Jennifer nods. “It’s the Daughters of the Peninsula. Tess and Rachel have been debutantes since birth. Gag me.” Both Tess and Rachel are a part of Jessie’s hickey harem. His sluts may come and go, but those two always seem to beg for more, so much so that the school sort of considers the two of them as his unsteady girlfriends.
“She made the cheer squad.” Melissa wrinkles her nose at the idea. Melissa tried out forever before she actually made the team. This is her first real year since she spent most of last fall in a thigh-high cast courtesy of her new boyfriend. “Fatima just made her co-captain. She’s literally that good.” Melissa leans in. “Not to start rumors, but Fatima told me she was kicked out of some pricey private school for making all of her chemistry teacher’s carnal desires come true.”
Jen and I gasp at the very same time.
“On her knees,” Melissa adds, and this time we break out in a round of nervous titters.
I glance over to find her looking this way with the woman manning the cash register, and they both turn their backs to us on cue. Nice. It looks as if she’s having a little gossip-fest of her own. She’s pretty. I’ll give her that. Her purse is an oversized buttery leather. I’m pretty sure it costs as much as the rent for our house.
I pull my plastic basket purse higher over my shoulder. Over the years, I’ve sort of developed my own sense of style—torn black nylons, short plaid skirts, baggy fuzzy sweaters from the bargain bin are all my go-tos. I may not be able to shop at any of these fancy mall stores, but I make the best of my Goodwill offerings. Some people think I’m punk because of the way I dress, and I do like the music, but mostly, it’s a cover for what I can afford to deck myself out in.
“Let’s get out of here.” Jennifer tosses in a turquoise hair pick, a comb with a pump in the handle that stores hairspray, and another set of colorful plastic rods guaranteed to gift my hair the exact curl it demands. “We’ll do the perm this Saturday. I’m tutoring again tonight.” That’s Jen’s side job, tutoring. She’s a brain when it comes to just about everything, but her specialty is assisting elementary students to brush up on their reading skills. It turns out, the people on the Hill are willing to shell out the big bucks to train little Johnny how to navigate his way through an entire library of books.
Jen and Melissa head up to the register, but my eyes snag on the latest cover of Motor Grinder. Last week when I was lamenting to Dusty how I’ll never have enough to buy the car outright, he suggested an alternative that might just bring my finances up to speed. Turns out, his cousin is a photographer for Motor Grinder, and they’re always looking for girls to pose for their pictorials. My face blushes ten shades as I evict the thought from my mind.
I’ll never sink that low. At least I hope not.
I head up and pull my things from the cart before Jennifer can pay for them, and she snatches back the L’Oréal lipstick, the boxed perm and rods and pays for those herself. Our cart is brimming with enough magenta cans of Aqua Net to freeze dry every hair follicle on the planet for an entire decade, but none of us want to get caught without, so we quickly divide the cans among us.
Jen glances at her watch, a pink and blue Swatch that looks sweet enough to eat. Everyone at school owns at least fifteen of those technological confections. I can’t get over how much people freely spend on their thirst to tell time. As for me, I simply ask whoever’s wearing one and get my answer for free.
“We’ve only got fifteen minutes before I need to take off.” Jen looks to me. “We’ll meet you in Contempo. I hear they’re hiring, too. I’ll get you an application!”
“Cool, I’ll be right there.” I pay for my things, leaving myself with an entire dollar eighty-five to my name. I’m just about to take off when I spot Russ and his preppy princess Amanda still lingering near the front while she examines a display of feathered roach clips. Now that’s a believable sight. She’s so ditzy. I almost want to laugh as I brush past them.
“Excuse me,” an elderly voice calls from behind, and I find the cashier who just assisted me, trailing me with a fragile smile on her face, her bright orange lipstick veining into her skin. “I’m afraid one of our patrons saw you slipping a few things into your purse. I’m going to have to ask you to open your handbag.”
“What?” An instant burn takes over my body, usually reserved for the moron to my left, and horror upon horrors both he and that nitwit he’s with have pinned all their attention in my direction.
