Learning to Swim(18)

But I didn't want her to make it up to me. I wanted her to do what she had promised.

“Maybe Alice can take you to the party,” my mom said, which just made the whole thing even worse. I stormed into the house, went into my room, and began slamming my dresser drawers. I pulled out a T-shirt and tossed it over my head.

Barbie followed me like a heat-seeking missile. “Look,” she said angrily. “It's not like I haven't done anything for you. I bought you new clothes and took you out to lunch. And this is the thanks I get? A temper tantrum? Grow up, Steffie.”

Now she had gone too far. Grow up? And then I said it. “Emily Mills is a hundred and one years old.”

My mom glanced at me.

“You lied right to my face.” I waited for a response. At the very least, I thought I was owed an apology.

“What do you want me to say?” Barbie asked. Then she shook her head and sat down on my bed as if defeated.

Her surrender took me off guard. It wasn't like Barbie to throw in the towel so soon. “I want you to apologize,” I replied.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I know what you're thinking, Stef, and maybe this is unfair of me to ask of you, but you need to give me a chance here.”

A chance? “What are you talking about?”

“This situation may seem familiar, but it's not.”

I rolled my eyes. “But he's married.”

“Not happily. He's going to leave his wife. He hasn't been happy for a long time.”

Information overload. I couldn't take it anymore, so I turned on my stereo, grabbed a copy of Us Weekly, and began looking for the “Stars: They're Just Like Us” section.

And then she said the words I had been waiting for: “This guy is different, Steffie. He's not like the rest. He really loves me. He's even talking about giving me the money to open that store I've been talking about. Today we're going to look at potential sites for it.”

I turned up the volume, ignoring her. Eventually my mom got the message and went into her room to get ready. When she came back out, she was decked out in full mistress gear: high heels along with the tight miniskirt and the asymmetrical boob-revealing shirt she'd bought today. She kissed my forehead and said, “Have fun at your party, okay?”

“Spending the night?” I nodded toward the Adidas duffel in her hand.

“No.”

“What's in the bag, then?”

She paused for a moment. “Don't wear those old flip-flops of yours tonight. Wear those cute pink ones of mine instead.”

“No thanks,” I barked. I flipped another page in the magazine so hard I gave myself a paper cut.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her bite her lip. She looked like she was about to speak, and then she shook her head and walked out without saying goodbye. After she left, I turned off my stereo and started to get dressed.

I did everything I could to not think about my mother. She had her life. If she was determined to ruin it, then so be it. What could I do?

I only had control over me. Wasn't that what all the headshrinks said? I put on the sexpot outfit Barbie had so carefully chosen and brushed my hair. Then I flicked on some of Barbie's mascara and some sparkly strawberry lip gloss, and reluctantly put on her cute pink shoes. And then I went into the living room and turned on the TV. As I watched a preview for a show about circus animals that was airing that night, I felt a little sad. As in, I kind of wished I hadn't had anything going on that night so I could just stay home in my oversize clothes and watch the show.

What was wrong with me?

I should have been bouncing off the walls! I had been in love with Keith McKnight for forty-seven days! He was the coolest guy around and he had personally invited me to his party at his house. His girlfriend was out of town! And he had brushed the hair out of my eyes like he was into me or something. All of that mattered way more than Barbie's new case of love lunacy. Right?

I willed myself off the couch and forced myself to turn off the TV. Then I stepped outside into the blistering ninety-five-degree heat and began walking. A half hour later, I was covered in sweat and my mascara was dripping down my face. But it didn't matter. Because I had reached my destination, and it wasn't Keith's house.

Although Keith's house was only about a hundred yards away.

“What are you doing here?” Alice asked as she sat in her gliding rocking chair, drinking a Mountain Dew and doing a Sudoko puzzle. Her black hair was wet and set in tiny rollers. She was wearing a pink sleeveless terry-cloth “housecoat” (which was just another term for bathrobe) and the fuzzy purple slippers I'd given her for her birthday.

This was another drawback to having a best friend who was old enough to be my grandma. She couldn't go to Keith's party. If she'd been my age, I would've made her go with me. And then I would've gone. Really.





8


One of the great things about Alice was that she kept her kitchen stocked with the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. As she said, you just never knew when there might be an emergency. And me showing up on her doorstep in my new party outfit, ranting about my mother when I was supposed to be at Keith's party, was an emergency. So Alice responded accordingly, immediately turning on the silly circus TV show and whipping up a batch of raw cookie dough. We then grabbed the binoculars and planted ourselves on her lopsided sofa in front of the window so that we could have the best of both worlds: we could watch TV while experiencing Keith's party (without actually having to attend). As we took turns using the binoculars, I carefully explained to Alice why I hadn't gone. In a nutshell: I had no earthly idea.