Just Another Girl

by Melody Carlson

  “Crystal?” Mom looks wary. She probably remembers the last fiasco.

  “I’ll make sure that everything is cool,” I assure her. “Lily knows Crystal now. And she likes her. Crystal will come early, and I’ll have Lily’s favorite foods and movie. It’ll be like a slumber party.”

  Mom seems to consider this and finally nods. “Seems you’ve got everything covered, Aster.”

  “Except that I’m kind of broke, and I wondered if I could get my allowance a day early. I mean, I need to rent Lily a movie and get some—”

  “Well, why didn’t you just say you came for money in the first place?”

  “I, uh, I . . .”

  She opens her purse, pulls out two twenties, and hands them to me. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I smile at her. This was easier than I expected.

  Now she actually smiles. “Thank you, Aster. You do a wonderful job taking care of Lily. I really do appreciate it.”

  I blink in surprise. “Well . . . thanks.” I’m not used to this kind of praise.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, I better run.”

  “Not at all.” I stay in her office, watching as she heads out. As usual, she’s well dressed in a neat, cream-colored pantsuit. Not that she wears designer or expensive clothes. But respectably nice, like a store manager.

  I remember once when Rose questioned why Mom always got to have new clothes, and Mom explained that it was a working expense and that the store gave her a discount. I thought it made sense, but Rose wasn’t buying. She was just plain jealous. Not long after that, Rose got a job and started buying her own clothes and things. For a while Lily and I got her hand-me-downs, but then I got taller and Lily got fatter, and Rose started holding on to everything tighter.

  Less than fifty bucks to buy some “date” clothes, rent a movie, get Lily some junk food, and have enough money left for the next week might seem a challenge to some people, but I’ve learned over time how to shop smart. So I give myself a budget and head over to Retro Reruns, a thrift store where I sometimes get lucky. Although I learned in middle school never to buy anything that’s too unusual, particularly something that’s handmade.

  There’s a saying that “familiarity breeds contempt,” and I discovered that for myself when I purchased a pale blue dress at St. Vincent’s and wore it to eighth grade graduation. It turned out to have been owned previously by Amanda Kerr, and she was furious when she saw me in it. It seemed her grandmother had sewn it for her, and she didn’t even know her mother had given it away. At one point I almost thought Amanda was going to tear that pretty dress right off me. Naturally, I never wore it again. And I never made that mistake again either. Now I buy only used clothes that I know I might’ve gotten new. I prefer ones with labels from Gap and Banana Republic, and one time I got lucky and found a pair of Lucky jeans. But I avoid anything unusual or distinct, including big designer names that are still fairly expensive, even for a thrift store.

  “Hey, Aster,” says Beth, a salesclerk who’s befriended me this past year. She attends a community college but wants to go to design school someday. “Long time no see.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Kinda slow. What are you looking for?”

  I casually explain that I’m going out and wanted something new, trying to act like it was no big deal.

  “So . . . you have a boyfriend now?”

  “Not exactly. I mean, it’s our first date.”

  “But you really like him?”

  “I guess.” What an understatement, but I suppose I’m trying to protect my pride—in case it all goes sideways again.

  “Well, I have just the thing, and it’ll look awesome on you.” I follow her to a rack where she digs around until she pulls out this very cool, totally retro, and, unfortunately, too-unique top. She holds it up and smiles. “What do you think?”

  I sort of frown. “It’s fantastic, Beth. But it’s too, well, you know, too one of a kind.”

  She laughs. “You’re afraid you’ll wear it and the original owner will walk up and make a scene?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, you’re looking at the original owner.”

  “This was yours?”

  “Actually, it was my mom’s back in the seventies. She saved it, and I did some more work on it, but it’s a little too small for me.” She points to her well-endowed chest and shrugs. “So I decided to sell it.”

  Now I look at the tag to see she’s marked it at $25, which is a little more than I planned to spend. And yet this top is so cool. “It was really yours?”

  “Would I lie to you?”

  I can tell by her face that she wouldn’t. Still, I’m a little uneasy about the price.

