Trinkets (17 page)
Authors: Kirsten Smith
But then he leans forward to open the door
and puts me inside like I am precious cargo.
You’re cute at four in the morning
, he says,
and I have no idea what to say back
other than
You too
and I start to buckle my seat belt,
but he grabs my hand and holds it for a second
and I look up into his endless brown eyes
and then he steps back, letting me go.
I back out of the driveway,
my pimple and I only hitting one pothole as we go.
He’s still watching so I give an idiotic little salute
and keep driving
in my cherry-pie pajamas
with a stupid smile on my face
still feeling his hand in my hand
all the way home
and into my driveway
and into the house
and down the hall
and into bed
where I lie
until the sun comes up
and the alarm goes off
and I’m still thinking
about the night before.
APRIL 28I brought Elodie a bunch of chocolate to SA as a thank-you for saving my life. When Shawn asked what it was for, we both just smiled and said we were doing an Identification Exercise, which made her practically pee with excitement.
After class we went to Tabitha’s house, which was HUGE and glass, with views of the valley. There was no one home. It was kind of like a museum where you thought a security guard might rush over and grab you if you touched anything. Tabitha showed us a bunch of blogs she likes. Some were just people’s thoughts about music or movies they like or their Tumblrs and she showed us Rookie, the one made by the girl our age who’s all into finding cool old stuff in your mom’s closet that could be used for new fashion looks and whatnot.
As we were leaving, Elodie told us it was her birthday tomorrow, which is so weird because everyone loves to brag about their birthday, but leave it to Elodie to wait and say something when it’s too late to do anything about it. Her dad got her gift certificates to Nordstrom and she said she wants to take us shopping and we all had a good laugh over it. I have an idea of the perfect gift for her, but for now Tabitha and I did a funny pre-birthday dance set to the tune of Willow Smith’s “Whip My Hair.” Elodie was lying on the floor laughing so hard she farted, so I think it was a successful present.
When I got home I asked Aunt B if I could borrow some of her clothes and she called me a “smartass.” I tried to explain to her that I wasn’t joking, I was trying to become more fashionable, but she didn’t believe me. Proving once again that my reputation leaves something to be desired.
PIZZA DAYPatrick Cushman looks kind of surprised when I sit down next to him at his lunch table. He’s sitting there eating a sandwich with a group of people from band.
“Happy pizza day,” I say.
A guy stops polishing his oboe. They all look at me in shock.
“You’re kind of hard to find,” I say to Patrick, pressing a napkin on the molten piece of greasy cheese pizza to try to absorb whatever liquid is sitting on top.
“Why’s that?” he asks, watching me with amusement.
“You never sit at the same table.”
“I like to mix it up,” he says, nonchalant.
“Smart move,” I say. A freckly girl from my gym class nods at me. “Hey, Laura,” I volunteer as I wad up the greasy napkin and put it in the corner of my tray.
Then I turn back to Patrick. “So, do you really make this pizza at home?” I cut a tiny piece off with my knife and put it in my mouth. It’s like somewhat digestible wet rubber sitting on top of somewhat digestible dry rubber. I manage to chew. It’s not easy.
“Of course not,” he says, trying not to laugh as he watches me swallow. “I can’t believe you just allowed that to enter your body.”
I immediately regret consuming it. “It’s probably going to live in my intestines for twenty years, isn’t it?”
“Fifty,” he says. “Here. Try this. It’s much better. I make a mean sandwich.” He hands me half of a turkey sandwich on whole wheat bread. It’s got some sort of sprouts and tomato on it.
“I thought you were into pizza.”
“I told you—I like to mix it up.”
I appraise the turkey sandwich. “Is it good?”
“Just trust me,” he says, and smiles at me. I bite into it and chew. It’s delicious.
Birthday PresentI’m up in my room
hating trigonometry more than life itself
when Jenna knocks on my door and says,
Someone’s here to see you
.
I go downstairs
and standing there on my front porch
is Marc Truax.
