It's a Green Thing (8 page)

“Business must not be so good.”

She shrugged. “I don't know what to say.”

“Well, it seems like a pretty nasty sort of business, going around suing innocent people just because your own daughter is a klutz.”

Caitlin put a hand on my shoulder. “Don't worry, Maya. I
doubt that a court could hold you responsible. You're a minor, and it wasn't your fault.”

“I'm surprised it's legal to sue a minor.”

“That's just what I said. But apparently it is legal.”

I was still trying to grasp all this, wondering what I was supposed to do. “So do you think it's for sure? He's really going to sue me?”

“I think it's a possibility, Maya. I tried to talk him out of it. Honestly, the whole thing is just absurd.”

“It might be absurd, but it still hurts.” I glanced around the room full of “fellow” Christians and suddenly wondered if someone else in this group might do something to hurt me. “I just don't get this. It's like I keep getting blindsided by what Christians are capable of doing to each other. What about that ‘loving others’ scripture. What about helping your neighbors?”

“I was wondering the same thing, Maya.” Caitlin shook her head and glanced over at Josh, who was looking our way with a compassionate expression. “If it's any consolation, Josh feels exactly the same as I do. It's so wrong. I think he and Pastor Berringer will have a talk with Mr. Marshall, and maybe they can reason with him. After all, the Bible says it's wrong for Christians to take Christians to court.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “So don't worry about it, Maya. I just wanted to give you a heads-up, you know, in case you hear something
through the grapevine. But don't take it too seriously. Not yet anyway.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Still, I felt like a balloon that someone had slipped a pin into. I mean, I had been feeling enthused about the mural and how cool it looked, how we all had worked together to accomplish it. And now this.

My final conclusion is that I need to get a job. I need to become independent as soon as possible. No way do I want my uncle and cousin to get pulled into my personal dramas. Am I a magnet for trouble? Will I ever escape the craziness that seems to attach itself to my life? Maybe there's an invisible sticker on my forehead (invisible to me anyway), sort of like the Statue of Liberty. And my sticker says bring your troubles, heartaches, and craziness to this girl—she's used to it!

A
s I leaned against the counter watching Kim pore over her open cookbook tonight, it occurred to me that, for cousins, we look nothing alike. Kim is petite and delicate. And even for an Asian, her skin tone is light and creamy. On the other hand, I am tall and bronze and anything but delicate. And my brunette hair is long and wild and curly, while Kim's is sleek, shiny, and black, cut into neat layers that frame her face. The only thing that might be considered somewhat similar is our dark eyes…although I'd like to think our hearts are similar too.

“Don't let her get to you,” Kim said suddenly.

“Who?” I set aside my mental comparisons and tried to figure out what she was talking about.

“Dad told me about Brooke.” Kim shook her head with an ironic smile. “By the way, congratulations on getting your license.”

“Thanks. He told you about the lawsuit?”

“Yeah. I can't believe it.” She stretched to open the cupboard overhead.

“I hadn't really meant to tell him,” I admitted.

“He was glad you did.” She handed me the dinner plates for the table. “Really, sometimes we worry about you, Maya. You keep so much to yourself. And we're your family. Remember?”

“I know, and I appreciate it. I just don't want to dump all my junk on you.”

“All your junk?” Kim laughed.

“Well, I seem to be stuck in the land of dysfunction. It's like no matter what I do, I can't escape it.”

“Considering all you've been through, you seem to have both feet on the ground. I actually think you're doing really well. So does Dad.”

“Really?” I finished gathering silverware, then went into the dining room. And I can't even explain it now, but what Kim said meant so much to me that I actually got a little teary as I set the table. Of course, I hid my emotion when I returned to the kitchen.

“So how's the job hunt going?” she asked.

“Not so great.” I didn't admit that I'd been to about thirty different places in the past couple of days, and all I got was “We're not hiring now” or “Go ahead and fill out an application if you like, and we'll keep it on file.”

“I've heard it's a tough job market out there. But don't give up, Maya. At least you have experience, right?”

“Yes…not that it's relevant to anything I've applied for.” I shook my head. “The only places where they'd even take applications were the yogurt shop and a cheesy jewelry kiosk at the mall.”

“Maybe you should set your sights higher.”

“Like?”

Kim's brow creased as she sliced a tomato. “Well, you did some modeling last summer, right?”

I frowned. “Not that I'm proud of that.”

“And didn't you work at a couple of clothing shops?”

“Not for very long.” I rinsed the lettuce and began tearing leaves into bite-size pieces for salad.

“But on Rodeo Drive, no less.”

I shrugged. “Not that it's worth much here. I mean, I'm not putting this town down, but it's like another universe compared to Beverly Hills.” I smiled. “A very cool universe, I might add.”

“But we do have a few sort of fashionable shops here. Have you applied to them?”

“Well, no…”

“Why not?”

I considered this. “Probably a couple of reasons.”

“You don't really want a job?”

“No, that's not it.” Okay, I didn't admit that the fashion industry isn't my first choice. Although I really wanted to work in a resale clothing store called Second Chances, not that they were hiring or even interested in me. “But if I can't get hired to sell cheap earrings, how would I ever have a chance at some fancy chichi boutique?”

Kim firmly shook her head. “Maya, you are so wrong. If you went in and told them about your modeling and about working
at Ralph Lauren in Beverly Hills…and if you dressed up a little,”—she frowned at my overalls—“I'm sure you'd have a job in no time.”

“You really think so?” I glanced at the calendar on the fridge and felt nervous. Summer feels like it's going by quickly. By the time I land a job, if I even can, I might have only a couple of months to make enough money to buy a car.

