Happy described Guy as a “drama king,” and that’s exactly what he was, and he wouldn’t dispute it. Apple wished Guy, who was always so handsome and fashionable, could convince her mother to update her “look.” It was about time, she thought. It was just so odd how her mother complained about Apple’s sloppy clothes when she herself only wore white or cream, or if she felt wild, beige. She had been wearing the same colors forever.
(Although they never talked about it, Apple knew it was Guy who had convinced her mother to get a mini facelift two years ago and Botox a couple of times a year. In Dr. Berg’s world, it was okay to announce all things matter of the heart, but when it came to cosmetic procedures, that was strictly personal.)
“Well, they’re Happy’s boots and two sizes too small for my feet. I’m going to end up in the hospital,” moaned Apple. “I may never be able to walk normally again.”
“Oh, sweetie. Never complain about designer boots. NEVER. No price is too high, no pain too much, to look as fabulous as you do right now,” Guy said.
“Exactly!” agreed Happy. “You really do look good, Apple. You look sexy yet professional. But I think you should change your bra. That one’s a little lumpy. And you have to take off your underwear. You can see lines. You can’t have panty lines.”
“Guy agrees,” said Guy. “Lines are a no-no! Even for men!”
Again he laughed his infectious laugh.
“Lines are gross, I agree,” said Brooklyn, pointing to her panty-line-free butt in her tight yoga pants.
“My daughter is not leaving the house without wearing unmentionables,” Dr. Berg said sternly.
Apple could not believe her mother had just used the word “unmentionables.” What era did her mother think she lived in?
“She’s not going to be like one of those entitled brats who go out and party to all hours of the night and flash their private parts at the paparazzi,” Dr. Berg continued. “Those girls who are famous for being famous? Don’t those girls have mothers? It’s one thing to make a name for yourself by hard work, but to make a name for yourself for not wearing underwear?”
“Oh, come on, Dr. Berg,” laughed Happy. “It’s not like the paparazzi are following Apple around. And the dress goes down practically to her knees. She’s not going to pull a Britney or Paris. That dress is just too clingy for her to wear underwear. Seriously, you have to trust me on this, Dr. Berg.”
Dr. Bee Bee Berg smiled politely. “I’m so glad I didn’t know all these things when I was your age. Times have certainly changed. I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear this part of the conversation,” she said. “I’m going to trust you, Happy.”
“Good idea, Dr. Berg!” said Happy, shooing Apple back into the bathroom.
Happy had that effect on people. She always knew just how to get her way, whether it was getting an extension for an essay or convincing her parents to give her a credit card when she was ten.
Apple headed back into the washroom with a new T-shirt bra and took off her underwear. She was surprised how freeing it felt.
“What about my hair?” she called out, suddenly—and much to her surprise—finding herself caring about what she looked like. Everyone else was making her anxious. Even Brooklyn wanted to spray some weird scented oil on her, which, according to Brooklyn, would “calm” her. Thankfully, Happy shot that idea down.
“I think you should wear it down. I love your hair,” said Happy. “Your hair is one of your best features!”
Apple had always hated her curly hair, which took hours and hours to dry naturally. There was just so much of it. It was the only thing about Apple, aside from her name, that made her memorable. Sometimes Apple felt like pregnant women must feel. People just couldn’t stop themselves from touching Apple’s boingy curls without asking. The one person she didn’t mind playing with her hair was Lyon. When he pulled on her boings—while they cuddled watching a movie, for example—it felt calming and nice.
“We’ve really got to run if we’re going to make it on time,” Dr. Berg said, tapping her watch. “Whatever you do, you never want to be late on the first meeting. You have only one chance to make a first impression. That’s why it’s called a first impression.”
God, thought Apple, her mother really was a piece of work, always stating the painfully obvious and somehow managing to make it sound like she was the first person to come up with the statement.
