Things Are Gonna Get Ugly (18 page)

Ninai unwraps hers first. “I love it, Ern.” She pulls out a beige rock, which is the size of a golf ball, only cut in half. Olivia unwraps an identical looking rock. On the outside, the stones are plain, almost concrete-y looking but on the inside they're rose crystal. “I love it,” says Ninai. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Da,”
adds Olivia. “Beautiful. They feel so cool and reassuring. Like the first rain.”

“I have this thing about crystals.” I point to
the one in Ninai's hand. “I bought it at a shop, but someday I hope to find them myself.”

“I'm indebted to you forever,” says Olivia. “We're giving you your birthday-slash-holiday present at the dance.” But I'm not really listening. I'm watching Petra and Caylin go on about the limo.

Ninai covers another square with her bingo piece. Until this moment, I had totally forgotten that we are all supposed to be actually playing bingo. She's one away from winning. “Ernestine,” she says, watching me stare at The Girls, “don't think about what they did or listen to their dumb plans. Stop thinking about how much you hate them for everything they've done.”

How surreal my life is, how Dada. The jingle-bell-girl hats continue to tinkle. “In my opinion, The Girls really need to be taken down a couple of notches.” Is this really me talking?

“N-twenty,” says Ms. Stuckley.

“BINGO!” shouts Ninai.

Primping

After school, it's a miracle but I convince Olivia and Ninai to ride our bikes into downtown Palo Alto to go shopping. Every other day, when I asked them
if they wanted to ride their bikes or do anything physical, they always came up with a good excuse. It's pretty safe because of all the bike lanes, but you have to look out for the retired dot-comers who think they're training for the Tour de France. Santa Cruz Avenue is all done up in lights and wreaths and I can't help thinking from Ninai's perspective how Christmas-centered everything looks. Olivia introduces me to a thrift store, where she gets all of her outfits. A thrift store. Wow, I've really become my mom. There are racks and racks of tops, all coordinated by color but not by size. Plastic bags full of socks and assorted mismatched Christmas cards are in boxes, and there are items such as children's books, record albums, glass juicers, and shot glasses with Empire State Buildings and Elvis Presleys stacked on shelves.

“Whoa,” I say, “I had NO idea. I'm serious. Look at this stuff!” Outside, a red-and-blue bus with an ad for the Stanford Shopping Center chugs by. But for once I'm not missing full-price retail shopping.

Ninai eyes me suspiciously as the speakers blare “Rudolph.” “You act as if you've never been here before, Ernestine.”

That's just it. I swallow hard. “Guess I'm seeing
it with new eyes.”

B-day, D-day

“There's something I've got to talk to you about,” Mom says as she Velcros her photography equipment into her black carrying case to take to the dance.

I look her right in the eye. “I know. Dad's not coming. He can't make it up for my birthday because he has a job interview and his film blah blah blah. The usual pathetic excuse.”

Mom stops and blinks. “When you called him, he told you, right?”

I bite my bottom lip. “Yup.”

She reaches for my arm. “I'm
so
sorry, Little Love.”

“Do you think his film's ever going to be optioned?”

Mom stares at her photography equipment and shrugs. “Who knows. Anything is possible.”

“I seriously doubt it.” But I think I know of a good screenplay for Dad. One that might be interesting enough to actually get made. I'll tell it to him, to both of them, sometime. But not right here. Not right now.

“Are you upset, Ernestine?”

I shake my head. “Disappointed, maybe, but that's nothing new.” I love my dad. I do, but he wasn't there for me all the time. Not the way my mom was. I mean, she has been gone a lot with her photography stuff, but I know in a pinch she'd come through.

Mom fingers the strap to her camera that's around her neck. “I think we should start a new, totally honest relationship now that you're fourteen.” She takes a deep breath. “And I'm getting myself together. Look, I never want to poison you against your father. He loves you very much, as much as he loves anybody.”

“I know,” I say.

“The truth is I've gotten so used to pulling your father's weight that I lied about him paying for things sometimes. Originally, he said he was going to pay for half of your expenses but then things got tight for him. So he promised if I fronted the money now he'd pay for things later, but you know your dad.” She sighs.

