Rule #9 (8 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

After school I head to straight to work. The bells on the door jingle when I enter. Gaby had wanted the song “Kickstart My Heart” to play every time a customer entered the shop, but she figured that might scare the older clientele. She likes to play the song super loud when we’ve locked up for the night. I like to listen to it when I’m driving seventy-five down the highway or when I’m pissed.

The store smells spicy yet sweet. Gaby is blowing on a lit incense stick. “I don’t need you tonight. Go on home. Or spend time with your dad,” Gaby says. “Isn’t he back from the honeymoon?” She’s standing at the counter with her hair in a French twist secured with a long black chopstick, and she’s wearing a vintage red kimono with white cherry blossoms on it and a black Obi belt. I’m surprised that she hasn’t dyed her hair black.

I walk to the other side of the counter to take a peek at her shoes, which are light blue flip flops. “Nice,” I say.

“What? I didn’t have anything that matched,” Gaby says. “Get out of here.” She shoos me off.

“My mom called you, didn’t she?” I ask.

Gaby doesn’t answer. She just keeps blowing on the incense.

“I liked it better when you took my side of things when it came to boys.” I turn and go back to my car.

“I still do. Your dad is not a boy. He’s waiting for you at the Mexican restaurant. Love you, Princess,” she says.

“Love you too.” I say. I hop in my car and drive.

I could claim that I don’t know what Mexican restaurant to go to, but I know better. When I walk into La Familia Ramirez, a girl from my school, Gracie Ramirez, is standing at the front. “Hey, Massie. Your dad is in the back. I’ll show you.” I follow like an obedient little puppy. “Señor Morales is with them. He’s my abuelo’s friend. They’ve known each other forever. He’s a funny guy.”

I nod. I don’t know what to say to this. Gracie is one of the nicest girls in school, and if she likes him that means everyone should like him. The new family, including Alicia’s father, is sitting in the large booth in the corner. My choices are to sit next to my dad or sit next to the old guy. I choose the old guy. Gracie is rarely wrong.

Mr. Morales scoots over a little to give me room. “Hijita, how are you?”

“Fine,” I say. I still don’t know what the title means but I don’t ask.

The smell of chili and onions penetrates from the kitchen. My stomach rumbles. I look at my dad and Alicia. I don’t have a choice. I should have sat next to my dad—then I could have paid more attention to Mr. Morales. My dad’s and Alicia’s skins shine bronze. I’m so jealous. Not of their trip, but their skin. My dad has skin that soaks up the sun perfectly. That gene didn’t transfer to me. I received the W gene from my mother—White! White that doesn’t tan, the white that not only burns but bubbles if I stay out in the sun.

I decide to take a different approach to the evening, even though Natalie told me not to let my guard down. “How was Hawaii?”

“Nice,” My father answers.

Okay, now what do I do? I can’t be expected to run the conversation.

Alicia shakes her head like she’s reading my mind. “The beaches were beautiful. The vegetation on Moloka’i was amazing. Tell her about it, Joel.” She shakes his arm a little. “What was that flower called?”

My eyes drift through the restaurant. The walls are painted different colors: bold orange, bright yellow, lime green, and deep purple. Pictures of bull riders, Guadalupe, and Mexican beer are scattered in no order. My eyes stop at the back door. Escape route one would lead me lead to the parking lot, which leads to the sidewalk, which leads to Main Street, which leads to the coffee shop, Pollywog’s.

“Joel, the one you sketched on the trip, it looked like a miniature palm tree and was called
big mania rock
or something?”

“
Brighamia rockii
,” Dad says.

I jerk my head toward my father, “You drew something?”

“You should see it, Massie. Your dad can really draw,” she tells me like I’m stupid or something. I already know.

Forget coming up with plans to escape out the back door, I want to bolt out the front door. What about our pact? He always let me see his artwork first. My mom accepted this. My mom valued our promise. She would act jealous, but she knew how to step back and give me and my dad time alone. My mom liked her time alone with me, too. Not that I want time alone with my new stepmommy, I’d rather shovel shit for a living.

Gracie returns to the table, saving my father. “Ready to order?”

“Yes.” My non-confrontational father fumbles as he opens his menu. “I’d like the special with extra sour cream.”

“Hot or mild chili?” Gracie asks.

“Hot,” he answers. Then he looks at me like he’s sorry, but he doesn’t say anything. I don’t know what I expect him to say. I know my place and I’m just going to have to take it, but it doesn’t mean that I have to be the third wheel, either.

