Labeled Love (4 page)

“Oh, don’t try growing up so fast, Jules. You’ll thank us later when you’re more mature.”

“We’re already more mature,” I chimed in.

“Yeah, we totally are. The boys in our grade act like morons.” Jules looked over at me. “Don’t they, Shay?”

“Totally,” I answered, rolling my eyes. I walked behind them like
blah, blah, blah,
as Jules went on and on to my mom about how she liked the latest fashions, and that they were not in the tween section.

So, I’m pretty much a tween on the verge of becoming a teen. God, I can’t wait to become an official teenager. I need to skip twelve and turn thirteen.

I couldn’t care less about what I wear, but Jules is pretty much a fashionista-in-training. Anyway, she picked out the outfit that is lying on my bathroom counter for me to wear to school today.

Last night she called to remind me we were to coordinate our outfits for today. Despite my lack of interest, I went along with it.

My phone beeps, knocking me back to the present. I grab it. “Hey, make sure you wear your new tank today. I’m wearing my new outfit.”

“I told you I would,” I tell Jules.

“Yeah, I know, but I know how you are, so I texted your mom last night after I talked to you to have everything laid out for you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Um, yes, Shay, I did,” she answers. I hang up the phone before she tells me to start accessorizing.

I take my shower, trying not to get my hair wet. I don’t want to mess up the curls my mom put in my hair last night. She said I could wear a shower cap. I just gave her an
are you kidding me?
look that said
aren’t those just for old people?
I’m not wearing a shower cap. I don’t even think Betty White would wear a shower cap.

After carefully rinsing off, I grab my light-colored ripped jeans that I told Jules were not up for negotiation and paired them with my new pink frilly tank top. Yes, it’s frilly. Like I said, Jules picked it out, and she loves frilly.

I get dressed and spritz my tropical body spray all around me. It’s like a tropical storm cloud of fragrance. My older brother, Beau, hates to smell it since it lingers in my room and pretty much the entire house. I don’t care because I love it. Does he think we want to smell his dirty football socks? Well, honestly, that smell doesn’t last long, as Mom pretty much pulls them off his feet when he walks through the front door. She even puts dryer sheets in his shoes. Who does that? His room smells like Hollister, the clothing store. You could probably put a live stream of Huntington Beach inside his room, making you think you had just walked into the store.

MY MOM PEEKS
her head through my bedroom door again. “Here’s the box to put the books in you’d like to donate.” Earlier, she said we were volunteering at one of the local community centers today and asked me if I had any old books I wanted to give. She sets the box down as I shake my head. I swear, I have no privacy.

I walk over to my bookcase. It’s loaded with books I’ve collected over the years. I love to read, getting it from my mom. She’s an avid reader. I run my finger over the book spines that I have lined up perfectly. They’re organized. I like to keep my favorites on the first couple of shelves. I grab one of the books I finished recently. It’s a love story about a girl finding her perfect boy. I’m not really supposed to be reading it yet. According to Mom, it has ‘suggestive scenes’ in it, but she rarely looks at my bookcase, and Jules let me read her copy first. We have our own little best friend book club. I place it back in its specific spot next to the rest of the series, and then I lean down and grab a small stack that I don’t mind donating. I put them into the box.

After grabbing my backpack, I shut my bedroom door, practically getting run over by my brother who is racing down the hallway. Beau is the high school quarterback. He just started early morning practices for football season, and he likes to come home to shower before he heads back to school.

“Sorry, Shay. Do you want me to carry that box to the kitchen for you?” He smiles down on me as he scrunches up his nose. You’d think being the big man on campus would make him cocky, but he’s not. He’s the best big brother.

“No, thanks. Have a good day.”

“God, how much of that stuff did you spray? I’m practically tasting it in my mouth,” he says, holding his hand over his mouth.

I love my brother. He’s so fun to bug, and he has the biggest heart. “Does it taste like a tropical smoothie?” I laugh.

He groans. “Cute, Shay.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty cute. Just kidding. No, really I’ve been told I’m kind of adorable.”

“Whoever told you that was just being nice. You’re really ugly.”

“That’s just mean, Beau!” I yell toward his room as he walks away, laughing.

I hear his bare feet on the tile behind me as I head down “exhibit row,” otherwise known as our hallway. Our hallway is adorned with all the art we make in school. Every picture is encased in a big white frame and lines the entire wall leading to the great room. I have to admit, as I make eye contact with each one, I’m a pretty good artist. Beau, on the other hand, um, not so much. All his pictures look like blobs of nothing. Oh, except the few he did when he started playing football. Those are much better; they actually look pretty well done. As for my twin siblings, Tristan and Tatum, yeah, theirs still look like blobs of nothing.

When I reach the end of “exhibit row,” I get to the last piece of mine Mom framed. It’s a perfectly drawn guitar in pencil with a hint of brown shading, definitely my best piece of art, as it should be. Music is kind of my thing.

The smell of maple syrup and warm blueberries hits my senses, as I walk downstairs to the kitchen. But, first I walk through our massive great room overlooking the city. Even I can appreciate this space at my age. Mom has the patio doors all open, letting in the morning breeze. Seeing the sparkle of the water as the sun glistens off our pool makes me want to go swimming and take a sick day. That’s not happening, though. I actually like school, and I have a test today in my first period. I’m pretty sure I’m going to ace it. My parents expect me to make good grades, and lucky me, I have no problem achieving them. I guess you could say I’m pretty smart.

