Heaven Sent (7 page)

I
t’s really quite scary how you can get caught up in TV. Era, Polly, and I sat in front of it mesmerized all weekend. We watched stories about snakes in the wild, romances gone wrong, and even cooking shows. Polly liked those best. And we barely left the house. I didn’t even shower. We wore our sleeping gowns all day long. It was heaven!

Still, it was nice to be back at school on Monday.

“Hey, Thalia, what are you doing tonight?” asked Claire. We had just gotten out of our last class, and the school day was officially over.

“Watching TV and eating cereal,” I answered. “The usual.” Isn’t that sad—I’d been here only a little over a week, and already I had a “usual.” Forget Polly;
I
needed a life. It didn’t help that most people at school seemed to be steering clear of me, and I was sure it was thanks to the Backroom Betties.

“Wanna come with me and the boys to the Grit tonight? Pocky’s gonna get up and do his one-man punk-rock-rap show. It’s a riot.”

“Oh, wow, I would love to, but I dunno. My sisters will probably never go for it.”

“They don’t have to come. Don’t get me wrong, they’re welcome, but you can go out without them, can’t you?”

“Yeah, well, our host dad likes us to stick together.

He’s sort of a freak about it.”

No one would understand three girls, even three exchange students, living parentally free. So, I’d learned quickly to go along with the whole exchange-host-parent thing. Even though it made me feel bad lying to Claire.

“That’s cool. Well, we’re going down around seven or so; it’s down on Prince Street. Give me a jingle jangle if you wanna join us or just show, sweetie. We’d love to see ya. ’Specially Pocky.” And then she gave me a sly smile.

“Okay,” I called after her halfheartedly. “If I change my mind, I’ll give you a, uh, jingle jangle.”

Yikes.
Please do not let that mean Pocky has a crush on me,
I thought. Pocky is one of Claire’s best friends and a funny, funny guy.
Well, looks aren’t everything,
I told myself. But still.

Really, Pocky’s cool. And oddly charming. He has this awesome fuchsia Mohawk, the color of blooming bougainvillea. And a whole bunch of freckles across his upturned nose. He’s just kinda goofy and a little clumsy and not really my type. Plus boys were the
very last thing I was interested in at the moment.

“Thalia, over here!” yelled Era. She was standing in the middle of the quad with Polly and—and—and…Tim! Hooray! I ran over.

I’d thought a lot about the Tim situation over the weekend and had decided that my extreme faith in my sister’s taste outweighed all my misgivings about him. He
did
have cute dimples, I told myself. And most important, he could be our ticket to pleasing Daddy.

“Well, okay, nice talking to you, Tim. See you tomorrow,” said Polly, obviously trying to rush him off as I arrived.

“Wait, Tim, is it? Hi, I’m Thalia.”

“The alien, right?” he said, and then he laughed.

“Right, the alien, that’s me,” I replied, slightly annoyed. “So, um, where do you live?”

“Thalia!” scolded Polly.

“It’s a fair question,” said Tim. “I live over on Jackdaw. Between Hollings and Jennings.”

“Isn’t that near us? Right, isn’t it, Polly?” I’d seen those streets on our map.

Polly didn’t answer me. She simply glared at me. That piercing heart stare. Well, she could thank me later.

“Um, would you like to walk us home? We don’t live too far from you,” I suggested.

Era just mouthed the word
home
over and over my way, reminding me that we couldn’t exactly have peo
ple over. Besides the fact that the place was a mess (we hadn’t quite mastered the whole cleaning-up-after-ourselves thing yet), it would be pretty obvious that we didn’t have anyone looking after us. But Claire’s parents both worked and were never around when
she
got home from school, so I thought if anyone asked, we could just say our host parents were working. Or on vacation. Or something.

“Sure, I’d be happy to,” Tim replied. I wanted to go find Claire right then and there and show her—Tim wasn’t a full-on poseur; he was nice. He had to be.

Polly threw me some eye daggers, and we were on our merry way.

“So, Tim, did you know that my sister Polly here has an exceptionally gorgeous voice? It’s true.”

“Thaliaaaaa,” Polly said through gritted teeth.

“She can also play most any instrument. You play guitar, right?”

“That I do.”

“Maybe you and she should collaborate, start a band, play beautiful music together.”

“Oh my God, you are so dead,” she whispered my way.

“It’s okay, Polly. Obviously your sister is very proud of your talents,” said Tim. “I would love to hear you sing sometime. And I would love for you to hear me play. I’m rather good, if I do say so myself.”

Okay, so he’s a little egotistical. That never hurt any
one. Perhaps he’s just confident and proud,
I thought.

“I’d love to hear you sometime, Tim. I’m sure you’re divine.”

Polly had spoken! Thus far she had mostly just been full of trembling sighs and angry whispers. Hooray!