Alicia orders a bowl of green chili and one chicken taco.

Gracie turns to Mr. Morales, who looks at me. “Ladies first.”

“I’ll have one cheese enchilada.”

“That’s all?” Mr. Morales asks.

I nod. My dad doesn’t even notice my appetite. Whatever. I don’t want to sit here for hours discussing their vacation and the big mama, lava, or whatever rock or flower it is. I’d rather discuss fungus in toes, which is the nastiest thing on earth, if you ask me.

Mr. Morales orders enough food for the entire table, and Alicia isn’t pleased. He defends his choice by saying, “Did you hear what this girl ordered?” He nudges me. “She can’t just have an enchilada.”

Alicia rolls her eyes.

“Okay. Gracie, take the chicken enchilada I ordered off and bring my meal and skinny girl’s meal together.” Mr. Morales nudges me. “And then bring us extra plates. We’ll share.” He closes his menu and hands it to Gracie. Alicia shakes her head.

“How’s school?” My father asks.

“Fine,” I say. If he can answer with one-word answers, so can I.

After that, the only communication at the table is Alicia and her father talking about his upcoming doctor appointment. He doesn’t want to go and she’s making him.

When our food arrives, Mr. Morales scoops a healthy portion onto my plate. He’s ordered things I usually don’t. I usually get smothered burritos and cheese enchiladas but now I’m eating diced beef with onions and peppers in a soft corn shell with fresh lime squeezed on the top, which is amazing.

My father’s face is turning red and he’s sweating because he ordered the hot chili instead of the mild. I should have warned him, but really he should have paid closer attention. That’s what he always taught me. “Pass the chips,” my father asks.

Alicia hands him the chips and notices his face. “Honey, are you okay?”

He nods and takes a big gulp of his beer.

“He ordered the hot. He doesn’t do hot.” I say.

My father finishes his meal with the help of a pitcher of water and two refills of plain tortilla chips.

Gracie returns to the table with the bill in hand, “Any dessert before I leave the check?”

I wipe my face with my napkin. “Not for me. Thanks for dinner. I gotta bolt. Bye.” But before I go, I turn back to Mr. Morales. “Thanks for sharing…but you’re going to need to do extra laps at the Fieldhouse for this meal.”

”It was worth it.” He winks.

I smile at him, then turn away from the table.

“Love you, Massie,” my father says. I feel his hand touch mine.

“Love you too.” I don’t look back.

#

The smell of the fresh-brewed coffee usually relaxes me, along with the rustic look of my favorite coffee shop, Pollywog’s. It’s not modern and cold like the chain stores. According to the bronze historical sign outside the building, in the early nineteen-hundreds it was a hotel. The walls are covered with stained wood slats. Inside, there are little nooks and even smaller rooms within the shop that I can hide in if I choose. Large oak tables are staggered throughout for large groups of people, round metal tables for small groups, and single cushiony chairs if you choose to sit alone. A sign hangs on the wooden planks above the counter asking that you either pick the appropriate table or make room for new friends.

Josh the barista stands behind the counter at Pollywog’s. “Hey,” he says as I walk through the door.

“Hey.” I look around, “Are Natalie and Vianna here?”

“Nope. Natalie’s sick.”

I look down at my phone.

Text from Natalie:
don’t feel good bed time

Text from Vianna:
Hunter and I done with movie. Want to hang with us

I won’t pull Vianna away from her date.

“Can I get my latte?” I ask Josh.

“Size?” Josh asks.

“Medium.” I slap money on the counter and walk out to my car, which is parked on the street directly in front of Pollywog’s, to grab my sketchbook. I may as well draw. Alone. I doubt I’ll be drawing with my dad anymore. Natalie was right, when they get married all things that were special before—go away.

When I was little my dad and I used to come to Pollywog’s to draw. He’d order black coffee and I’d get hot chocolate in the winter and raspberry Italian sodas in the summer. I drew the tadpole in all stages before it actually became a frog or a toad. Then the tadpoles/pollywogs started having personalities. When my dad ditched me and Natalie got a job at Pollywog’s, I started coming alone.

Friday nights are the quietest. The theater kids hang out up front. I hide in the corner. I like the chair, it’s big and squishy. Probably not the best place to sit when I draw but I like the way the chair wraps me in its arms. I pull out my book and start sketching. My pollywog’s fists pound the air. Her eyes are deep blue with water filling them. The wrinkles in her forehead form horns. Her face is no longer green like the rest of my drawings, her face shines a fiery red.

