I drove up through the quiet neighborhood to the park, just me, a few carousing cats, and some sunrise-loving bride, apparently. Light raindrops splattered against the windshield. The park was completely empty except for a couple with a baby playing Frisbee with their golden retriever at the dog park. If having a baby meant getting up at dawn with sunrise-obsessed brides, forget it—I'd die a virgin just to make sure that never happened to me.
Mom had "no immediate plans" to let me out of the house again anyway. She'd been talking to me with a tight mouth for the last week, and I don't think there was any Botox involved this time. Plus I saw a Krispy Kreme bag in her car. Not exactly an official item on the Caveman Diet (day 4). I could go out—but not in her car—to work, and to jewelry-making bonding time with the Mom Who's Pissed by Your Poor Choices and Lack of Responsibility—You Could Have Been Raped—and Though I'm Glad You Called Me, I Don't Know What to Do to Stop This Behavior.
No worries, Mom. I've sworn off boys. Forever. Bring on the Guinness World Records entry for World's Oldest Virgin.
Finally, I spotted a crew of people setting up a gazebo and chairs in the west end of the park. Nearby, a hot-air balloon heaved like an obscene phone caller. We'd had one couple drive off together on their Harleys at a wedding, but no one in a balloon. I carried the cake one layer at a time to a little table near the gazebo. Katie arrived with the fresh flowers and gauzy little butterflies on wires. I watched as she sank columns into the cake and placed flowers all around; early-bird guests had started to arrive by the time we set up the big vases of flowers around the gazebo. My hands itched after arranging so many prickly sunflower stems, among all the other weedy flowers, and my nose tingled with sneezes and my eyes watered a bit. My passion would not be flower arranging either.
"Jory, run back to the van for more floral tape." Katie leaned over, attaching flowers to the altar thing. If I ever do get married, I won't demand that weedy flowers be strapped to every stupid surface.
I jogged out to the van and sifted through Katie's big box for emergencies, finally finding a roll of tape. I turned around to run back to Katie, but froze. Gideon. Getting out of a girl's car. He wore a black tuxedo. Was he getting married? My heart raced. Should I run and hope he didn't see me? Act all cool and mature and say, Good morning, Gideon. How are you?
I ran.
I buried my nose in those weedy flowers, subtly wiping my runny nose on my sleeve and making those flowers stick to that altar like old chewing gum to a movie-theater seat. Behind me, I heard the injured-cat sound of a violin being tuned. I peeked through my hair over my shoulder and saw Gideon and the girl plus a couple of other guys sitting in a circle around music stands.
Katie tapped me on the shoulder. "That's enough. Let's go finish the cake table."
I stood up and rubbed my watery eyes. Gideon nudged Gorgeous Ski-Slope Nose Cello Player and laughed. See? He's moved on. Just rustling up business for the jewelry-making trade with me. Probably flirted with different girls so his mom could start a teen bead club. I stood at the cake table, randomly bunching flowers around the base of the cake. That's how it looks in nature, right?
"We're missing a butterfly," Katie said. "Jory, go look in the trunk of my car." She handed me the keys. "It's orange and yellow—a monarch."
I trudged off in search of butterflies. Would the bride collapse into tears without one more butterfly? My nose snuffled and I sneezed; she certainly could have survived without some of those flowers!
"Bless you." Gideon.
I turned around, wiping my nose against my sleeve again—real attractive, but better than staring at an ex—almost crush with snot running over my upper lip like I was a diseased four-year-old. Although I felt about four.
"You working?" My voice sounded jittery.
"Fourth wedding of the summer." Gideon shook his hair, covering half his face. "I've got to get some sheet music." His shiny black shoes looked out of place as I trailed after him, watching the footprints he made in the dewy grass. Why had Katie parked next to Cello Girl's car?
"I'm not following you. It's just that—" I fiddled with the button to open Katie's trunk. The horn started beeping so loud that I dropped the keys on the ground. Gideon and I bent down at the same time to pick them up; his hair brushed against my cheek, and our fingers almost touched, but I pulled my hand back fast and let him pick them up. He turned the alarm off and handed the keys back to me. I opened the trunk.
