The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things by Ann Aguirre
I have forty seconds to spare when I burst through the doors. Mildred gives me the side-eye, but since I’m not technically late, she just says, “Get your smock on, girl. There’s cleaning to be done.”
Though it’s not strictly legal or sanitary, I’m pretty sure they save the hair for hours. The stylists just sweep it away from the chairs and pile it out of the way. So by the time I arrive, there’s a small Sasquatch on the floor. It takes me an hour to get the shop pristine. Customers come and go, mostly walk-in haircuts. Around six, it slows down, and Grace beckons me to the chair.
“When are you gonna let me give you some highlights?” She asks this often.
This time, however, I say, “Tonight, if you have time.”
Grace gets excited. “Mildred, get the camera. I’ll do it free if you let me take a picture for the before-and-after wall.”
I eye the wall, not sure I want to be immortalized up there, along with all the eighties hair and prom refugees, but eventually I shrug. “Why not?”
My hair is a dark blond, mousy and forgettable. I mean, it’s decent hair, neither straight, nor curly. Left to its own devices, it falls in messy waves. That’s why I wear a lot of ponytails and braids. Aunt Gabby has similar problems, only she gets it lightened and highlighted so it looks bright and flirty, and she spends forty-five minutes a day straightening hers, so it’s sleek and smooth by the time she goes to the shop. UPS Joe seems to like the results anyway.
Grace fastens me into the plastic smock, then snaps a Polaroid. I still don’t care that much how I look; I mean, it’s so superficial, but a small part of me would like to be prettier, at least maximize what I’m working with. I tell myself this is more of a social experiment, and I can evaluate how people react to the new me. But that’s not it.
I’m totally doing this to see if Shane notices. Sometimes I hate being a girl.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It’s dumb to be so nervous.
This is a Tuesday. Nothing earth shattering ever happens on a Tuesday. It doesn’t even have a catchy nickname, unlike Wednesday, aka Hump Day. Still, I can’t shake the butterflies in my stomach. Instead of my usual leggings and skirt, I’m wearing jeans, an old pair that miraculously still fits; and I try not to think about how much of my butt they reveal. I didn’t discard my sweater shrug for unavoidable reasons, but instead of wearing an ordinary cotton tank, I borrowed a lace-trimmed cami from Aunt Gabby. Why all the effort? I want to be worthy of my new hair.
This morning, when she saw the highlights, my aunt insisted I let her use the straightener on me. It only took fifteen minutes, but I admit it was worth it. My hair’s never looked this sleek and glossy, and the delicate golden streaks brighten the darker part until it’s positively pretty. I don’t know that I’ve ever thought that about myself before. It’s kinda nice.
Lila waves as I come down the hall toward her. “Wow. You look fab.”
“Thanks. I let one of the stylists work on me last night.” I dial my combo and pop open my locker, getting the stuff I’ll need for first period.
“Trying to show him what he’s missing? Good plan.” She cuts her eyes toward Ryan, who is standing with one hand on his locker. He can’t seem to look away.
This time last year, I would’ve given a kidney to see him look at me like that, but he was oblivious. And no wonder, I think with a touch of bitterness. He was sleeping with somebody else. At this point, however, that’s not why I changed things up. My reason isn’t here yet.
“I’ve got to admit,” Lila says, still studying Ry. “I’m surprised. I would’ve thought he was fundamentally decent. He seems like a good guy.”
Crap, I don’t want her to think he’s a cheater. Technically we weren’t together, so the mess with Cassie isn’t that. “He is. He just … made a mistake. Lied to me. And I can’t handle it.”
“Oh. So we don’t hate him?”
I shake my head. “Mostly, I’m sad. I wish he hadn’t done it, but some lies change everything.”
“Absolutely, they do.” From the ferocity of her tone, I’m guessing Lila has some personal experience with this, but I don’t pry.