“She looks crazier than a Bessbug,” the voice hums deep above me.

Jack.

I pull the book close to me and look up. He’s standing over me with this half grin, looking adorable in his Stallion t-shirt and faded jeans. I shove the red pencil into my bag, and then the book follows. I stand and leave. I can’t talk to him. Not now. But I kind of want to know what a Bessbug is. And I leave my coffee behind. It’s too risky to talk. He’ll see me crying and then he’ll think I’m really a freak. I keep my momentum and race out the door.

I don’t watch where I’m going. I slam into his chest—Blake’s chest.

“Hey.” His arms wrap around me. “What’s wrong?”

I try to hold back but the tears push through. Damn beaver in my eyes hasn’t built a damn that will hold. I know I should pull away. But I don’t. I feel safe. I always feel safe in his arms. I can smell the tea tree oil from his shampoo and I nuzzle closer.

“One of y’all drop this?” Jack holds my sketchpad out in one hand and the full cup of coffee in the other.

“Thanks, it’s my girlfr…” Blake doesn’t finish his sentence. He takes the sketchbook and then holds it out to me. I grab it. I look at Blake and then at Jack.

Jack places the cup of coffee in my palm and wraps my fingers around the cup with his hands. The heat coming from his hands is hotter than the paper cup I am holding. I don’t want him to let go.

CHAPTER NINE

Saturday I go to work and Gaby doesn’t send me home because she wants to take a couple of hours off. Finally a chance to get away from everyone. Before she leaves, Gaby heats some oils, and soon the shop smells of eucalyptus and lavender. It’s soothing. During the holidays she heats cranberries, oranges, and cinnamon sticks with some kind of liquid in a mini crockpot. That is my favorite. I used to like the smell of gardenias in the summer, but that was before the stupid wedding. Gaby promised me she will change the summer scent to lilies.

I’m rummaging through a box of earrings when Vianna comes into the store. She’s wearing a navy blue dress with a floral print and jean jacket. And even though it’s nice outside, she’s decided to accessorize with a pair of ankle-length boots.

“You look adorable,” I say. I look down at my outfit, which lacks any originality. White-washed jeans with rips in them, a black-and-white, long-sleeve plaid button-up, and my black canvas tennis shoes.

“I’m going out with Hunter later.” Vianna’s face glows. “Where’s Gaby?”

“Running errands.” I say. As long as I’m working and not ignoring customers, Gaby could care less if Natalie and Vianna hang out. Half the time Vianna does her homework here anyway.

Vianna spins one of the earring towers. “Natalie wasn’t sick last night.”

“What?” I reach for the tower to stop the whirling.

“That’s what she told you, right?” Vianna turns the tower again.

“Yeah,” I raise my eyebrows. Earrings fall off the holder. “Seriously? You’re making a mess.”

“She wasn’t. We saw her at the movies.” Vianna picks up the earrings and places them neatly on the holder. She steps back and examines the tower.

“With who? I swear if she went out with that creep I’m gonna kick her ass. I don’t care about rule number three anymore. Rule number nine, when any of us does something stupid, the other two are allowed to kick their ass.”

“You’re never going to believe me if I tell you.” Vianna sorts through the earrings, placing them together in order of size, beginning with the hoops.

“Try me.”

“Annabelle.” She whispers sweetly while moving the studs together.

“What?”

“Hunter took me to the 3-D version of
Beauty and the Beast
. I saw them leaving. I ducked down so she wouldn’t see me.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want her to know I was there. Obviously she didn’t want to tell us.”

I can’t focus on the conversation with Vianna reorganizing the earring tower. I worry Gaby won’t approve. Gaby likes the earrings scattered. I should tell my friend to stop. But then again, it will be fun to mess them all up once Vianna is done organizing. It’ll be good for her to see them scattered. Or maybe it will be good for Gaby to see them in order.

“Why would she hide that from us?” I ask.

“She’s probably scared we’ll think she’s weak.”

I nod. “Stupid. You’re right, but it’s stupid. As long as she wasn’t out with Colby I don’t give a shit.”

Natalie barrels into Jillian’s Second Time Around. Simultaneously Vianna and I stop talking. “Hey. What up?” her voice shrieks. Natalie has two volumes, loud and louder—there isn’t an in-between.

“Why’d you lie to me?” I ask. I place my hand on my hips to show emphasis but Natalie doesn’t care. And I’m not really mad.

