Where I Belong (22 page)

Grandpa and Grandma shake their heads. “I have been dropping her off at Ginger’s during the day,” Grandpa says. “But I just thought she was lonely and wanted to catch up with her old friend.”

Waverly stares at me in total amazement. “Your mother is wearing jeans and is on a horse,” Waverly says. “And is her shirt bedazzled?”

“I know,” I say, double taking to make sure it’s not a mirage. “I guess she used to do the barrels before modeling, before New York, before my dad, before me.”

Before Waverly can ask about the barrels, Mom nudges Smudge and takes off. Dirt envelops the ring, creating a cloud of dust. Luckily, my mom handles Smudge with much more grace than I did. She goes left, she goes right, making tight figure eights through the barrels. In a flash, she’s completed the course. The crowd that’s gathered hollers and hoots.

Someone behind me whispers, “Jenny Jo’s back five minutes, and she’s already stolen the spotlight again.”

I ignore them; it ain’t worth it.

“Our princess back on her throne.” Grandpa whistles and smiles.

“No, Grandpa,” I correct him. “She’s a queen. A Rodeo Queen.”

In my loudest voice, I cheer,
“Vive La Reine,”
which means long live the queen. Thanks, Marie Antoinette and French history. I guess I didn’t totally forget everything from my prep school life.

Then Grandma hugs nearly the whole town and accepts everyone’s congratulations on my mother’s return to the ring.

Mom dismounts the horse, and she helps to crown the newest Rodeo Queen, a girl from Broken Spoke High named Angela.

Mom’s still beaming by the time she makes it back to us.

“Wow, Mrs. Corcoran,” Waverly says. “If Fifth Avenue could just see you now…”

My mom looks down at her shirt and laughs. “Funny how things work out. Who knows, Waverly? Bedazzling might just make a comeback; there’s certainly something fun about it.” Mom turns to me. “I am going to call your father. He’s the one who encouraged me with this little secret,” my mom says.

Apparently, there’s a lot that I don’t understand about my mom, her past, and my dad. I guess Grandpa was right that day in the car. My mom isn’t boring after all.

Kitsy looks at Waverly and me. “So how about the field tonight?”

“A football field?” Waverly says, and flares a nostril;
it’s not a pretty sight. “I don’t do football,” she says. “I’d much rather get hot and sweaty with a boy than watch them do it together.”

“No, a different field,” I say. But I figure the last thing that Waverly and I need to do is participate in another Texan rite of passage. It’s about time that we talked, really talked.

I look at Waverly and say, “We need to have a chat, so we’ll probably skip the field.”

“For sure,” Kitsy says. “Y’all chat. I am going to tend to my own knitting and take Kiki to Sonic to celebrate. Call me when you get back from the airport, Corrinne. Nice to meet you, Waverly.”

Waverly responds, “I didn’t know you knitted. That was in vogue in New York for, like, a hot moment. Bye now, Katsy. It was such a fun experience to meet a real Texan.”

Kitsy turns back around to face Waverly.

“It’s Kitsy, Waverly,” she says. “Kitsy Kidd. And by the way, you’d look a lot better in purple eye shadow. Blue doesn’t really do it for you.”

Waverly just stands and watches Kitsy go. Activating my filter, I stifle a laugh and only silently agree that Kitsy’s totally dead-on about the blue.

“I need help with putting away these tables; then we can go,” I say to Waverly, who’s eyeing the parking lot.

“Finally,” Waverly says, taking off her T-shirt to reveal just a skimpy tank top. “How do you live in this sauna?”

I don’t answer.

In silence Waverly and I carry the fold-up tables back to the barn. Ginger’s standing inside, and she bear hugs me.

“Best rodeo ever,” she says. “Everyone thinks that we should do a spring rodeo too. Thanks for all your work. I think with this money, all Spokers who want to ride will be able to. Corrinne, you do remind me a lot of your momma, but you must have gotten that business savvy from your dad.”

My dad, I think. I’ll have to send him some pictures, but not for pity this time. I am proud to be part of this Texan scene.

I smile big and nod while Waverly rolls her eyes.

On the car ride back home, I ask Grandpa to drop Waverly and me off at Chin’s.

My mom gives me twenty dollars for dinner. “Thanks, I’ll call you when we need a ride.”

“Are we eating here?” Waverly says, looking at Chin’s advertisement for a $7.99 all-you-can-eat lunch buffet.