"You've got something stuck in your hair." Gideon pulled a yellow sunflower petal off the top of my head.
"Occupational hazard." I sounded so lame. "Look, about the other night—" I didn't know what to say next. That I couldn't say no to my mom, that I worry about her because all she does is diet and try to make friends with the fakest women in the neighborhood?
"Which night? The night you brought your mom over so you could avoid me? Or the night that you got grounded for staying out too late with your boyfriend?"
"What?" I shook my head, confused.
"I overheard your mom telling the ladies about some all-night casino party." Gideon turned around and slammed the door to Cello Girl's car. "You could've told me you weren't interested. You didn't need to advertise it on a T-shirt."
Gideon's remark prickled worse than the bride's thorny flowers. I wanted to have some kind of snappy comeback. Something clever, something that would hurt, something that would make him think about me for the rest of the day. But nothing came. I watched him take long strides back toward Cello Girl. I cringed, thinking about the stupid "Who Needs Boys?" T-shirt and the way Gideon's face had looked when my mom rushed into the shop. But I couldn't think of anything to say.
Dick in the Dark is not my boyfriend was the only thing that looped through my head, like a really bad song stuck on repeat. I wiped my eyes on my shirt, found the stupid little butterfly, delivered it to Katie, all while keeping my eyes on the ground so I wouldn't see Gideon. I only looked up when the quartet started playing as the guests found their seats. Gideon had a funny expression on his face. Megan's right: he's just an orchestra geek with a big nose.
I managed my best fake smile through the rest of the wedding ceremony, the cake-cutting, and the balloon takeoff. Thank God they rushed things because of the rain clouds. Gideon kept playing as the balloon huffed and puffed in the air. I wished I too could float up, up, over the mountains, and away.
The bride tossed her bouquet from up in the sky. It landed near Cello Girl's feet, and the whole quartet started laughing. I caught Gideon's eye as he smiled. For a moment he smiled at me, but he tickled Cello Girl's waist. Let him have her and her well-shaped nose. Better for the gene pool.
A breeze was blowing my hair around my face by the time we packed things up. A few more raindrops splattered around us.
"Take some cake over to the musicians." Katie handed me four little plates with plastic forks. "They played beautifully, didn't they?"
"They didn't sound like sick cats, if that's what you mean."
Katie gave me a puzzled look.
I carried the plates over and handed one to each musician. I hesitated when I came to Gideon. Part of me wanted to smash it into his curly hair, but he stood and took the plate from me.
"Look." Gideon ducked his head and smiled with his lips closed. "I didn't mean to piss you off, really."
"Too late," I said. "And you're right. I'm not interested."
I grabbed the box Katie handed me to take back to the van and ran to the parking lot. Frosting-coated sunflowers and butterflies clattered around inside. I stopped short at the van. Great. The bride and groom's limo was parked at an angle in front me. All that trouble to park where I wouldn't have to back out. I looked at the fence behind me. Could I just wait till they returned? I looked at the tiny rainbow-colored dot of a balloon in the sky. Nope. Even though I'd be here for hours inching forward and back. How many modes of transportation did these people need? Why couldn't they float to their honeymoon? I decided to wait until Katie left for the shop s
o she wouldn't see what a pathetic driver she'd actually hired.
I got in the van and turned the key. Gideon walked by holding his violin case in one hand and the girl's cello in the other; she reached up and gave his hair a tousle. Keeping my eyes on Gideon, I threw the gear into reverse. Wham. I slammed against the fence. No biggie. That's what bumpers are for, right?
Gideon glanced over toward the sound but got into Cello Girl's car. I gave him the finger where he couldn't see it, yanked the gear into first, and pulled forward with a big lurch. The sickening crunch of metal ripping metal vibrated through the van. I lifted my foot off the clutch, pulled the key out of the ignition, and jumped out of the van. Katie's car had disappeared down the road, followed by Cello Girl's car.
