Imperfect Chemistry (11 page)

“I’ve let you dress me before and it’s not even Thanksgiving yet.” Although the holiday is quickly approaching. “I don’t have enough money for a new wardrobe, nor do I need one.”

“I have friends who work here. They can help.”

“I don’t know.”

“I know,” she says. “Trust me.”

I can feel my resolve wavering.

“I don’t want to seem desperate.” I don’t really care how I seem, and surely she knows this, but I’m running out of excuses.

“Blame it on me.”

“You’re relentless.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I stand up and grab my tray. “Fine. But nothing too dramatic.”

She screeches like a banshee and jumps up and gives me a hug.

“This is going to be so much fun!”

Three hours later I’ve been primped, prodded and shoved into designer labels. Freya knows everyone. She has a friend at the salon in the mall who gives me a trim and styles my hair for free. I draw the line at any kind of chemicals in my hair though, so that goes pretty quickly.

Next, she takes me to a friend of hers named Jenny who’s a personal shopper at a major department store. Jenny bustles us into the back, behind closed doors where they keep items that are going to be sold or donated due to minor defects such as missing labels, uneven stitching and small tears in the fabric. She leaves us there to go through the giant piles and it takes over an hour of sorting through sizes and styles until Freya is happy with a variety of boots, sweaters and pants for herself and for me.

“Wasn’t that great?” she asks as she’s driving us out of the mall parking lot.

“Yes.” I’m afraid to elaborate or argue because if she starts talking, that means she’s not fully concentrating on the road and I’m convinced we won’t survive the trip home.

“Okay, now we need a plan to get Jensen’s attention and see if he likes you as much as you like him,” she says.

“I’m sure my transformation into fashion icon Barbie will be more than sufficient.”

“Oh, please,” she narrowly misses hitting a trash can on the curb as she’s rounding a corner. “You barely look any different. I think you have a distorted view of yourself. I mean really get his attention, like how when I was flirting with him got your attention.”

“How are we going to accomplish that?” I cringe as she rolls through a stop sign.

“By making him jealous, of course.”

Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former.

–Albert Einstein

“I don’t think this is such a great idea, Freya.”

We’re sitting in my living room, waiting for my fake date to arrive.

“Of course it’s a good idea! Maybe he likes you, but he doesn’t know that he likes you. If he sees you with someone else, he’ll realize that he’s jealous, and that he’s always loved you and he’ll burst in here, all bulging biceps and unspent fervor, and he’ll challenge Tony to a duel and you’ll fall passionately into his arms, his lips crashing down on yours…” Her eyes have glazed over, and she’s not even looking at me anymore.

“Freya?”

“Hmmm?” She’s still gazing off into the distance, at a daydream only she can see.

I snap my fingers in front of her face and she startles a bit before meeting my eyes.

“What if he decides I must not like him and he gives up? And this is all assuming he has the smallest inkling of feelings towards me. He might view me as a sister or mere friend, in which case all your efforts will be for naught.”

“What? No way. Who knows more about relationships and snagging a guy, me or you?”

I raise an eyebrow in her direction. “I’m not entirely sure considering you’ve recently lost your virginity, and your boyfriend cheated on you and then you had him beat up before you took him back, and now he won’t call you.”

“Forget all that.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Trust me on this, okay?”

I sigh. “Okay.”

Her friend Tony comes over, and he’s so obviously gay that I start to relax. Jensen will immediately realize that I’m not dating him.

When the rumble of Jensen’s Mustang sounds in the driveway, Freya shoves us out the door. Tony takes my hand and gives me a brilliant smile. He’s really good-looking, in an almost feminine way. He’s tall and thin, but leanly muscular with angular features and clear blue eyes that stand out of his darker complexion. He’s very well dressed and clean shaven, and his dark hair is styled in that perfectly tousled way.

He pulls me down the steps as Jensen is coming up them. I try to remove my hand from Tony’s, but he just holds on tighter.

“Hey,” he says to Jensen.

“Hey,” Jensen returns. His gaze roams over us and pauses on our linked hands, and I silently will Tony with my mind to say something else to reveal that he prefers people with Jensen’s reproductive organs over mine.

We’re stopped on the steps and they’re both staring at me and I have no choice but to make introductions.