Maybe she needed just a bit more help. “So, Tim, Polly is also very good at writing poems. She’s a master with words.”

“Yes, I know, I heard her poem in class just the other day. It was quite good. Did you think mine was any good?” he asked, turning back to Polly.

“Oh yes, very good,” said my sister.

“And Polly is also an incredible dancer, be it ballet, folklorico, waltzes, you name it,” I added. I didn’t look at her for fear of her angry stare.

“Is that so? Huh. Folklorico. What is that exactly?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Polly said all too modestly.

“It’s an ancient dance—it’s very intricate and graceful. She’s a master,” I proclaimed.

“I’m a really good dancer, too,” pouted Era. I tripped her and then gave her my patented single-arched-eyebrow glare that says, “Not now.” She yelped. And then pouted some more.

I fell a few steps back and yanked Era back with me so Polly and Tim could have a few moments alone and I could scold Era for not being as “thoughtful” as I was.

“What are you doing? Leave him alone—Polly likes him,” I said.

“I don’t want him. He’s a poseur. Puh-lease. So what are you up to, anyway? You’ve been acting really odd around him yourself,” said Era.

“He’s not a poseur, and he’s perfect for Polly—he likes a lot of the same things she does. She needs to find a life—you should be encouraging her.”

“What, like you have been? She doesn’t seem too interested in your so-called encouragement.”

“Oh no? Look!” And I pointed to Polly and Tim walking a few steps in front of us, laughing and giggling and sharing an obviously rich joke.

I continued. “Polly’s finding her
own
life, and I’m helping her get it, which—if I have to spell it out for you—is a selfless act.” I raised my eyebrows. “So that means that we are both working on completing the tasks Daddy gave us. Have you even thought about
your
task in the past week? I’m pretty sure you’ve been too busy thinking about boys, as usual.”

“Um, w-well…” Era stammered, her face softening. “I guess I kinda forgot about that,” she said apologetically. “I’m going to try harder.”

“I hope so.” I sighed, cringing with guilt. Why had I snapped at Era like that? Sure, so she wasn’t the most ambitious of us three when it came to getting home, but still.

Polly stopped. She thanked Tim for walking us home but told him we could go the rest of the way ourselves. I didn’t push it. See, I know when to back off.

He thanked her for the pleasant company and kissed her hand. She turned three shades of pink.

“You know, you might enjoy coming to the Grit this evening,” suggested Tim. “It’s a funky little dive down on Prince. Monday’s open-mike night. It’s definitely a hoot. Some folks read a little poetry, sing a little. It’s all very dark and hip. I think you’d really enjoy it, Polly. Plus I’ll be there.” And then he flashed her his pearly whites. I had to admit, they sparkled. He wasn’t so incredibly clean, but his teeth sure were.

“Thanks, maybe we will see you there. Thanks again for the company,” she said. Tim winked and turned on his heels. Again, not even a bye for us sisters. He was a little rude, but I’d deal.

“So, are we going?” asked Era.

“Where?” countered Polly.

“To the Grit!” said Era. “Everyone from school goes.”

“Well, I guess so,” said Polly, although she was obviously more excited than she wanted to let on.

“Cool,” I said. I would have to suffer the potential wrath of Pocky’s crush, but it would be for a good cause—my sister’s happiness.
Gosh, look at me,
I
thought, perking up a little. I had become so very, very selfless in such a short amount of time. That had to count for something.

W
e spent a lot of time primping. It was fun, too. So we didn’t have handmaidens any longer—we just took turns fixing one another’s hair and putting on a little makeup and helping one another pick out clothes.

We had watched a brilliant story on the TV just two days before. It talked about these models, women who get all dolled up and walk the catwalk in fabulously crazy clothes. It had inspired us that night to play with one another’s hair and makeup, so now, two days later, we were all pretty good at it.

“Now, here’s Polly, wearing a long plaid skirt to the floor and a man’s shirt buttoned and tied, sleeves rolled. Her hair, done exclusively by Thalia, is rolled into oversized, incredibly soft curls and pulled back off her face. The shoes? Courtesy of the Greek goddess of speed, Nike.

“Enter Era, who’s wearing a flirtatious little number covered in polka dots and trimmed with a sassy kick pleat. Her hair, full and natural, is filled with soft, wavy curls and falls easily down the center of her back. Her shoes are strappy and painfully pointy, and we still don’t know how she walks in them.

“And then there is the vision of Thalia.”

“Gosh, you’re not going to let us announce you?” asked Era.

“Oh, sorry. Okay, announce me.”

“And there is Thalia…”

“The vision of Thalia, please,” I said through gritted teeth. I would have announced me better.

“And then there is the vision of Thalia. Shorter than the rest of us…” and then she laughed.