“Yes,” I say, and open the door. “It’s good. I ate here before a dance with Bubby. New York doesn’t hold the patent on Chinese food. Or anything else for that matter.”

“I seriously distrust your taste these days,” Waverly
says, and pauses before she follows me in.

Mr. Chin sits us in the back of the restaurant, and I am glad to be out of sight from the other customers.

Looking at her menu, Waverly says, “I am not sure if I can eat anything here since I have to fit into my clothes when I get home. T-shirts and jeans don’t exactly cut it at Kent, especially when everyone’s going to come back all tan from their exotic fall breaks.”

“Shut up, Waverly,” I say, and slam my menu shut. It makes a loud smacking noise. “All you’ve done since you’ve gotten here is complain and make me feel bad.”

“Please, Corrinne,” Waverly says, from behind her menu. “This visit hasn’t been all champagne and roses for me. Does this place at least have good sake?”

“No, they don’t have sake. One, Broken Spoke is a dry county. Two, it’s a Chinese restaurant, not Japanese,” I say. “Three, you are so ignorant.”

Waverly slams down her menu. “Ignorant? Oh, sorry, Corrinne,” she nearly shouts. “I forgot that you moved to the middle of nowhere and that makes you worldly. I don’t really remember you of all people as the educated one. I am pretty sure I always had the better grades, and well, better everything.”

Timidly, Mr. Chin approaches the table.

“Girls, what would you like to eat?”

“Um,” I say, noticing the other customers have begun
to stare at us. “We’ll take egg rolls and General Tso’s chicken with a side of fried rice.”

Waverly looks up at Mr. Chin. “And we’ll take that to go.”

Mr. Chin retrieves our menus. “Okay then, I’ll get that as quickly as we can.” He almost breaks into a run on his way back to the kitchen. I think Waverly’s New York attitude totally freaked him out. Hell, she’s even freaking me out and I
am
a New Yorker.

“I guess I’ll call my grandpa to pick us up, then,” I say.

“And I’ll call the airline to change my flight to tomorrow,” Waverly says. “I really can’t be here any longer, and Monday’s too far away.”

“Do whatever you want,” I say, and get out my phone. “It’s all about you anyway, right?”

Waverly stands up from the table. “I’ll wait for you outside,” she says, and shoves in her chair.

“Terrific,” I say, already dialing my grandparents’ home phone.

After a car ride in silence, Waverly and I sit down at the kitchen table to eat our Chinese food. Mom, Grandpa, Grandma, and Tripp just watch us from the couch as if we were a reality program.
Teen Manhattanites in Texas.

I reach into the bag to pull out the fortune cookies.

“Do you want your fortune cookie, Waverly?” I ask, holding it out to her.

“Not unless there’s a helicopter to New York in it,” Waverly says, not even looking up from the fried rice.

Has Waverly always been like this? Some best friend she is. And all I did was take her to a rodeo!

“I’ll take the cookie,” Tripp pipes up from the couch. I toss it to him, and he breaks it open.

“Waverly,” Tripp says, “your fortune is ‘Tough times don’t last, tough people do.’ Can I eat the cookie?”

“Sure,” Waverly says. “If you don’t mind, I am going to shower today’s adventure off of me and go to bed. I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Whatever,” I say. Turning around, I announce, “By the way, we need to take Waverly to the airport tomorrow instead of Monday. She changed her flight.”

The eyes of everyone on the couch perk up. My grandparents look at each other, Mom looks at me, and Tripp looks down at the ground. Waverly gets up from the table, throws her food out, and heads for the bathroom.

“Tripp,” my mom says, “why don’t you go to your room?”

“I always miss the good stuff,” Tripp says, and follows my mother’s directions.

Grandpa does a dramatic stretch. “You know,” he says, “I am tired myself. I’ll head to bed too.” Grandpa stands
up and walks over to me. He puts his hand on my head. “Corrinne,” he says, “what a rodeo! I am so proud of you.”

Looking over at my mom, Grandpa says “Jenny Jo, it was really great to see you back on the horse.”

After Grandpa leaves the kitchen, Grandma walks up to the stove. “How about some hot cider, girls? It’s that fall time of year.”

“Thanks, Mom,” my mom says, and comes to sit with me at the table. “What’s going on, Corrinne?”

“Waverly hates it here so she’s leaving,” I say, and try not to tear up. “She’s going to tell everyone how I am now the star of a reverse
Beverly Hillbillies.
A debutante gone redneck.”

