Sass & Serendipity (3 page)

Gabby absently touched her face. “Is it that obvious?”

“Let’s just say … I hope it isn’t me you’re mad at.” He carefully sidestepped past her into the living room.

“It’s just … you know. Family stuff.”

Mule nodded. “Dad or sis?”

She glanced around. Daphne was in their room and Mom was in the shower, but she still didn’t feel like discussing things with them nearby. “Come on,” she said, picking up her notebook. “Let’s go on the back deck.”

They stopped in the kitchen on the way, to grab some sodas from the fridge. Mule was a huge Dr Pepper nut, but their mom had started trying to save money lately by buying the store version: Mr. Brown. It wasn’t as bad as the name made it sound, but it wasn’t as good as the real thing, either. Still, Mule never complained. Once supplied, they headed out the back door onto what Mrs. Rivera referred to as “the deck” but was actually a sagging back porch crammed with metal patio furniture that used to be white but was now flecked with orange spots where it had rusted.

Mule unzipped his backpack and pulled out a notebook, his calculus textbook, two pencils, and a family-sized bag of Doritos. Then he sat back in his chair and stared right at Gabby. “So tell me what happened.”

Gabby tapped her own pencil against the side of the iron table. “Nothing. Just … stupid Daffy. She’s such a child! She refuses to be responsible. All she wants is for her life to be like some old-fashioned romance, like
Gone with the Wind
or
Casablanca.
”

“I kinda like
Casablanca.
”

“You would. You and your Nazi-fighting fetish. You probably still play with little green army men, don’t you?”

Mule didn’t reply. He just took a long drink from his can and stared out at the yard. Gabby’s words seemed to hang above them like storm clouds. She realized how snide she sounded. “Mule? Do you think I’m mean?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“No, I want you to tell me the truth.”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. I ain’t going there.”

“Come on, just answer. And don’t say ‘ain’t.’ ”

Mule’s head picked up speed. “Forget it.”

“Then you
do
think I’m mean, don’t you? You just don’t want to say anything. Probably afraid I’ll do something mean.”

“Look …” Mule blew out his breath and scratched his floppy curls. “You’re not exactly the tender type. You’re not all sunshine and rainbows and kitties with ribbons around their necks. But so what? I mean, I like being around you. Obviously.”

Gabby knew Mule was being straight with her, but somehow she wasn’t comforted. She liked him. She tolerated his flaws better than almost anyone else’s—except maybe her mother’s. She genuinely considered him intelligent about most
things. And she probably depended on his presence more than she would care to admit.

Yet that was just it. His endorsement didn’t count for much. For one thing, it was rather backhanded. He might as well have said “So you’re a hag. So what? I’m still here.” But also, it was silly that he used his spending time with her as evidence, since it wasn’t as if he had a lot of other choices. Neither of them had a social life beyond each other.

Mule gestured toward her. “See? Now you’re pissed.”

“I’m not. I’m just … Crap. I don’t even know why I asked you.” She clutched her can with both hands and crinkled the aluminum slightly.

“Why does it matter, anyway?”

“It doesn’t. I just let my stupid sister get to me. That’s all. She’s doing it on purpose, too—pulling all this stuff right before Dad comes to visit. As if things weren’t stressful enough. The scholarship application is due in a few weeks and I still only have Bs in calc and physics. And if I don’t get full tuition I’m screwed. Even the maximum amount of loans will cover only so much. I could end up working full-time
and
going to school. Then I’ll totally lose my mind, like Jack Nicholson in
The Shining
. Only instead of an ax, I’ll crack skulls with this textbook.” She lifted her encyclopedia-sized
Calculus and Applied Concepts
in both hands and shook it for effect. “Then I’ll go to prison and Daphne will become the good, responsible daughter. Then the world will stop turning.”

Again Mule remained silent, and again Gabby replayed her words. Here she was, going on and on as if she were the
only person in the world with problems. And she complained that Daphne was selfish.

“Anyway. Enough about me,” she said, lowering the book. “How’s your dad doing?”