“C’mon, not fair, I gave you guys a great entry,” I whined.

“It’s not like anyone is watching,” stated Era.

“Doesn’t matter, c’mon.”

“Okay. And there is the vision of Thalia. She is dressed in an exquisite pair of green-and-brown paisley pants that hug her petite frame effortlessly. The shirt? Why, it’s an orange sweater of cashmere and something else soft and fluffy. And her shoes already look ratty and old, but she likes them; they are purple and turquoise and flat. Her hair looks divine, and why not? I did it. Pressed perfectly flat and straight in a perky bob, it is adorned with a single glittering headband.”

“You look cute,” said Polly.

“Thanks, I think.”

“So let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” said Era.

We were off on our first real night out in Georgia. And we were going to ride in one of those racy chariots.

Honk, honk!

“That’s Claire—come on!”

I grabbed a small stack of the money under the sink, and we all made a run for the door.

“Hop in,” said Claire. Pocky and Hammerhead
were already filling up the backseat. I ran around to the front and got in next to Claire. Polly followed and sat next to me, and Era carefully climbed in next to Hammerhead. With a slam of the door, we were off.

“So, like, the big guy eased up on you all, huh?” asked Claire.

Before I had time to answer for us, Era said, “Oh, Zeus would want us here.”

“Zeus?”

“Um, Jesús. He’s, uh, Spanish,” I covered.

“You should let me meet him. Daddies love me,” boasted Pocky.

“Um, yeah, maybe sometime. He changed his mind and thought we should get out more,” I explained.

“So, Thalia, you will never be able to get rid of me now. I know where you live,” said Pocky quietly.

I smiled and laughed nervously.

“He’s just messing with you, Thalia, don’t take him seriously. I know you dig that poseur dude, and that’s cool, you know—I thought about it and…”

“Ix-nay on the oseur-pay.”

“Oh, you got that pig-Latin thing down, girl,” said Claire.

“What’s she talking about, Thalia—do you like someone?” asked Polly.

“No!”
I yelped.

“Whoa, it better be me, sweetheart—please let it be me,” Pocky said again.

“No!”
I yelled.

Claire went on. “I just want you to know that as your friend, I thought I had to warn you, but—”

“No!”
I screamed.

Just then Hammerhead started to hum this awful tune, louder and louder. Everyone stopped focusing on me to focus on him.

“Dude, stop!” yelled Pocky.

“Thanks, Hammer,” I said, very, very quietly.

“No prob, Thalia,” countered Hammerhead even more softly. Hammerhead didn’t ever say that much, but he always seemed to know what was going on.

A little more bickering back and forth and we were at the Grit.

The room was totally dark with these red lanterns glowing in every corner. It wasn’t exactly clean. But it did have this deep, I’m-on-an-adventure sorta smell that I liked.

“Hey, Thalia.” A gal from my algebra class waved. I waved back and smiled. Another girl, this one from my
phys-ed class, waved and said, “Yo.” All in all, I saw, like, seven people from my classes, most of whom said hello. Two girls, who I recognized from the group of Backroom Betty groupies, just laughed. But I didn’t care. I felt cool. I felt happening. I felt with it.

“Hey, beautiful, come watch me perform.” I felt dorky. It was Pocky, breathing down my neck.

I latched on to Era and Polly. Polly’s eyes were darting everywhere through the darkness, looking for Tim. We three sat down, Claire followed, and Pocky took the stage. It was just him and this guy named Guy up there. Guy had a ratty old guitar that plugged in. Pocky just held this small black object in his hand that made his voice sound extra loud.

“Hey, that thing’s pretty cool,” I said to Claire, pointing to the object. “What is it?”

“You mean the microphone? The mike?” she asked, laughing.

“Um, yeah. I was just wondering what kind of…mike…it was.” Claire gave me a weird look and just shrugged.

“I wrote this song for the most beautiful girl at school,” Pocky boomed over the mike, directing his gaze at me. “The one and only Thalia Moose.”

Everyone looked at me. I gasped. Era kicked me, and Polly just chuckled.

Pocky wailed:

I stiffened. Was this his way of telling me he knew who I was? What I was? Before I had a chance to say anything to my sisters, Guy started strumming the guitar frantically. Pocky screamed over the noise, “Thalia! Thalia! Thalia!” for probably three minutes, and then the song was over.

Claire tried to comfort me. “Don’t be too alarmed, Thalia. Whenever a new girl comes to town, he sings the same song for them, only he repeats their name instead of yours. Pocky is his own little welcome committee.”

“Okay, great. Right.”

