Shrimp by Rachel Cohn
Authors: Rachel Cohn
Tags: Fiction, General, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 10-12), Social Issues, Interpersonal relations, Children's 12-Up - Fiction - General, School & Education, Adolescence, Family - General, Social Issues - Adolescence, Mothers and daughters, Stepfamilies, Family - Stepfamilies
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adventure of a day by pulling us a couple morning brews." Helen grabbed my hand and led me away from the living room, while Autumn remained seated.
When we reached the kitchen I told Helen, "Thanks for thinking of me, but I am not hanging out with that girl. I don't like her."
"How do you know? You didn't even talk to her at the party last night. She's, like, the coolest." Helen looked over the immaculate kitchen with the state-of-the-art appliances and the glass doors leading to an outdoor deck overlooking
88
San Francisco Bay. "Wow, this kitchen might be bigger than my whole house."
I pointed my index finger and shook my head at Helen, giving her the Don't Start with Me look. I said, 'Autumn's also the girl who fooled around with Shrimp last summer."
"So what? I made out with him once in eighth grade. You oughta know better than anybody, that boy just has something about him. Shrimp is just like a delicacy that every girl should get to sample once in her lifetime, at least on some level. But I think all are agreed that you're the girl who's the permanent fixture in his life."
I'm a sucker; that last line did butter me up a little.
But geez Louise, I had no idea Shrimp was such a slut.
Helen must have sensed a softening of my resolve because she said, 'Anyway that business with Shrimp and Autumn last summer, that was one night, and it was nothing! She doesn't even like boys that way, really. So just deal. You are better than that."
Now I was almost officially Parkay. I pulled the Hershey's milk from the Sub-Z fridge to make the Cyd Charisse Special, capps with foamed choc milk, and I turned on the espresso machine to get it primed. I said, "I'm not sure quite what you mean by that."
Helen found the Peet's Coffee in the freezer (as Java the Hut beans are banned in this household until Shrimp has lifted his embargo on me) and she handed the bag over to me. "It means," she said, "I think you are better than being some lamé-ass chick who is threatened by other girls and thinks of them as rivals rather than friends. It means, I challenge you to make friends with Autumn."
Ash was sitting at the breakfast-nook table eating a
89
bowl of Cheerios and dipping a Barbie's head into the milk, then swirling the blond tresses around the bowl. "You said lamé-ass!" Ash said. "Good one." Ash's eyes appraised Helen, starting from the star-spangled high-top Chucks on Helen's feet to Helen's red-and-blue plaid bell-bottom pants and up to her white T-shirt picturing curvaceous Lynda Carter in her patriotic but impractically skimpy Wonder Woman bathing suit uniform. Ash's appraisal ended at Helen's shaved head of black hair that had grown to about two centimeters. Ash said to Helen, "What are you?"
Helen's eyes squinted as she inspected the Barbie hair twirl. She said, "What do you think I am?"
Ash said, "I don't know, but it looks like there used to be a hand colored on your almost-bald head."
"Yeah, copper hand is hard to dye out, turns out. And I'm a Helen. CC's friend."
"Ha ha!" Ash laughed. She almost choked on her Cheerios.
Helen looked toward me, confused. I explained, "She's never seen an actual friend of mine that wasn't a boyfriend in this house before."
Ash got up from her chair and went over to Helen. It's cute; Ash and Helen both have the same body type--short and stocky, like round teddy bears. What wasn't so cute was that Ash then pinched Helen's pudgy stomach, as if she had to prove to herself that her sister had an actual in-the-flesh friend in the house. Ash promoted her voice to a scream for the benefit of our brother, Josh, playing a video game in the family room next to the kitchen. "JOSH! COME SEE! CYD CHARISSE HAS SOME PRACTICALLY BALD, PIERCED FRIEND HERE WHO'S A GIRL!"
90
*** Chapter 12
The sexual politics of the Shrimp crowd turn out to be quite complicated. If I were a private investigator creating a flowchart attempting to illustrate their love connections, my head might possibly explode.
Start
When we reached the kitchen I told Helen, "Thanks for thinking of me, but I am not hanging out with that girl. I don't like her."
"How do you know? You didn't even talk to her at the party last night. She's, like, the coolest." Helen looked over the immaculate kitchen with the state-of-the-art appliances and the glass doors leading to an outdoor deck overlooking
88
San Francisco Bay. "Wow, this kitchen might be bigger than my whole house."
I pointed my index finger and shook my head at Helen, giving her the Don't Start with Me look. I said, 'Autumn's also the girl who fooled around with Shrimp last summer."
"So what? I made out with him once in eighth grade. You oughta know better than anybody, that boy just has something about him. Shrimp is just like a delicacy that every girl should get to sample once in her lifetime, at least on some level. But I think all are agreed that you're the girl who's the permanent fixture in his life."
I'm a sucker; that last line did butter me up a little.
But geez Louise, I had no idea Shrimp was such a slut.
Helen must have sensed a softening of my resolve because she said, 'Anyway that business with Shrimp and Autumn last summer, that was one night, and it was nothing! She doesn't even like boys that way, really. So just deal. You are better than that."
Now I was almost officially Parkay. I pulled the Hershey's milk from the Sub-Z fridge to make the Cyd Charisse Special, capps with foamed choc milk, and I turned on the espresso machine to get it primed. I said, "I'm not sure quite what you mean by that."
Helen found the Peet's Coffee in the freezer (as Java the Hut beans are banned in this household until Shrimp has lifted his embargo on me) and she handed the bag over to me. "It means," she said, "I think you are better than being some lamé-ass chick who is threatened by other girls and thinks of them as rivals rather than friends. It means, I challenge you to make friends with Autumn."
Ash was sitting at the breakfast-nook table eating a
89
bowl of Cheerios and dipping a Barbie's head into the milk, then swirling the blond tresses around the bowl. "You said lamé-ass!" Ash said. "Good one." Ash's eyes appraised Helen, starting from the star-spangled high-top Chucks on Helen's feet to Helen's red-and-blue plaid bell-bottom pants and up to her white T-shirt picturing curvaceous Lynda Carter in her patriotic but impractically skimpy Wonder Woman bathing suit uniform. Ash's appraisal ended at Helen's shaved head of black hair that had grown to about two centimeters. Ash said to Helen, "What are you?"
Helen's eyes squinted as she inspected the Barbie hair twirl. She said, "What do you think I am?"
Ash said, "I don't know, but it looks like there used to be a hand colored on your almost-bald head."
"Yeah, copper hand is hard to dye out, turns out. And I'm a Helen. CC's friend."
"Ha ha!" Ash laughed. She almost choked on her Cheerios.
Helen looked toward me, confused. I explained, "She's never seen an actual friend of mine that wasn't a boyfriend in this house before."
Ash got up from her chair and went over to Helen. It's cute; Ash and Helen both have the same body type--short and stocky, like round teddy bears. What wasn't so cute was that Ash then pinched Helen's pudgy stomach, as if she had to prove to herself that her sister had an actual in-the-flesh friend in the house. Ash promoted her voice to a scream for the benefit of our brother, Josh, playing a video game in the family room next to the kitchen. "JOSH! COME SEE! CYD CHARISSE HAS SOME PRACTICALLY BALD, PIERCED FRIEND HERE WHO'S A GIRL!"
90
*** Chapter 12
The sexual politics of the Shrimp crowd turn out to be quite complicated. If I were a private investigator creating a flowchart attempting to illustrate their love connections, my head might possibly explode.
Start
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