I ran around to the passenger side—a short metal post, not attached to the fence, had ripped through the sliding door. A gash tore through the painted roses, gaping like a laughing mouth with giant pink lips. My legs shook. I leaned against the van with my head on my arms. Just suck it up. You can explain. Explain what? Gosh, Katie, I was staring at the guy I thought I might like who might have actually liked me, but you see my friends think he's got a big nose and my mom insisted on coming to jewelry-making and I said something mean. And I couldn't stand to see him with that girl with the cello and the perfect nose. And...
I drove back to the cake shop with tears and snot streaming down my face. Katie cried harder than I did when she saw the van.
Even though the van door wouldn't open, we still had another wedding to set up. Katie didn't look at me as she told me to carefully and I really mean it, goddamn it, lift the cake layers over the passenger seat and place them on the racks. Sugar crystals slid off the cake every time I tilted it even a little. Will the bride completely freak out if her cake isn't quite so sugar-sparkly? While packing the third layer, I scraped my leg against some metal part on the seat, but I kept that cake straight, goddamn it.
Katie didn't say one word to me as she drove to the Lakeridge Country Club. I sat in the passenger seat, surrounded by all the silvery purple roses that we couldn't get into the flower storage in the back, thanks to me. I'd probably never drive again. Ever. I'd just hunker down with my bus pass, my world-renowned virginity, and the love of my life: a bottle of whiskey. I blinked away more tears. How had I managed to screw up my entire summer in one stupid morning? I took a deep breath of rose-scented air and let one of the silvery purple roses prick my leg.
The reception room was a mass of silver balloons and mirrors; even the tables had mirrors on them. Everywhere I turned, I spotted my giant red-from-crying nose. I fluffed my hair close to my face so I'd see less of myself as I placed three roses in each table vase. Katie brought in the cake layers while the worried wedding planner squawked about having everything ready on time.
"Do you have extra sugar crystals?" Worried Wedding Planner asked. "These cakes do not sparkle like we'd agreed." "Some blew off in all that wind, but I've got more in the van." Katie sounded exhausted, because of me. She headed back out.
"Oh, dear." Worried Wedding Planner tapped a clipboard and stared at the oval cake layers spread out on the table. "The bridal party will arrive in twenty minutes."
I didn't want Katie to get in any more trouble, so I walked over and scooted the bottom layer into the center of the cake table. I stuck the short pillars into the cake. I'd done this how many times this summer? Well, I'd watched Katie do it, anyway. I set the middle oval on top, steadying it until it wasn't wobbly. So far, so good. I pressed the second set of pillars into the cake, and added the top layer. Gorgeous spaceship.
Worried Wedding Planner sighed. "Much better."
I picked up the empty flower buckets and headed out to the van. Katie didn't meet my eyes as she ran past, carrying a bottle of sparkly sugar crystals. Thick clouds darkened the sky.
I heard Katie's scream from the parking lot. I dropped the buckets next to the van and ran back inside. Had the freaked-out wedding planner gone ballistic and stabbed Katie?
No. Worse. Much, much worse.
The top layer of the cake had slid off, leaving a trail of sparkly silver frosting on the tablecloth before crashing to the floor like a thwarted alien invasion. I started hyperventilating. All my fault. It's all my fault.
"Run and get the extra layer!" Katie said.
"Extra layer?" I'd seen only three cake layers. The cake only had three layers. I brought all three layers. My heart beat fast.
Katie blinked fast. "You did pack the extra layer? The one I created in case of disaster?"
"Sorry," I peeped.
"Give me twenty minutes." Katie ran out the door. As I followed, Worried Wedding Planner shrieked about the bridal party, the bridal party!
Katie drove back to the shop as if she were starring in one of Finn's video games. We slammed around corners, peeled away from stoplights, and sped through quiet neighborhoods at freeway speeds. I gripped my door handle and closed my eyes. I was about to die: vehicular homicide.
I held the door open for her as she raced inside and grabbed the extra layer out of the big fridge in the back. How would I have known about that?
Katie placed the cake in a box on the floor of the passenger seat.
"Should I hold it in my lap?" I leaned over to pick up the box. How could I make this better? I'd be the best employee ever. I'd try my hardest to do everything exactly right.
