Authors: Deanna Proach
Maria narrows her eyes. "Anya, you have no reason to be scared of her. She's just one rich snot who's full of foul air and nothing else."
Anya bursts into a fit of laughter.
"Carly acts all tough because she doesn't want people to get to know the real her: the insecure dumbass who knows nothing about life."
The smile fades from Anya's face. "She is a really good actress, though."
Maria shoots her dagger eyes. "So what? It doesn't take much effort to act well. Anyone can act well if they really put their mind to it."
Anya gives her a hurt look.
Wow, that's a slap in my face
.
Maria's eyes shift to the cigarette lighter in the cup-holder below the dashboard. "I'm sorry for saying that. I really didn't mean to offend you. I just can't understand why you would give Carly credit when she hates your guts."
Anya bites her lower lip. Once again, the anxiety stirs up inside of her. "Carly used to hate me. She doesn't anymore."
Maria gives her a hard look. "Anya, Carly is hot and cold: one minute, she's sweet; the next minute, she is a nasty, condescending witch. Carly doesn't know the meaning of friendship. She doesn't even know if she's coming or going."
"Then, why are you friends with her?" Anya says, casting her a confused look.
In a slow motion, Maria picks up her lighter from the cup-holder, fiddles with it in her fingers, then pulls a cigarette out of her coat pocket with her spare hand.
In the meantime, Anya watches her light the cigarette. She becomes taut with impatience.
Geez, do you really need this much time to answer my question?
Maria takes a long drag from the lit cigarette while she rolls down the window. Slowly, she exhales a thick puff of white smoke outside. "Carly was the first person who befriended me when I started coming to this school. I liked her until now that I'm starting to get to know her," she says once she has exhaled all of the smoke. "Yet, I'm actually just like you. I'm afraid that if I rock the boat, I'll have no friends."
Maria's last sentence feels as if a swarm of bees have sunk their stingers into Anya's heart. "Oh, I see. Am I not good enough to be your friend?"
Maria does not respond. Instead, she inhales another gulp of smoke, then for the second time, exhales it out of the open window.
"You're a great person, Anya."
Anya narrows her eyes. "Maria, you wouldn't be lonely if Carly and the others ditched you. You would have me and I'm a darn good friend. We would do a lot of fun things together."
"I believe you. I want you to be a part of our group," she says, dropping the cigarette butt into the cup holder. She then gives Anya a reassuring look. "Forget about it. We'll just have to work hard to stay on Carly's good side. Besides, she does know how to have fun."
Anya looks at her apprehensively. "Okay, I have to go now. My bus should be here soon."
"See you at Carbosa's Cafe, Saturday evening?"
"Yeah, I'll see you then," Anya says while she gets out of the car. She likes Maria, but she doesn’t understand her. One moment, she can't find enough terrible things to say about Carly, then the next moment, she seems to forget that she's said those things about her. Anya would really like to know what Maria's true feelings are.
Anya cannot take her eyes off of the home that Jose resides in. She is in absolute awe of its size and grandeur. It is almost the size of a mansion and its structure features the old fashioned Mudejar style of architecture. Only, the reinforced brick appears much newer, thus giving it a contemporary look. On the west side of the large, double garage doors is a narrow stone pathway that leads to a short set of steps. These steps lead up to the entrance, an arched oak door that, Anya assumes, leads into an equally spacious and extravagant living room.
Her eyes shift over to the front yard beside the narrow pathway. In the center of the manicured yard, sits a scrumptious pond that boasts a granite water fountain in the center. The water fountain, possibly new, appears to have survived the harsh Canadian winter without one single abrasion. White lights adorn the perimeter of the yard, their radiance brightening the entire area, revealing small plants that show promise of early growth. On the farthest edge of the yard, stand two reasonably sized shrubs, both of them trimmed to perfection.
This is a far cry from Anya's home where the grass in the spring months is always overgrown, and where the house looks like it had been abandoned years ago. Anger suddenly takes a hold of her.
Jose's father worked hard to give his family a good life, but my dad couldn't even do the same for us. Damn him. One day soon, I'm going to tell him that he's a self-centered jerk and then I'm going to tell him how much I hate him. When he never sees or hears from me after graduation, he's going to regret what he's done. I hope it kills him.
"Anya, are you okay," Maria says, her voice heavy with concern.
Anya shifts her head in her direction. "I'm fine." She swallows in attempt to rid the lump that has formed in the back of her throat.
"Are you sure? You look like something is bothering you. You're not mad at me, are you?"
"No, I'm not. I'm fine, really. I just want to have a good time," Anya says, managing to keep her shaky voice steady.
"So do I." Maria knocks on the door.
The minute it opens, Anya's heart starts to pound hard against her chest, so hard that it almost makes her sick.
Come on, Anya. Jose invited you here, so he won't snub you. Breathe, just breathe.
"Maria," Jose says, making his voice loud and boisterous.
To Anya, the pitch in his tone is incredibly annoying.
"You're here, and you brought Anya."
Anya can’t tell if he’s being playful or outright sarcastic.
"You invited her, so you won't pull anything on her, you hear?"
"Hey, Maria, I was just kidding," He says, looking put off by the brusque tone in her voice. "Welcome to my mansion, Anya."
"Thank you, Jose," she says, stepping inside of the large house.