“So he's been cheating you?” I feel nauseous. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“You look up to him. I don't want to get in the way of your relationship with your dad. But I'd like to work on ours. I think we should spend more time together,” she says, tapping her fingers on the camera
stand. “I'm excited about photographing your dance. I'm so glad that Tosh suggested it.”

I raise my eyebrows. Why does she have to remind me that she's flaky enough to take advice from a medium named Tosh?

But I don't comment. I don't
whatever
her. I just see this middle-aged woman who's really excited, her cheeks all flushed, and I smile and feel all butter-popcorn happy that she's looking forward to something, and then I throw my arms around MY BIG-MOUTH mother. “I love you.” I hug her with all my might. “Next time, be honest with me. I'm sorry if I've said things or was embarrassed by you. It's something I'm working on.”

“I'm proud of you.” She curls a piece of hair around my ear, and I let her.

Santa's Little Helper

So I go to Winterfest early, as a slave. I'm sorry, did I say that? I meant as one of the many happy leadership helpers conscripted into the status-quo army. As I stroll into the gym, Maggie the Mushroom, with her important clipboard under her arm, wearing a jingle bell hat, hands me a red—yes, red—and shiny polyester apron and a hat to match that I
apparently have to wear, which completely blocks out the coolness of my outfit. But even though I'm registering on the decent scale, I don't register with Mushroom. She slaps a number on my back, HELPER #9. I want to choke the self-important smile off her face as she directs me to refreshment-girl duty.

“Where're Caylin and Petra?” I ask, trying to prepare myself for having to deal with them next.

Mushroom crosses something off her clipboard. “They asked me to set this up for them since they'll be coming to the dance later. In their Hummer.” Correction:
my
Hummer. But I'm not so sure it was the most fabulous pick after all since they guzzle just a little too much fuel.

On refreshment-girl duty, I arrange rows of paper cups of cola and orange soda. As I'm throwing chocolate-chip cookies on reindeer napkins, Olivia and Ninai amble into the gym. Ninai stares at the strings of white lights framing the gym, the enormous pink and yellow snowflakes taped to black paper, and sticks her finger down her throat. Then when she sees the skating snowman scene next to the fake gift boxes in front of the fake fire and fake stockings she pretends to retch. Olivia pantomines cleaning up the mess, and I begin to giggle. The decorations really are
lame.

Olivia pushes her hair out of her eyes and smiles at me. “You look exactly like Santa's little helper.”

“Thanks,” I say,
ho ho ho
ing. “I had no choice.”

“But we did,” says Ninai. “We made sure not to follow orders.” She taps the cutesy poster in the gym.

Watching The Leadership Girls all Christmas-ed out to the max, Olivia shakes her head.

“What if you only wear red with no green?” says Olivia. “Then you are apparently SUCH a nonconformist. Maybe even a Communist.”

“Or green,” says Ninai. “That would also be out there. Liberal, Green Party–type, no doubt.”

I put my arms around Olivia and Nina. “That's why we are wearing black.” Olivia is dressed in nice bikerish boots, and a flowy top that fits her really well. She looks almost hot in a Russian/medieval combo, and Ninai has a flowery dress that makes her look almost romantic. I convinced them that we needed to put in some girl time to get ready for the dance.

“Here,” says Olivia, thrusting a present in front of me. “For you, Erneski. Happy Birthday!”

“It's from both of us,” says Ninai. “But before you open that we have another present. Well, not really a present. More like a pledge. We'll even go on another bike ride with you. But no big hills.”

“I promise.” I carefully pull the tissue paper off the present so nothing tears.

“I'm aging,” says Ninai and helps me rip the paper. I open the box. It's a scarf with an
E
written on it with gold ink.

“I did it with a special fabric calligraphy pen,” Olivia says, her lips curled up in a smile. The scarf is aqua and purple with gold flecks, and it's so ugly it's almost cool.

“Thanks,” I say. “It's really amazing that you did this.” I tie it around my neck.