And then out of nowhere appeared Polly’s prince. Well, it was Tim. He took a seat next to her and flashed us all his extremely white teeth. In this light they pretty much glowed. “Thalia, it seems you have an admirer.” And then he paused for dramatic effect. “As does your sister.” And then he turned toward Polly and fluttered his eyelashes. It was a bit much, but whatever. All that mattered was that Polly got her guy. And it certainly looked like she was getting him. They started whispering things into each other’s ears. And I tried to feel happy for them.

“I get to do one mo’, right?”

It was Pocky talking in this weird accent, asking no one in particular.

No one in particular answered him, so he started. “One and a two and a…” Guy started strumming slowly, and this time Pocky sang instead of shouting, “More than a woman, more than a woman to me…More than a woman, more than a woman to me.”

And then he rapped:

And then he started singing that more-than-a-woman thing again.

“Now, this one, this one is all you and totally new,” said Claire.

“Great.”

“I think it’s kinda sweet, Thalia. That was one fine rap,” offered up Tim.

“Yep, nobody’s every rhymed
Thalia
with
wow ya
before,” I said.

“Exactly,” Tim said absently, and then he went back to cooing in my sister’s ear.

Pocky made his way over to the table. “What’d you think, Thalia?”

“I’m immensely flattered, Pocky, really, very flattered.”

“And…”

“And you were really good. Really, very good.”

“And…”

“And, um, Guy was good, too.”

“And…”

“Oh, give her a break, Pocky!” said Claire.

“And…you want me now, don’t you?” he continued.

“Um, no, but I’m immensely flattered. Really very good, Guy, too.”

“That’s cool.” And he flopped down next to me at the table. Pocky is a man who rolls with the punches.

It was going to be a few minutes before another performer took the stage, so Polly and Era hit the bathrooms. I stayed at the table, drinking my Coke (which was sweet and syrupy and delicious, by the way) and making small talk with Pocky and Claire. After a few moments of listening to us speak passionately on the topic of fried potatoes with cheese, which I had, amazingly, learned to cook the night before, Tim excused himself and said he, too, had to go to the bathroom. Claire started pointing out all the boys she thought were cute, most of whom were
not from our school.

The conversation turned to tastes in boys. When Claire asked me what I liked in a guy, I just couldn’t shake this visual of Apollo’s sly little sideways grin. I must’ve gotten lost in it because the next thing I knew, Claire was summoning me back to earth.

“What was that little brain freeze about?” she asked.

“Nothing, really. A boy back home. Old home. Old boy. Never mind. Really. That guy in back of us, Claire, he looks like your type, no?”

And Claire was off again, talking about this boy and that. After several minutes neither my sisters nor Tim had returned to the table. Then Claire said, “Oh, look, it’s Teri, one of your favorite girls.” I followed Claire’s gaze. Yep, there was the head Backroom Betty. And she was talking to Tim.

Frozen, I watched as the two of them whispered and giggled and Tim leaned in, close, closer, closest, until I could feel my blood rising to the surface of my skin. Tim jerked a finger toward the girls’ bathroom, and they both laughed. That was it. I had to say something, anything. I had to find out what they were talking about because it looked like it had to do with Polly. I got up and walked in their direction, weaving through the crowd.

Claire called after me, “Thalia, what are you doing?” but I didn’t listen.

I crossed the club, but by the time I reached Tim, Teri was gone. I looked around, but I couldn’t figure out where she’d disappeared to.

“Who were you just talking to?” I asked accusingly.

“Excuse me?” he asked back.

“Who were you just talking to?”

“You mean Teri? A friend. Why? What’s the problem?” And then he smiled his slickest of smiles.

“You should pick better ones.”

“Excuse me?” Tim said, still grinning. I started to tell him how cruel the Backroom Betties had been to me and my sisters and how evil they were. But he acted like he couldn’t hear me over the din of the club.

Just then my sisters emerged from the bathroom, and Tim slid his arm around Polly’s waist. I felt like heaving. He’d looked awfully cozy with Teri just moments before. And now he was sidling up to my sister.

“Let’s sit down, Polly. I want to hear more about your music,” he said.

Okay, so maybe Tim had just been
talking
to that girl. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not right. Still, I had to face it—I had little experience in the relationship arena. My only knowledge, real knowledge, of boys was of Apollo. And he would never, not then and I’m sure not now, flirt with other
girls when I wasn’t looking. I was his best friend and the center of his attentions. Apollo always put me first, even when I didn’t want to be. He teased me, for sure, but he always looked out for me.

Tim better be worth all this headache,
I thought.
He better be truly interested in my sister.
He just had to be.

Maybe it was just a mistake. Being friends with Teri, that is—maybe Tim just didn’t know how mean she really was. I mean, anyone can make a mistake, right? Even Apollo, the perfect Apollo, made a
huge
one, with all that talk about treating me like a queen. That still doesn’t make him a bad person.

But, of course, I wasn’t quite so understanding in his case….