Last year Mr. Randolph had injured his back at the processing plant where he worked, leaving him bedridden. Two operations hadn’t improved things much, and Mule had been required to help take care of him, especially at night and on occasional weekends when his mother worked her nursing shifts at the county hospital. That was another reason he didn’t have much of a social life. Or a job.

“He’s okay. He’s gotten hooked on a couple of talk shows, which is no big deal except he’s starting to take more of an interest in my life. Asking me how much gluten I eat, suggesting I try breathing exercises. This afternoon he saw something on prom fashions and asked who I was going to take.”

Gabby snorted. “Did you say no one? That the whole thing is a big waste of money?”

“I told him I hadn’t decided. I didn’t want to, you know, crush his spirit or whatever.” He let out a nervous-sounding chuckle. “Do you know what he said then?”

“What?”

“He said, ‘I heard that kids today go with their friends. Maybe you and Gabby should go together.’ ”

“Man, he really has been watching too much crap TV. Why would we waste hundreds of dollars to have a lousy time among people we can’t stand? We could spend a fraction of that staying home with a movie. That would be infinitely more fun.”

Mule nodded. He didn’t seem to be agreeing with her as much as marking the beat of an unheard song. His eyes fixed on the moths fluttering around the nearby lamp.

“Hey, did I tell you Daphne begged and pleaded and cried until Mom said she was allowed to go this year?” Gabby leaned sideways to recapture Mule’s attention. “So typical. Mom and Dad said I couldn’t go till I was a junior, so of course she gets to go when she’s a sophomore.”

“So? I mean, you hate prom anyway. Why do you care?”

Gabby felt a little stung. Mule should be upset at the injustice of it all instead of pointing out any mild hypocrisy on her part. “It’s just the principle of the thing,” she explained. “Daphne always gets her way and I always have to do what they say. I’m the do-gooder and she’s the big baby and that’s how it will always be. Forever and ever. I could win the Nobel Prize and they’d probably try to make me share it with her.”

As Gabby paused to take a breath, she felt the heat in her throat and realized she’d once again commandeered the conversation. What kind of friend was she? She was supposed to be asking Mule about his problems.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it all about me again,” she said. “I guess I am mean.”

“Hey.” Mule reached over and jabbed her shoulder. “You aren’t mean. You’re just … venting. It’s what you do. You bitch and moan and call people names, and then you’re better. At least, for a while.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sounds like loads of fun for you.”

“I don’t mind.”

Gabby stared at him. Mule was smiling that sideways
smile he reserved just for her. Half amusement, half annoyance, with just a touch of a smirk. It never failed to make her feel better. Yet something about that grin seemed different today. Looking more closely, she realized that it wasn’t the smile that had changed, but the face it sat on.

After years of waiting, Mule had been so proud when he finally got facial hair that he refused to groom it. Unfortunately, it grew in sparse little patches on the sides of his mouth and tip of his chin, giving him a sleazy, Fu Manchu sort of look. Today, though, Gabby noticed he was clean shaven, and his cheeks and jaw were more angular than she remembered. She also saw that his skin had almost completely cleared up, and his shoulders even looked a bit broader. When had all that happened?

Probably months ago, but she was only now getting around to noticing. Because she was mean.

“Mule …” She took a deep breath. “I know this sounds cornball, but thanks for … for being you.”

Mule’s head jutted forward, as if her words somehow upset the balance of his skull upon his neck. “Uh … sure,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s what I’m good at. I’m good at being me.”

Gabby winced. She was not expressing herself clearly—more proof that she wasn’t all that skilled at being nice. “I mean … thanks for being the only sane person around. The whole town is going nuts about prom. Daphne’s all gaga over some new guy. Thank god you’re smart enough not to buy into that true-love crap.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know …” Mule scrunched up his eyes. “Are you saying there’s no such thing as love? At all? Ever?”

Gabby squirmed in the metal chair. Once again she
seemed to have said the wrong thing. “No. I mean, I think people love their families and their best friends and their dogs. And I do think there’s such a thing as, you know,
attraction
. But the idea that there’s someone out there who completes your soul, blah, blah, blah, that’s just a big illusion people buy into. Like believing in the Easter Bunny.”