“Let me look at you one more time,” Happy said, grabbing Apple and looking at her from head to toe. “Yes, you look perfect. And remember, if they’re looking for another intern, don’t forget to mention that you just happen to have this fantastic fashionable friend named Happy who would be more than honored to take an internship position.”
“Absolutely,” Apple said, giving Happy a big hug. “Thank you for your help today. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“Wait!” Apple turned toward Guy, who was armed with a mascara wand, which he applied to Apple’s lashes. “A little mascara and a little lip gloss. Now you are perfect!”
“Let’s move!” Dr. Berg said, like a drill sergeant. Apple followed her mother down the stairs, holding on to the banister for fear she’d tumble over in Happy’s high-heeled boots.
At the door, Apple called up to Brooklyn, Happy, and Guy, who stood watching her from the floor above. “Wish me luck!”
“You don’t need luck,” called out Brooklyn. “Your aura is perfect. Your vibe is really good. So is your energy! I’m sending you positive vibes!”
“You don’t need luck!” screamed Happy. “You have my boots. Nothing bad has ever happened to me in those boots!”
“You don’t need luck,” retorted Guy. “You’re Dr. Bee Bee Berg’s daughter! They’ll want you no matter how badly you screw up.”
“Thanks a lot!” Apple shot back. She could hear Happy and Brooklyn giggling at Guy’s comment.
“Don’t be so sensitive,” Guy called out. “Guy can only dream that the one and only Dr. Bee Bee Berg will adopt him someday. For reals!”
Even Guy, apparently, knew that Apple was being given this opportunity to work at Angst magazine only because she was the daughter of, not because of anything she had accomplished on her own.
This was exactly what Apple didn’t want to happen. As they got into the car, she saw that her mother was smiling proudly and, thought Apple, a little smugly, as if she was entirely to be thanked for Apple’s internship opportunity at Angst.
Shoot me, thought Apple. Shoot me now.
“Are you nervous, honey?” Dr. Berg asked as they drove in her white Range Rover to the Angst magazine offices, which just happened to be on the same block as the Queen of Hearts with Dr. Bee Bee Berg studio. Just my luck, thought Apple.
“Wouldn’t it be exciting to work so close together? You could stop by to visit and I could stop by to visit. It would be fun! We could do mother–daughter stuff all the time. We could meet for lunch.” She glanced at Apple. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine!”
Even though Apple thought she didn’t care, she found herself becoming more nervous as they got closer to the Angst offices. Her mother seemed to know it. Her mother read faces like Apple read words.
Though Apple’s relationship with her mother had been far from perfect, it had improved tenfold since Apple finally admitted how she had snuck into her e-mail and pretended to be her. Apple pressed her lips together. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had been so obsessed with Zen that she was willing to lose her best friend.
Apple hated to admit it, but she still thought about Zen. Often.
It wasn’t as easy as Apple had thought it would be—even after everything—to suddenly stop thinking about someone she’d been secretly obsessed with for years.
And while she would never admit this to anyone, it wasn’t always easy for Apple to see Happy and Zen cuddle and kiss at school. It wasn’t easy to see them walk hand in hand through the hallways, or to hear about their date nights, although Apple had gotten pretty good
at acting like she was totally okay with it.
Apple was still waiting for what her mother always said: “Time does heal all wounds.” Did it? If so, when would Apple would thinking about Zen?
Not that she would ever admit this to anyone either—not to her mother, not even to Crazy Aunt Hazel, definitely not to Happy, and barely to herself—but her heart still skipped a beat whenever she saw Zen. Apple was certain that she didn’t like him in that way anymore. Still, she knew that others gossiped about her at school, wondering if she still had a crush on Zen. But he was into Happy. Happy was perfect. Apple wanted nothing more than for her best friend to have a worthy guy as her boyfriend. Zen was worthy.
Even thinking about Zen, and the fact she shouldn’t be thinking about Zen, made her feel guilty. Plus, Apple now had Lyon. And she really, really liked Lyon. Lyon was kind, funny, smart, handsome, generous, sweet. Apple was lucky to have him.