  “Go try it on, Aster. See if it’s not perfect.”

  So I go back to the funky, cool dressing room that’s made from a bunch of Indian saris hung around some kind of hula hoop ring. The shirt’s fabric is an assortment of gauzy patches and lots of embroidery and beads and things. And when I have it on, I come out to look in the big mirror and am amazed. “Wow.”

  “It’s magical, isn’t it?”

  “Very cool.”

  “And since it’s you, Aster, I’m reducing the price to $20. But this is a onetime-only offer.”

  “Sold.”

  “And if you can spare that extra five bucks, we’ve got some very cool espadrilles that I’m thinking are your size. Aren’t you about a nine?”

  “Yeah. But what are espadrilles?” It sounds like some kind of Mexican food, which reminds me that I’m hungry.

  Beth produces an amazing pair of lacy canvas wedges with strings that tie around your ankle. I try them on and walk around a bit, and Beth whistles. “You look fabulous, dahling.”

  “Really, you think the shirt and shoes go with my shorts?” I have on my khaki shorts.

  “I think a little denim skirt would be nicer.”

  “You sound just like a salesman.”

  “Aster, this is your lucky day.” She grins.

  “Lucky as in Lucky?”

  “Yep. An adorable skirt came in last week, probably your size too.”

  Lucky jeans are fairly common, but a skirt might be recognizable. I’m feeling a little wary. “Did you see who consigned it?”

  “Yeah, it was a gal in her twenties. She’s moving to the East Coast and needed some cash.”

  By the time I leave Retro Reruns, I’ve gone over my budget. I still have enough money left for Lily’s DVD and junk food, but next week is going to be tight. Plus, I didn’t ask Crystal if she expects me to pay her for babysitting or if it’s a favor for a friend. Maybe I can write her an IOU. But I’m thinking that if I really want to have a life and start dating and wearing cool threads, well, I might need to come up with a way to make more money.

  I park my bike in the garage, which still needs cleaning, then carry my precious bag of “new” clothes into the house. Suddenly I feel mad. Or maybe I feel torn. I mean, on one hand, I’m jazzed that I was able to get such a cool outfit, but I’m thinking about money—rather my lack of it—and I wonder if Rose might be right. Maybe Mom is taking advantage of me. Seriously, who else could Mom get to do all that I do for Lily for forty bucks a week? I doubt that anyone would even do it for forty bucks a day. Maybe it really is time to ask for a raise.

  9

  “Well, don’t you look . . . uh, interesting.” Rose says this with one brow lifted awkwardly. This is her attempt to mimic Vivien Leigh playing Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. Rose relates well to Scarlett, but I think Scarlett was extremely selfish and self-centered—guess that works for Rose too.

  “If that’s supposed to be a compliment, you might want to work on your delivery.”

  “Ooh, aren’t we clever with our fancy words.” Rose makes her hoity-toity face now. This is her usual reaction to any of my attempts to be witty. “But seriously, Aster, where did you get that weird shirt? Is it used?”

  She says the word “used” as if she�
�s saying “soiled” or “grotesque” or “nasty.” But I try not to take offense. What would be the point?

  “It’s retro, Rose.”

  She snorts a laugh. “Yeah, right. Retro’s just another word for Goodwill and Salvation Army stores.”

  “Whatever.” I so don’t want to get into a fight with her. Not just because I’m trying to get ready for my Big Date, but because a fight with Rose could be the undoing of Lily. And, at the moment, Lily is doing so well.

  It’s a little past six o’clock, and Rose popped home for just enough time to change her outfit for her date with Jared. Hopefully, she’ll leave as quickly as she came. Right now Crystal and Lily are in the family room playing Candyland. And I must hand it to Crystal, she’s being a good sport and really trying. They were getting along so well that I thought this might be my best chance to get ready for my Big Date. Then Rose showed up.

  I lace up one of my espadrilles and tie the strings in back just how Beth showed me. I even shaved my legs and put lotion on after my shopping expedition. No, not for the skanky reason that movies and TV toss about. I shaved my legs for these shoes, which I must admit really are spectacular. I’ve never had a pair of wedge heels before, and I’ve been practicing walking in them since I got home.

