So Not Happening (6 page)
Forty-five minutes later, after passing on Mom's attempt at cooking, I throw on my oldest pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a cute pair of retro rain boots. I hear the “family” in the living room watching
Wheel of Fortune,
so I ease out the back door and walk toward the field.
I make sure to shut the heavy gate behind me this time. “Bet-sy!” My voice scatters some birds. “Bet-sy! Here, cow!”
I continue walking and yelling until my feet and throat are both sore.
Sometime later, I find myself near a pond. And there's Betsy, her black-and-white fur shining as the sun starts to set behind her. She looks up, her dark eyes totally unimpressed with my presence. She continues to drink from the pond.
“Hey, girl.” I smile, relieved that I have not single-handedly killed Robbie's pet after all. “Come here.” The cow continues to ignore me, as if she is having a private, meditative moment with nature.
“Where've you been?”
And for that matter, where am I?
I glance around at the landscape. Nothing looks familiar.
As I close the distance, I see stickers and prickly things in the cow's tail. “Somebody's been for a walk, eh?” I get close enough to touch her face. “Well, I certainly can't blame you, but time's up. You have to come back with me. I can certainly understand wanting to leave, but if anybody's running away from this place, it's me.”
I hold out my hand like I expect her to follow. “Here we go . . . This way. Be a good cow, now.” Robbie's pet returns to slurping from the green water. “Bets, can I talk to you—girl to girl? I pretty much made a little boy cry today, and if I don't redeem myself, then I'm in big trouble.” I move some distance away and sit down on the bank.
“But maybe today was God's way of getting my attention. The Finleys think I'm just some spoiled society brat. Well, you know what, Bets?” I stand and dust off my jeans. “I'll show them. I will just show them what Bella Kirkwood is made of. And it ain't just Macy's and Prada bags.”
I totally just said
“ain't”
“Now . . . how to get us home?” I turn a full circle, eyeing the sun, the trees, some rock piles.
I am so lost.
I sit for what must be hours, hungry, tired, and mad that no one has bothered to come and find me. They probably thinlk I want some alone time. Well,
wrong!
The sun is almost tucked away when Betsy gets up, moos to the darkening sky, and walks herself past me.
I lift my head from my knees and watch her tail swing in a happy little rhythm. She stops some distance ahead and turns around, as if she's waiting for me.
What do I have to lose?
I stand up, pick off a few leaves ... then follow a cow all the way home.
“I found your cow.” I shuck off my boots and walk into the living room, where Robbie sits in my mom's lap.
“You did? Where was she?”
“Just hanging out.” Did anyone even realize I was gone?
“I think you're really mean for letting her out.”
“Robbie, Bella didn't mean to.” Mother smoothes back his red hair. “She and I come from a very big city. We barely even had a yard.”
Or a maze of cow dookie to step around.
Robbie glares at me all the way up the stairs as I head toward my room. I grab my cell phone and call Hunter.
“Hey, you! How's my little Oklahoman?”
I start at the beginning and fill him in on every detail. “And then this evening ...” I sigh. “I had to launch a one-girl search party for a—“ A female giggle in the background stops me cold. “Who is that?”
Hunter laughs. “Oh, that's just Mia.”
“Mia?” As in my best friend, Mia?
“Yeah, she's helping me with my algebra. Here, she wants to talk to you.”
When I get off the phone with Mia, all my worries evaporate like snow in California. It's the same old Mia, same old gossip, same best friend.
The only one who's different is me.
S
o what do you think of Tulsa?”
I suck on my second Frappuccino, ignoring the brain freeze and relishing the long-lost flavor. It is cruel and unusual punishment to force me to live somewhere without a Starbucks. I mean, come on. I think there might be
three
cities in the world that don't have Starbucks, and Truman is one of them. What are the odds?
“Not bad.” In fact, I kind of like the outside shopping center. In Pottery Barn I grab two sets of sheets, a comforter, an armload of throw pillows, and some curtain panels for my room, all centered around an organic Asian theme. Anything beats the garage sale motif of my room now.
I reach for one more pillow. Then drop everything in my arms.
“Let me get that for you.” Jared Campbell steps out from an aisle.
“Jared!” Brittany throws her arms around him as he picks up the contents of my new bedroom.
He hands me a package with a lopsided grin. “Your Egyptian cotton sheets, madam.”
I smile. “Thank you, sir.”
“So the guys and I decided to crash your shopping trip. Are you girls ready for dinner yet?”
I walk to the register with my goods, already envisioning a new paint job for the bedroom.
“Let's take Bella to Sparky's Diner downtown. What do you think, Brit?” Emma asks.
“Yeah, sure.”
The cashier gives me the grand total, and I hand over my Visa.
“I'm sorry, but your card has been declined.”
I flinch as if she's just insulted my mother. “Excuse me?”
“Do you have another one we could try?”
“Um... sure.” I laugh. “I can't imagine what the problem is.” And hand her the MasterCard. I smile and roll my eyes at my friends.
“Nope, I'm afraid this one is declined too.”
My fragile grip on politeness slips. “That's impossible. Try them again.”
“Ma'am, I'm sorry. In fact, I'm going to have to cut them up.”
I turn away, unable to watch this horrific display. “Let's go. Something is really wrong. It's got to be their machines. Or maybe my identity has been stolen. Some sixty-five-year-old man in the Philippines is probably posing as me and ordering boxes of frilly underwear online to his heart's content.”
