My Big Nose and Other Natural Disasters (20 page)

I ignored Mom's chitchat on the way to the café.
So Amanda Mullins isn't as bright as I thought she'd be; she didn't understand the deeper themes in the book. Apparently having millions of dollars doesn't substitute for a college degree. But you should have seen her guest bathroom: candles, gorgeous big candles. Should I try candles? You and your brother would probably just set the house on fire. I may try her decorator, though. Unless it's too expensive, but Dad thinks he might get that promotion—that's why he's been working so late. They plan to announce in two weeks. Then maybe I can cut back on my own hours. Or quit. Wouldn't that be great?

I grunted occasionally, which seemed to be enough for her. Twice I thought about flinging myself out of the car. I would end up in the hospital, and, of course, I'd need a nose job. My eyes would look really pretty against all the bruises and bandages, and Gideon could visit me in the hospital and pledge his undying love. When the doctors unveiled the new nose, I would awe everyone with my beauty. Or maybe Zane Zimmerman would be in the next room recovering from some knee injury or something and we could have a rehab romance.

"Do I turn here?" Mom asked.

"I guess." I leaned forward. "My stomach doesn't feel so good." Major jitters.

"You're just hungry," Mom said. "I heard that her quiche is simply delicious."

"You're not going to make her blend it into some kind of soup, are you?"

"Jory, give me some credit, please." Mom smoothed her blouse over her capris. She looked better than I did. Her short hair framed her classic features, whereas I depended on my long hair like some literary heroine: my one beauty.

Gideon opened the door and smiled really big, and then his eyes grew wide and his smile faded as my mother pushed in behind me.

"Cynthia!" She raced over to a skinny blonde who was gathering beads. "I'm here for a mother-daughter night. Jory, come here and meet Mrs. Simons."

Gideon kept holding the door open as my mom swept me into the room and introduced me all around.

"We're having a mother-daughter night," she bragged. "Jory practically
begged
me to come."

So not true! I tried to catch Gideon's eye, but he just stood there with a shocked expression. He wore nice jeans and a dark shirt that brought out his eyes. And his amazing hair. Mom gripped my arm with her manicured nails like she was some kind of socialite pro wrestler. I couldn't break away. I realized that I hadn't said a single word to Gideon. Not even
hi.
I smiled as Mom introduced me to another beading lady.

Helen brought us little trays on which to collect beads; Mom floated around the shop conducting a poll about which beads best matched her eyes. Gideon disappeared through a door in the back room without even looking in my direction. I swished my fingers through a box of round beads the color of Key lime pie, wondering what to do and trying not to let the tears in my eyes fall.

A few minutes later Helen found me in the corner searching through some jagged poke-your-neck-so-you-can-bleed-to-death beads.

"Your mother is quite a character," she said. "A force of nature."

"Tell me about it." I poked my finger on a bead, pressing until it hurt.

"These aren't good necklace material. Why don't you look for something more suitable. More Joryish."

"I don't really know what that is." I stared down at a shiny brown stone, blinking hard.
Don't cry.
Why couldn't Helen leave me alone? Why couldn't Mom find her own stupid hobby? She always gloms on to everyone else's passion. She's not interested in anything other than popularity. And I'm just as bad. I joined the film club because Megan likes that kind of thing. I did yoga because Hannah likes
that
kind of thing. I only listened to music that Tyler liked. I had no idea what
I
liked. I couldn't even decide if I liked Gideon or if I just liked the fact that he seemed to like me. Until tonight. A tear dripped out of my eye. I looked so dumb, standing there crying like a kid who'd lost her balloon.

"Now, now." Helen put her arm around me. "Why don't you look over by the door. Pick out eight to ten large beads and twice as many small beads. We're doing a string necklace tonight. Always good to practice those knots." Helen sashayed out of the room toward the group laughing in the classroom, leaving me alone.

Violin music now mixed with the New Age stuff Helen played; the sound made my heart hurt. I pulled the little blue envelope out of my purse and dropped those flower beads onto my tray, then searched for smaller beads to match the light green leaves on the flowers.

"Jory, hurry up." Mom swung through the door. "Helen is about to start."

On the way to the classroom we walked past Gideon's open door. He stood in his bare feet playing the violin with his eyes closed. Sadness hunkered heavy in my stomach.