“And we have one more present,” says Olivia, rather mysteriously, which isn't unusual for her since she lives to be mysterious.

“Okay,” I say, putting out my hand.

“Nope,” says Ninai. “You'll just have to wait for the right moment.”

“Okay, then I'll just have to wait.” I act as if waiting is no big deal, but I love presents of all kinds
and it kills me, KILLS me to wait, so I decide to take my mind off my impatience by showing off.

Since Mushroom has her back to me, I take off my apron for a minute. “Ta-da!” Olivia and Ninai nod approvingly. I'm wearing my Max Heeder top, wedge sandals, red sweater, and a pair of 1970s jeans I picked up at the thrift store, and I look good. And my hair, although not silky, flows down my back going in every direction and looks not frizzy, but curly, wavy, and interesting, like you can't tell what each strand is going to do. And for the first time in a long time, I applied a little mascara and some blush. I almost looked like the old me, except that in this version of my life I'm Ernestine, friend of Olivia and Ninai and almost-pal of Winslow.

Ninai nods approvingly and Olivia spins around me. “You look
vonderful
, Ernestine.
Da!
”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling at Olivia and Ninai. “You guys look good too.”

Mushroom and Invisible Girl hustle up to me, pointing at the refreshment table. Mushroom Girl is armed with a megaphone.

“I better go play slave to the Leadership Nazis. Otherwise, they'll bring out their megaphone and whack me with it,” I say, putting my apron back on.

Ninai waves her hand in front of her face. “Not the megaphone. Please go.”

I'm not sure exactly how I'm going to cut out of my server duties and find Winslow, but that's my challenge.

I go back to the cookies and sodas and pretend to line everything up. But I'm really just standing there like an idiot, waiting for Winslow to arrive with Petra in the limo.

The gym doors officially open. The dance begins. As the crowds blast through the door, I hear lots of applauding and whistling and voices screaming, “LIMO!”

The Girls are back in town.

Bummer Hummer

A stretch Hummer pulls up to the curb in front of the gym. A husky driver with a little black cap and goatee hops out and opens the door.

I crane my neck to see Caylin being helped out of the seat. She's holding a digital camera and takes a picture of herself. They have the limo driver take pictures. There's more whistling. Then Petra prances out dressed up so much like Caylin you'd think they'd been cloned.

How pathetic to work that hard to get attention. With a gas-guzzling limo? C'mon.

I think back to how I should be there with them, and, suddenly, I feel all muddled and mixed up. How can I really scoff? It was my idea. It's my birthday. I try to imagine what the inside looks like, all stocked with Pringles, dry-roasted nuts, Fruit Roll-Ups, and energy drinks. Pressing my face up against the mirror reflected glass, I'd be able to see out but nobody would be able to see in and they'd all be wondering who was inside. Of course, we would pop our heads out of the sunroof and shriek. The music would be turned up full-blast to our favorite songs. It would just be me and The Girls together, best friends, doing up my birthday. Then, after the dance, we would go to eat at Benihana.

But The Girls don't even look at me. I'm now just Snack Girl.

And wait a minute. Where's Winslow?

My One Shot

Music blasts from two giant speakers. The DJ, with earphones on, bops his head to the beat. The wall behind him is framed by blue, yellow, red, and green lights. A song booms: “It's a good day! I want
to be just like you. I want to be you!” I tense up, thinking about anyone actually wanting to be like someone else.

Petra, Caylin, and their acolytes rush into the gym screaming like they've just won a make-out contest with their favorite celebrity. They're holding hands and drinking Cokes. So far there's very little dancing going on. The light shines on all the jewelry. There's lots of jumping and hugging going on with The Girls. Didn't they just see one another in school? Most of them loop arm-in-arm and run straight to the wall to read the dance-gram messages written on little stars, moons, and snowflakes. Some pull their friends so hard they almost trip.

I'm still standing guard over the refreshment stand when my mother, with a camera slung around her neck, bounds up to me. “Having fun?” she asks.

I can't answer this question. This is not how my birthday was supposed to turn out.