“Honey? I just asked you a question. Where were you? What were you thinking?” her mother asked, placing a hand on Apple’s knee. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”
Apple cringed. Oh, how often her mother said, “You can tell me anything.” The sentence made Apple’s spine tingle.
Should she tell her mother how often she still thought about Zen? Apple could simply be looking out the window or sitting in class and Zen would suddenly pop into her mind. She usually didn’t even know it was happening until someone interrupted her or touched her, like her mother just had.
Even when she should be focused on something important, such as this meeting at Angst magazine, Zen popped into her head. She wondered what he was doing now. She wondered if he thought about her at all. She wondered if he would like her in this red dress and Happy’s boots. It was ridiculous, thought Apple. She shook her head, as if by doing so she could shake Zen out of her brain. What she should be wondering was if Lyon was thinking about her. There was no way she was going to admit this to her mother. Her mother would probably just say, “It’s okay to think about someone else, but remember to be grateful for those you do have in your life who love you.”
Suddenly, Apple had an awful thought: Did her mother know that Apple was thinking about Zen? Could she sense it? Oh, God. It was bad enough that people at school still gossiped that she was into Zen.
“I guess I am a little nervous,” Apple said, hoping her mother had no idea.
“Well, this is big. Do you know how many other fifteen-year-olds would absolutely die to be in the position you’re in now? To work at the highest-distribution teen magazine in the country? I never had that chance when I was fifteen. Then again, we didn’t have tabloid magazines back then. No one was that interested. Or maybe they were. But with the Internet now, you can’t do anything without people knowing about your life,” her mother said. “Do you know that Guy did a Web search for my name the other day? It’s amazing what is out there about me. I told him I didn’t want to hear, because it turns out not everyone is a fan of the show. People are so critical. Making fun of my outfits, my hair! Guy just kept saying, ‘The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.’ So I guess that’s why everyone is so fascinated with the celebrities in Angst magazine. It seems people will do anything to get a mention in it. It’s a very important publication, especially for up-and-coming young stars, according to Guy. The magazine can apparently make or break a career.”
“Okay, I already told you I was nervous. Now you’re just making me more nervous!” Apple said.
“That’s good. I’d be so much more worried if you weren’t nervous. I still get nervous before every Queen of Hearts show, and how long have I been doing it? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to be reminded. It’s when you’re not nervous that you have to worry, because if you’re not nervous, it means you don’t care,” her mother said, holding up her hand.
Apple didn’t want to break her mother’s heart and tell her that she wasn’t sure she did care. Her mother would be mortified. In fact, Apple couldn’t remember her mother ever being so proud of her as she was right now. She didn’t want to disappoint her.
“Happy said I have to be a ‘better version’ of myself today. What if they don’t love me, even the ‘better version’ of me?” Apple pressed, biting a nail.
“Don’t bite your nails. They will love you!” her mother said confidently. “You have to believe in yourself.”
“God, you sound like Brooklyn,” Apple muttered.
Apple wondered how everyone around her seemed so sure of themselves and their lives, and for that matter, so sure of Apple’s. How could it only be Apple who was so unsure of everything? Her big feet, which she could feel swelling in Happy’s gorgeous boots. Her hair. The fact she still thought about Zen. Her ambivalence about this so-called greatest job opportunity on the entire planet. What did that mean? Was it normal?
The only thing Apple was sure of was Lyon. She thought back to the day they met, at the school Valentine’s Day dance. Like the Angst magazine gig, Lyon was another unexpected surprise of appearing on her mother’s talk show that day. He had seen a short clip of her appearance that someone had posted on YouTube, and when he told her this at the dance, Apple was mortified. But Lyon quickly explained that he thought she had been very brave to do what she did, and that not enough people say they’re sorry for making mistakes. For her to have admitted she made a mistake of that kind and apologize in such a public way? Well, unlike most, Lyon thought it was extremely admirable. He thought her teary appearance was, in his words, “awesome.”