"Uh-uh." Katie shook her head. "I'm going to have to let you go." She closed her eyes as if she couldn't stand the sight of me. "Now."
"I'm fired?" My throat constricted as I tried to swallow back tears. I was only trying to help. Except I'm such a loser that everything I touch gets ruined.
"Oh, yeah. You're fired. I'll be lucky to book another wedding after this disaster." Katie rubbed her temples, jumped into the van, and screeched out of the driveway.
I rode my bike home. As I pedaled uphill against the wind, grit flew against my legs, and I nearly blew over a few times. It started to rain big, warm, puddly drops. I could hardly see ahead of me; my crying didn't help. By the time I got home, my clothes were splotchy with mud.
I looked just how I felt.
Chapter Twenty-four
SENIOR PHOTOS, NOSY MOM, BIG FIGHT
Mom insisted on coming to my senior class photo shoot—part of my bonding-with-Mother imprisonment punishment. What did she think I was going to do? Get drunk with the photographer and start taking nude photos to post on the Internet? I told her I could just ride my bike and get it over with. (I was completely grounded from driving after the delivery-van incident.) Plus, Mom and Dad insisted that I use my summer savings to pay for the repairs. Goodbye, nose fund. I still planned to finance the surgery without their help. Or knowledge. Somehow.
"Welcome, Reno High Seniors" was written on a whiteboard on an easel as we walked in the door. The shop smelled like cinnamon apple candles—that fake, make-your-nose-itch scent common at Christmastime. Did the guy know it was August?
Mom motioned for me to sit next to her in the little chairs in the waiting area. She dug in her oversize purse for a makeup bag and brushes.
"Stop it!" I pushed Mom's hand away from my nose. She kept trying to apply more "shading" to the sides of my nose even though I was wearing enough makeup to make a Circus Circus clown jealous.
Mom dabbed more junk on my nose. "Models use shading all the time to create the illusion of beauty."
"You're the one suffering from the delusion that I have any so-called beauty to work with."
"Now, that's not the proper attitude." Mom pushed at my stiff-with-too-much-product hair, but it didn't budge. "This is a special day. You will look back on this photo with fond memories for the rest of your life." Mom smiled at me.
"Oh, yeah. I'm sure I'll have really fond memories of my mom trying to bring my nose down to an acceptable size with magical makeup."
"I guarantee you every one of your classmates is wearing makeup." Mom examined her well-manicured nails, frowning at a bit of chipped polish. "
There's nothing wrong with trying to make the best of what you have."
"What I have is Great-Grandpa Lessinger's nose."
"Your face has such character." Mom couldn't keep herself from dabbing at my nose again with her makeup brush. "Your great-grandpa was quite a man. He was a war hero, you know."
"Whatever." I should just go with the "Photo Unavailable" spot in the yearbook. I stuck a magazine in front of my face. Thin models with flowing hair and perfect little noses scowled at me. Only four more days until I presented my Nice Nose Notebook to Dr. Lawrence, plastic surgeon extraordinaire, and we selected a beautiful nice nose together. I did have to figure out the money thing, but they'd have payment plans, right? Maybe I could still baby-sit or something. Maybe model with my nice new nose. I'm tall. Maybe we'd get a group discount if I could talk Mom into getting her few remaining fat cells sucked out of her body. We'd all be one happy, beautiful family. My grades would improve; I'd have a fabulous new boyfriend, or several new boyfriends. Maybe Zane Zimmerman would want me to fly out and visit him at college. It all depended upon the nice new nose.
Inside the studio, the photographer ohhed and ahhed over his subject. "Gorgeous! You belong in the pages of Teen Vogue." Was he lying to make some plain girl feel good, or did he actually have the next great teen model in his studio? Was I going to have to smile through a bunch of fake compliments?
"I think it's almost our turn." Mom attacked again with her brush. "Let's touch up a few spots." She crinkled her cute little nose and examined me like some kind of redecorating project gone wrong.
"Mom. You're going to make me look like a zebra! Stop it." I turned away. "I'm sorry I'm not the gorgeous daughter you want me to be."
My Big Nose and Other Natural Disasters Page 17
