Apple's Angst

by Rebecca Eckler

  “Yes. Lyon doesn’t quite understand why Brooklyn wouldn’t want more from Hopper,” Happy explained. “Anyway, we all know you do, Brooklyn.”

  “Fine. I like him. But I’m not getting any more from him than a foolie. And I think I’m okay with that. There are worse guys to have as foolie friends.”

  “That’s for sure,” Happy said. “Hopper is so hot. He’s a jerk, but he’s yummy.”

  “Amen to that,” Apple said.

  “What do you mean by that?” Lyon asked. “I can’t believe this is how you girls talk about guys!”

  “Lyon, you’re just as hot, if not hotter. Don’t worry,” Apple said just as Zen sat down at the table. He looked much happier. Even Happy noticed.

  “Well, you seem like you’re in a much better mood,” she said, somewhat snidely.

  “I am,” Zen said, picking up his water glass. “Let’s toast to, um, foolie friends!”

  “I’ll second that!” Happy said. She would never let Zen get the better of her.

  “I just think you deserve better, Brooklyn,” Lyon said.

  “Maybe. But right now I’m happy. And that’s all that matters. So thanks, Zen, for your toast. To foolie friends!” said Brooklyn.

  Apple had the strange feeling Zen was toasting her.

  They were just about to leave when Apple heard her name being called from the busy bar area at the front of the restaurant.

  “Apple! Apple!”

  “Who is that?” Happy asked, after taking a glance at the person whose voice was calling out for Apple. “She’s disgusting pretty,” Happy added.

  Apple extended her neck, trying to look around her friends.

  “Oh, my God. That’s Emme! The girl I work with at Angst!” Apple said, looking over Happy’s shoulder and waving at Emme.

  “The bitch?” Happy asked. “That’s Emme?”

  “Well, she’s acting a bit better lately. She was actually nice to me the other day. It’s like she was a new person,” Apple said.

  “Be careful of her,” Happy told Apple. “You’re so naive sometimes, Apple. You know the saying—‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’” Happy asked.

  “What are you saying? That’s she’s suddenly being nice to me because she sees me as her competition?” Apple asked.

  “Yup,” responded Happy.

  “I don’t know. Maybe she was just shy at first. You don’t know her. I barely know her,” said Apple.

  “Just watch your back, that’s all I’m saying,” Happy advised.

  Emme waved Apple over. Happy, Brooklyn, Zen, and Lyon followed.

  Emme gave Apple a kiss on both cheeks, just as Fancy Nancy had done with Celia. This two-sided cheek kiss obviously was contagious.

  “Emme,” Apple began, making the introductions. “These are my best friends, Happy and Brooklyn. And you remember Zen from when he picked me up.”

  “Of course,” Emme said, also giving Zen a two-pecked cheek kiss. Zen look awkward, as if he wasn’t used to such sophistication. Happy either didn’t care that a beautiful girl was being friendly, even flirty, with Zen or was too busy checking out the rest of the guys at the bar and didn’t notice. She wasn’t even doing a very good job of hiding the fact she was looking around.

  “And this,” said Apple, pulling Lyon close, “is my boyfriend, Lyon.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Emme said politely, giving him a peck on the cheek. When Lyon turned away momentarily, Emme gave Apple the thumbs-up sign and whispered, “He’s cute!”

  “Come join us,” Emme said. “I have a table over there with a couple friends. We’re drinking sangria. The food tastes like crap, but they make one killer sangria.”

  “I’m in,” Happy said. Apple could tell that Happy was “in” because she wanted to check out Emme, to see what she was really like, and also because she was always ready for an adventure.

  “Me too,” said Brooklyn. She had been checking her phone constantly all night. They all knew she was hoping for a foolie call or text from Hopper. Hanging out would be a good distraction.

  “I don’t know,” said Lyon. “I have to get up early tomorrow.”

  “Me too,” said Zen.

  “Oh, don’t be such downers! I want to get to know you, since I’m working so closely with your girlfriend,” Emme said, giving Lyon a soft punch on the arm while winking at Zen. “We just finished our first issue. We need to celebrate, right, Apple?”