  Before I can put on the other shoe, Rose has picked it up and seems to be examining it. I brace myself for her next scathing “used” comment.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  “Why?” Suddenly I’m worried that they might’ve been hers and she’s going to flip out on me, but then I remember she’s still a size eight.

  “Because these are Stuart Weitzman.”

  “Who’s he? And why would he wear girl shoes?”

  She laughs, then frowns. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? Stuart Weitzman is a shoe designer.”

  Suddenly I do remember a weird name on the label, but then I never pay attention to labels. Why should I? “So?”

  “These are Stuart Weitzman shoes, Aster. They must’ve cost a fortune. Where did you get them?” Now she’s looking at me like she thinks I walked in with a shotgun and robbed some fancy designer shoe store, not that I even know where one is located.

  “I already told you,” I say coolly. “Retro Reruns. They carry all sorts of designer stuff. I just got them because they were cute.”

  She tosses me my shoe now. “Well, I’ll be . . . my fashion-challenged little sister is developing designer taste.” She laughs. “In that case you better get yourself a real job or a sugar daddy.”

  I don’t even look up or respond to this potentially volatile suggestion. I simply lace up my shoe, then stand up and force a smile. For Crystal and Lily’s sake, which is ultimately for my sake, I will be civilized to Rose. “Or maybe I’ll just keep shopping thrift shops and save tons of money.”

  She frowns. “Don’t you wonder whose feet were in those shoes, Aster?”

  “Not particularly.” I give my hair a quick second glance in the mirror. I decided to wear it down with just a bit of it pulled back to keep it away from my face. Still, I’m not quite comfortable going out with this huge mane of hair.

  “What if she had athlete’s foot?”

  “Huh?” I look back at Rose, trying to remember what she’s babbling about.

  “The person whose shoes you’re wearing.”

  I stick out a foot, admiring how fantastic the shoes look and still slightly surprised at how long my legs are. I’m thankful that Owen is tall. “These are my shoes, Rose. I paid for them myself.”

  She makes a harrumph sort of noise, and I must say it’s unbecoming. I tell her to have a nice evening, then go out to check on Lily and Crystal.

  “It’s my turn,” Lily is insisting.

  “No,” Crystal says. “You don’t get a second turn this time.”

  “Hey,” I say as I get down on my knees next to Lily. I send Crystal what I hope is a visual clue with my eyes. “I think it is Lily’s turn. See?” I point to her marker as if that explains everything. The truth is, Lily cheats. And I let her. It’s just easier that way.

  Crystal looks slightly confused, then quickly nods as if she gets it. “Oh yeah, I guess you’re right. Go ahead, Lily.”

  “See?” Lily says with satisfaction. She takes a card and moves her marker to the lollipop space, then turns and frowns at me. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Fancy.”

  I kind of shrug. “I’m not fancy.” Then I stand up and go sit on the couch. Lily follows me with an expression that I can only describe as suspicious.

  “What you doing, Aster?”

  “Sitting on the couch.” I smile at her. “Hey, it’s almost time to watch Shrek.”

  This distracts her, and she claps her hands in delight. “Shrek! Shrek! We’re gonna watch Shrek!”

  “But we have to finish our game, don’t we?” Crystal says. “I mean, after all, you are winning, Lily.”

  “Oh yeah,” Lily says. “I am winning.”

  While they return to their game, I make two bags of microwave popcorn and pour them into a big bowl. Then I get out several cans of soda and pour a bag of Reese’s Pieces into Lily’s favorite pink bowl. I put all this on a tray and carry it out to the family room.

  “Wow,” Rose says. She’s standing over Crystal and Lily now. “Looks like you girls are having quite the party.”

  “A slumber party,” Lily proclaims proudly.

  “That’s nice of Crystal to babysit you.”

  Lily scowls up at Rose. “Crystal is not babysitting me, Rose!”

  “That’s right,” Crystal says quickly. “We’re friends. I’m here for the slumber party.”

