Over It (The Kiss Off #2) (2 page)

"I'm going to buy my own car. I can finally afford one. And a
good
one, too. I’m getting a convertible. A red one." I gave a satisfied nod. I could just picture us flying down the highway, the wind in our hair. I couldn’t wait to get my car.

Mom's shoulders slumped. Keys jangled at the front door and from somewhere in the house, Poo Bum gave a bark and scrambled up the corridor. A second later, it sounded like he'd tackled my dad.

"Hi, honey!" Mom called. I heard Dad's keys drop into the bowl by the door, and his footsteps thudded up the hall toward us.

"Okay boy," Dad was saying, "enough now, go on. It's nice to see you too, but stop it. Go on. Poo Bum, stop it.
Stop it
."

"Get this," Mom said as Dad rounded the corner, trying to push the dog's nose from his crotch. She had a smile in her voice.

I didn't like it.

She nodded at me as she moved the drained lettuce and tomatoes to the salad bowl. Dad gave her a peck hello on the cheek.

"Poppy's figured out how she's going to spend her royalties."

"Oh yeah?" Dad said warily, loosening his tie. "Go on then."

"She's going to buy herself a brand new, red convertible and she, Vanya and Madeline are going to take a road trip – by themselves – all the way to Tallulah Bay and are going to attend the Bay Fest Music Festival at which her boyfriend, the rock star, is performing. Doesn't that sound great?"

"No."

"Dad-"

"Oh, and she promises that, though other people will likely be getting drunk and high as a kite, she and the girls won't."

"Super."

"That sounds fine, right? We're okay with that?" Mom said.

I glowered at her. "You know, sarcasm is the lowest form of humor, Mom."

"I've been thinking about what you could do with your sudden influx of money, myself, Popsicle," Dad said.

I closed my eyes and sighed. I couldn't wait to hear this.

"How about a snazzy new lyric book and a nice big college fund, huh?" He ruffled my hair and I swatted him away. God, he was annoying. He and Mom were perfect for each other.

"Dad-"

"That's a great idea, honey," Mom said.

"Mom-"

"There's more to buying a car than just the sticker price, Poppy. Cars are like pets. They're long term financial commitments."

"I know that!” I said. “What do you mean?"

"Each year you have registration and insurance expenses – insurance is non–negotiable, by the way – which will cost a couple thousand a year," Dad said, "and you'll need to get it serviced a couple of times a year too, which is not cheap, let me assure you, not to mention every
week
you have to fill it with gas and have you seen those prices?"

"But you guys'll help me with all that, right?" I said.

They exchanged looks. "What? What are you looking at? Everyone else's parents do!"

"Everyone else didn't just make more money in one check than their parents do in a whole year."

"But-"

"If you want a car, you'll just have to set money aside for everything that goes with it. For the next ten years," Dad said. "Doesn't leave much in the bank after all that, does it?"

"Shut up."

They won’t let me go
, I texted Ty.

A moment later, he replied:
What? Why not? You have to come!

They don’t trust me.

Before he replied, muffled footsteps stopped outside my door and there was a soft rap before whoever was outside pushed it open.

I placed my cell face down on my desk and spun my chair to see Mom, who leaned against the door frame, watching me for a moment.

"Can I come in?"

I shrugged. With a heavy sigh, she crossed the room, stepping carefully over a pair of jeans I'd stepped out of, an Ugg boot that had been lying in the middle of the carpet since winter and a pile of old
Rolling Stone
and
OK
! magazines. I hadn’t read a new one in three weeks, in case there were made up stories about Ty that would make me jealous and jump to conclusions. I’d gone cold turkey. It was hard since everyone else seemed to know more about what he was doing than I did, but it was also safer for my sanity just to hear about the real things he’d been doing straight from him.

Mom sat on my bed and scooted back to lean against the wall. "Your father and I have been talking," she started.

"Uh huh," I said warily. "Laughing, you mean. Making fun of me. Acting like I'm a ten–year–old-"

"Your cousin Hamish happens to be going to Bay Fest this year."