“Jensen, this is Tony. Tony, this is my neighbor Jensen.”

“How’s it going man?” Tony extends his hand that’s not linked with mine and surely the shock that’s pulsing through my body is revealed on my face.

All of a sudden Tony sounds completely not gay and totally masculine. He shakes Jensen’s hand and I can tell he does it firmly and confidently, and then Tony turns to me and says, “Are you ready, babe?” and I cannot reconcile the creature in front of me with the same man that burst into my house and squealed like a little girl only a half hour ago.

“Yes,” I manage to squeak out, and then he’s pulling me down the steps. I throw a look over my shoulder and see Jensen still standing on the steps, watching us. I can’t see his eyes or his expression clearly. All I know is I feel that I’ve done something terribly wrong.

When we are out of sight, Tony drops my hand.

“So, what did you think?” he asks excitedly.

“I can’t believe you do that so well,” I say, amazed.

“Oh, you are too sweet, honey. Didn’t Freya tell you I’m a theater major?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“You should have seen the look on your face!” He claps his hands together. “Now, hurry up doll, let’s go get some stuff to make martinis and we can celebrate!” He shimmies his shoulders.

***

Three days later, I’ve confirmed what I suspected all along. Trying to make Jensen jealous was a bad idea, and it’s backfired in the worst possible way.

“She’s back,” I call Freya one afternoon.

“What? Who’s back?”

“The leggy blonde.”

“What the heck are you talking about? And why are you calling me now and not at seven o’clock in the morning? My whole world view is shattered.”

“Remember when I was observing Jensen in order to ascertain his habits?”

“Never repeat that to anyone but me. You sound like a crazy stalker. And yes, I remember.”

“There was a blonde who came over a few times. She stayed for a few hours and left. She hasn’t been there since…well, since before Jensen and
I,
you know
, but now she’s back. I just saw her go into his place.”

“She stays for a few hours and leaves? Do you think she’s a hooker?”

“What? No! I mean, I don’t know. He hasn’t talked to me since he saw me with Tony. I haven’t really seen him around. He’s avoided all communication with me, and now this!”

“I can hear your hands wringing from here, Lucy. Listen to me. It’s going to be okay. Calm down, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

She hangs up on me before I can say anything else.

I pace back and forth in my small living room. What do I do now? What do normal people do?

My gaze falls on the iPod and speakers that Tom left the last time he was here.

Twenty-five minutes later, there’s a knock and then Freya lets herself in. She stops in the entryway and stares at me with her mouth open.

I’m on the floor in my PJs with an open pint of ice cream in front of me.

“Are you listening to Taylor Swift?” she asks.

“I get it now!” I wave my spoon at her. “I knew he was trouble when I walked in.”

“When he walked in,” she corrects.

“Right, and the story of us
does
look a lot like a tragedy now!”

“Oh, Jesus.” She kicks the door shut behind her with her foot because her arms are full of groceries.

“If I could play the guitar, there would be teardrops on it.” I take a bite of Chunky Monkey and consider that statement. “If I ever cried,” I add. “Which really only happens when I cut onions due to the propanethiol S-oxide.”

“I’ve created a monster,” she moans.

“You know, junk food really does make me feel better. At least temporarily. I suppose it’s the increased chocolate intake triggering a dopamine release.”

“Well, then you’re in luck and we’ll really be working out those dopamine receptors because I brought more.” She walks to the kitchen and puts her bags on the counter.

“Have you ever seen
Bridget Jones’ Diary
?” She holds up a DVD and waves it at me.

Two hours later, she’s lying on her stomach across my small sofa and I’m on the ground near her feet with my back resting against the bottom of the couch while we watch Bridget kiss Mr. Darcy in the snow in her underpants.

“I’m sorry about that whole thing with Tony,” Freya says.

I try to hand her the bowl of popcorn but she waves it away so I put it on the coffee table.

“That’s okay. I think we made a serious error in judgment. Jensen is still recovering from the loss of his long-time girlfriend to his best friend. He likely has trust issues and now I’ve exacerbated them, assuming he felt any small inkling of anything for me beyond friendship. Besides, this is what I needed after all, to experience emotions universal to people in my age group. And really, it’s not so bad.”

“That’s the pound of chocolate cake talking,” she says.

