Rotten Apple (9 page)

“Really? But what about the clothing that people are going to drop off?” Apple asked. She hoped he didn’t hear the whine in her voice, like she did.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m sure you can handle it on your own,” he said, pushing back his chair loudly and getting up.

How could Apple save this disastrous turnaround? What was it she had read in her mother’s book? Something about giving out compliments?

“Well, like I said, I really think you are great for doing this, even if you’re not feeling well and need to go. I totally understand.”

“Um …”

“I do,” Apple pressed. “You’re great!”

“Thanks. Sorry, I guess I’m just not good at getting compliments. It makes me feel uncomfortable. I’m going to just go home and take a nap or something. You sure you don’t mind?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s fine,” said Apple. “I hope you feel better.”

“How are you going to get home? Can you get somebody to pick you up?” Zen asked. Apple was devastated that he was leaving and even lying about coming down with something. She knew she was responsible for putting him in a bad mood, and yet he still cared enough to ask
her
if she’d be okay. He was just so sweet.

“I’ll just walk. It’s only like a fifteen-minute walk. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Zen said. “See you tomorrow.”

After an hour of folding the clothes that club members had finally dropped off, Apple walked home alone. She was lonely and felt awful about what she had slipped to Zen about Happy’s lifeguard
Just as she was walking up her front door, her cell phone started to ring.

“Hey, Apple!”

It was Happy. She knew she was calling to find out if Apple had gotten any information out of Zen. Happy was all about instant gratification. She wanted answers ASAP. What was she going to tell Happy? That she had just made her out to seem like a party girl? That she was a bad friend?

“Thank you!” Happy screeched, before Apple could even say hello. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“For what?” Apple asked, surprised.

“Zen! He asked me out to a movie on Friday,” Happy shrieked.

“He
did?”
Apple asked, mystified.

“Yes, whatever you said to him, thank you! I owe you big time!”

“No, you don’t,” Apple said, feeling baffled. Here she was, feeling so guilty about how she had portrayed Happy, and yet whatever she had said had made him ask her out. “So when did he ask you out? I mean, I’m just getting home now. I thought he was going home, because he said he wasn’t feeling well. I guess he wasn’t too sick to call you.”

“He asked me out after school today. I wanted to call you earlier, but I had an appointment with Dr. Caffeine and had to race out of school. I just got home.
I thought you were going to wait to talk to him while you were do-gooding, but I guess you spoke to him at school today, right?” Happy pressed.

“Um, yeah,” Apple said. Why hadn’t Zen told her that he had already asked Happy out? And there she had been talking about Happy’s lifeguard!

“Well, like I said, whatever you said,
thank you!
It totally worked. And I wasn’t even thinking about getting a date out of this. I just wanted to know where his head was at, you know? But this is so much better!” Happy squealed.

“Um, no problem. Listen,” Apple said. “I’m just walking in the door. I’ll speak to you later.”

“Thanks again, Apple. It really means the world to me. I couldn’t ask for a better best friend,” Happy said. “I owe you big … You may even get a pair of shoes along with those jeans!”

Apple felt sick to her stomach.

She opened her front door, and, like finding out your favorite show was in repeats, Aunt Hazel was there.

“I’m warning you, I’m in a rotten mood,” she told her aunt.

“Rotten apple!” her aunt taunted her. “Rotten apple! Rotten apple!”

“Hardy-har,” Apple said. “Like I haven’t heard that one before. Why are
you
in such a good mood?”

“I’ve decided to go on strike,” Aunt Hazel said. “I feel great about my decision.”

“What are you talking about? From your job?” Apple asked, sitting down on the couch next to her.

“No. I’ve decided I’m going on strike from all men. I’m taking a break. No more men for me,” Aunt Hazel said, decidedly.

“Right. That should last, like, an hour?” Apple said.

“Why are you in such a crabby mood?” her aunt asked. “I mean, shouldn’t you be walking on cloud nine, with this huge crush of yours?”

Did her Crazy Aunt Hazel know about Zen? How could she know? Apple hadn’t told anybody. She had never been more secretive.

“What are you talking about?” Apple asked hesitantly.

“Oh, nothing. Just a little bird told me that you were in love with an older man, that’s all. And a teacher! You are such a bad girl, Apple. I never knew you had it in you. You’d better be careful or people are going to start calling you Bad Apple. But I’m impressed. So, is he that cute?”

Take cleansing breaths, like Brooklyn always suggested, Apple thought to herself. Unbelievable! Now her mother was telling her secret, her fake problem, to Crazy Aunt Hazel? Her mother really had no boundaries!