  “You know what? We should celebrate!” Apple said. It hadn’t hit her that they should be celebrating. Why not?

  They all scrunched around a table. The waiter didn’t even pause when Emme ordered another round of sangria.

  Apple and her friends glanced furtively at each other. The waiter didn’t even bat an eyelash when they ordered or ask for ID. It made Apple feel very grown-up. And adventurous.

  “We are so breaking so many rules,” said Apple to the table after taking her first sip. Emme was right. The sangria tasted delicious.

  “What do you mean?” asked Lyon.

  “You want to explain, Emme, or do you want me to?” Apple asked.

  “I’ll explain,” said Emme, who was clearly already a little tipsy—in a good way. “Well, at Angst, we are supposed to represent the magazine at all times—24/7, we are supposed to be on our best behavior. We are not supposed to drink, party, or be seen with no underpants. It’s like we’re in a nunnery. Except we get to dress great! We so should not be drinking underage here, that’s for sure!”

  Lyon grabbed Apple’s hand. His expression was disapproving. Apple pretended not to notice.

  The waiter arrived back at the table and filled up everyone’s glasses.

  “Cheers to being bad,” Emme said, raising her glass.

  Apple took another small sip. What were the chances that Fancy Nancy or Michael or Celia or any of the employees at Angst would be at Eleven tonight? They worked seemingly nonstop. And the crowd was so young.

  “And here’s to foolies!” Brooklyn said.

  “Hear! Hear!” shouted Emme. “I have two.”

  “Okay, so apparently everyone knows what a foolie is,” Lyon laughed. “And what do you mean you have two?”

  “I think every girl should have a friend with benefits,” Emme said. “I have one who goes to my school and another who lives down the street.”

  “Doesn’t that get confusing?” Lyon asked.

  “No, not really. It’s surprisingly easy,” Emme answered nonchalantly.

  “Do they know about each other?” Brooklyn asked.

  “No. Not because I think they’d care. Why is it okay for men to fool around, but when it comes to girls, people have a problem with it? People think that you’re a slut—or that the guys are just using you and you’re letting yourself be used—when really you’re using them,” Emme said. She sounded so sure of herself, which made her seem more sophisticated.

  “Yes! Exactly,” said Brooklyn. “That’s what I’ve been trying to explain!”

  Apple leaned over to Happy and whispered in her ear, “See? Emme’s not so bad, right?”

  “I’m just looking out for you. But you’re right. She seems fun,” Happy agreed.

  It was after midnight when Lyon finally said, “I think we should get you home. I think you’ve had enough to drink, Apple.”

  “Ah, poo you,” said Happy. “I want Apple to stay. It’s Friday night! We’re having fun.”

  “I’ll stay with you,” Emme said.

  “Brooklyn? You in?” Happy asked. Brooklyn was busy texting.

  “Wait … Nope going to catch a ride with Lyon, if that’s okay. I need him to drop me off somewhere,” Brooklyn said, beaming, waving her BlackBerry. Obviously, Hopper had texted her.

  “Foolie friend!” Emme, Apple, and Happy screeched in unison.

  “Okay, it’s definitely time to get you home,” Lyon said to Apple, grabbing her arm. “You’re drunk.”

  “I am not!” Apple heard herself say in an overly loud voice. She laug
hed. “Am I screaming?”

  “You barely ate anything at dinner,” said Lyon.

  “Well, I am watching what I eat,” she heard herself say.

  “You should see the models. They’re so skinny,” said Emme, nodding. Lyon shot Emme a look.

  “Well, I’m out of here too,” said Zen. Happy didn’t even look at him as he left. He didn’t look at Happy or Apple.

  “Are you coming, Apple?” Lyon pressed, still holding on to her.

  “You know, you go. I’m going to stay,” Apple said, shaking off his arm.

  “Yay!” Happy squealed. “I like the new Apple! She’s fun!”

  “I don’t,” Lyon said under his breath but just loud enough for Apple to hear. Apple shot him a look.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Lyon said to Apple, kissing her on the cheek like she was his great-aunt or grandmother. “But I really think you should call it a night soon. Be safe?”