Privately I wonder if Dylan lied, and that’s why they broke up. Once we get to know each other better, maybe she’ll tell me. It’s pretty cool to have somebody who wants to hang out with me, not because of Ryan or because we’re in the same club. Just … because. Since moving here, I’ve avoided that kind of closeness, mostly because the more friends you have, the harder it is to keep secrets. More people mean more questions. And I wasn’t ready. My first year here, I was barely functional, so it’s no surprise I imprinted on Ryan and let him drive my social life.
“I have to get to class,” I say then.
“Sucks we don’t have any together. See you at lunch, though?” It’s a question, not an assumption.
“I brought mine, so I’ll get a table.”
Lila acknowledges the plan with a jerk of her chin, then she dives into the stream of students, letting them carry her toward her class on the opposite side of school. I haven’t seen Shane this morning, but maybe he’s running late. I wander through my morning classes hoping for a glimpse of him, but still, nothing. Geometry confirms it; he’s not in today. The desk diagonal, one up from mine, seems more than usually empty; I’m so disappointed, and I hate that I am. To put the cherry on the crap cake, I get my quiz back. As expected, it’s another circled red F. That clinches it—I have to tell Aunt Gabby. It’s not that she’ll be mad at me; I can’t stand her disappointed look. Maybe the news that I have a tutor lined up will help. Kind of, I see there’s a problem and I’m working to solve it.
“Miss Czinski, I need to see you after class.” Mackiewicz levels a serious business stare on me while the rest of the class goes “ooooooooooooh” in that super-annoying way.
“Yes, sir.”
As anticipated, he lectures me on how poorly I’m doing and tells me how he expects better from someone of my academic stature. Seriously, that’s verbatim. I listen meekly until he’s finished, and then offer, “I’m definitely struggling, but I’m taking steps and getting help. My performance will improve.”
Mackiewicz seems mollified. “Good. I know you can do better.”
Glad somebody’s sure of that.
On impulse, as soon as I escape from his class, I head to admin. Ms. Smith is the only one around at this time. She looks young, to the point that I suspect she was my age when she had Dylan. I imagine her wanting to be a dancer or something; I doubt her dreams included working in the school office.
“I was wondering if you could get me a copy of Shane Cavendish’s schedule. He’s out sick today, and I’m taking his homework to him.” My voice doesn’t reveal that I happen to know a juicy secret about her.
“Not a problem. That’s sweet of you.”
“Y’know,” I mumble, when this is actually kind of stalkerish.
I’ve never been so interested in a guy before, certainly not to the point that I’d go out of my way to learn his class schedule. When she takes a page from the file and trots off to copy his classes, I take it a step further. Rocking up on my toes, I peer at the folder she left on the counter. His address is in the upper-right-hand corner of the form he filled out during registration. Upside-down reading is one of my weirder skills, so I can see the address. I memorize the house number and turn away, like I haven’t just crossed a line.
I hope he doesn’t think I’m crazy.
“Here you are, hon.”
“Thanks.” I take the paper and figure I might as well visit Shane’s classes now. Teachers who aren’t stuck on monitoring duty will be in their rooms, working on stuff for the afternoon or writing a novel, or in Mr. Johannes’s case, possibly cooking meth, whatever floats their boats.
In short order I get five of his seven assignments. Not bad for a spur-of-the-moment plan. By the time I get to the lunchroom, Lila has already made it through the line and is obviously looking for me. Her face lightens with relief when she re
“Who’re your friends?” she asks.
I glance over at the four: three girls, one guy. “I have no idea.”
A red-haired girl smiles. “Kimmy, Mel, Shanna, and Theo.” As she performs the introductions, I memorize their names and faces. If we’re sharing their table from now on, we should be social.
Mel is a freckled, athletic blonde while Theo is small, brown-skinned, and fond of sweater vests. Kimmy is a pale redhead with an infectious smile whereas Shanna has long black hair caught up in Lolita pigtails, and her makeup enhances almond eyes. She seems like the rebel of the group.
“Sage and Lila,” I say.
“We know.” Theo stresses the last word in a weird way.
I exchange a look with Lila, who shrugs. “Should I be afraid to ask?”