"…Okay…so?" I said. I narrowed my eyes at her. I didn't like that she had brought up Hamish. Hamish was the biggest geek I'd ever met. Like Sheldon from
The Big Bang Theory
, only with less of a sense of humor and a good chunk more social–phobia.
Hamish
was going to Bay Fest? He wasn't even into music. Or people.

"Hamish has a car," Mom said.

Oh crap. "No."

"And he's-"

"Mom,
no
!"

"This is what I'm offering, Poppy. Take it or leave it."

We sat there staring at each other for a couple of seconds before I broke eye contact, closed my eyes and whimpered. "Argh, fine. Tell me."

"One: Hamish has a car. He'll drive you and your friends – just Vanya and Mads – to Tallulah Bay.
He
will drive, Poppy.

"Two: Hamish will stay with you and supervise you at all times."

"What? I don’t need a babysitter."

"Three: You will text me once every two hours during the day, and provide photographic evidence that you are behaving yourself at night."

"This is stupid, I won't-"

"Four: You will get your father the Debutante Dolls autographs."

I snorted in surprise. "What?"

Mom smiled at me wryly and glanced toward the door. "You can probably tell that wasn’t part of the original list."

"I don’t think they’re even
at
the festival,” I said, “but whatever, I can try."

"If you accept these conditions – Hamish driving you there; checking in; and Debutante Dolls, then okay. You can go to Bay Fest," she said. "Oh! And one more thing. And this one's really important, Poppy."

"What is it?"

She watched me closely for a moment. "Are you listening?"

"Yes Mom, I'm listening. What is it?"

"When you are around Ty or around the media or – heaven forbid – around both at the same time, I need you to think about this." She paused, then said, "What would Jesus do?"

I blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

"What would Jesus do."

"You can't be serious."

"W–W–J–D, Poppy. Keep it at the front of your mind."

"You aren’t even religious."

She stiffened. “I am so,” she said. “I’m just a little lapsed, is all.”

I snorted. “Whatever you say.”

She ignored me and pressed on. "Would Jesus flash his panties at the paparazzi? I don't think so," she said. "Would Jesus get into a cat fight with a girl who flirted with his boyfriend?"

I tried not to laugh. "Jesus’s boyfriend?"

"No, he would not."

"Mom, this is-"

"What would Jesus do, Poppy," she said. "Don't think I don't mean it."

"Fine," I said. "Got it."

"Do you accept my conditions?"

I groaned, threw my head back and spun a slow circle in my desk chair. "Why does it have to be Hamish? He sucks the fun out of
everything
."

"He's responsible. He's going to be an astro–physicist when he finishes college."

"And that makes him a safe driver, how?"

"It's Hamish or Great Aunt Aggie," Mom said. "Her seniors' group is going on a bus trip to the aquarium out there. You could always ride with them."

Great Aunt Aggie? Oh hell, no. At ninety–one–years–old, not only was it possible that a sneeze would break her hip, but the woman was the biggest klepto I’d ever met. You can't go shopping with her; she always gets caught with stuff she didn't pay for. It would be alright if it was like, earrings or a DVD or something, but no. Most of the time it was Mylanta or tins of tuna. There were a couple of times Dad had to scrounge up money for bail... I don't really want to think about it.

But the good thing about Aunt Aggie was that I wouldn't have her trailing around the festival with me, following me from stage to stage because strangers gave her the willies. Strangers don't give Great Aunt Aggie the willies. If people bug her, she hits them with her walking stick. But no. There was no way I was taking Aunt Aggie to Bay Fest and my stupid mother knew it.

"Fine," I said, "I accept your conditions."

"Excellent."

“Except the texting every two hours. That’s a little excessive don’t you think?”

“Fine. But you will call every day.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll only be gone four days.”