“Your purse. Open it up, toots.” Gone is the genteel old lady, replaced with a tougher, let’s-get-down-to-business version as she pushes up her sleeves. “The Galleria has a strict policy against shoplifters. I’ve already alerted security, so there’s no fighting it, missy. Now, let’s see what you got.” She flicks her fingers at me, and I pinch my purse closer to my shoulder as a reflex.
“Look, lady. I’m no shoplifter. Besides, my purse is essentially a glorified laundry basket. You can see everything in it from the side.” I position it toward her, trying to edge my way out the door, and bump into a body, only to find a fully uniformed officer of the Galleria law glaring down at me.
“Open your purse, sweetheart,” he grumbles. “Let’s make this easy on everyone.”
Amanda takes a step in this direction, but Russell kindly stays put and lets me have my day in the misdemeanor sun.
“Fine.” I rip my purse from my shoulder and open it wide for the two of them to freely inspect my old gum wrappers, the lone tampon I have rolling around like an orphan, my caked CoverGirl compact that Jennifer was going to throw away and I gladly took ownership of, my Little Twin Star wallet, and a collection of old Village Lip Lickers that Melissa bought me last Christmas.
“Well, I guess she’s all clear.” The elderly clerk shrugs up at the security guard begrudgingly before landing her judgmental gaze right back on me. “I don’t know where you put them, but I don’t want to see your face in here again. You got that?”
“I didn’t steal anything.” My voice cracks as hot tears sting my eyes. My heart races as if I just ran the requisite mile in gym class, and I can feel the scalding hot embarrassment as a crowd begins to amass.
“All I know is an entire display of Bon Belle Lip Smackers have up and disappeared, and you were the one spotted taking down the loot!”
“What?” I squawk. “Spotted by who?”
Her eyes drift past my shoulder momentarily, and I follow her gaze to Amanda, who suddenly seems very interested in a bottle of cheap patchouli men’s cologne.
“Shit,” I mutter. “Look—” I leer over at the angry little blonde troll who has the balls to pin me for some imaginary Lip Smacker heist. I think I know where those tiny colorful tubes went and whose lips I’d like to smack with my fist for trying to peg the debacle on me. But I’ll deal with that skank later. “I didn’t steal anything from your store, and, if I did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be glorified chapstick. It would be batteries!”
Both she and the mall cop gasp at my Walkman-based admission.
“Mountains and mountains of batteries! And you can bet I wouldn’t bring this stupid laundry basket of a purse in here to do it!” My voice rubs raw from the effort. I turn to bolt and bump into another body, only this time I’m met up with steely blue eyes rather than a steel blue uniform.
“You okay?” Russell James looks down at me with those bottom of the ocean-colored eyes, and my body jolts with a spasm.
“Get out of my way.” I huff past him and head straight for Contempo. I don’t need Russell’s fake brand of concern. I bet he and his spoiled snob-of-a-skank are laughing it up right now.
Screw them. I’m not letting them ruin my senior year.
Hell, it feels as if they already have.
Saturday evening Jennifer plucks at the rods in my hair while we sit camped out in her garage with the door open wide, and Berlin’s album, Pleasure Victim, blares from the record player she has set up in the corner. Jennifer is a big lover of vinyl and has quite the vast collection to back this u
p.
She taps her hand over the curlers in my hair. “Like I’d better get some more solution in it.”
I lean my head back into the sink that’s set up next to her washer while she wets down my hair with enough ammonia to snuff out a small island nation. Her dad hates the smell, so Jen’s been doing perms from her garage ever since I can remember.
She plucks at a few rollers once again.
“Why do you keep doing that?” It hurts like heck, but I fight the urge to bat her away.
“Because if your hair falls out, I’ll totally know I left the solution in too long.”
“Geez.” I close my eyes a moment. “The last thing I need to kick off my senior year is a few random bald spots. People will think I have mange.” I had a cat like that once, and not even the strays in the neighborhood wanted any piece of that action.
Melissa comes out from the house. “Just talked to Joel. He said to come over whenever.” Her lips twist as she inspects me. “You’re coming, right?”