“Maybe,” she says.
Mel offers, “We think it’s really cool of you two. Brave.”
“What?”
“You know. Being out.”
What the … “Let me get this straight … People think Lila and I are dating?”
“Dylan Smith says that’s why Lila broke up with him. Cuz she’s a big dy—”
Kimmy claps a hand over Theo’s mouth before he completes the word. I’m glad; otherwise, I’d have to smack him. “First, that’s crap. But if it were true, Lila’s out of my league.”
She laughs, cocking her head. “I dunno. You’re looking pretty cute today.”
Theo looks like this is a dream come true while the girls stare, wide-eyed.
I sigh. “Don’t encourage him.”
“True. But this is exactly why I broke up with Dylan. I mean, he told everyone I slept with him when I did not. Then when I got fed up and dumped him, he said I was a lesbian. Because, obviously, only a chick who’s into girls would let go of a prize like him.”
“What a douche,” Mel says.
“That explains the looks I’ve been getting all day, though,” Lila adds. “I’m sorry, Sage. I should’ve guessed Dylan would invent some shit about your breakup the minute we started hanging out.”
I shrug. “I don’t care what people say about me. To be honest, it’s kind of novel for it not to be related to the Post-it notes.”
“I think that’s pretty cool,” Shanna volunteers.
I smile. I’m a little surprised, however. Of this crew, she dresses the darkest, but I should know not to judge a book by its cover. I look squeaky clean, innocent even. What I don’t tell her is that I’m beyond doing stuff because someone else thinks it’s a good idea. These days I do things to fill craters inside, filling up the bad echoes with goodness. God knows I need it.
“Do us a favor, though,” I say to Mel, who seems the most sensible of the four. “Spread the word that it’s just gossip, okay?”
“Not a problem,” Kimmy says, already texting.
We make general conversation after this, and midway through lunch, I look up to see Tara and Kenny standing by the table. They both look awkward, so I try to make whatever it is easier with a smile and a friendly “hey, guys.”
“Is it true?” Kenny asks. As usual, he has on his cherished Mario hat. Kenny is really good at two things: math and video games. He’ll probably make a million dollars before he’s thirty.
“What?”
Tara bites her lip. “That you dumped Ryan to be with Lila.”
Ha-ha, OMG. I feel a burning desire to put my head down on the scarred table and laugh. This has been a busy week, what with the fake boyfriend and the fake girlfriend, when I’ve never had a real date. Somehow, I restrain the mild hysteria. I hope people aren’t as mean to us as they were Jon Summers. But maybe it’s only horrible to be gay in this town if you’re a guy. Two girls together, on the other hand, might be considered hot. I hate that double standard so much.
“Nope. Don’t tell me you bought into the rumor mill.” I cock a brow at them.
“I knew it was crap,” Tara says.
“So … we were wondering,” Kenny adds.
“Yes?” Lila looks tremendously amused.
“Can we sit with you, every other lunch period?” Tara asks in a rush.
“Not every day?” I wonder aloud.
Kenny grins. “Nah. Even if he’s been a grumpy ass lately, we’re not ditching Ryan. We thought you guys could share custody.”
“This is so adorable, I could barf.” Lila is choking on her fries.
“It’s cool with me if Mel, Kimmy, Theo, and Shanna don’t mind.” I cast an inquiring look at the sophomores who have first claim on the table.
“Not a problem,” Mel decides.
Lila sighs. “This is starting to feel like a babysitting job.”
“You can walk away anytime. My broken heart will mend.” I grin at her, seeing the ridiculous in our situation.
She laughs.
“It’s not that I mind people thinking we’re together,” I say later, walking with Lila back to our lockers. “On principle. But you might like someone, and if they think you’re taken…”
That’s exactly what Ryan did to me.
“They won’t ask me out,” she finishes. “There is someone, but he’s emotionally unavailable at the moment. So, not a big deal.”
“This crap is so complicated,” I mumble.
She grins. “Should I put my arm around you to fuel the rumors?”