The interior is as elaborate as the exterior, only the furniture and deco is of early twenty-first century fashion. Immediately to the left of the entrance door, is a kitchen bar that is at least three times the size of her kitchen. All counter tops are composed of marble that is so polished, it shines underneath the low-hanging ceiling lights. The large refrigerator at the far end of the kitchen is an expensive stainless steel of the latest make.
Anya chews on her lower lip.
I bet they have a maid who cleans up the place.
Gradually, she shifts her attention elsewhere. The kitchen area overlooks a spacious living room that is adorned with one large, Palliser couch and two small, plush sofas, both the color of forest green. A moderate sized fire throws heat from the gas fireplace in the wall less than ten feet away from one of the strategically placed sofas. Behind the Palliser couch, is a large window that overlooks Okanagan Lake, Peach Valley's city core, and the mountains beyond.
All of these expensive furniture pieces are inhabited by rich, snooty grad students, all of whom are friends with Jose. Mixed feelings of jealousy and misery well up inside of Anya. Here she is, standing in plain view of her peers and not one of them turns to welcome her; not even Melody, the tall brunette who has known her since second grade.
In elementary school, the two girls performed in various plays put on by the drama club.
Anya was friends with Melody until Melody met Carly when they entered Junior high. It was in Junior High that Anya also met Carly. Carly took an instant liking to Melody, yet she decided to hate Anya before she gave time a chance. Melody ended the friendship with Anya the day she accepted Carly's friendship. It sure didn’t take her long to become just like Carly: a superficial, self-serving snot. But in the space of two years, Melody was struck off Carly's best friend list.
In the summer of 2000, Melody's well-known fashion designer mother landed her a lucrative modeling contract in Toronto. When Melody's contract ended one year later, she and her mother returned to Peach Valley. She was quite dismayed to find herself on Carly's I-don't-know-you list, but with a lot of effort from the friends who had not forgotten her, Melody managed to get herself back onto Carly's friend list. Carly, though, never again accepted Melody as her best friend.
Anya remains standing in the same spot as if her feet are glued to the laminate floor. She stares at Melody, watching her chat and laugh with Jose's friends, her friends. Melody is another girl who has everything; she always had. Rightly so, she carries herself as if she has never experienced sadness, neglect or poverty, but she does so without a care for those who are much less fortunate than her. Anya wonders if Melody remembers the time back in seventh grade, when she failed to show up to her Halloween party and then told Anya over the phone the next day that their friendship was going nowhere; she wonders if Melody lays awake some nights thinking about all the pain she caused her, and if Melody remembers all of the good times she shared with her; Anya wonders if Melody experiences the occasional pang of remorse.
Right now, Anya can’t name one emotion because she is feeling a bundle of emotions: envy, resentment, sadness and contempt. It feels like she's a destitute orphan girl on Christmas day, staring through a window pane of a large suburban home, watching a happy family exchange gifts, hugs, kisses and smiles. She fights the urge to run away. She would far rather spend the evening jamming with Patrick alone in his basement than be here with a bunch of arrogant snobs.
Oh, how I miss Patrick. I wish I would have never treated him the way I did
.
"Anya!"
Anya whirls around to find Maria standing there, looking at her as if she has just stolen her purse.
"Anya, what is wrong with you?"
"N-Nothing's wrong with me," she says, feeling the blush creep up her neck and over her face quickly.
Maria raises her left eyebrow. "You've been acting strange ever since we got here. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes."
Actually no. I don't want to be here. I feel sick. I just want to go home and pretend that I had never come here.
"Then go talk to the others," Maria says as if Anya is her defiant, three-year-old child.
"I know what'll cheer her up," Jose says, approaching the two girls holding a tall, glass bottle of beer in one hand and a crystal cigarette tray in the other. He casts them a wide grin. "Good old beer, what would we do without it?"
"Thank you, Jose," Maria says, taking the small tray out of his hands. "I could use a couple of smokes right now, and a glass of wine."
Anya's perplexed gaze dances from Jose to Maria, then back to Maria.
Beer? We're all under age. What if the cops come here and catch us all drinking? What would happen then?
"Aren't you gonna take it?" Jose says, shoving the bottle full of honey brown liquid at her.
"I…don't…know."
"Come on, Anya, lighten up and have some fun," Maria says, pulling a fresh cigarette out of her coat pocket.
"Okay.” Reluctantly, Anya takes the bottle from his hand.
"Anya drinking! This should be a fun night.” His voice is so loud, it instantly draws everyone's attention towards her.
Their icy stares send shivers up and down her spine.
Great.
"Maria, can I go outside with you?"
"No."
"Take off your coat, Anya and make yourself at home. You'll feel much better after you have a few sips," Jose says.
The grin on his face makes Anya's stomach flip-flop. With one hand, she slowly unfastens the zipper on the new, black ski jacket that Maria bought for her, trying her best to conceal her shaky hands from him. She then slips it off her shoulders, allowing herself to be exposed in the black tank top and mini jean skirt she is wearing. The tank top is so low-cut that if she wore a bra, the cups would peek over the neckline of the top, so Anya has risked coming to this party braless, with well over half of her breasts exposed, something she has never before dared to do in public.
Jose's mouth gapes open. "Wow! I've never seen this side of you. Girl, you are sexy, especially in those black boots."
Anya glances down at her new boots. Until now, she has forgotten that she is wearing them. They are high-heeled, zip-up boots that reach to her upper calf. Gucci? She can’t remember what brand they are. "Thanks," she says, flipping her long hair over one shoulder.