“Will he be there?” He as in Russ. I’m sure his partner in false accusation crime, Amanda, will be hopping on his lap all night, too. Melissa gives a slight nod. “No thank you. I’m still pretty pissed at the purported crime spree they accused me of.”
“I’d like swear on my life, Russ had nothing to do with it.” Melissa teases up her bangs with a pick. “If he did, Joel would so kick his ass.” She picks up a can of Aqua Net and starts freeze drying her hair as it wings out at least six inches from the sides.
“No need. I can take him.” For a brief second, I imagine myself rolling around on top of a partially clad Russell James, and the thought makes my face heat painfully like a rug burn.
Both she and Jen share a laugh.
“Sounds like someone wouldn’t mind getting in a wrestling match with Russell.” Jennifer waggles her brows, and I choose to ignore the fact she all but read my mind.
“More like someone would mind if her hair fell out.” I motion to my head. “Unleash me. I’d like my curls to live to see another day.”
It takes about fifteen minutes for Jen to free the rods from my head and to give me a thorough rinse. “If you wash your hair within the next three days, I won’t take responsibility for this perm.”
“Will do and thanks.” I squeeze my curls dry with a towel and admire how tight they look in the mirror. “I got a call from Hot Dog on a Stick today, so, if all goes well, I’ll pay you back with all the wieners and lemonade you can handle, on my employee discount that is.” I toss the towel to her. “Oh, wait. The only wiener you’re interested in is attached to Jessie Fox’s body.” Melissa and I share a laugh as the album comes to an end. “Have fun tonight, guys. I think I’ll walk home.” I know for a fact they’re both anxious to get to Joel’s, and I happen to live in the opposite direction of Glen Heights.
“You sure?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got my headphones.” I slip them around my neck as I say it. “Pick me up Monday?” Last year, I caught a ride with my brother, Seth, but he’s since graduated and now attends San Ramos Community College, the natural funnel for the San Ramos kids. People from Glen Heights usually shoot straight into a four-year university on Daddy’s dime. The San Ramos kids have to fight it out for financial aid, government grants, and scholarships. It’s quite the financial blood sport. My younger brother, Kurt, is in the eleventh grade, but gets a ride with his girlfriend, Veronica, and her car is already filled to the hilt.
“You bet.” Both Jen and Melissa give me a quick hug goodbye as I head out on this balmy September evening. I turn my Walkman up full blast as Talk Talk’s “It’s My Life” kicks in.
Jennifer and Melissa don’t live that far from one another. I’m a few blocks south, and coincidentally, the further south you head in San Ramos, the seedier the neighborhood grows. Both Jen and Melissa come from traditional middle-class families that would make Ronald Reagan proud to see his trickle-down economics at work. My mother, however, is the sole provider of our household, if you don’t count what little Seth is able to contribute with his side job at the garage, and my meager contribution of Orange Julius mistakes—while I worked there my siblings would put in their “orders,” and I would conveniently make a few mistakes in the kitchen. The management hated seeing the food go to waste, so they always let us take mistakes home. And if it weren’t for Grousing Grant, the perverted dayshift supervisor, we’d still be enjoying those nightly cheese fries and double cheeseburgers. My mother is a waitress over at Admiral Rusty’s on the Hill, and her tips border on insanity. It’s one of the ritziest restaurants in all of Glen Heights, so she’s been doing pretty well considering she has five mouths to feed.
I cross Pacifica Avenue and tread deeper into the bowels of San Ramos. Before I know it, I’m standing in front of Dusty Bennett’s house staring into the passenger’s window of the tiny Gonorrhea Ghia I’m hoping will one day be mine.
“You think about what I said?” Dusty comes out from the dark mouth of the garage, grease coating his wife beater, his jeans so caked with filth they look as if they could walk all on their own. Dusty has a broad face and wears a friendly look that makes just about anyone believe they can trust him. If only they knew what was brewing in that nefarious pot-dealing mind of his, they’d run the other way.
Before I can answer, he pulls an oil-slicked issue of Motor Grinder out from his back pocket and shakes it open to the centerfold pinned in the middle. A luscious blonde looks back, kneeling seductively while wearing a pink silk robe.
