“You watch that show?” Amy laughs. “It’s terrible. Zach is way better than that role. Everyone knows that he’s going to be a big star someday.”
“I watch all kinds of shows,” I say, sensing Antonia’s blood boiling. I’m hoping she doesn’t go for Amy’s throat.
I pinch her discreetly so that she won’t say anything.
She lets out a little squeak.
“What’s that?” Amy says to Antonia. “I didn’t hear you.”
I pinch Antonia again. Harder.
“I didn’t say anything,” she says, squirming. “But we have to go study the Lake of Lerna.” That’s the lake where the Hydra lives. It’s also the entrance to the underworld.
“Lake of Lerna,” Amy repeats stupidly. “Sounds fascinating.”
“Should I ask what’s in that lake? Maybe we should test you,” says Felicity.
Antonia pops her gum. “Water serpents,” she enunciates slowly.
“So?” Felicity says.
Antonia goes for the subtle punch line even though I’m pinching her. “So, their heads grow back when they’re chopped off.”
“That’s gross.” Felicity doesn’t get the mocking humor. She turns to me. “I heard you’re into art.” How does she know this about me? Did Zach talk to her about our conversation on the boat? Why would she bring that up in front of Cristina?
“I’m thinking about going to art school after graduation.”
“That’s cool,” Felicity says, but she’s not really listening. “You must have heard about the opening of LeFeber’s new show in Laguna Beach?”
I squint at her in disbelief. She obviously wants to show off.
“Wasn’t he supposed to be at that party in Marina del Rey last week?” I ask, not wanting to get my hopes up again even though I still can’t get the thought of meeting LeFeber out of my head. It’s too bad that my only shot is probably going to be through Felicity, especially since she’s Cristina’s best friend.
“How am I supposed to know? Something came up, I guess,” she says like it’s no big deal. “His show is exclusive and it’s totally impossible to get on the list.”
“I saw the preview of one of his new pieces in ArtNews,” I say. “He’s one of my favorite living artists.”
I try to talk about how LeFeber tries to make his installations participatory—he doesn’t want people to just look at his art; he wants his audience to explore and interact with the installations—but Felicity interrupts me.
“Does he?” Felicity says. “Maybe we can bring you back an autograph. I’ll try to remember when my parents and I are having dinner with him before the show.”
Is she trying to make me jealous? Does she want me to beg for an invitation? Not going to happen. I really want to go, but I don’t want to owe her or Cristina anything.
“Exciting,” Cristina says, turning to me. “How’s your stomach?”
My muscles begin to tighten as anger rushes through my body. I want to say How’s your nose? But I hold my tongue. I get her point. She wants me to stay away from her man, and also to not do anything to threaten her.
So I just say, “Fine. It’s fine,” as Cristina and her friends walk away from us.
Antonia snickers in my ear. “The Hydra doesn’t even know I was making fun of their multiple snake heads.”
“Yeah.” That’s about all I can manage. I want to go to this LeFeber show. I have to find a way to get in, and Antonia probably isn’t going to be able to help this time. These girls have no idea how much his work means to me. LeFeber’s a brand name to them. When I look at his art, I get this feeling that he knows some deep secret about me though we’ve never met. It kills me to be so close and that I have to basically go through my crush’s ex—who obviously hates me—to meet him.
Antonia is disturbed by my response. “Why didn’t you stand up for yourself? Do you want to be friends with those snake heads? Don’t tell me it’s because of LeFeber.”
“I don’t know. It’s nothing,” I say, opening the door to the building. It’s getting close to the end of the passing period and the hallway is almost empty. My stomach churns. I shouldn’t have eaten so much this morning. The fat is making me feel sick. My energy is crashing from all the sugar in the iced coffee. The uncomfortable fullness nags at my mind. I feel like purging everything from my body to feel normal, but I fight it off.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” she says.
“Just drop it,” I say. “It’s not worth fighting over.”
“I need you to do something for me,” Antonia says, changing the subject. “It’s a date. You’d just have to come with me.”
“Um, no,” I say, not wanting to be a third wheel.
“Don’t say no yet—you haven’t even heard me out. It’s not a big deal.”
My stomach is in knots from the conversation with Felicity and seeing Jackson, but Antonia is my friend. She helped me get invited to the yacht party. I owe her a big one.
“Okay, what?” I ask.
“Don’t act so hurt. Geez...”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “My mind is just on other things.”
She smiles. “There’s one catch though.”
“See? I knew something was up.”
“I’m going out with a girl,” Antonia says. “Heather. Obviously.”
A boy from our class hurries down the hallway to the room, nodding at us as he passes. Antonia pulls me toward the wall and begins to whisper. “Look, I want to go out with Heather. Remember I told you about her? The girl from the track team?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Antonia. I’m totally cool with you going out with a girl. But I still don’t want to be your third wheel. It’ll be so awkward.”
“I want to make her feel more comfortable.”
“If she doesn’t want to go on a solo date, why can’t we just have a kick back or something? We could hang out at my house. Or yours.”