“I am sorry, baby,” my mom says, rubbing my back. “This has been a bad fall, huh?”

“Bad?” I say. “I think you need to seriously expand your vocabulary. It’s been unfathomably depressing.”

“You know,” Grandma says as she puts the hot water on, “your bad luck has turned into the best luck I’ve ever had. I got to spend time with my grandchildren and I got to see my daughter back in Broken Spoke. I am starting to like this whole recession.”

“And I did get to ride again and mend some broken threads from the past,” my mom says, and winks at Grandma. “You’ve also really, really impressed me with how much you’ve grown up, Corrinne.”

“So?” I say. “I’ve lost my best friend, my horse, my city, my life, my future. I really cannot get very excited about my maturity.”

“C’mon, Corrinne,” Grandma says as she prepares three mugs of cider. “Tell me that you have hated it all, that you did not enjoy the rodeo, or that you don’t like Kitsy or that Bubby kid. Lie to me that you are unhappy here.”

“Grandma,” I say, “I’ve just lost my best friend of ten years. Waverly and I grew up together in the city. Now we have nothing in common.”

“Corrinne,” my mom says, getting up to help Grandma bring the cider to the table. “Let me tell you something that I wish I knew earlier. Just because you change doesn’t mean you need to give up all the things that once made you who you were. I don’t think you realize that
you’re
the one who changed. Waverly is the one trying to get used to the new you.”

Grandma and Mom walk over to me and sit down on either side of the table.

“She’s right,” Grandma says. “Me and your mom wasted a lot of time because I was mad at her for growing up and making her own decisions. Just because Jenny Jo wasn’t in Broken Spoke didn’t mean that she and I had nothing in common. I should’ve made more of an effort to get to New York and learn that new part of Jenny Jo—or rather J.J.”

Mom sips her cider and touches Grandma’s shoulder. “And I should’ve honored where I came from more and remembered that I am still that girl, too, the one who danced to ‘Billie Jean’ in this kitchen before going on dates with a guy named Dusty.”

And when my mom mentions Dusty, I feel relieved that it didn’t work out a) because I wouldn’t have been born and b) because Bubby’s getting cuter and nicer, and that would’ve made him like my brother or something.

As happy as I am to see Mom and Grandma patch up their mother-daughter quilt, I am not sure how this will help me convince Waverly to still be friends and still like me even though I am new hick and nouveau poor.

“Just think it over, Corrinne,” my mom says. “Being disappointed and surrendering are two different beasts. I think you’ve learned that recently.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I say, and put on a big smile. “Maybe things will be better in the morning. I am going to shower and head to bed.”

Leaving my mom and Grandma to their Hallmark commercial, I go to my bedroom, where I find Waverly already tucked in and asleep. I am totally relieved.

Chapter 15

Swimming What?

A
T SEVEN IN THE MORNING
, I hear a knock at my door. Both Waverly and I sit up in bed and look at each other.

“Who is it?” I say.

“Grandpa,” the voice answers through the door. “Get Waverly packed up, put on y’all’s swimsuits, and meet me in the car in ten minutes.”

“Swimsuits?” Waverly questions. “Thank God this is almost over. I now see why the Midwest is a fly-over zone.”

It’s too early for our next battle, so I decide not to correct Waverly’s geography. Texas is about as Midwest as Mexico City.

“Let’s just try to be civil,” I say. “The North and South already had one war.”

As if she were packing for a surprise all-expense-paid
trip to Tahiti, Waverly throws all of her clothes back into her bag at a record pace.

“I didn’t pack a swimsuit since this wasn’t a vacation to Cancun,” Waverly says. “And I haven’t exactly seen any water.”

“Just indulge him,” I say, and throw her one of my bikinis, an old faded one in orange, Waverly’s worst color. Orange is to Waverly what pink is to me. It’s a small moment of revenge, but it buoys me nevertheless.

She gives the bikini a once over and flares her nostrils, but she slips it on anyways. “This is so Texas
Twilight Zone
,” Waverly says.

“That we can agree on,” I say.

Waverly says some quick good-byes while Grandpa heaves her luggage into Billie Jean the Second; then we set off for who-knows-where. Grandpa won’t tell, and I am afraid we’ve been signed up to be on a reality show about trying not to kill your ex-best-friend in the middle of Texas.

Since we’re taking twisty back roads, I have absolutely no idea where we are. Finally, Grandpa pulls down one last road. He pulls out a picnic basket and two towels from the backseat, and points down a dirt path lined with oak trees.