Authors: Cacey Hopper
There he was, standing on my front step, wavy brown hair mussed. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his faded jeans. He’s smiling his familiar crooked smile as though nothing has changed, as though he’s not about to say goodbye. For a moment I can’t help but wonder if he has changed his mind, like always. Jason isn’t exactly what you could call dependable. His hobbies and ambitions seem to change with the wind. This summer would be no different. Instead of facing his future, college in the fall and a girlfriend back home, he’s running. It’s bad enough he’ll be off to college while I still have my senior year of high school left, but we couldn’t even spend one last summer together. Once again he’s leaving me behind. I know he cares about me; he has proven it to me numerous times before. And he has been my best friend for almost as long as Alexa had. But here we are, saying goodbye again.
“So, I’m off,” he says, a little too carelessly.
Instantly my heart sinks, he’s not changing his mind this time. “I thought your plane didn’t leave until tomorrow morning?”
“Nope,” he shakes his head. “I’m taking the train into the city tonight and flying out of JFK around midnight. I had to switch my flights,” he explains.
In that moment I catch it, the slightest flicker in his eyes, but then it’s gone. My spidey sense tingles.
“So, where are you headed again?” I probe carefully.
“Oh, I’m flying into Paris first, staying a few nights. I’m not sure where I’ll go after that. Don’t worry,” he says with a grin. “I’ll be back before you even have a chance to miss me.”
I clamp down on my anger, hard, because it threatens to spill over at any moment now. I’m angry because he’s just walking away from me, again, like he always does when something more interesting comes around. And then I realize my anger is coming from another place, not just from feeling abandoned. I have enough issues with people abandoning me already without him. Suddenly I realize I’m not just angry, but jealous. Bitterly, overwhelmingly jealous of his ability to go and do and be whatever it is he wants. Because his parents don’t need him like my dad needs me. They have each other and his older sister. He isn’t everything to them. He has the freedom I have always craved. He could go skydiving in Costa Rica over the weekend and his parents wouldn’t even ask him when he’d be home. And I hate him for it, because it’s so unfair. Here he is about to go off on yet another adventure, while I’m stuck at home babysitting a dad who is never even around.
I realize I have been silent for a long time while I work out these thoughts in my head, staring at my feet. I wiggle my bare toes and force my gaze up to meet his. I wish I hadn’t, because my anger quickly melts away when I see the look on his face. It occurs to me he has been silent as well and I find his eyes searching my face in earnest. It’s as though he’s looking for something there. More than that, he seems to be trying to memorize my face, like he might not see me ever again. I feel a sudden pang of fear that this could be true, but manage to shake it off.
He seems to snap from his reverie and before I can speak he hugs me quickly, whispers a goodbye in my ear and is gone.
I stand rooted to the spot, forcing myself not to run after him, because that would be completely pathetic. And besides, I’m barefoot.
Forcefully I turn my eyes away from the window and from the memory of that day. It has been nearly two weeks since it happened. It’s time to get over it, and get over him. Reliving the moment doesn’t make it hurt any less. I’ve learned that lesson before.
Instead I rise from the bed and sit down at my cluttered desk. It’s already late in the afternoon, which means I need to start thinking about what I’m going to wear tonight. Though I appreciate the gesture, taking my dad’s credit card and blowing hundreds of dollars on an overpriced dress isn’t exactly my style. I don’t even glance in the direction of my own closet. I already know there isn’t anything suitable inside. I punch the power button on my laptop and wait.
Once it comes to life I sign into my Skype account. Sure enough, the screen name ‘FashionVictim’ is online and available. I click the call button and wait patiently for an answer.
Alexandra de la Vega is my best friend in the world. We’ve known each other for what seems like forever, but I think it has only been since the sixth grade. She splits her time between her divorced parents these days and this week she is at her mom’s, which means she’s staying in the tiny apartment above her mom’s SoHo clothing boutique.
Seconds later Alexa’s faces pops up on my screen. She blinks at me from behind hot-pink rimmed glasses and then exclaims, “Hey, Kit Kat!”
I roll my eyes. “Hey, you gave me that screen name when you set up my account, remember?”