“You know Apple, he’ll never go for you, no matter how cute you are,” her aunt continued, when Apple didn’t respond. “Do you really think he’d risk his job for a student? Sometimes it’s better to just quit. Oh, I know everyone always tells you that you should never quit anything, except smoking. But in relationships, it’s different. Sometimes—and trust me on this—it’s better to let the one you love go. Why don’t you quit Mr. Kelly and go on strike with me? Because it will never happen anyway.”

“Leave me alone!” Apple screamed at her aunt, getting up from the couch. “Just leave me the hell alone.”

Apple had no idea where that had come from. It had leapt out of her mouth before she could stop it. Apple was not usually a yeller.

“God, you need to take it easy. I’m going,” her aunt huffed. “You know, maybe your mother is right. Maybe you should open up more—”

Apple didn’t wait to hear the rest, and turned and ran upstairs.

EVERYTHING and EVERYONE was getting to her.

pple stormed upstairs from the back hallway to her mother’s home office, furious that Aunt Hazel knew about her fake diary entry and that her mother had had the nerve to discuss it with her—Aunt Hazel! Of all people!

My mother thinks she can just read my private diary entries on my computer, thought Apple, with revulsion. Well, if it’s all right for her to do it to
me
, then it must be all right for me to do it to
her
.

Apple clicked her mother’s computer on, and entered the password to log in. Her mother was so unoriginal. Her password, Apple knew, was P-A-S-S-W-O-R-D. Apple had been around years ago when Guy had first explained to her mother about the computer and she knew her technophobic mother would never change it. Ever.

Up on the screen popped up dozens upon dozens of e-mails, with the subject line “Help Please!”—all meant for the eyes of Dr. Bee Bee Berg.

Was she really going to do this? Apple knew it was so immoral. Yet, at the same time, she felt like she needed to be reassured that others out there in the world were as miserable as she was. Of course, she also wanted to get back at her mother for reading her personal diary.

Randomly, Apple clicked and opened one of the e-mails.

Apple felt a huge knot in her stomach. Reading another person’s painful admission about her disappointments didn’t exactly make her feel better about her own problems. It just made her feel worse—and gloomier than ever.

Once, years ago, Apple had come home to find a folder marked “Queen of Heart Shows” on the kitchen
table, where Guy had left it. Apple had mindlessly picked it up, more because it was there than out of curiosity about what was in it. The folder had been full of letters sent by snail mail from viewers, writing to her mother, telling her their sordid love tales and explaining why they needed to go on her show.

Apple remembered being in the middle of a twelve-page, double-sided, single-spaced, handwritten letter from a woman telling her mother about her secret affair with her sister’s fiancé. Apple had found herself thoroughly entranced with the story, not so much with what the writer was going through as with her openness in sharing it. And putting it on paper! Even at age ten, Apple knew way more about love than most adults, but because this woman and her sister and the fiancé were all willing to go on television and talk about it, she was astonished. She had just gotten to the part in the letter where the woman was saying that the fiancé was still choosing between the sisters when her mother and Guy had walked into the room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” her mother had asked her as Guy raced over and grabbed the letter, giving her hand a little slap.

“Hey! I was just in the middle of that!” Apple had said, trying to grab the letter back from Guy, who was hiding it behind his back. “What’s the big deal?”

“How would you feel,” she remembered her mother asking, “if you knew someone was reading a personal letter
you
sent? And you’re ten! How would you feel if you found out you sent someone a letter and a ten-year-old was reading it?”

“How would they ever find out?” Apple remembered having asked, and her mother had told her that that wasn’t the point. “The point is that you have to respect people’s privacy,” she swore her mother had told her.

“Privacy? What a joke!” Apple had said. “They’re asking to be on your show. They want to tell you their problems in front of so many people they don’t even know!”

She remembered vaguely that her mother had looked over at Guy, and that Guy had shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “You answer that.” Apple had known her mother didn’t know how to respond.

But again, her mother had told her that that wasn’t the point. “They’re writing to
me
,” she had responded.

Obviously, her mother’s views on privacy had changed, Apple thought sarcastically. Obviously, her mother now felt that it was okay to invade people’s privacy, even those who were related to her by blood.

She clicked on another e-mail randomly. See how my mother likes
this
, Apple thought.

Suddenly, a subject line on one of the e-mails caught Apple’s eye. It read, “Apple’s friend needs help!!!”

This was curious, Apple thought, a little terrified to open it. But she did, holding her breath.