“Fine.” Mom stuck out her hand and, with a scowl on my face, I shook it. She scooted off the bed and with a spring of achievement in her step, she left the room. "Don't make me regret it, Poppy," she said.

I got up, slammed the door behind her and collapsed onto my bed, shoving a pillow over my face. So Hamish was coming. Wasn't sure I knew how to explain that to Mads. Van would be alright, they'd probably get along okay, what with having eleventy–billion brain cells between them. But Mads...

I jumped up and grabbed my cell to text Ty again. There were some sucky conditions but the point was, I was going!

Telling Van about the royalty check and the best–weekend–of–our–lives plan didn’t go as well as it had with Mads.

She met me at the park to walk Poo and take in the evening summer air, but her enthusiasm was somewhat waning.

"It sounds brilliant, Poppy," Van said, walking casually beside me. She needed super–long strides to keep up with me as Poo hauled me along the sidewalk, straining against his leash, refusing to heel.

Van continued. "It really does..."

I didn't like the sound of that. "But?"

"But Nan and I are going to New York for that whole week."

"Really?” I said. “Since when?"

"She's going to Gore–a–thon," Vanya said. "Apparently the cast of
Deadly Thirst 3
are going to be there this year so it’s a ‘must–go’."

Vanya's grandmother was the biggest horror movie buff I knew. You'd never think of it from the look of her, with her silver bun, knit cardigans and scratchy–looking brown skirts, but she loved herself some scary movies. The bloodier the better.

"And I'll go on some film set tours, the NBC tour, we're going to do some Broadway shows..."

"You can't," I said, "you have to come to the fest with us. Poppy, Mads and Van’s Big Adventure."

"Sorry."

I frowned. "Can't you at least ask her?"

"I could," Van said, "but I'm actually really looking forward to New York."

"Well that sucks," I sighed. "For me, I mean. Doesn’t suck for you. You'll have fun."

“Yeah. So will you, though.”

We made our way onto the empty sports oval. I stopped walking and pressed down hard on Poo’s backside to make him sit. I unclipped his leash and Vanya hurled a tennis ball onto the field. Poo bolted after it.

The hairy mutt thundered back to us and dropped the ball expectantly, coated in slime, at Van’s feet. I kicked it and we both ducked as spittle flew everywhere. He sprinted after it again.

“I know I will, it just sucks.”

“It’ll still be fun with Mads.”

“Yeah, of course,” I said. “But Hamish? Ugh. He’s just so
annoying
. He never ever shuts up.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” she asked.

“Christmas before he went to college. So a year and a half ago?”

“People can change,” Vanya said, “he might not be so bad anymore.”

I smiled at her and patted her on the head. “Oh, Vanya,” I said. She gave me a long–suffering smile. “Always the optimist.”

I called Hamish's house, and since it was summer and all, Aunt Isabelle told me with a heavy sigh, "Yeah he's here. He's loafing on the couch. In the middle of the day. Again. Hang on a sec, hon and I'll get him."

So he was on the couch; I didn’t see what the big deal was. There was absolutely nothing wrong with chilling on the couch during the day. I shifted my weight and propped my feet up on the arm of my own living room couch as I waited for him to come to the phone.

The first words out of his mouth when he came to the phone were, "What do you want?" Wow, okay. Not a great start.

"Hamish?" I said, even though I knew it was him. The last time I’d seen him,  Dad and Uncle Antonio had been struggling to light the gas barbecue, and Hamish had been hovering behind them like this giant, pale string bean thing, spouting something about how not to leave the gas on too long before lighting it because the particles in the air would do something or other, and that was when Uncle Antonio got the lighter working and a flame shot straight at his face and, though he screamed like a teeny, tiny, screaming girl, he walked away with nothing worse than singed eyebrows, a bit of a tan, and an ‘I told you so’ from my cousin Hamish.

"It's Poppy," I said, "Poppy Douglas. Your cousin?"

"Oh, hi," he said. I waited for something more, something like "How's it going?" or "Haven't talked to you in a while, are you well?" or even "What can I do for you, cousin Poppy?" but instead, there was a prolonged silence. Guess all that stuff was implied.