“Only if you want them never to die.”
In a school this size, she and I will be lesbians forever to some people, even now, just from a mean joke Dylan Smith made to some football buddies. Man, what is wrong with people? If Lila and I were really struggling, the looks, snickers, and whispered jokes would be unbearable. High school really is hell. I think of Jon Summers and I want to get back at the ones who drove him to it. I know how. It’s hard not to imagine all the ways I could make them sorry.
But I’m not like that anymore. I don’t do bad things.
They can hurt me only if I let them, right? And I’m used to people laughing at me. If I didn’t have a certain level of fortitude, I’d have given up on the Post-its long ago.
I head to chem, leaving an encouraging note on a locker along the way. Ryan’s already there with the day’s project ready to go. He looks tired, eyes red behind his glasses, like he’s not sleeping well. Because I’m mad at him, I don’t want to feel a pang of remorse. If I forgive him now, I can stop flailing around looking for a new life. But looking at him hurts. I’m not ready to spend Friday nights watching movies, pretending nothing’s changed. When everything has.
“You look beautiful,” he says, as I sit down.
I push out a pained breath. “Thanks. Can we focus on the work, please?”
“I miss you.” He ignores my request, like I don’t know what I need. It’s only been since Friday, one weekend, two school days. Only in his mind is this a long time.
“Ryan, don’t make me ask for a new partner.” I totally will; it’s not a bluff.
“Right. Sorry.” His face shuts down, and this time, I participate fully in the experiment.
I can’t sit and watch because that’s not okay anymore; since I’m not giving him the support I used to, I can’t coast on his work. Probably, I shouldn’t have done that before. I’ve let Ryan handle too many things for me in the past few years. I told myself it was fine because we were like two sides of a coin or something, but it was really just me letting go of the reins.
After school, I hit Shane’s two last classes, and then I have a full list of his assignments, plus his address. Are you really gonna just show up at his house? It’s so unlike me. I don’t know what I’ll say, how I’ll explain it so I don’t come off like a total headcase, but I don’t even care. Hopeful
Lila’s not at her locker when I get to mine after making my rounds. She probably got a ride home in the gray van today. Just as well. I’d hate to explain why I look like I’m about to vomit all over my shoes. Shouldering my backpack, I head out to the bike rack, where mine is the last one still chained up. Feeling like a spy, I ride over to the library to check the directions. I have his address, and I know it’s out in the country, but I’m not sure how far.
Five minutes later, Google gives me an answer.
Holy crap. Five miles. Do I want to see him that bad?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Yeah, I totally do. I’m worried he’s sick. I’m concerned he’ll fall behind in his classes and his grades will suffer. I’m … I’m … insane. Maybe I’ve caught some bizarre virus that causes unpredictable and uncharacteristic behavior. I don’t print out the map because clearly that’s too far when everything else I’ve done today is totally normal.
I just make a mental note of the route and jog to my bike. Before getting on, I text a message to Aunt Gabby, telling her I’m studying at a friend’s this afternoon. She’ll assume I mean Ryan, and I squelch a frisson of guilt over that. I’ll explain things to her soon. I will. Just as soon as I figure out how much to tell her. And how.
I swing by the Coffee Shop for snacks and drinks, then stow them in my backpack. Since I don’t want to arrive dripping sweat, I ride at a leisurely pace, so it takes me thirty-seven minutes to get to his place. And at first, I think the school must’ve gotten it wrong, but I recognized Shane’s handwriting on the form. So no. This is it. Nerves assail me as I walk my bike down the rutted drive, overgrown with curly dock, chickweed, and quack grass. I can’t even see a house from here, but I’m committed. At the end of the lane, there’s a decrepit trailer; the thing looks so run-down that I imagine it’s cold in winter, leaks during a hard rain, and must be an oven during the summer. It was once cream with brown trim, but that’s hanging off in rusty strips and the weather has discolored the lighter metal. The underpinning is loose, flapping in the breeze, and I’m nervous as I start forward.