“See that?” He flicks her thigh. “She’s wearing more clothes than you’d see at the beach.”
“She’s practically a nun.” I roll my eyes at the idea of me stripping down to a nightie so I can make my way into someone’s greasy back pocket. I’m sure he keeps the issue handy in the bathroom as well. Like seriously? Gag me with a freaking spoon.
“Nate says this chick got a thousand bucks for posing. This rag might look like a fish wrapper, but they shell out the big bucks for good-looking chicks like you.”
I snatch the issue from him and examine the girl’s come-hither look in detail. “A thousand dollars?”
“That’s right.” He takes it back. “You let my cousin take a couple quick snaps, and I’ll give you that piece of shit littering my driveway.”
“Really?” I glance up at Dusty, with his thin brows, his tight lips with a dark smudge over them giving him a dirty mustache look. My eyes drift back to the partially clad girl, the look of lust in her eyes, Dusty’s greasy fingerprint staining her thigh. “I got a job over at Hot Dog on a Stick. I should be fine. My bus pass is good for now. Thanks, though. And thanks for holding the car for me!” I snap my headphones back into place, as A Flock of Seagulls belt out “I Ran” into my ears at top volume.
I don’t think I could ever run far enough away.
Home comes up on me with its weed-riddled dirt field where wild patches of grass have dared to sprout up after the rains last spring. The shutters that line the windows are warped and peeling. Julie and Jill, my younger twin sisters, play a game of hopscotch outlined in chalk on the sidewalk. It’s hard to believe they’ll be in the seventh grade this year. Everything in me wants to protect them from middle school, protect them from the Dusty Bennetts of the world.
Inside it’s dark, save for the flickering of the television, and, to my horror, I find Mom planted next to my younger brother Kurt on the sofa while the theme song from The Facts of Life blares from the tube.
“Mom? What are you doing home?” I hop a little in horror when I say it. “Are you sick?” A slight uptick of panic settles in my voice. My mother has never been sick. She has worked right through fevers, the flu. Every sore throat she has ever had has been spent down at that ritzy seafood house that sits on that obnoxious hill. My dad took off for good when I was seven. He’s a trucker, and one day he decided to just keep on truckin’ and never came back. My biggest fear has always been losing my mother to something unexpected. Jeanie Benson’s mother
went insane last year, and they had to lock her up in a psychiatric facility, and now Jeanie only visits her on weekends. If my mother lost her mind, we’d all be homeless, scavenging our next meal out of trashcans, keeping warm by the garbage pail bonfire with the rest of the winos. I have no grandparents on either side, and my mother’s sister, who lives in Arizona, has all but rejected us.
“I’m fine, hon. Everything is fine.” She closes her eyes a moment. Mom is pretty—strawberry blonde hair, light green eyes that shine when she smiles. She’s even got herself a boyfriend or two on the side at any given time, except for lately when no one seems to call. My mom is a hard worker and an honest person. In my opinion, she’s a success. I don’t care what the world says. “Tony had to cut my hours back a bit. It looks like I’m back to part-time for now.”
“Part-time?” The words swell in my throat like a wad of food stamps. “God, we’re beyond broke. We’ll never pay the rent. How are we going to survive? What are we going to do?”
“Relax.” Kurt kicks out my knee, and I buckle for a moment. “I’m getting a job at the Burger Hut to help out. Seth is kicking in some funds, and you can do the same. We’ll make it.” He scowls at me with those familiar features I’ve come to memorize from the pictures of my father. “I promise.” His lips crimp when he says it as if he’s holding back some serious emotions. “It’s going to be fine.”
I look to my mother to confirm this, but she only manages to shrug.
Crap. Things will not be fine. I can feel it in my creaky bones. I take off for my room and barricade myself inside. My mother is going to need every dime I make to help get us through this rough patch. I’m not going to have money to buy a car. Heck, I won’t have enough spare change to buy another bus pass. I glance up at the bikini-clad Farrah Fawcett smiling down at me from Kurt’s side of the room.