"Quite a musician, isn't he? Helen said he went to a very prestigious music camp this summer."

Mom positioned herself between Cynthia and me. Another woman kept giving Mom long nasty, jealous looks, but Mom didn't notice. Or didn't care.

"Oh, Cynthia. You're so naughty," Mom said as Cynthia went into far too much detail about her husband's vasectomy. I wanted to die when Mom started talking about how Dad had wanted another child, but she'd insisted that the skin on her stomach could
not
carry one more baby. Two had just about ruined her for swimwear.

"Oh, I thought your daughter was adopted," Jealous Woman said. "She doesn't look anything like your son, the soccer player, right?"

"What's wrong with adoption?
I
was adopted!" Cynthia spat.

Jealous Woman snapped her mouth shut and blushed a shade darker than her lipstick. But then Mom had to go and say, "Jory takes after the Lessinger side of the family. She's the spitting image of Evan's maternal grandfather."

How could she say that!
Flustered, I bumped my tray, spilling my beads all over. While I crawled around on the floor looking
at everyone's professionally polished toenails and expensive leather sandals and picking up beads, Gideon's bare feet padded through the room. Oh, God. Had he heard my mom tell everyone that I looked like Great-Grandpa Lessinger?

My face burned and I felt tears coming, so I sat on the floor under the table, hiding. Current chance of dying a virgin: 100 percent.

Mom peeked under the table. "Did you find them all, honey?"

"I'm missing one."

"Why don't you go get another one," Helen said. "I can't tell you how many beads I sweep up every night. I should make a necklace consisting only of lost beads." Everyone laughed.

I walked back into the front room and stood staring at all the bins of beads. I'd lost one of the flower beads from Gideon, and I hadn't seen any like it earlier. The door swung open.

Gideon.

"Helen said you lost a bead."

I nodded, not looking at his face.

"What did it look like?"

"You know." I turned around and stuck my hand in a box of red beads.

"Oh." Gideon paused. "Those are still in my room." He kind of tilted his head in that direction.

I followed him back to his room, even though I wasn't sure he wanted me to. His violin case lay open on his bed, next to the orange cat.
Starry Night
by van Gogh hung over the bed, but over his desk he had an Andrew Bird concert poster. A stack of books cluttered the floor. Gideon moved some papers on his desk, uncovering a bin of beads.

"Here." He put the little bead into my hand. "You better return to your classmates."

I wanted to say something, to explain, but he just glanced at my "Who Needs Boys?" T-shirt, made a snuffing sound, shook his head, and turned away. I wanted to make a joke, make him smile at me, something.
The shirt doesn't mean anything. I didn't want to come on too strong. Too desperate. Like I really am. And I for
sure
didn't invite my mom! She totally made that stuff up. You don't understand!

"I'm sorry," I squeaked, then rushed out of the room.

By the time I got back, Helen had already shown everyone how to make knots. She came over to give me a private lesson, but I shook my head. Helen sighed and sent me into the kitchen to bring out the cake.

Gideon stayed in his room playing angry violin music.

Han, I'm not sure this is a good idea." The two of us rode up in the elevator to a suite at a non—cake-and-pie-delivery casino. José from Wooster had called Hannah to invite us. As we followed the squiggly patterns on the carpet down to the suite, I wondered if Wooster Tom would be there. Did I really care? Maybe. Or maybe I just needed someone to fill the guy slot in my ongoing fantasy of having an actual boyfriend. I imagined my life as one of those daytime soaps where they switch actors all of a sudden. The deep voice would say,
Tonight the role of Jory's Possible Boyfriend will be played by Wooster Tom.

"Look, if Alex is going to be a total nun, I'm not waiting around. Especially after what happened to Megan." Hannah fluffed her short, newly highlighted strawberry-frosting-colored hair. "José's got quite the hot bod, plus he's sweet and adorable. He sends me the funniest text messages." Hannah skipped down the hall. "Do you have your ten bucks?"

Rap music boomed from the suite as we stood in front of the door.

"I bet Tom will be totally excited to see you," Hannah said. "José said he'd be here."

My stomach went
wah-wah-wah.
"Hannah, he's never even asked me for my number or anything." I said it more for my own benefit than Hannah's as I fanned my hair out behind me.