I consider that. “Maybe.”

She sits up and puts the remote on the table next to me. “You’re lucky. The whole thing with Jensen ended before it got too serious. The longer the relationship, the more it sucks when it ends.”

“That makes sense. Are you okay? About the whole Cameron thing?”

“You know, for a while I didn’t think I would be. But now…I’m glad. You were right, I deserve better.”

“Good. Did you ever tell Bethany and Ted about Cameron?”

“Nope. I love them, I really do
, but.” She wrinkles her nose, “They’re too honest sometimes. Sometimes I need that, and sometimes I need no questions asked. With Cameron, I already know I made a huge mistake; I don’t need anyone reminding me.”

She leans forward and gives me a half hug. “This is why I love you,” she says. “You are so non-judgmental. And you’re not competitive or jealous. So many girls are like that, in an underhanded and sneaky way.”

“It’s not really their fault,” I tell her. “A lot of females in our society are naturally competitive but they are forced to suppress those inclinations due to socioeconomic and cultural factors beyond their control.”

“See? You even make excuses for the bitches.”

I stand up and start picking up our trash. “Did you want any more frosting?” The tub is half empty and I wave it at her.

“Nah.”
She stands next to me and grabs a few pieces of trash and napkins off the table and we take everything to the kitchen.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” she asks.

“I’m going to my parents’ house for the day. They live in the highlands. You?” I put the frosting in the fridge.

“I’m going home for the week, leaving Monday. Hopefully it won’t snow and delay the flights. I heard there might be a storm coming in next week.” She tosses everything into my trash and we head back to the living room.

“It’s snowing now.” My pale white curtains don’t hide the outside world to a large degree, and I can see a few flakes flickering down in the street light. “You could stay here tonight. This is a sofa bed.” I thump the cushion with my hand.

Her eyes widen. “You
wanna have a sleepover?”

“If that means you stay the night here, then…yes?”

She squeals. “Yes! I haven’t done that in years! Come on.” She grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall towards the bedrooms.

“What are you doing?”

“If this is your first sleepover, we’re going to do it right.”

A couple hours later, my hair is done in about twenty different braids of various thickness, and pinned back in multiple ways to make them form different sizes of circles
around my head. My nails are painted and I’m attempting to do Freya’s toes. She’s sitting on the couch with her feet in my lap.

“Isn’t this fun? It’s better to have sleepovers when you’re older. When you’re young, you run the risk of your friends putting your panties in the freezer, or the old hand in a water cup trick.”

I finish her toes and glance at the clock. It’s well after midnight.

“Hand in a water cup trick?” I ask.

“You know, to make someone wet the bed.” She waves her hand at me and then inspects her nails.

I close the cap on the nail polish. “That doesn’t work.”

“How do you know?” She swings her legs off my lap and puts them on the floor.

“Putting someone’s hand in water won’t prevent their body from producing the anti-diuretic hormone, which in turn suppresses your kidneys from excreting urine as you’re sleeping.”

“Geez, you are such a buzzkill.” She yawns and stretches. “I’m exhausted. Can I borrow something to sleep in?”

We head back to my room and I pull out a pair of flannel PJs and hand them to her.

She gapes at them. “You own actual pajamas?”

“Don’t you?”

“No. I sleep in ratty shirts or sweats.”

“Oh.”

We change and brush our teeth. I have a package of spare toothbrushes under my sink in the bathroom that I open up for Freya. 

Once we’re finished, I head back into my bedroom to find Freya snuggled under the comforter on my queen bed.

“Please don’t make me sleep on the sofa bed,” she pleads.

I shrug. “You can sleep in here.” I climb under the covers on the opposite side and turn off the light on the bedside table.

I’ve never slept in the same bed as someone else before. I suppose it’s a common occurrence for most adolescents to share a sleeping space with your peers. I shift in the smaller space allotted to me and try to get comfortable. I can hear Freya breathing, and feel her shifting on her side as well.

“Lucy?” she whispers.

“Yes?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course. Why are you whispering?”

“Oh. I don’t know,” she says in a normal voice. “It’s about Cameron.”

I don’t respond, instead waiting for her to continue.

“Remember how I told you that I wouldn’t sleep with him and that’s when he stopped returning my calls?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that wasn’t entirely true.”