“I'm sure it's nothing.” Emma pats me on the shoulder.
“Let's go eat. The guys and I are starved.” Jared steps in beside me. “I'll buy.” He holds up a hand when I open my mouth. “I won't take no for an answer. It will be my welcome-to-Truman gift to you.” Jared gives me a quick side-hug. “That's what friends are for, right?”
Sparky's Diner is nothing but a hole-in-the-wall burger joint. And aside from the fact that someone's having to pick up my tab, it's perfect. The walls are covered with black-and-white pictures of Sparky, the owner, and various celebrities who have been here through the years. Sparky and Donald Trump. Sparky and Chuck Norris. Sparky and *NSYNC before Juslin left them in to bring sexy back.
“Brittany scoot down a seat so I can sit by Bella.” Emma puts her purse down beside me and waits for her friend to move.
Brittany's eyes narrow as she slides across the booth. “So, Bella. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Yes, in New York.” I smile. “Hunter.”
“How's the long-distance thing going?” Jared asks, swiping a fry off my plate. A plate he paid for.
“It stinks.” But what about this move doesn't totally reek? “I left a lot back in Manhattan. I left a school I loved. A huge group of friends. A writing gig as an advice columnist.”
“What? How cool,” Emma says.
“Yeah, I had an advice blog. Students at Hilliard would write in with their problems, and I would answer them as Miss Hilliard. I still write in some and update my blog fans on my life. Though anymore it consists of entries like, 'Life is awful—just like last week.'”
Brittany lifts a brow. “Truman isn't the place for you?”
“Are you kidding? This is the last place on earth I want to be.” I hold up my hands. “I mean, don't get me wrong, it's charming in its own way. I just need the culture and pace of New York, you know? Not to mention I have a demon-possessed stepbrother.”
“Budge Finley.”
“Yeah.” I stare at Brittany. “How did you know?”
“Your stepdad works with mine.”
“At the paper plant?”
She nearly chokes on her Coke. “If that's what you want to call it.”
My eyes narrow.
Aha.
I knew Jake Finley wasn't on the up-and-up. He left at the crack of dawn
again
this morning, yet he was at the table for breakfast. Something strange is brewing. “What do you mean? They don't make paper at the Summer Fresh factory?”
“Yeah, but that's not all.” She laughs. “You'll have to ask your stepdad.” She picks up her purse.
“Let's head back to Truman.” The group stands up at Jared's command. “Some of us have homework to do.”
“Hope you get your credit card situation fixed,” Brittany says as we exit. “I'd hate to see you suffer any more than you already have here.”
I slam the door and rush through the foyer.
“Wait a minute.”
Mom and Jake sit in the darkened living room, the closing credits of
Letterman
on mute.
“Later—I have to call the credit card companies.”
“In here. Now.”
My foot halts on the first step. I sigh and walk in to join them. “Yes?”
Mom consults her watch. “First of all, you were supposed to be home an hour ago. It's a school night.” She waits for my excuse.
I shrug and give her my sweetest smile, a face that has always worked on Mom but would never work on my nanny.
“Jake says when Budge, er, Logan is past curfew, he gets grounded.” She holds up her latest parenting guide, No
Means I
Love You.
“This book would agree.”
Maybe you skipped the chapter where it talks about exceptions for
daughters whose lives have been ruined.
Mom gestures to an empty seat and turns on the lamp. “Bella, your credit cards are no good.”
“You're telling me! I tried to shop at Pottery Barn tonight and—“ I sit up straighter. “Wait a minute. How did you know that?”
“I had your dad cancel them today. I forgot to tell you.”
“You
forgot?”
Mom looks to her husband then back at me. “We're a family now. And we all will live under the same roof, under the same rules. Jake and I want all of you kids to live equally—it's not fair for you to have an unlimited credit card and Logan to have to work at the Wiener Palace for extra money. So any money your father gives you for child support will now be put into a trust fund. And your credit cards are gone.”
I stand up. “That's insane.” It's like cutting off someone's life support.
“This is our new life, hon.”
“Well, I hate
our
new life.” I stomp past them and pound up the stairs. “I hate this town! I hate ...”
Think, think. What else?
“Cows! And those
stupid
roosters that wake me up every morning!”
Stomp,
stomp.
And sheets that don't match!” The walls shake when I shut the bedroom door.
Moxie hops off my bed and greets me, wrapping her white body around my ankles. I pick her up and she purrs into my neck. Outside my window, an overgrown oak tree taps on my window. Trying my best to ignore it, I sit down at my desk with Moxie. She paws at an imaginary bug as I turn on my Mac.
Dear Hilliard Sisters,
For those of you who pray, I need it. Your former Ask Miss Hilliaid is living in the pit of the country. Nobody understands fashion here. They wouldn't know a More Jacobs bag if Wal-Mart put them on clearance. The school colors are a hideous green and hlack. The school parking lot loots like a Ford truck dealership. My stepbrothers are matants from outer space, the oldest driving a vehicle he purchased at a funeral home's garage sale. The cheerleaders wear bows in their hair like it's 1985. And yesterday someone asked me if my Rock -Republic leans were a new style from Wrangler!
I could go on and on, ladies. I know you feel my pain, and
there is some comfort in that. So this is your former Miss
Hilliard... asking
you
for advice. Short of hopping the red-eye
back to my beloved NYC, what can I do?
My cat and my memories of Hilliard are all that get me
through.