  “I will, party pooper,” Apple said, and went back to talking to her girlfriends. She hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. She deserved it. And really, she hadn’t celebrated her gig at Angst. The party meant for her the day she got the job had turned into a party for her aunt’s engagement. Plus she would do anything to forget Zen’s and Lyon’s disapproving stares. Right now, drinking and laughing with her new colleague and her oldest friend in the world was exactly what Apple wanted to be doing.

  On Monday morning, Apple’s BlackBerry vibrated at her ear. She had left it on her pillow. She looked her clock and let out a groan. It was 6:50 a.m.

  “I just saw you on a bus! You’re on a bus!” her aunt Hazel screamed when Apple groaned out a “Hello?”

  “You’re on the whole side of a bus!” her aunt screamed again.

  Apple shook herself awake. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?” Was Apple dreaming?

  “I’m on my way to your house now and a bus drove by and there’s a huge, massive photo of you. And under it, it says, ‘Read Apple’s Angst. Every Monday in Angst magazine’!” her aunt screeched.

  “Oh, my God! They must have used a photo from my photo shoot! Do I look okay? Do I look fat? Should I be embarrassed?” Apple was suddenly wide awake and self-conscious.

  “Are you kidding? You look unbelievable! I can’t believe you’re on the side of a bus! I’ll be there shortly. I have the magazine with me! See you in five!” her aunt said, hanging up.

  Apple jumped out of bed and raced downstairs. Her mother, of course, was already there, dressed in an off-white cashmere sweater and beige pants, with her string of pearls around her neck, ready to be the Queen of Hearts for the day.

  “Why are you up?” her mother asked. “It’s so early.”

  “Aunt Hazel called. Apparently I’m on the side of a bus!” Apple said airily, grabbing a mug and pouring herself a cup of coffee.

  “What?” her mother asked.

  “Angst magazine is advertising my advice column on buses! And Aunt Hazel said there was a huge photo of me,” Apple said, sitting down across the table from her mother.

  One second later, Aunt Hazel raced in, her hair as messy as Apple had ever seen it—and Apple had seen this a lot—armed with a copy of Angst.

  “I’m here! I’m here!” she said, flipping through the magazine excitedly. “I haven’t even looked at your column yet, Apple. I was so distracted after seeing your massive face on a bus that I had to force myself to pay attention to my driving. Oh, look! There’s a photo of you on the front page at the top. It says ‘Apple’s Angst: Page 62.’”

  Hazel proceeded to try to find the page. It was painful to watch, like watching a five-year-old attempt to tie her own shoelaces when she doesn’t know how.

  “Give it to me!” Apple said, trying to grab the magazine from her aunt’s hand. “I want to see it first.”

  “Actually, I’m the one who brought it over, so I’m the one who gets to see first,” Aunt Hazel whined, starting to walk away from Apple, guarding the magazine.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Apple yelled, chasing her aunt. Hazel was running around the table, holding the magazine away from Apple, who was yelling, “Give it to me!”

  “Grow up, Apple,” her aunt yelled.

  “You grow up!” Apple shot back.

  “Enough!” Dr. Berg barked, pounding her mug on the table. “Hazel, bring the magazine to the table and we’ll all sit down and look at it together. Like adults!”

  Apple and Hazel sat down, like scolded children, and Hazel handed the magazine to Apple’s mother.

  “Page 62! Page 62!” her aunt screeched.

  “God, calm down,” Apple muttered. “And did you brush your teeth? I can smell your breath from here!”

  Her aunt took the opportunity to blow air in Apple’s face.

  “God, Hazel! Gross!”

  Her mother flipped to page 62 while Apple and her aunt watched over her shoulder. There it was: a huge photo of Apple with her professionally made-up face and her new straight hair. The photograph was so much larger than what Michael had said it would be. It was as big as a picture frame, not a postage stamp. Her photo filled one page, and on the facing page was Apple’s advice.

  “That doesn’t even look like me!” Apple said in awe.

  “Sure it does, honey,” said Aunt Hazel. “It’s just a better-looking you! It’s the same photo I saw on the bus.”

  “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult,” Apple said.

