Imaginary Enemy (16 page)

Waffled

M
y father was doing the monthly financial reports for the marina. “Dad, I need some money. I’m going to the movies with Emma.”

He glanced away from the computer screen and scribbled some numbers on a sheet of paper. “What ever happened to ‘please,’ Jane?”

“Please, Daddy.” I used my syrupy sweet voice.

“Where’s your fishing tournament money?”

“Spent it.”

“All of it?”

“Yeah. Back-to-school stuff. My new wardrobe was expensive, you know.”

“You need to get a job,” he said.

“
Job?
Um, Dad, that word isn’t in my vocabulary,” I replied playfully.

“I’m serious, Jane. Get a job.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I can’t afford to support your spending habits, that’s why.”

“What about my schoolwork? It might suffer if I get a job. You wouldn’t want me to fall behind in my studies, would you?”

He pressed a button on the calculator and compared the number there to a figure on his spreadsheet. I suddenly realized how pathetic my timing was—I’d broken one of the most basic rules of being a successful slacker: never ask for cash when your benefactor is worrying about exactly that. Dad glanced up at me. “I don’t remember your studies ever being a high priority, Jane.”

Zander, who had appeared in the doorway, laughed. “Only when she’s studying your wallet, Dad.”

My father grinned. “That’s the truth.”

“You stay out of it, Lysander.” I gave him
the look.
He’d been on the receiving end of
the look
since the day he was born. It used to intimidate him just fine, but lately it had lost its effectiveness.

Zander flashed me a smile that was nearly a smirk. “She could get a job at Waffle House,” he told Dad in an offhand voice. “They had a Help Wanted sign on the door last time I was there.”

“Look, squab, I don’t need an employment agency here,” I spat.

“Or those fast-food places are always hiring.”

“Bug off. I don’t see
you
getting a job.”

“I mow lawns and stuff, remember? And help out at the marina. Hardly anyone will hire a fourteen-year-old. Besides, I’m not always hitting Dad up for money.”

“That’s true,” said my father. “He’s usually got more cash in his pocket than I have in mine. So they’re hiring at Waffle House?” He looked at Zander, who nodded. “Janie, why not try it?”

So that’s how I ended up with a glamorous job slinging hash at Waffle House. My uniform looked pathetic. Black pants, white double-knit polyester shirt with black pinstripes, black apron, and of course, my name tag, which I called my identity crisis prevention utensil. Quite the fashion statement. I smelled like grease and coffee grounds by the end of my shift, but payday was sure fun, and I was never one to complain about a pocketful of tips, either.

“You’ve sure been cooking a lot,” said Carmella.

“I like to cook,” I said absently, not adding that it gave me something to do other than sit around fuming over Demonseed and Trina.

“We’re cooking at Elliot’s this month. We’re learning ratios and measurements and stuff like that.”

“Cool,” I said dully, still vaguely resentful that I’d spent three long, boring years at Kingston Middle School while both Zander and Carmella got to do the Elliot thing instead.

“We learned all about baking powder. It’s made from an acid, a base, and a filler. Usually cream of tartar is the acid, baking soda is the base, and something like cornstarch is the filler. When you get the mixture wet, it produces carbon dioxide, which causes cakes and stuff to rise.”

“You learned that from Elliot?” I asked, astonished. I sure hadn’t learned anything like that at Kingston Middle or Jefferson High. Of course, that doesn’t mean no one had taught it.

“Yeah. It’s basic chemistry. Didn’t you know it?”

“Um…actually, no.”

“We made bread yesterday. Yeast works almost like baking powder. It feeds on sugar and produces carbon dioxide.”

“You’re a walking, talking science book,” I muttered.

“We’re making cookies tomorrow. Maybe we could use that recipe you made up. It’s my favorite.”

“The one I made for Raphael? You can have it. I don’t ever want to bake those again.” I snatched a three-by-five recipe card out of my file box and slid it across the counter. “Might taste even better if you add a dash of cyanide.”

Demonseed and Trina were going to the homecoming dance. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, but I still got angry when I heard. Especially since they were double-dating with Tony and Emma. “You’re a traitor. This is war,” I told Emma.

“Don’t be angry. It’s not like Trina and I are friends. The guys planned it. They are best friends, remember?”

“You’re supposed to be
my
friend.”

“I
am
your friend.”

“You’re Judas in a strapless gown and heels,” I accused her.

“My dress isn’t strapless. Hers is.”

“Thanks for sharing that tidbit with me. You’re a real friend, you know it?”

“Come on, Jane. It’s not my fault she came here and disrupted things. And if you and Raphael were truly—”

“Don’t go there, Emma.”