“It’s not my fault you’re slightly computer illiterate,” she defends, running her fingers through her short, dark hair.
Alexa’s dad is from Puerto Rico, her mom from Singapore. She’s got that dark, untraceable look about her that I’ve always envied.
“So, what’s up?” she questions.
I suddenly remember why I needed to talk to her. “Ugh, I’ve got this thing tonight—”
She cuts me off. “A date?”
Her tone of sarcasm does not go unnoticed. I snort in disgust. “Um, no. A party with my dad. One of those fancy, cocktail-drinking, fund-raising—”
“—black tie events that you have nothing to wear to and you’re pretty sure they won’t let you in dressed like that?” She finishes my sentence and jabs a finger at me through the webcam. Her tone clearly indicates her disapproval of my current attire.
“Hey,” I defend, “this is a vintage Pink Floyd concert tee from nineteen-seventy—”
“Whatever.” She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “What can I do for you?”
Alexa’s screen name is clearly tongue-in-cheek. Being the daughter of a fashion boutique owner meant that she was anything but a fashion victim. In fact, that probably should have been my screen name, since I am particularly challenged in that area. Not that I care.
“Can I go raid your closet for a dress?” I ask hopefully.
She frowns and I hold my breath expectantly. Alexa treats her clothes like most people would their children or pets.
“I suppose,” she concedes eventually. “But under one condition.” She holds up a finger and I can clearly see her nails are painted fluorescent orange. “You must promise to accessorize properly.”
I roll my eyes for what feels like the millionth time today. I thought she was going to say avoid cranberry juice and the chocolate fountain, though those are valid points too.
“Sure, sure,” I agree hastily, preparing to sign off before she came up with more stipulations like I must curl my hair or wear fake eyelashes made from the fur of a fox’s butt.
“So, where’s the party?” she asks before I can close the program.
Absently my eyes drift down to my contacts list. The screen name ‘IndyJones’ catches my eye, but it’s grayed out, indicating Jason’s not online. I can’t help but laugh a little to myself over his chosen screen name, an homage to his favorite movie character, Indiana Jones. He always was such a dork.
Again my thoughts are driven back to his goodbye and the smile fades from my face.
“So?” Alexa is still there, waiting for my response.
“It’s at the Barons’,” I spit out finally.
“Oh, the ex, huh?” she drawls.
“He won’t be there.” I glance at the clock. “Look, I’ve got to go if I’m going to make it to your dad’s and back in time.”
“Alright, just remember what I said!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble noncommittally.
She spears me with one last look through her neon glasses and I know she knows I will disobey her direct orders. Accessorizing to me means wearing shoes and maybe a matching rubber band in my hair.
Alexa’s dad is an artist who works out of his house just across town. I’m glad for the distraction of driving, since I’ve spent far too much of my day already thinking about things I’d rather not.
Anthony de la Vega answers the front door, sketchpad and pencil in one hand and chatting in Spanish on his Bluetooth. I point upstairs to Alexa’s room and he nods with a smile. Alexa must have called him and given him a heads up, either that or he’s so used to me being around he doesn’t even question my presence there.
It takes me all of five minutes to decide that most of Alexa’s wardrobe won’t work for me. Pushing aside a dress completely covered in black feathers, I consider giving up. I could always just swing by a little boutique and pick up something plain and simple if it came down to it. Anything is better than looking like a pack of ravens just attacked you. Through the mass of black dresses I see a sudden splash of color and feel a surge of hope.
I unearth the bright green dress from its boring counterparts and know immediately that it’s exactly what I’m looking for. It’s a simple, long dress that’s every shade of green imaginable. Since Alexa is shorter than me, I know I’ll have to wear the dress with flats, which is fine with me, since I can’t walk in heels anyway. I grin to myself, knowing that I have the perfect pair at home. I’ll probably get myself banned from Alexa’s closet forever, but that’s fine by me. I think I’ve taken the one redeemable piece in there.