Apple reread the e-mail a dozen times. How could Happy do this to her, and behind her back? She felt betrayed. After all, her friend felt comfortable enough asking her to find out information about how Zen was feeling about her. She felt comfortable enough asking
her to put in a good word to Zen. She felt comfortable enough asking her how to get on
Queen of Hearts
. Why wasn’t her best friend asking
her
for advice? Apple ran her hands through her mop of hair. Why was everyone who supposedly loved her disappointing her so much? Happy not telling Apple she was doing this stung almost as much as Plan Z bombing. Apple found herself hitting Reply. She told herself that she simply was not going to let her mother pass off her tired old advice on Happy. She, Apple, knew Happy better than anyone in the world, after all. Apple rubbed her hands together and started to type a response. You can do this, Apple. Just pretend you are a younger, more hip version of Dr. Bee Bee Berg. Just pretend you are your mother, giving out advice. You
are
the daughter of Dr. Bee Bee Berg. You must have it in you somewhere to dish it out. If Guy can do it, and he’s a man,
you
can do it. Think, Apple, think.

“Dear Happy,” she typed. “It’s so nice to hear from you. I’m sorry I haven’t seen more of you recently …”

Now what would her mother’s advice be? She knew her advice would be to just be yourself. That was always her mother’s no-nonsense advice to people when they worried about first dates or blind dates or meeting people on the Internet.

No, thought Apple. I need Happy and Zen’s date
not
to work out. Because if it did, that could lead to a second date … and a third … and if it didn’t work out between them after all that, then Apple would be caught in between her best friend and Zen. And then if they started hating each other, Apple would never
even be able to talk to Zen again, because she would have to side with Happy. No, she had to stop Happy and Zen from starting anything significant. What would the opposite of her mother’s advice be? That was what Apple had to send Happy. She had to send Happy bad advice, not good advice. Apple felt like a crazy person. She felt like Crazy Aunt Hazel must have felt, when she was caught by—what was his name?—sneaking through the stuff in his closet. She just couldn’t stop herself. She realized, the more she thought about it, that she now, more than ever, wanted to be the one to go out on a date with Zen. She wished she was the one who was so worried about a first date. She thought of all the ways Aunt Hazel had screwed up on her dates. That would be perfect, Apple thought. She’d just send Happy tips to do the things that had always resulted in disaster for Hazel. She continued to type.

Apple reread what she had written. She knew she had just advised Happy to do what had always failed for her aunt when she was in relationships or dating someone. And also, from the brief conversation she had with Zen at the club, she knew she was telling Happy to act in a way Zen would detest, or that would at the very least make him uncomfortable. Zen would absolutely hate it if Happy flattered him too much. Apple knew this.

Apple hated herself. No, she wouldn’t send it. How could she? She was not an evil person. She was just confused about everything. And just writing it out had made her feel better anyway. She was about to delete her response when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Apple immediately felt her heart speed up.

“H-e-l-l-o? Anybody up here?” she heard Guy call out.

She raced to close down the computer. But her fingers couldn’t keep up with her racing mind. All she could think about was that Guy was here and he was going to catch her. She ran her fingers over the mouse pad. Why, thought Apple, is this computer taking so long to do anything? She started clicking away like a madwoman, paying more attention to the sound of Guy’s footsteps than to what she was doing. Shut down, computer! Shut down!

Your message has been successfully sent
. The message suddenly popped up on the screen. My message has been what? WHAT?

Oh my God, Apple thought when she realized what she had done. She had sent the e-mail to Happy! In her panic trying to log out and not get caught, she had sent out her response e-mail.

“Apple!” Guy said, just as Apple shut down her mother’s computer. Thank God, the screen had gone black.

“Oh, hey, Guy,” she said, her heart pounding a million times a second. Apple was sure her face was as red as a fire truck. Still, she swiveled around in the chair to face him, trying to act as normally as possible in this state of disaster.

“What are you doing up here?” he asked.

“Oh, well, um, my computer is having troubles and I had to send in a class assignment, so I had no choice but to use this one. I’ve just finished. So it’s all yours,” Apple said.

“Thanks, darling!” Guy said. “Guy’s got a ton to do. There’s no rest for the wicked!”

“Where’s Mom tonight?” Apple asked, still trying to act like she hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life.

“She’s accepting the city’s Woman of the Year Award,” Guy said.

“Didn’t she already get that?” Apple asked. She scanned her eyes over the walls, which were covered in framed awards.

“Well, yes. But it seems they have Woman of the Year awards almost every week!” Guy laughed. “I wonder
where she’ll hang this one? You know, you guys may have to move to a bigger place to hang all of her awards.”