Then again, Lyon thought everything Apple did was “awesome,” even when he watched her do homework. He was a dream, thought Apple.
She smacked her forehead. She had forgotten to call him back. Lyon had called to check in just as Happy and Brooklyn had arrived, and Apple had rushed off the phone promising she’d call him right back. That was hours ago.
“I need to call Lyon back. Do I have enough time now?” Apple asked her mother.
“We’ll be there in four minutes and fifteen seconds. You had better be fast,” she answered, eyeing the clock on the dashboard. “And stop biting your nails!”
Apple reached down into her bag and found her BlackBerry. She pressed the digits of Lyon’s number, turning away from her mother to look out the window. She didn’t feel comfortable talking to Lyon with her mother so close. Still, Apple was trying to be more open with her mother about the goings-on in her life, and what could be more open than talking to your new boyfriend in front of your mother?
“Hello,” Apple heard Lyon answer sleepily, as if she had woken him from a nap.
“Hey, it’s me,” Apple said. She could feel the tenseness in her voice, more, she thought, because her mother was so near (and for sure listening in—how could she not be?) than because of the meeting.
“Hey, baby. Where you’ve been? You were supposed to call me back ages ago. I’ve missed you,” he said, in his sexy, laid-back voice. Apple felt her heart melt a little with a mixture of love and guilt for not calling him back sooner. She still wasn’t used to being—what was it?—missed? adored? thought about? complimented? all of the above?
“I know. I know. I’m so sorry. It was pure mayhem trying to get ready. Then Guy showed up. This is the first chance I’ve had! I’m in the car with my mom now. But I promise to call you as soon as it’s done. I just wanted to let you know that I didn’t forget about calling you back,” Apple said, even though she wasn’t being entirely truthful.
“You’d better not forget about me. Does that mean I can’t say anything naughty to you?” he asked with a soft laugh.
Apple giggled and blushed. “I think that would be wise.”
She glanced toward her mother, who had raised her eyebrows and was looking at her curiously. Apple usually didn’t giggle. She knew her mother was dying to know what Lyon was saying. She had that same intrigued look that was plastered on her face while she waited for her guests to answer questions on the Queen of Hearts.
“We
ll, I’ll just think naughty thoughts, then,” Lyon said charmingly.
“That’s a good idea. I better go,” Apple sighed. “We’re almost there.”
“Well, good luck. They’ll love you. How could they not? They’d be idiots not to see how great you are,” Lyon said confidently.
Why was Lyon so sure of her ability to make a good impression? She found herself containing annoyance with his words. Out of everyone, Lyon was the last person she should be annoyed with. He was just being supportive.
“Thanks, Lyon. I wish you were the editor! I promise to call you later,” Apple said tensely, hoping she sounded nervous, not bitchy.
“I’ve heard that before,” Lyon joked.
“I mean it,” Apple said. “Call you soon.”
She hung up and imagined Lyon in his bed. Lyon, with his perfect bed-head hair, his cool rock-band T-shirts, his Converse shoes. He was a grade ahead of Apple, a year older, and did the sweetest things for her. Yesterday he had dropped off a little teddy bear with a note attached saying, “Good luck! I know you’ll kick ass.”
Lyon always did things like that. He was cute and thoughtful—sometimes, Apple thought, overly so. But then she thought, What is “overly so”? Would she like it better if he did none of those things, if he never called? Apple didn’t think that was a better option at all. She knew, from her Zen Crush, that being ignored by someone you were into wasn’t a good way of living. She knew from Brooklyn, who had an on-again, off-again, on-again something with their classmate Hopper, that she was lucky Lyon treated her so well. Hopper was gorgeous, but supremely immature. Apple could see why Brooklyn was physically attracted to him—he was stunning. And he could be funny, if you were into jokes about sex and animals. But he didn’t treat Brooklyn well. Even Happy occasionally complained that Zen wasn’t that romantic, and that she wished he could be more like Lyon.
Apple's Angst Page 3