Mule kept looking at her, chin in hand, forefinger tapping his mouth—the same expression he wore while figuring out superhard math problems. “Okay, just playing devil’s advocate here, but … why is it so wrong to believe in true love?”

“Because,” Gabby began. Then she paused. The word dangled lamely in the air between them. Why had she even brought up the topic? She’d wanted to be nice, but somehow it had backfired. “Because it’s stupid. And dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Mule repeated, his eyebrows flying high on his forehead.

“Look, just forget it. We’ve got work to do.” Gabby quickly opened her book, the heavy cover making a gonglike sound against the iron tabletop.

She kept her focus on page 274, trying to block everything else out. But she could tell Mule was still peering at her as if she were a particularly baffling lab specimen. It made her feel fidgety.

It was sad, really, when calculus was easier than conversation.

“Wha-a-a-a-at?”

Gabby lay in bed, sleepless and frustrated, tormented by her racing brain and the call of a nearby frog. It seemed to be chiding her, doubting her every thought.

“Wha-a-a-a-at!”

Meanwhile, her sister lay in deep slumber, her thick lashes faintly fluttering, round cheek smushed against the pillow, mouth slightly open. Once in a while she’d make a cooing sound and shift positions, but otherwise she seemed completely at peace. Daphne looked so young when she slept—not much older than the days when she’d sucked her thumb. It made it hard to be mad at her. Although Gabby still was, kind of.

The study session had been going along fine until Daphne had started playing the sound track to
Wicked
at a ridiculous volume. Gabby had gone inside to complain and they’d ended up in a squabble that led to Mule’s excusing himself to go home. And Gabby had still needed his help on two sets of problems.

Now she couldn’t clear her mind and fall asleep. It wasn’t just the math or the bickering or the loud, melodramatic music that troubled her. She also kept replaying her earlier conversation with Mule, and each time she did she found something else to kick herself about.

She’d sounded mean. She’d sounded stupid. She’d hogged the conversation way too much.

It was true what he said about her need to vent around him. There was something about Mule’s safe, loyal omnipresence that allowed her to lower her defenses. All he had to do was ask how her day went and suddenly all her pent-up stress would come spewing out like the contents of a punctured aerosol can.

Of course, no matter how blabby she got around Mule,
there were a few things she could never tell him about—which meant she couldn’t tell anyone.

For example, no one knew about the time when she was five and gave herself a pet. Her parents wouldn’t let her have a dog (no fenced-in yard) or a cat (allergies), so one day she caught a small brown toad behind their house and decided to adopt him. She named him Hoppy and placed him in an old mop bucket too high for him to escape from, along with a dish of water and some pulled-up grass. Only she’d forgotten to keep him out of the sun. The next day she’d found his withered, half-baked carcass next to the empty water dish, with black ants crawling all over him. She still felt too guilty to tell anyone about that.

Also, no one knew that she occasionally had the same dream. In it she’s trapped at the bottom of a deep hole, and a nameless, faceless guy pulls her out and kisses her—a tender, soft, slow kiss that makes it seem as if she’s melting into an oozy puddle. She’d be too embarrassed to tell anyone about that. Not just because it was cheesy, the type of fantasy Daphne probably entertained all day every day, but because she was pretty sure she knew who her nameless, faceless rescuer was.

And that was the third thing she could never tell Mule or any other living being in the universe about: her secret time with Sonny Hutchins.

Gabby felt a chill and snuggled down into her covers, making the old mattress groan. At night everything seemed harsher. Noises. Shadows. Memories. A pain welled up in the center of her body, dull but familiar, like an old injury reasserting itself.

It had happened when she was thirteen. Her mom and dad had talked her into joining a kickball league, convinced that all that team spirit would make her more social, less serious and uptight. Only it had ended up being a disaster.

Her offensive game was fine. She could run well, and her kicks were fairly decent. But no matter what her position in the outfield, she couldn’t manage to catch the ball. Every time it flew toward her, she would close her eyes and shield her head with her arms, and no amount of training could break her of this reflex. The more athletically gifted girls seemed to take her shortcomings personally and froze her out of all conversation. So instead of finding new friends, Gabby had ended up more alienated than ever.