  “Can you please explain this photo on a bus?” her mother asked.

  Crazy Aunt Hazel explained about seeing Apple on the side of a bus that drove past her, then said, “Shhh. Let’s all be quiet and read Apple’s Angst.”

  They sat in silence reading the questions and Apple’s advice, which Apple could already recite by heart.

  “Is this question about me?” Hazel screamed after a moment.

  “Why do you think everything is always about you?” Apple asked her aunt.

  “Because it’s ME! And it does sound vaguely familiar. I thought you learned your lesson about making up fake questions?” her aunt clucked.

  “Hazel! Stop being such a narcissist. I don’t even get to pick the questions. The editors tell me which ones to answer. Happy thought the first question was about her!” Apple said.

  “Swear on your life?” her aunt pressed, looking at her suspiciously.

  “Yes, I swear!” Apple said, crossing her heart with her finger.

  Her aunt proceeded to read the second of Apple’s questions out loud.

  Dear Apple,

  My best friend is getting married in three months. She’s twenty-five years old and she says she’s in love with the guy. They’ve been dating for only a month. I don’t know how to tell her that I think it’s way too soon. Every time I try to broach the subject she shuts me down and tells me I’m just jealous because I haven’t found someone who wants to marry me. I’m not jealous. I’m worried. They barely know each other.

  “And, sweetie, no offense,” Dr. Berg said. “You aren’t twenty-five.”

  “Shut up!” snapped Aunt Hazel. “I may not be twenty-five, but Jim thinks I look it!”

  “And look what Apple’s advice is!” her mother said meaningfully.

  Her mother proceeded to read what Apple had written.

  I, too, think it’s a little quick for them to get married. Ask her if her future husband knows her bra size. If he doesn’t, then they don’t really know each other. But it sounds like your friend will be going ahead with the wedding. You can say your two cents and must leave it at that. That is, if you want to remain friends. Friends, after all, are there to be supportive. Tell her your concerns, but then be there for her.

  “Does Jim know your bra size?” Apple asked, eyebrows raised, looking at her aunt.

  Hazel suddenly looked worried. “No, he doesn’t,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek.

  Her aunt got up from the table, pacing back and forth, biting her nails.

  “Oh, come
on, Hazel. It’s an advice column for teens. That line about the bras was meant to be funny,” Apple said, laughing. “Don’t take it seriously.”

  “Although it is kind of true,” muttered Dr. Berg.

  “Okay, Bee Bee. We all know you think it’s too soon for me to get married,” Apple’s aunt said tersely.

  “That’s not true!” her mother protested.

  “Yes, it is,” Apple said under her breath.

  “Okay, it is. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to support you, Hazel, just as Apple said,” her mother said, placing her hands on Hazel’s shoulders.

  Apple tuned out the conversation between her aunt and her mother. She kept staring at her photograph and felt proud about being in Angst magazine.

  Apple’s BlackBerry kept announcing new messages. Everyone she knew—and some she hadn’t seen or heard from in years—was sending her congratulatory messages, telling her how great she looked. There was one from Guy, who wrote, “Another star is born!”

  Zen had texted, “Beauty and brains. When can I see you?”

  It was too early to deal with Zen, thought Apple, though she had no idea when it would be a good time to deal with Zen. She now knew how Happy had felt, needing to hide from him.

  Apple knew when she walked into school that morning that everyone was talking about her and looking at her differently. She could tell people were in awe. So many students had told her they saw her column and her photo on the bus that Apple had lost count. So this was what it was like to be known for something people admired, Apple thought. She hated herself for admitting it. But … she liked it. She felt taller. Every strand of her new long, straight hair, which was now so easy to run a brush through, seemed to be saying, “I’m a star.”

  Apple was wearing a short green dress Happy had convinced her to buy, with long gold chains hanging around her neck. She had never felt so confident in her life. The more people stared, the taller she stood.

  Happy and Brooklyn had grabbed her arms as soon as she arrived and couldn’t stop talking about how excited they were for her. Apple hadn’t had a chance to even see Lyon. She wondered where he was and couldn’t wait to hear his reaction.