s making you work for a living. You should be having fun and partying and stuff. And what about your art? You’ll never have any time to draw if you’re working to support your family!”
I must admit to feeling a little defensive about my dad. Yes, he made an unfortunate choice in accepting Sunny’s blow job, but he’s not Satan! Besides, I’m working to get highlights, not to put food on the table. But Sienna won’t be stopped. “God, just when I thought I couldn’t hate them any more, now you have to get a job. We’ll never have any time to hang out.”
“I haven’t even got the job yet! And if I do get it, it’ll only be a few hours a week,” I say, but obviously I don’t want to get into an argument in front of Kimber and Jessie. I calm myself and continue. “My mom says it looks good on college applications. It shows that you’re responsible.”
“Whatever,” Sienna huffs, taking a sip of her café mocha. “It still sucks.”
9
But all thoughts of job interviews, highlights, and my parents’ dissolving marriage are temporarily pushed aside in anticipation of Audrey’s party. The first step is deciding what to wear. Normally, Sienna and I would be getting ready together, but given that my home is “the scene of the crime,” she’s not really comfortable coming over. And, as the daughter of his former best friend and his wife’s current lover, I also feel a bit awkward facing Keith. So, I am left to try to find an appropriate outfit on my own. Given that I’m planning a future in the fashion industry, I sincerely hope this will get easier. But then, I will always have Sienna’s instincts to rely on. When we’re living in New York, away from all this parental craziness, I’ll never have to get ready for a party alone again.
Once I’ve selected an appropriate outfit (basically jeans, boots, and a red T-shirt), I need to secure transportation to and from the party. Normally, my dad would have dropped us off and Keith would have picked us up. Obviously, those days are over. Given that my mom seems to favor going to bed at 9:00 p.m. and then getting up again at
3:00 a.m. to watch infomercials, I’m not sure chauffeuring us will fit into her schedule. I decide to take a brave approach.
“Can I use your car tonight?” I ask, only the slightest tremor in my voice.
My mom looks up from an episode of What Not to Wear. “What for?”
“Audrey Robertson is having a party.” Before she can begin reciting MADD statistics on mixing driving and teen partying, I continue. “Usually Dad would have dropped us off and Keith would have picked us up, but that won’t work anymore. I thought of asking you to pick me up, but I know you like to go to bed early these days, and I don’t want to have to wake you up to come get me. Plus, I don’t feel I can rely on my friends for a ride, because they might be drinking, and I have to be home kind of early because I have my job interview tomorrow morning, so I feel the best solution is for me to take the car.”
She looks at me for a moment while processing my rambling statement. Then she says, “Okay. The keys are on the counter. Be home by midnight.”
I pick up Sienna in front of her house at 9:30 p.m. and we drive to Audrey’s place. When we arrive, we are greeted like visiting rock stars by Audrey and six other girls. At least Sienna is greeted like a rock star; I can’t help but feel like a bit of an afterthought. Even Audrey’s “Cute outfit, Louise” sounds insincere.
Almost immediately, Jessie summons us to the kitchen with a “come and get it!” Money is handed over and alcohol is distributed. Jessie has an older cousin who seems just a little too happy to bootleg for underage girls. As Sienna receives a six-pack of green apple–flavored vodka coolers, she addresses me.
“I know you’re driving, but do you want one?”
Since I’m not much of a drinker, or a driver for that matter, even one would be too many. But in a situation like this, a bottle of booze in hand is sort of like a security blanket. “Sure, I’ll take one,” I say. “Thanks.”
Within the hour, the house begins to fill. I stand near the kitchen and watch everyone file in. There are the usual suspects: Daniel Noran and his group of popular idiot friends who don’t know I’m alive; the B-list kids, thrilled to be attending an A-listers party; and, of course, the hard-core partiers who somehow manage to appear at every house party within a sixty-block radius whether they know the host or not. Amid the throng I lose Sienna but stumble upon some friends from my English class. They’re not particularly cool or popular, but I feel more comfortable hanging out with them than I do with Audrey’s clique. Leah Montgomery and Wayne Jung are also in the stagecraft club. Leah is a really good stage manager and I can see her going places. Somehow, they’ve managed to wrangle invitations, despite their drama nerd status.
My Parents Are Sex Maniacs Page 5
