Authors: Kirsten Smith
Trinkets (19 page)
“Hi, honey.”
I turn around to see my dad standing in the doorway. It’s been so many days since I’ve seen him, it’s like he’s a handsome stranger in the hall.
“Hey.”
“How’s school?” he asks, giving me an encouraging smile.
“Decent.”
“And Brady?”
“Over.” I shrug.
He nods without comment and picks up one of the snow globes from my bureau. Inside it is a little gingerbread house with a tiny oak tree in its yard. It was the first thing I ever stole, three years ago from a stationery store in Beaverton. I remember how I plotted its theft, how clever I felt as my mom cluelessly drove us away from the scene of the crime.
“Sorry I’ve been working so late. It’s been busy, but I wanted to talk to you,” he says, juggling the globe a little, creating a mini snowstorm.
“You do?” I can’t help but feel a pang of excitement. Maybe this is the moment he comes clean about what he really does late at night. Maybe this is the moment the family bullshit can finally stop.
“I wanted to remind you to get your car serviced,” he says.
I stare at him. That’s what he has to talk to me about. A week ago I would have wanted to scream and shout and punch him for disappointing me. But now I realize it’s better to take a deep breath and not say anything. The best thing I can do is stop expecting anything from him.
So I just say, “Okay, I’ll do it this weekend.”
He nods and backs out of the doorway.
I stand there for a second, stomach churning, not doing anything except watching the snow in the globe fall on the tiny cottage and the miniature tree as they sit in their bubble of glass, trapped in winter forever.
Natural DisasterIn Rachelle’s world, closing the yearbook issue
is like running a tsunami crisis center.
She fancies herself at the center of everything,
staving back the rising water.
She’s so stressed
not even Dustin Diaz has the power to save her from peril.
I try to stay out of the way
as she yells,
Where the hell is the French Club photo?!
I want to tell her I gave it to her a week ago,
but that would only cause more destruction.
There is only one source of salvation
and he’s walking past the window right now.
Hang on a second
, I say, and dash out the door,
not caring that there’s a gale force of Rachelle at my back
screaming my name.
Cold
Marc!
I yell.
He stops when he sees me
and I’m suddenly horrified
because I’ve just chased a senior onto the sidewalk
in front of an entire room of Yearbook nerds.
I want to throw up
but instead I wait for our eyes to meet.
When they finally do
it’s not a brown brown warmth
but a steely, dark cloud.
Have you talked to my sister?
he asks.
I can feel Rachelle staring through the window,
wondering what the hell we’re talking about
and if she should be recording it for local broadcast.
We got into a fight
, I say.
Why?
he asks.
I don’t know what to say.
And then he adds,
So you’re a shoplifter?
I stand there trying to muster a response
when he suddenly says,
I gotta go.
Marc walks off, taking his brown brown eyes with him,
the frayed edge of his jeans,
the hole in his T-shirt
and the peek of his cocoa-y skin underneath,
as everything warm
grows cold.
MAY 1Today Alex, Janet, Roy, and I ditched school. We went to Roy’s house and got high with his Sid Vicious bong and sat on his orange shag carpet and listened to the Circle Jerks. I don’t know why I got so baked. I never liked pot before, but sometimes drugs can be an acquired taste. This wasn’t one of them. It didn’t work for oysters either. No matter how many times I choke down those slimy things, I still want to hurl. As for the pot, all I felt was paranoid and like I had to pee every five minutes. And then they wanted to go outside and skateboard in the driveway, which just made me think about how if I hadn’t whined about wanting a skateboard for my birthday, maybe my parents would never have gone to Big 5 that day and gotten into a car crash. It was probably all my fault. If I’d been hanging out with Elodie and Tabitha, I’d have told them about all the
thoughts that were flying around in my head; instead, I just sat there hoping I wasn’t saying them out loud.
So, yeah. I don’t really love getting high and listening to thrash punk. Maybe if they listened to something to dance to, I’d have stayed, but Janet said it would be rad to watch
Pootie Tang
for the twentieth time, so it gave me a good excuse to go home.
EVILMs. Hoberman is losing it. Her
Romeo and Juliet
signed program is missing. Apparently it disappeared this morning from its place of honor above her desk.
“Maybe I should be happy that someone valued their field-trip experience so much they needed a permanent keepsake,” Ms. Hoberman says. “But I’m not.”
People look at one another, surprised. Ms. Hoberman doesn’t usually get so testy.
“I’m hoping whoever took this will return it immediately so I won’t have to feel angry anymore.”
I feel bad for Ms. Hoberman. She always goes out of her way to be nice to everybody, even the dickheads and the miscreants, so I’m not really sure why anyone would want to screw with her.
After class I head for my locker to pick up a Social Studies book I need for an assignment, but when I see Brady and the gang hanging out there, I take shelter behind the snack machine and slip out the other way.
Since my car’s in the shop, my mom comes to pick me up from school. I find her idling in the parking lot in her beige Lexus.
“You’re on time,” I say.
“Of course,” she says. She seems sober, which is a relief. I don’t think we need another arrest in the family.
As I climb inside and pull the door shut behind me, she says, “I saw Brady.” Then she adds, “Are you not together anymore?”
“Why do you ask?” I look away.
“He seemed cozy with your friend Taryn.” That’s news to me, but I certainly don’t want to deal with it here and now.
“So what? Dad gets cozy with other women, right? No biggie.”
Her face falls, and I immediately feel like an asshole.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “That was evil.”
She straightens up and says, “I chose a credenza for the living room. It’s a lovely blond wood that will really go really well with the new rug.”
She puts the Lexus in gear, turns to me, and adds, “You know what? That
was
evil.” And, without further ado, drives us away.
MAY 2It’s raining again and cold and Aunt B yelled at me for not taking out the trash and Marc is grumpy. So basically everything is shitty. But I’m trying to make it right. I hope it works.
SoloI’m in the Burlingame Fred Meyer,
a paradise of useless trinkets.
I’m about to put a Revlon cream eye shadow
in my purse,
not that I even wear much eye shadow,
but it’s close to the color of that MAC eye shadow
Tabitha had them put on me that day in Nob Hill.
I glance around to see if I have company,
but I don’t.
It’s not that I’m scared
or I’ve been rehabilitated by
Shawn and her stupid program—
even though some of the stuff she says
does
make sense.
It just seems less fun
to go it on your own.
Besties
The yearbook is officially closed!
Rachelle announces.
Everyone claps except Dustin Diaz,
who looks like he may be on his last leg of love.
I gather up all my stuff as Rachelle high-fives everyone.
I envy her.
She has her place in the world
and this is it.
Congratulations
, I say to her.
You did an awesome job
.
She gives me a tight smile.
She’s the girl who called me her bestie
for a few months or so,
even though it would never make the final edit.
Did you see that photo of you
and Tabitha Foster and Maureen Truax?
she asks.
In the “Friends Forever” section?
The way she says it is snide and strange.
I’d be careful of Maureen,
she adds.
I saw her steal Ms. Hoberman’s
Romeo and Juliet
program.
She took it right off the desk when she thought no one saw.
I told Principal Prescott and he’s pissed.
If this were the play
Romeo and Juliet,
Rachelle would be in the role of the apothecary.
She relishes selling poison to people.
I plaster a smile on my face
and walk out, pretending to taste
absolutely nothing at all.