cheerleaders and football players. I couldn’t forget what they said about Dahlia not really wanting to hang out with me. I didn’t know if it was true or not, but I thought I should try to give her some space. So, I had been avoiding her at lunchtime, making excuses that I had to go to the library or study hall. I didn’t want to lose such a good friend, but I didn’t want her talking about how annoying I was, either.
“Oh, I love this movie!” Dahlia announced. “It’s one of my favorites.”
On TV, Katherine Hepburn had ripped the back of her dress and was walking around a restaurant with the back of her underwear showing. I could totally see Dahlia doing the same thing, and I started to giggle.
Dahlia laughed, too. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” she said. “It’s been so long. You’ve been way too busy so I figured if the mountain won’t go to Dahlia, well you know.”
She had gotten the saying a little mixed up, but it didn’t matter. I was happy. She obviously wanted to see me, and those cheerleading finks were big fat liars. Or skinny little liars.
They were bitches.
“You’ll never guess what I brought,” she said.
“Pop Tarts.”
“Wow! How did you guess?”
I didn’t point out that her purse was see-through. She opened the box and handed me a foiled package. I ripped it open and took a bite.
“And who are you?” she asked Cruz, who sat down on the other side of me. “No, let me guess. You’re Chino.”
She smiled, and I blushed. Dahlia offered Cruz some Pop Tarts, but he refused since he had to stay a certain size for modeling.
I didn’t need to stay a certain size. I purposefully wore clothes that were a size too big so I could go up and down depending on my craving for carbs and the time of the month. Right then, I was PMSing pretty bad, and if a doctor was around, I was sure he would prescribe a big dose of Pop Tarts. Besides, they were s'mores flavored. My favorite.
“I’m not going to ask what’s going on here,” Dahlia said, pointing from me to Cruz. “I believe that would be a karmic violation, and I’m not willing to do that while I’m waiting to hear back from Smith College. My father wants me to go to Brown, but Sylvia Plath went to Smith. You know?”
I didn’t know if it was all that prudent to follow in Sylvia Plath’s footsteps. Besides, Dahlia wanted to be a math major.
“I’m Cruz,” he said shaking her hand.
“I’m Dahlia. Tess’s biggest admirer. Or am I? Maybe I’m her second biggest admirer?” She arched her eyebrow and cocked her head at Cruz. My face got hot, but Cruz’s face looked like it was the Hindenburg landing. On fire. He was a red, ripe tomato.
Dahlia didn’t seem to notice. She bit into a Pop Tart and slapped my knee. “I have big news for you. Big!”
She was wearing inch long fake eyelashes, which were purple and glittery—I think to match her new car—and her hair was tied in a top knot, which looked like a blond toilet paper roll was glued to the top of her head. I was slightly afraid of her ‘big news.’
She opened her purse and rifled through it. “I know it’s here somewhere.” She pulled out a couple dirty Kleenex, a curling iron, and finally an envelope, which she held up with an air of victory. “Voila! And notice I said that in French.” She winked at me, and her purple eyelashes stuck together.
I helped her upstairs to my bathroom, and she washed the eyelashes off. “I was half-hoping it wouldn’t unstick, and I could have an eye patch,” she said with her face in the sink. “I have a great scarf to tie around my head, and it would be fabulous to pull off a whole pirate look.”
Dahlia dried off, and I quickly hung up all of Cruz’s wet towels. She took the envelope, and I showed her my bedroom. She went right for the floppy hat on my dresser.
“Love this. Love this!” she cried, trying it on. “Do I look like Scarlett O’Hara?”
She looked nothing like Scarlett O’Hara. First of
“Oh, I love this movie!” Dahlia announced. “It’s one of my favorites.”
On TV, Katherine Hepburn had ripped the back of her dress and was walking around a restaurant with the back of her underwear showing. I could totally see Dahlia doing the same thing, and I started to giggle.
Dahlia laughed, too. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” she said. “It’s been so long. You’ve been way too busy so I figured if the mountain won’t go to Dahlia, well you know.”
She had gotten the saying a little mixed up, but it didn’t matter. I was happy. She obviously wanted to see me, and those cheerleading finks were big fat liars. Or skinny little liars.
They were bitches.
“You’ll never guess what I brought,” she said.
“Pop Tarts.”
“Wow! How did you guess?”
I didn’t point out that her purse was see-through. She opened the box and handed me a foiled package. I ripped it open and took a bite.
“And who are you?” she asked Cruz, who sat down on the other side of me. “No, let me guess. You’re Chino.”
She smiled, and I blushed. Dahlia offered Cruz some Pop Tarts, but he refused since he had to stay a certain size for modeling.
I didn’t need to stay a certain size. I purposefully wore clothes that were a size too big so I could go up and down depending on my craving for carbs and the time of the month. Right then, I was PMSing pretty bad, and if a doctor was around, I was sure he would prescribe a big dose of Pop Tarts. Besides, they were s'mores flavored. My favorite.
“I’m not going to ask what’s going on here,” Dahlia said, pointing from me to Cruz. “I believe that would be a karmic violation, and I’m not willing to do that while I’m waiting to hear back from Smith College. My father wants me to go to Brown, but Sylvia Plath went to Smith. You know?”
I didn’t know if it was all that prudent to follow in Sylvia Plath’s footsteps. Besides, Dahlia wanted to be a math major.
“I’m Cruz,” he said shaking her hand.
“I’m Dahlia. Tess’s biggest admirer. Or am I? Maybe I’m her second biggest admirer?” She arched her eyebrow and cocked her head at Cruz. My face got hot, but Cruz’s face looked like it was the Hindenburg landing. On fire. He was a red, ripe tomato.
Dahlia didn’t seem to notice. She bit into a Pop Tart and slapped my knee. “I have big news for you. Big!”
She was wearing inch long fake eyelashes, which were purple and glittery—I think to match her new car—and her hair was tied in a top knot, which looked like a blond toilet paper roll was glued to the top of her head. I was slightly afraid of her ‘big news.’
She opened her purse and rifled through it. “I know it’s here somewhere.” She pulled out a couple dirty Kleenex, a curling iron, and finally an envelope, which she held up with an air of victory. “Voila! And notice I said that in French.” She winked at me, and her purple eyelashes stuck together.
I helped her upstairs to my bathroom, and she washed the eyelashes off. “I was half-hoping it wouldn’t unstick, and I could have an eye patch,” she said with her face in the sink. “I have a great scarf to tie around my head, and it would be fabulous to pull off a whole pirate look.”
Dahlia dried off, and I quickly hung up all of Cruz’s wet towels. She took the envelope, and I showed her my bedroom. She went right for the floppy hat on my dresser.
“Love this. Love this!” she cried, trying it on. “Do I look like Scarlett O’Hara?”
She looked nothing like Scarlett O’Hara. First of
Similar Books