“It’s not the same. We need to go out together. I want her to feel accepted. She hasn’t told anyone she’s gay. I just think she’s going to feel more comfortable going out as like a group of friends. It’ll lessen the pressure.”
“I still don’t see how my going makes sense,” I say. “I don’t want to get in the way of your romance.”
“Well...” Antonia hesitates. “There’s something else. My cousin Mika is coming into town that weekend and my parents said I had to take her out to do something, but that happens to be the night I agreed to go with Heather. I can’t get around it.”
“So...” I cross my arms, waiting to hear the rest of Antonia’s story. I knew there was going to be more to her story. She always withholds information.
“She’s a little weird. Chatty. And I don’t want her to totally take over the date. I need someone to entertain her,” she says, looking up at me with pleading eyes.
The bell rings. I don’t want to be late for class.
“When’s the date?” I ask.
“End of next week,” Antonia says. “Plenty of time to think about it...”
“All right,” I say.
“All right?” She seems shocked I’ve already made up my mind.
“If it’s all about making your date feel accepted, then I guess that’s a good thing.”
“Exactly.” Antonia grabs my shoulder. “What could be wrong with that? I know of an all-ages place we can chill. Lots of people. Bands. Just hang out.”
I guess it’s also a good way to avoid Mason and the rest of my family for at least part of the weekend. Mika can’t be that bad. I’ll just have to make small talk.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sounds like a blast.”
n i n e
“A dysfunctional family is any family with more than one person in it.”
—Mary Karr
I woke up this morning feeling like crap.
/> I purged again last night.
Mom made lasagna last night, and I couldn’t help myself. I stuffed down two huge pieces. I can’t gain any more weight, and I’m sick of purging. It feels terrible. My throat’s sore. My back hurts from hurling. My face is puffy. I’ve started developing a sore on one of my knuckles from my teeth scraping against my hand when I stuff my fingers down my throat to make myself vomit.
It’s such a stupid cycle.
I have to take my punishment now before everyone wakes up. The rest of the day is going to be super busy. Dad’s calling a family meeting about the campaign, Royce and Mason are down here to visit and I have that date with Antonia and Heather tonight.
The house is completely quiet as I walk into my bathroom and shed my pajamas. I pull on my running shorts and shoes. After getting dressed, I go downstairs and put two frozen waffles in the toaster. While they’re cooking, I take a kitchen knife and cut an apple into tiny, thin slices. I eat half then leave the rest out on a plate. When the waffles are finished, I pull them out of the toaster and bite off a piece from each.
I chew until the waffle becomes mushy in my mouth, then spit the food into the sink. I tear a few pieces off and put them on the plate with the apples, then dump syrup all over them. The rest of the waffle goes down the garbage disposal. I make sure to leave the plate out. Mom will tell me I’m being a slob, but she won’t ask me about breakfast.
I leave for my run, heading up the road for the canyon. The rosy pink dawn is beginning to burn off the night. I start off slowly, stretching my legs, then hit my stride, running faster and faster, until my calves begin to burn. With each step, I feel the blood circulating through my body. Other joggers begin to come out. Young mothers push strollers up hills, which motivates me to run even harder until I finally reach the canyon and take a break. Sweat drips down my chest and back and I have to use my shirt to wipe off my forehead. The sun’s all the way up in the sky now. I jog the trails around the canyon for another hour until I’m so exhausted that I have to walk back to the house.
When I finally get home, Royce is splayed out on the couch, head back, snoring like some kind of ugly swamp monster. He’s in his senior year at Stanford. The article he had published in the New York Times, which was about the effects of climate change on rural America, helped him decide that he wants to work as a reporter for an international Associated Press bureau after graduation. He’s way too busy to be hanging out here. Royce is one of the most even-keeled people I know. It’s unsettling to see him so off balance. Things with Jas must really be going wrong.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, waking him up. “You’re snoring.”
Royce blinks for about twenty seconds. He has that just-woken-up-red-eye look.
Is he even awake? He used to think I was funny when I woke him up like this. I guess that was already a long time ago. We haven’t been living in the same house for four years. “Sunshine?” I say. “Come in, Captain Sunshine.”
“I’m awake,” he says, as if I’m the current problem in his life. “Why do you still call me that?”
I gave him that nickname back when we were both in elementary school. Royce has always been a heavy sleeper and Mom used to send me—the annoying little sister—into his room to wake him up for school every morning.
“Because you are,” I say, standing over him. “Why are you here? I thought your classes and job were taking up all your time.”
“Dad’s campaign. I just got in this morning.”
“How could I forget?” I say sarcastically. Royce probably knew about the campaign before I did. Mason only recently cleaned his act up after drinking so much and getting into trouble when he was my age, but Royce has always been the golden boy. “Is today the day we’re supposed to sit around the living room while he lays out his grand plans about how we’re going to tour every city in California and dine with all the important people in state politics? Oh, and how we’re to only talk about winning if we’re interviewed, but don’t get interviewed unless his campaign manager is there with us?” I swing my fist like I’m so excited. “Or how we’re all supposed to be strong as a family, and if we have any differences with each other to air them out now, or to at least promise to bury them during the campaign? Something like that?”