He’s wearing a black Nirvana T-shirt
and scuffed Vans
and I am literally speechless
so it’s a good thing he is able to speak.
Happy birthday
, he says,
followed by,
Do you want to go for a walk?
And I nod yes
and Jenna tries to act like
she’s not full-on eavesdropping,
but I’m so happy I don’t even care.
Turning Sixteen
Marc says there’s a rad doughnut place
that we could go to.
I’m not really sure what the big deal about doughnuts is,
but it doesn’t matter
because before I know it,
we’re walking
near the Burnside Bridge
and talking
and I’m nervous being around him
but only for about five minutes
and pretty soon
we’re talking about everything;
I tell him about my old school
and my mom
and he talks about motorcycles from the seventies,
which of course I know nothing about,
and finally we get to this really awesome bakery
called Voodoo
and they’re playing cool music
and the girl behind the counter
is all pierced and friendly
and Marc asks for one doughnut dusted with Tang
and another one topped with Cap’n Crunch
and I get chocolate on chocolate,
but before we eat them,
he says,
Hang on,
and buys me a pair of underwear
with the Voodoo logo and a slogan
that says
THE MAGIC IS IN THE HOLE
.
I blush, since no guy has ever bought me underwear before.
Then he pulls a candle out of his pocket
that looks a little bit used
and he goes,
Sorry, it was the only one I could find.
I had to mug somebody for it.
He grins and lights it
and he and the girl behind the counter
sing “Happy Birthday” really loud.
I make my wish,
which is you-know-what.
And we sit there devouring doughnuts
and when we’re done
he buys me a bunch more to take home
and says that if I’m celebrating my birthday properly,
I have to have enough to last a whole week,
because you can’t just turn sixteen once
and call it a day.
Doughnuts
What’s this?
my dad asks when he sees the pink box on the counter
that says
GOOD THINGS COME IN PINK BOXES
.
Jenna says,
Doughnuts from Elodie’s friend
.
Oh
, he says.
A guy friend
, she adds.
Oh
, he says again.
He is clueless,
which is good
because if she blabs any more
I might start to get annoyed.
But when my dad gets up to go to his office,
she leans over and whispers,
I always liked bad boys too
,
and I say,
He’s not actually bad.
And she says,
That’s even better
.
It’s weird: I never pictured Jenna at my age,
but obviously she once was,
before she grew up
and found a nice widower to marry
who happened to have a daughter
with whom she had nothing in common
until now.
APRIL 29After school Marc and I played Rage and when I teased him about Elodie, he made a point to slaughter five Gingers really fast right in a row, so I laid off. Then he asked me what Elodie was like. I said she was really sweet and a little shy but a good friend. I left out the part about how we met in a room full of shoplifters.
We went back to playing for a few minutes and then I asked him, “So are you into her or what?” and he said, “I’m just glad she’s nice to my little sister,” and went up to his room. For a second it was weird to think my brother and my friend might be dating, but then I realized what an adorable couple they’d make.
Speaking of couples or NOT COUPLES, I haven’t seen Noah since the night of the party I went to with Alex. I want to run across the street and bang on his windows, but it’s not really my style, so I’ll just sit here and think about how much it sucks we can’t hang out and how much I hate him even though I don’t.
MEMOIRS“You guys did a great job on your memoirs,” says Ms. Hoberman as she starts passing them back to us with grades on them. I’m a little nervous because I wasn’t going to write one, but after I talked to Elodie and Moe, it seemed a little less daunting—everybody’s parents are crazy, so what’s the big deal? Plus, once I started, I decided to write it totally free-form and I unleashed the beast and vented about my dad and all his bullshit, not to mention my mom refusing to stand up to him. Then I retyped it and added in a part about how my mom keeps redecorating our house ever since my brother off to college. I wrote about how she thinks if she keeps buying new stuff, it will fix everything in our lives. I don’t know if it made any sense, but at least it was the truth. Ms. Hoberman asked for a memoir, so that’s what I gave her.