I make it home with just enough time to get dressed for the party. One look in the mirror tells me my hair is probably a lost cause. Flame red, long and pin-straight, today’s rain and humidity hasn’t been kind to it as it hangs limply around my shoulders. But I manage to brush it out and braid it simply down my back. I apply a little makeup and slip into my dress. I indulge my vanity a little by primping in front of my full length mirror. The dress is incredible. I guess you could say it matches my eyes, since they are an indistinguishable shade of green. Too bad there will be no one there to notice. I cheer up when I remember I already have the perfect shoes for the dress.
It takes a little digging, because my closet is a huge mess, but I finally find the box I’m looking for. Opening it, I pull out the shoes and slip them on my feet. Standing in front of the mirror again I lift the hem and survey the results.
They are perfect. Alexa will be appalled, of course, but that is sort of the point. On my feet are my favorite shoes. No, more than that, they’re my lucky shoes. Only good things happened to me when I wear these shoes. I aced tests I had forgotten to study for. I made it through traffic miraculously fast when it looked as though I was going to be late for curfew. And I was wearing them the night I got kissed by the boy next door for the first time.
Okay, maybe they aren’t so lucky. But they are bright green, low-top Converse All-Stars.
Feeling better about the upcoming evening, I make my way slowly down the stairs to where my dad is already waiting. He smiles when he sees me and claps at my appearance. I show him my shoes and he laughs loudly. After that I decide to go ahead and forgive him for talking me into coming with him tonight.
“You look nice,” I say and mean it. My dad was young when I was born, so even now he’s only in his early forties. I have to admit, he looks nice in a suit, even though it is rare that I see him in anything else. I can’t help but wish he had someone else to go with tonight besides his daughter, for his sake, but I know he doesn’t share that wish.
“You too,” he says with a smile as he takes my arm to lead me out the front door. “You look like—” He stops midsentence, but I’m already whipping my head around to look at him in surprise so I see it, the flash of pain in his eyes.
Mom.
I finish his sentence in my head and feel his pain echo inside of me. He recovers well by remarking the rain has stopped. I realize this will be our “let’s talk about mom, but not talk about mom” talk of the month.
I wonder to myself when we might actually get around to really talking about her. But it has already been eight years since she left us, so I’m not holding my breath. Besides, we have both gotten so good at pretending like she never existed. I’m not so sure what would happen if we actually acknowledged that she had ever been a part of our lives. There is a huge part of me that knows it is easier that way, for both of us. I don’t think I could bear seeing that look in his eyes again when we barely mention her, let alone feel the answering hollow pain inside myself.
It’s weird sometimes, how well I remember her, and at the same time remember nothing. Memories are strange that way. You don’t get to choose what you remember and what you forget.
Little things, like the smell of her perfume or the songs she used to hum, those I often recall. Not when I want to, but when I least expect it. Riding in the car with my dad I close my eyes tightly. He said I looked like her. I try hard to remember if her hair was long or short, brighter than mine or darker. But I can’t. I try to remember the exact shade of green her eyes were. No matter how hard I try her face remains blurry.
Maybe it’s better that way.
I cast my gaze out the window as we pull into the Barrons’ driveway. The day has already been draining. I have spent too much time focusing on things I’d rather forget. And now here I am, faced with even more memories. I can only hope the night will improve from here.
2. MISSING JEWELS
“W
illiam!” our hostess, the very Southern Mrs. Caroline Barron, exclaims dramatically as she throws open the front door. “How are you?”
I shoot my dad a quizzical look. Just as I’ve never gone by my given name, neither has he. I’ve never heard him answer to anything but Will. He doesn’t seem too bothered by it as he chats with Mrs. Barron.
We’re still standing on the threshold of their large estate, and I can’t help but steal a glance at the party inside. It looks as though it’s in full-swing, with people sipping champagne and wine out of fragile little glasses and eating disgusting things like fish eggs and goose liver on crackers.
“And Kit!” Mrs. Barron seems to finally notice me hovering behind my dad and turns to me, planting air kisses on both my cheeks and enveloping me in a cloud of Chanel No. 5.
“My, my, don’t you look beautiful!” She holds me at arm’s length and looks me up and down. “It’s a shame Jason’s not here to see you, green always was his favorite color.”