She sighed. “Jane—”

“Look, you have fun. Okay? Dance the night away.”

“You could go with someone else,” she suggested tentatively.

“Forget it,” I snarled.

“What are you going to do that night?”

“Maybe Zander will play checkers with me,” I said sarcastically.

“This isn’t my fault, you know. You’re not being fair.”

“Emma, life isn’t fair. Get used to it.”

Invitation

I
never was one to roll over and play dead. “Forget staying here for a checker tournament with Zander on the night of the homecoming dance,” I said to Carmella. “I’m going!”

“With who? Zander?”

“Zander?” I replied scornfully. “I’d never go to a school dance with my little brother. Social suicide. I might as well plaster
Major League Loser
across my forehead in big blue letters and call it a day!”

“Then who?”

“Sharp.”

“Sharp?”

“Why not? No one from school knows him since he goes to that school for the arts. Won’t that be great?”

“But he has a girlfriend. Some girl named Melissa. Harmony and I heard the boys talking about her.”

“A minor inconvenience. A mere kink in the hose!”

“But Jane—”

“Keep this between us, Carmella, or you’ll pay dearly.”

“Aunt Jane’s coming for the weekend. She’ll be staying in your room,” Mom said to me.

“Aunt Jane! Great. But those blue walls might be too sedate for her. Maybe we should consider some color that would get her blood pumping.”

“Cute, Jane. The blue stays.”

I winked. “I like the blue.”

“Can you pick her up at the airport Friday? I’ve got an appointment I just can’t squirm out of, and your dad’s so busy rebuilding the finger piers at the marina that I hate to ask him.”

“No problem, Mom.”

It was great seeing Aunt Jane again. She was as feisty as ever, but she now wore a hearing aid and used a cane. Not just any cane. One whose handle was a carved vine, with the head of a lion at the top. The eyes were topaz stones, and the teeth quartz crystals. “If there was an alternative other than death, I sure wouldn’t grow old,” she said wistfully.

“You’re not old, Aunt Jane,” I said.

“Not of soul, Sweet Jane, but this body is another thing entirely.” She didn’t seem old to me. Her eyes sparkled and her laugh was strong.

We sat together on my bed and I updated her about my life.

I told her about Raphael. How he’d broken my heart, injured my pride, and shattered my trust. She completely understood. “Forget about him, Jane dear. He’s not worth the trouble.”

“But he’s so fine—”

“And if he did it to you once, he’ll do it again. Take it from me. I got burned once myself.”

“You did?”

“Yes. And I gave him another chance and it happened again.”

“It must have been awful,” I said, trying to imagine Aunt Jane having a sweetheart who jilted her twice.

“It was, but I learned from it. Always find the lesson in whatever happens to you. That’s what gives it value.”

“What was your lesson?”

“That I was worth more than that. And never again did any man get the better of me. You’re worth more, too, dear.” She stood up and straightened her spine proudly.

“We are Janes, after all.” She tapped her cane twice on the floor for punctuation.

“Ugh! Emma, you can’t even imagine how humiliating it was to sit there in chemistry while Trina babbled about the great shoes she bought for the homecoming dance. Like anyone cares what her shoes look like or how much they cost.”

“She was telling you about her shoes?”

“No. She was talking to Lisa and Erin. But you better believe she made sure I heard.”

“Couldn’t have been on purpose, Jane. She’s not like that.”

“Are you taking up for her?”

“No, of course not. But—”

“Never mind, Emma. I keep forgetting you two are such great friends.”

“Listen, Jane—”

“See ya. I’m late.” I hurried away, stomped to my desk in French, sat down, and crossed my arms. During a review of verb conjugations, reason replaced some of my anger. I took my Bubba folder from my stack of books and binders.

Dear Bubba,

Okay, I admit it. You’re right. This isn’t Emma’s fault and I acted like a brat. I’ll apologize to her at lunch. But don’t think I’m going to take all this lying down. No way! Now I’m more determined than ever to show Trina and Raphael, and Emma, too, that I’m not a complete loser. See you at the dance.

Feeling shafted,
Gabriel

I crammed my latest communication with Bubba into the pocket of my folder. With a black Sharpie, I wrote “Letters to my Imaginary Enemy” in all capitals beneath “Bubba,” which was written in green crayon in the wavering script of a second grader. Then I stuck my battered, tattered Bubba folder at the bottom of my stack of books and counted the ceiling tiles while I waited for the bell to ring.

“Hello, Sharp,” I called. I was lucky to be coming home from the bus stop when someone was dropping him off at the curb. Now I wouldn’t have to knock on the deMichaels’ front door and ask for him. “Got a minute? I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“Sure. What’s up?” He met me at the property line.