“What are you talking about?” Natalie looks at Vianna. “You better stop jacking with that tower. Gaby’s gonna throw a fit.”

“Why did you tell me you were sick when you took Annabelle to the movies?”

Natalie doesn’t skip a beat. “I didn’t lie. I was sick. The popcorn made me sick. And yes, I took Annabelle Moo-Moo to
Beauty and the Beast
. I didn’t think I needed your permission,” she says.

“I’m organizing it, what’s the big deal?” Vianna asks. She continues to organize the earrings.

“Why the sudden change?” I ask Natalie. I grab a hoop from the counter and place it in the center of the studs. Then I face Vianna. “Gaby thinks that if the earrings are scattered people will look closer.”

“Because her nasty skank mother told Moo-Moo that I don’t love her.” Natalie pounds her fist on the counter and earrings scatter.

“I can’t—” I start to say.

Natalie doesn’t let me finish my sentence. “And that bitch also told my little Moo-Moo sister that I would take her daddy away from her.”

Natalie told us that Annabelle and her dad stopped by Pollywog’s for hot chocolate. Once Annabelle saw Natalie, she started crying. Annabelle told Natalie, “My mommy says you want to take daddy away from me.” Natalie sat Annabelle down and told her little sister that they could share the daddy, no problem. Natalie then sent Annabelle to the back to look at the new Pollywog picture that had shown up last week. Annabelle loves them.

Natalie told her dad what she thought of his wife. “Bitch, Dad. Home-wrecking, self-centered, insecure, teenage-wannabe bee-yotch.”

In my opinion, I really don’t think Stephanie is all that bad. Sometimes I think that Natalie takes things the wrong way, and she doesn’t bother to get the whole story. Plus, according to my mom, Stephanie doesn’t want her baby Moo-Moo around Natalie’s mom, and I can’t say that I can blame Stephanie on that one. I don’t share any of this with Natalie. Instead, I listen to her vent.

“I showed up at my dad’s after work. I scored two tickets to
Beauty and the Beast
in 3-D, because my boss gave them to me for working an extra shift. Stepmommy didn’t like it much when I showed up with the tickets, but I won when I decided to share what Annabelle Moo-Moo said with the skank.” Natalie pats her own shoulder. “I’m so good. My dad couldn’t move Annabelle and me out the door fast enough.”

“Okay, so I thought you were sick of her? Not that it’s bad or anything. I think it’s adorable,” Vianna says.

“It’s your fault,” Natalie points her finger at me. “You and those stupid tea-lid sayings.”

“What?” I slap her finger away from me.

“You’re always reading quote crap to us. It’s got me reading the stupid tea bags at work. After my dad and Annabelle left, this woman came in and ordered a green tea. The damn thing read: “The only remedy to jealousy is love.” Natalie’s voice softened. “All Annabelle deserves is love.”

“She’s right.” Gaby walks up to the counter from out of nowhere, which means she came in through the back door. Today Gaby looks like a woman from one of those posters from WWII, the ones where the woman are part of the blue-collar workforce. Gaby’s ultra-blond hair has a lilac bandana over her curling bangs. He lips are bright red.

“About what?” I ask Gaby, even though I know better.

“About love. If we spent more time loving and less time hating, obsessing, and resenting, life would be so much better. It’s like cheeseburgers. Cheeseburgers make everything better,” Gaby says.

“So cheeseburgers are love?” I say. I really need to stop asking.

“Yeah. We don’t eat fish because we like it. We eat it because it is good for us. We eat cheeseburgers because they’re delicious,” Gaby says.

“So all we need is cheeseburgers,” I sing to the tune of that Beatles song “All You Need is Love.”

“Yep.” She taps her finger on her chin, “I think I’m gonna go for a Seventies look tomorrow…” Gaby turns mid-sentence toward the racks and rummages through them for a new outfit. The perks to owning a consignment store: she can wear the clothes, wash them, and then sell them anyway. “All you need is cheeseburgers, dadadada, da…” Her voice trails off.

Gaby and the Beatles, Gaby and Madonna, Gaby and Gwen Stefani, The Archies, Garth Brooks, Patsy Cline, Mötley Crüe, and other bands I can’t remember. She uses the tunes to make a point. Her comment means more than just the Annabelle thing. It’s never that simple. Lately it’s about Alicia, and I really don’t want to hear it anymore.

But I ask anyway, because she’ll tell me anyway. “What are you trying to get at, Gaby Gandhi?”