When I reach the kitchen, the chaos begins. Mom is frantic, trying to make sure Beau’s lunch is packed, and Tristan and Tatum, who are five years younger than me, are fighting. At the same time, they stop and ask Mom for something different, making her look like a chicken with her head cut off. She runs to the refrigerator to get Tristan more milk and grabs Tatum a banana, because she put too much syrup on her pancake, and she now refuses to eat it. I sit down next to my perfectly placed plate and start cutting my pancake with my fork. “Mom, have you seen my Converse?” I look up from my plate as my dad walks in, handsomely dressed. He waves at the twins and then goes right up to Mom. I watch as he grabs her face with his big, strong hands and kisses her straight on the mouth.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he says. Mom gives him one more kiss on his lips. He winks at her.

“Yuck,” the twins say, and I just stare, finding it really romantic how my dad kisses my mom. He does it just like the movies. When I’m ready to be kissed, I want it to be just like that.

He brings her in for a hug. “I saw your shoes by the front door,” he tells me over her shoulder. He nuzzles into my mom’s neck, making her giggle when he releases her. “Did Beau already leave?” he asks.

“Not yet. He’s cleaning up,” Mom tells him. He shakes his head, satisfied. I watch him intently as he kisses the twins on the top of the head and then comes over to me and kisses me on the cheek.

“Have a good day at school today,” he says with a genuine smile.

“Thanks, Daddy.”

When he leaves, Mom gets the twins ready to put in the car while I grab my backpack and head out the door.

WHEN WE ARRIVE
at school, Jules is waiting for me by the entrance. We go to a private school in Los Angeles that centers on music and art—something my parents feel strongly about, and feel most public schools lack. I’m hoping I can go to a regular high school when I reach high school level. That’s what they let Beau do, and he loves it.

My mom stops the car at the front of the entrance. “Okay, don’t be a busy bee after school. We’re going to volunteer today.”

I smile and roll my eyes dramatically. “I know, Mom.”

“Just make sure you’re right here when that bell rings. I know how you like to chitchat with your friends. You are such a social butterfly, Shay.”

“I’m not chitchatting. I’m throwing the football with Cole and Brett.” She looks over at Jules standing there on her cell phone, dressed in a frilly peach skirt and a white tank top. She has on decorative flip-flops with her long blonde hair in a loose bun.

“What does Jules do while you’re playing football with the boys?”

“Exactly what she’s doing right now.” We both look at Jules in unison. Looking down at her phone, her face is concentrated, like she’s found the cure for cancer at twelve years old. “She’s probably just found a new fashion blog to follow. She always sits and watches me. Jules doesn’t get dirty. Besides, I don’t always play with the guys, especially today. I don’t want to risk my new pink tank top getting pulled by Cole. He can get rough when he tries to tackle me.”

“He better not be rough.”

“Mom, he’s a boy who breathes football.”

“Well, maybe you should stand on the sidelines with Jules, so you don’t get hurt.”

I tsk. “Um, yeah, I don’t think so. I would much rather play football than look up fashion blogs on my phone all day.”

“Okay, just be here on time. I told the person at the center I would be there after school for when the younger kids come in for homework help,” she says. I nod my head and jump out of the car.

Jules lifts her bright blue eyes from her phone when I reach her. “I heard a few kids say there was an earthquake,” she says, putting her phone into her designer backpack. “I didn’t feel anything,” she adds as we walk through the landscaped entrance of our middle school. We really don’t have fall in California, so our garden club planted lots of yellow and gold fall flowers, making the walkway to our classrooms upbeat and festive. We fake our seasons with lots of decorations, and that’s fine with me. I can’t stand to be cold, and who wants to live where it snows? Yuck! Not me. I’d take the West Coast sun anytime over being cold and stuck in the house all the time.

“Nope, I didn’t feel the earthquake. I didn’t feel a thing,” I tell her.

“Me either,” she says with a shrug. “We’re probably going to have an earthquake awareness speech now.” She smiles as I agree with a nod.

We walk into class, heading right for our seats. Jules and I sit side-by-side, while Cole and Brett sit behind us. They aren’t in their seats when we walk in, but it never takes long to feel their presence. They always throw their backpacks down and sit with a big huff, like they just ran a mile. I’m sure they’re throwing the football outside.

As soon as Cole sits down, he leans forward and says, “Hey, Starkie.”

“Hi,” I say, turning my head to the side. Cole is starting to pay a little bit more attention to me since we entered middle school—more than usual, if that’s possible. Out of all the boys, he’s my favorite to play with. With our families in the same business, Jules, Cole, Brett, and I have always been together. We’ve always been best friends, but no one can take Jules’ place.

Our teacher walks to the front of the classroom. With his back to us, he writes on the white board. Brett starts bugging Jules. I look over as he pulls at her loose bun while Cole tells me, “Scoot to the side, Starkie, so I can see your paper when we take the test.”

“Absolutely not,” I whisper behind me.

“You’re so mean,” he mutters. Then he twists a piece of my hair around his finger and pulls it down. He can be such a brat. I yank my head forward for him to let go. He laughs. “You do realize you just hurt yourself more than my little hair pull did. You should be an actress, Shay. You always make things so much bigger than they are. Come on. Let me see your paper, smarty pants.”