“You just get home from school?” I asked, stalling as I tried to harness my courage. Now that I was face to face with him, this wasn’t so easy.

“Yeah. Missed the bus ’cause I was talking to my music comp teacher, so my friend gave me a ride.” He set an instrument case on the ground and placed a messy stack of music books on top. He looked slim and strong. And intimidating. How could Sharp look intimidating? And when had he gotten so tall? I was afraid I’d lose my resolve.

I had an armload of books and folders. I laid them on top of his sheet music. “What instrument is that?”

“Sax.”

“You like it?”

“It’s awesome.”

“Um…how’s school going?”

“Good enough.” He looked puzzled, no doubt wondering why I’d called him over just to make small talk.

“Um, Sharp…”

Sharp folded his arms and stared into my eyes. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?”

“Yeah, actually, I was wondering…um…my school’s homecoming dance is on the twenty-seventh, and…well…my date sort of fell through. So I thought maybe you’d want to go. With me.” I felt my face flushing. I mean, Sharp and I took baths together when we were babies—this was weird!

“The twenty-seventh?”

“Yes. That’s a Saturday. Two and a half weeks from now.”

“Yeah. That’d be cool.”

“You’ll go?” I tried to hide my relief.

“Sure.”

“Hope your girlfriend will be all right about it.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Melissa?”

“Melissa? You mean Clarissa? She’s Chord’s girlfriend.”

I wanted to kill Carmella, the queen of misinformation. Not only was she a major snoop, she wasn’t even a very good one. Still, I was glad to hear Sharp wasn’t entangled with some artistic girl from Stonegate. I didn’t want to pull a Trina on some other unsuspecting soul. And Sharp, to whom I hadn’t paid much attention in years, was looking at me with those Caribbean blue eyes and suddenly he wasn’t just the little neighbor boy anymore.

A car pulled up and a kid of about eleven slipped out, lugging a guitar case. “Hi, Sharp,” he called brightly as he slammed the door.

“Hello, Tyler,” said Sharp. He turned back to me. “Gotta go. It’s time for Tyler’s lesson.”

“Lesson?” I asked, picking up my schoolbooks and folders.

“I’m teaching beginning guitar.” He shrugged. “Not a bad way to make some cash…. Let’s go, Tyler. Bye, Jane. I’m looking forward to the dance.”

“Chord keeps teasing Sharp about going out with you,” Carmella informed me.

“Oh yeah?”

“He says Sharp’s always had a thing for you.”

“Really? What does Sharp say?”

“He just smiles and ignores Chord. Like always.”

“What does he say about me?”

“Nothing. At least, not around me. He probably knows I’d tell you. He did ask about Raphael, though.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“That he got another girlfriend and the two of you broke up.”

“Why’d you tell him that?”

“Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“He didn’t need to know. What else did you tell?”

“That’s all.”

“Out with it, Carmella. I know there’s more.”

“Okay. I said Raphael was a creep. And Trina was a bimbo. And you wouldn’t make those special cookies that we all like so much.”

“You told him
that
?”

“Well, it’s true.”

“Don’t say anything else. Just listen and report back.” I couldn’t believe I was enlisting Carmella (who should have been called Mata Hari) to spy for me.

“What are you wearing to the dance?” Carmella asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve shopped around but nothing thrilled me. Everything’s basically the same. I don’t want to look like a paper doll of everyone else. I need to stand out so Raphael will take notice. I want to make him squirm.” I threw myself onto my bed with more force than I intended. The headboard banged against the wall, causing three of my punkified Barbies to tumble from the shelf and jab me in the face with their plastic arms and legs. I tossed them aside impatiently. “Everything’s so generic. I’m sick of being generic. I want to wear something out of character and unpredictable.”

“Like what? A suit of armor?”

“Funny, Carmella. Real funny. I mean something girly and bold all at once. Something to make Raphael do a double-take and be consumed with regret.”

Carmella spoke tentatively. “Jane, you keep talking about Raphael, but Sharp’s your date.”

“A technical glitch,” I said. “Raphael’s the target.”

I picked up a Barbie whose white lace wedding gown was shorn off at the knees and held together in the back by a row of safety pins. A black leather belt with silver studs encircled her waist. The bodice was torn from neck to navel (except Barbie doesn’t have a navel) to reveal a red lace teddy. Her hair was Sharpied and spiked. “Now,
she’d
get his attention,” I said, holding her high.

“No doubt. And everyone else’s, too,” said Carmella.

“Carmella, you’re a genius!” I exclaimed, jumping up. A puzzled expression crossed her face. “Mom, can I borrow your car?” I called down the hall as I grabbed my shoes.