"Well, here goes." Hannah knocked on the door. Nothing. We both whacked the door. Nothing. The music beat out a fast rhythm. "They can't hear us."

"Hannah, let's go see a movie or something." My
wah-wah
stomach turned
whoa-whoa.
But I ignored any doubts as the door swung open. An older guy with a soul patch and a knit cap opened the door. "Ladies, welcome. Do you have your entry fee?" We each handed him ten bucks. "Go get yourself set up with drinks, and party on."

"Great!" Hannah smiled. I noticed she'd sprayed tons of glitter in her hair. The room smelled like a mixture of sweet marijuana smoke, lemon cleanser, and chlorine. I scratched my nose with the edge of my fingernail, trying not to mess up my nose-minimizing makeup.

People sat around in the living room on cushy little sofas and chairs. Two girls with long blond hair passed a joint between themselves; over by the bar, a few girls and a couple of guys sat in a hot tub.

"Hannah Banana!" José stood up in the middle of the hot tub. "Get yourself a drink and join us." He held up a bottle of beer. A few of the girls gave Hannah the evil eye, but she still waved, all cheerful.

"Hi, everyone!"

"Han? Did you bring a swimsuit?" I asked.

She giggled. "No, but I'm wearing a totally cute bra and matching panties."

Oh. My. God. My friends are out of control.
First Megan freaks out over Tyler's big secret. Now Hannah is going crazy because Alex from Church refused to kiss her after driving her home from a youth-group dance. (He told her that he'd made an abstinence pledge and that kissing could lead to other temptations. Hannah tried to convince him that she had also made an abstinence pledge, but that didn't mean she would never kiss anyone good night. He called her a Jezebel, so she got out of the car and walked the rest of the way home. Two miles. At midnight. Her parents almost killed her.)

And here she was with her hair dyed pink, heading over to a fridge filled with alcohol, and wearing a cute bra to a party with a bunch of Wooster guys we didn't really know. Hannah handed me a bottle of hard lemonade, twisted the cap off hers, and drank it down in gulps. Lately, Hannah had been treating her body less like a temple and more like ancient ruins—tangling her morality with viny contradictions. "Han—?"

"I'm just going to have a little," she said. "According to Alex, I'm a total sinner, so what's one little drink? I'm sick of always being the good girl. What good has it done me?"

Not knowing what to say, I twisted my hair around my hand, finally muttering, "Uh. Okay, I guess."

Hannah finished her drink, grabbed another one out of the fridge, and headed over to the hot tub, where she sat on the edge and dangled her legs in the water. Wooster José had his wet hands all over her knees.

I stood in the kitchen by myself, assessing my situation. Okay, it's August. Let's see. Summer goals:

• Not dying a virgin (Nope, still headed for the convent. Or, worse, Judith Hearne misery.)

• Finding a passion (Nope. Can't stand foreign films. Too klutzy for yoga. Mom ruined the whole jewelry thing for me. That leaves boys. Just boys. Pathetic boys. No good prospects.)

Tragedy of my young teen life: my only passion is boys, yet my big nose prevents any possibility of romance. I'm a doomed Cyrano without the clever wit. Another story I hate: man with big nose has to use good-looking guy to win girl. I could try using Hannah, but everyone would just fall in love with her. Yet:

• The nose fund: $2,568.00 (Appointment with plastic surgeon: Tuesday.)

A group of guys burst into the suite. "Munchies from the gift shop!" they yelled. My stomach fluttered when I spotted Tom wearing a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and long, baggy shorts. Nice arms. Nice legs.

"Hey!" He hugged me, lifting me off the ground. "Nice to see you."

I took a long drink of hard lemonade. "Hi!"

"I keep meaning to get your number—"

"No biggie." I finished my drink and turned around to get another bottle out of the fridge. Tom leaned over me and grabbed a beer.

"Come sit with me." Tom walked over to the group on the little sofas. He sat down and pulled me onto his lap, then reached around and put his hand on my leg. Warm. The guys played some car-chasing, shoot-everything-that-moves video game. Why hadn't I at least
tried
to play with Finn every once in a while? Who knew playing video games could be an important boyfriend-obtaining skill?