“I'm willing to bet you'll be hired by this time next week.” She pointed to June 24.

“I'm not so sure. But how about if we make the bet worthwhile? I'll bet I don't have a job by then, and my wager will be fixing dinners and doing cleanup for a week. At least that will give you a break, and I won't have much to do since I'll probably still be unemployed.”

“You're on.” Kim grinned. “But not vegan, right?”

“Like I told you, I'm changing my ways. And I'd be willing to cook chicken or fish too. But I might not want to eat it.”

“You're on.”

“I'll have to start studying some of your cookbooks.”

“But here's the deal,” Kim said quickly. “You have to go to the list of stores that you and I will put together tonight. And don't ask them if they're taking applications. You have to go in looking totally cool. You act friendly and confident, and then you hand them your résumé complete with Ralph Lauren and the modeling agency as references, including the appropriate names and phone numbers.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Is that how you got your job?” Kim landed a very cool and well-paying job at the Allegro School of Music. She's giving private violin lessons to elementary-school kids all summer.

“No. That was a case of who you know.”

“Well, I don't know anyone.”

“Not necessarily.” Kim smiled like she had a secret.

So after dinner, Kim and I sat down at her computer. She helped me create a résumé, and then she pulled up a list of store names. “The owners of some of these shops were some of my mom's clients. She was their accountant, and they liked her. Anyway, I'm sure when they learn that you're Patricia Peterson's niece, which you will tell them, they will be willing to—at least—give you the time of day.”

“I don't want to use your mother's—”

“Do you know how happy my mom would be to know that she helped you—even in a very small way?”

I sighed.

“Seriously, Maya. Can't you just give it a try?”

Okay, although I'm desperate to land a job, the idea of working in the fashion industry again, well, it's a little dismaying…and unsettling. Still, it beats flipping burgers. It might even be better than pumping yogurt, which could've been my best chance at employment. I mean, it's one thing to go back to eating dairy; it's another thing to come home from work smelling like one! So I
guess I'll give Kim's plan a try. How can I not? I'm sure it would hurt her feelings if I didn't.

Okay, I have another incentive. And it's not an honorable one. But I can admit this to my diary. After putting together Kim's get-Maya-a-job plan, we were out on the porch enjoying the sunset and some iced tea when Natalie came over. Naturally, Kim told her about my job hunt and her plan to get me hired.

Nat frowned at my faded overalls and just shook her head. “Oh, I don't think Maya could possibly get hired at a place like Divine Diva or Jacqueline's or even Nolita's, Kim. They're way too exclusive for someone like…well, Maya.”

And it was as if she'd thrown down the gauntlet. Oh, I kept my cool and acted like her words didn't sting a little. But suddenly I couldn't wait to get dressed up, get on the bus, and go get a job. Well, that's what I'm hoping. But that's probably my pride speaking, and that's not good. I'm definitely going to pray about this job thing. The truth is, I don't want to work anywhere that God isn't leading me.

Naturally, after pointing out that I didn't have a chance of getting a job that had anything to do with fashion, Natalie went on to tell us that Brooke Marshall's lawsuit was becoming the talk of the town. I wanted to ask why that was. Don't people have better things to talk about? But instead I excused myself. For one thing I can't bear to think about Brooke. It's like she's the enemy and I hate her. I hate her moneygrubbing father and her snooty mother too. And I know it's not Christian to hate others—and that
makes me feel guilty. But it's the truth. I just don't want to talk about it. Not to anyone. I can barely admit it to myself. But there, it's in my diary now. I hate Brooke and her family!

Anyway, I don't want to think about Brooke right now. Instead I want to focus on getting a job. If I'm going to land a job in some chic shop, I have work to do, including a manicure, pedicure, exfoliating, and all the other little tricks I learned at Montgomery's Modeling Agency last summer. For Kim's sake (and perhaps for Natalie's too) and maybe even for my own, I plan to do all I can to land a job ASAP. When I go in with my résumé, I plan to look like a million bucks. Or at least a few thousand. Thankfully, one of Dad's friends went to our old house before it went into foreclosure and packed and shipped my things to me. (Okay, some of them were originally Shannon's, but she doesn't need them in the pen, and they'd have been thrown out anyway.) I actually have a fairly decent wardrobe to choose from. They might be “second season” in Beverly Hills, but my guess is that they're “cutting-edge cool” here. And I will work them.

I know two wrongs don't make a right, but if two rights could fix a wrong, I'd be feeling good right now. As it is, although I'm somewhat encouraged, the black cloud (Brooke Marshall) is still hanging over me.

Anyway, here are the two good things that happened to me today. (1) I was offered a job at Jacqueline's Boutique this
morning, and (2) my dad called Uncle Allen and told him that he wanted to buy me a car and asked if my uncle could help me find a good one. My dad wants to buy me a car!!! I'm stunned. Now I'm sure a lot of families out there would assume something like this was just normal. And maybe it is—for some kids. But remember me? I'm the girl who's been dying to try on normal. I'm the girl who wants to live in the Land of Boring. Like, hey, this is the life!

And, okay, it's not like my dad is going to fly home from Frankfurt to go car shopping with me. But at least he wants to help out. I e-mailed him the day I'd gotten my driver's license to tell him the good news. And I hadn't hinted about wanting a car or looking for a job or emancipation or anything. It was just a “hey, how ya doing” kind of e-mail. I thought he'd appreciate hearing how I'd passed my driving test with no problem. Naturally, I didn't confess to the test dude that I'd been driving for quite some time now or that I'd chauffeured my addict mom around in order to be safe. I have a feeling that wouldn't have impressed him much.