"So, you talked to my mom recently?"

"Your mom?"

"Your aunt. Gemma Douglas."

"Oh, yeah," he said, "No."

"Yeah or no?"

He heaved an irritated sigh. "YEAH I know who your mom is, and NO I haven't talked to her."

"...Really?"

"YES."

Who was this guy? This couldn't be my cousin who would talk your ear off about the life cycle of the bull–ant, or, like, the latest conspiracy theory about that hydron collider thing that is supposedly going to end the world. I never really listened to him, but I did know he talked enough for ten boys – no, twenty – combined. I hadn't seen him since before I uploaded
The
Kiss
Off
and then the whole international–media–circus–and–rock–star–telling–me–he–loved–me–via–music–TV–show thing. It was family gossip, though. I totally knew it was.

Weird he wasn't mentioning it.

"Are you really Hamish?" I said.

He let out a frustrated groan. “What do you want, Poppy?
You
called
me,
remember?  If you don’t get to the point soon I’m hanging up."

"Are you going to Bay Fest this year?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"My mom."

"Oh," he said. "How'd
she
know?"

"I don't know," I said. "
Your
mom?"

"Huh."

"I thought she must have talked to you about it..."

"Nope."

"Oh. Well I'm going too,” I said. “I was planning on driving over with two friends, but my mom said I can't go at
all
unless you drive us. And be like..." I cringed and rubbed my forehead before saying it. "A chaperone."

"Huh," he said again.

Higher education seemed to have really dumbed him down.

"I figured you would know at least
something
about this," I said.

"Right."

"Sorry to dump it on you."

"Yeah."

Nothing. I was getting nothing. The guy had turned into a brick wall, and I didn't quite know how I felt about that. I mean, coming from Hamish it was totally refreshing to not get an essay–style response to the simplest of questions, with definitive arguments, evidence, an introduction, middle and closing remarks, but at the same time, his monosyllabic non–committal comments were becoming just as big a pain in my ass.

I cleared my throat. "So listen, can we ride with you? You totally don't need to hang out with us though, you can do whatever you were going to."

"Gee, thanks," he said.

"And I have some conditions."

He snorted right into the phone and barked out a laugh straight after. At least I thought that was what I was hearing.

"Is that right?" he said, laughing again. "Let me get this straight, you're asking me to spend two days in my own car with three little girls and to spend the whole music festival babysitting your asses as a favor, and you have some 'conditions'?"

"Little girls?" I said, narrowing my eyes.

"Yeah, little baby high school girls."

I swore at him. But seriously, who wouldn’t have? "Screw you, Hamish. You're only two years older than me. And we
don't
need a babysitter."

"Not what it sounds like."

"God, will you just drive us?" I yelled. I clamped my lips together, closed my eyes and counted to five. If this was going to happen, I needed to be civil to him. Aunt Aggie’s senior’s bus was
not
an option.

“Whatever,” Hamish said. “I’m going anyway, so the company wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Okay,” I said, “great. Thanks.”

“We’re splitting gas.”

“Sounds fair,” I said. “And
you’re
telling my mom that you chaperoned us the whole time and we were the picture of responsibility and well–behaved girls – no – women,” I countered.

“Whatever,” he said. “Like I care.”

A minute or so later we hung up.

So it was just me, Mads and nerdy (with a side of d–bag) cousin Hamish. And a bandful of rock Gods. I hoped Ty would have some free time for me. He couldn’t work
all
the time, right? I swiped a text
: We have our chaperone. It’s official: I’m coming
!

I wished Van was coming too; Best Weekend Ever wasn’t going to be the same without her. I wondered if there was someone else I could invite. It wasn’t a serious ponderance. I mean who else
would
I invite other than my best friends?

Then it hit me. I knew exactly who I should invite. Not that I knew if she was free or whatever, but at least I could try. This was actually kind of perfect.