  Now Rose laughs. “Yeah, whatever.” Then, as usual, she walks away, and I’m left to pick up the pieces.

  “You’re right,” I tell Lily. “Crystal is not a babysitter. There are no babies here, right?”

  “Right.” But Lily is still scowling.

  “This is a slumber party,” Crystal says. “We’re going to watch Shrek and eat junk food.”

  “Yeah,” I say as I go over to put the DVD into the machine and get it ready to go. “This is girlfriends just hanging together and having fun.” I can hear Jared’s voice in the living room now, followed by the sound of the front door closing. It takes all my self-control not to shout, “Good riddance!” Sometimes I feel like I could kill Rose. Not literally. But sometimes she makes me crazy.

  Soon we’re all settled into the beginning of the movie. I watch the clock, counting each minute like it’s my last and actually praying that this will go smoothly. Despite Rose’s attempt at sabotage, Lily is into the movie now. She’s junking out and almost doesn’t seem to notice whether I’m here or not. My plan is to simply slip away without making a big deal. I think it will be easier on everyone that way. Lily will probably assume I’m in the bathroom or kitchen. And she’ll be so absorbed by the movie that she should be fine. By the time the movie ends, my mom will be getting home, and Crystal will be free to go. We’ve got it all worked out.

  I give Crystal a little nod as in hint hint. “I’m going to the bathroom,” I announce. Lily doesn’t even look up from her beanbag chair. I go toward the hallway, then detour into the living room, where I keep one eye on the driveway and one toward the family room.

  Finally I see a familiar white pickup pull in. Before Owen is out of his truck, before he can come to the door, I quietly open the door and slip out.

  I am free! Gloriously, wonderfully, amazingly free! I want to dance and sing and shout. But I simply smile at Owen, who is halfway up the walk now. I explain that, for Lily’s benefit, I had to sort of sneak out.

  “Oh yeah,” he says quietly. “No problem.”

  “My friend Crystal is babysitting—no, not babysitting.” I correct myself as Owen opens the passenger door for me. “Lily is not a baby. Anyway, everything is cool, and Lily is goin
g to be just fine.”

  His eyes light up as he helps me into the cab. “And you are looking just fine.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, just relax, okay?”

  I kind of laugh as I get in. “You must think I’m neurotic.”

  “I think you obsess over your sister. And that you need a break.”

  As he closes the door, I tell myself to forget about Lily now. She will be fine. Crystal will be fine. This is my night for freedom, and I intend to enjoy it to the max.

  “You really do look pretty tonight, Aster.” Owen starts his engine and backs out.

  “Well, thanks.” I smooth my skirt, which is a little on the short side, but Beth told me it looked great. “Shoot, girl, with legs like yours,” she said, “why not?” Even so, I’m not so sure.

  Owen is good at making small talk. Socially comfortable. And I pretend that I am too. Still, I feel a little over my head right now. Like what made me think I can pull this off? It turns out the movie he wants to see (I tell him I want to see it too, although it’s sci-fi and not my favorite genre) doesn’t start until nearly nine. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

  “Yeah, a little.” Okay, that’s an understatement. I had an apple for lunch, then a few bites of popcorn and some Reese’s Pieces, which are sitting like rocks at the pit of my stomach. I am starving.

  “I was thinking about how you didn’t get to eat your lunch the other day,” he says, “and how we both like Greek. Want to go to Anatole’s?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Why not?”

  “Just that it’s a really cool place to eat.” I actually have never been there, but I’ve heard it’s awesome. “But don’t you need reservations?”

  He gives me a quick grin. “As a matter of fact, you do.”

  “Did you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Okay, this is feeling like a real date. I mean, it is a real date. But dinner at Anatole’s and a movie. How much more datelike can you get?

  “Wow, that sounds great,” I say.

  So it is that I find myself in one of our town’s better restaurants, sharing falafel mezes (meze is Greek for “appetizer”) with Owen. Next we have Caesar salads, followed by moussaka and gyros. Everything is amazing, or else I’m just so ravenous that I would eat wood. No, it’s amazing.