“Why don’t you want to help Dad?” Royce asks. “He said you were acting super weird about the whole thing.”
“How am I supposed to act?” I ask. “I really want to know.”
To be honest, I can’t say I’ve been trying that hard. I don’t want to be consumed by his campaign. It’s not what I want to do with my life—I didn’t sign up for this.
“Just...not weird,” Royce says.
“Well, that’s me,” I say. “I’m weird.”
Out of us three kids, I’ve always been the black sheep. Although my parents respect artists, they don’t think I should be an artist. Whenever I mention wanting to go to art school, they change the subject. That’s another reason I want to talk to LeFeber. His parents didn’t accept him as an artist. They didn’t even really accept him as a person. What kept him going? Did he stand up to his family? Did they ever believe in him?
Royce and Mason find the campaign trail exciting. It sounds like hell to me. Arguing about politics? Meeting with strangers to win their vote? No thanks.
“I know.” He rubs his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept well in at least a week. Maybe longer. “But you don’t have to act like this is the worst thing you’ll ever have to do in life. There are a lot worse things that could be happening.”
I hear some kind of subtext in what he’s saying, like he wants to tell me something but won’t. “What do you mean?” I ask.
Royce turns away as if I’ve struck a nerve. “Nothing. It just means things could be worse so you should stop thinking about yourself and think about what Dad’s doing to help our family. It’s not going to be that different from any other campaign he’s run.”
“Isn’t being a congressman enough? Haven’t our entire lives been given to his campaigns? To the Blakely family image?” Royce sits up on the couch. I can tell I’ve finally gotten his attention. “It’s my junior year. Even though he probably won’t announce until the end of this calendar year, you know he’ll be planning for months ahead of the campaign. Then there will be the actual campaigning, which will go until November of next year. If he wins, then that means half of senior year in Sacramento. I just want to figure out who I am on my own for once.”
“Politics matter. Or at least policies do. Take Jasmine—”
Royce interrupts himself before he can finish his sentence. It’s like even saying Jasmine’s name is physically painful for him. I’ve never seen him this way. They get feisty with one another, but always seem to make up. This must be worse. Something big.
“What were all those texts about a couple weeks ago?”
“Nothing. I shouldn’t have sent them to you,” he says.
“Do you need to talk?” I ask Royce. “Did Jasmine come down with you?”
He shakes his head.
“Where is she?” I ask. “Still at school?”
Royce swipes his hand over his bedhead. “I don’t know.”
I’m worried for him. He honestly looks like he’s on the brink of falling apart. He’s probably stressed about graduation, finding a job and now the campaign on top of figuring out his problems with Jas. I want to comfort him, but I don’t know what to say.
Leaning on the arm of the couch, Royce opens his mouth, then changes his mind before he finally speaks. “We’re trying to figure out what’s next.”
“You mean like marriage?” I say.
Royce shakes his head. “No. Like careers. I want to start reporting for an international bureau. She’s planning to apply to medical schools. That’s seven more years of studying and residencies. Who knows what else.”
“That’s
a long time,” I say, trying to be understanding of him even though I want to ask why that’s such a big problem for their relationship.
He slowly gets up from the couch. “Want breakfast? I’ll make something.”
“I already ate,” I say, feeling nauseous at even the thought of eating food. “I’m not hungry.”
I usually don’t have to worry about Royce catching on to my eating habits. He’s oblivious about that sort of thing.
“Come on,” he says. “Talk to me in the kitchen. I’m starving.”
I lean on the kitchen counter while Royce pulls enough food from the fridge to feed a small family. It’s disgusting how much food he can eat and still stay so thin. It’s like we don’t even come from the same gene pool. I eat one burrito and gain two pounds.
Royce turns on a burner. He cracks eggs onto the pan. They sizzle and hiss from the heat. Then he starts mixing pancake batter. It smells so good. I want to eat some, but I have to stop overeating. It’s the only way I’m going to get down to my goal weight.
“How’s Eastlake?” Royce asks. “I miss that place.”
“You would,” I say, staring at the pancakes bubbling on the stove. The smell of the batter makes my stomach turn. “Everyone liked you.”
Royce laughs. “I don’t think you really remember right...”
“Whatever. Everyone likes you, Royce.”
“Believe me, I wasn’t that popular. I just had a small group of close friends before I met Jasmine...” I can hear sadness and longing for a simpler time in his voice.
I suddenly feel bad for Royce. His life is probably so intertwined with hers that he wouldn’t know what to do if they ever broke up. “Want to go to the de los Santoses’ house?” I ask, trying to cheer him up. “I’ll go with you. I haven’t seen Jas’s family in forever.”
Royce shrugs. “It’s not really where I should be right now.”
Now I’m really worried. Did they break up already?