“What are you talking about?” She continues to whistle the Beatles’ tune.

“The ‘all you need is love’ crap.”

“Wow.” Gaby pauses. “I said cheeseburgers.”

And this is when my friends slip out of the shop.

Wow
always stops me from going any further. Gaby only says
Wow
when she thinks I need an attitude adjustment. My first week at my new job, I agreed with everything Gaby said. I thought that’s how I should respond to my new boss.

Gaby actually doesn’t like it when I don’t speak my mind. And she doesn’t like it when I grow a little too bold…maybe that’s not the right term. Gaby doesn’t like ignorance, Gaby doesn’t like rudeness, and Gaby doesn’t like it when crap spews out of your mouth without thinking first. Her words, not mine.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” Gaby says.

“It’s never
nothing
, Gaby.”

“I’m just saying sometimes you need to give people a chance.”

“I’m gonna go redo the window.”

As I’m putting together the new display, my dad calls several times, leaving messages begging me to call him back. His ringtone is an alarm, which, like my clock in the morning, I ignore. I’m at work. What does he expect? I can’t answer the phone. He also leaves a few texts. At least Dad does text better than my mother.

First text:
Pls call me

Ignore.

Second text:
Dang it Massie– I luv u kiddo

Ignore.

Third text:
Really we need 2 talk.

My phone rings again. I still don’t answer it.

Fourth text:
listen to ur message

I listen because I can’t leave anything left undone or unknown. I finish every book I start, even if I hate it. The same goes with movies. I’ve sat through too many horrible ones to count. I open every email just in case—I’ve gotten smarter about opening attachments, though. The nasty virus that scrapped my computer cured me. Lucky for me, my dad was still taking great pleasure in his “better parent than Kristin” phase and bought me a new laptop.

I dial my voice mail. I enter my pin, my parent’s anniversary. The day they married—not the day of their divorce.

My father’s voice says, “Massie. I’ve had enough of this shit. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

La tee da for you.

“First, Alicia’s my wife.”

Really? Get to your point already.

“If I want to show her my work before you, I can do that.”

Fine! Go for it—I don’t care! The tears streaming down my face are not for you!

“We saw the flower together. Anyway she closed her eyes. She told me I had to show you first. I made her look.”

Whatever. You
would
say that. Always taking her side.

“The moment touched us.”

Excuse me. I now need to go hurl.

“I won’t apologize for that. Honey, I love you, and that isn’t going to change. I know I messed up with your mom.”

He pauses.

What? Don’t know what to say now? Yeah, you messed up with Mom. We all know that. Are you just figuring that out? A little too late, don’t you think?

“We both agree that you need to give Alicia a chance. She hasn’t done anything to you.” He pauses again long enough for the recording to stop. I’m sure he had more to say. But unlike my mother he won’t call back.

My father and Alicia both think I need to give them a chance? Really?! Natalie was right. I was thinking about giving her a chance, but I don’t need her telling me I have to do it. I won’t be forced.

I grab a hula skirt and wrap it around the mannequin’s waist. I run my fingers through the dried straw to straighten it and a sliver finds its way into the side of my middle finger. I pick at the slice in my skin as I head to the shoes. How dare Alicia decide what I need to do? Her and her sweet little laugh can kiss my ass. She may fool the rest of the world, but I’m not buying her little performance. I’m sure she’s enjoying pitting my father against me just like Vianna’s and Natalie’s stepmonsters do. I grab a pair of ruby-red snakeskin cowboy boots. I glance at the bathing tops. Gaby only keeps the tops; she tosses the bottoms. I quickly slide through the hangers one by one on the rack of summer tops until I touch a purple halter. I finish the ensemble with a skull necklace, a bulky wooden Catholic Saint bracelet, and a lavender and emerald crochet hat with a bow on it. I stand back to admire my masterpiece.

“Hmm,” Gaby studies the mismatched mess. “You’re finally grasping it.”

“You’re hysterical.” The mannequin looked better yesterday. I know it and she knows it.

“No, really. What made you do this?” Gaby asks.

Great. Now Gaby feels the need to psychoanalyze me. I know that I can’t escape her, so instead I give her what she wants. “The skirt, it resembles the trip that my dad took. Not to Hawaii but his marriage.” Really the skirt was hanging closest to me so I grabbed it. Only Gaby would sell a dead grass skirt.

“Okay,” she says. I know that Gaby is aching to comment but she’ll wait until I finish.