Читать книгу Calli - Jessica Lee Anderson - Страница 12

INTERVENTION

Saturday, April 19

WE HAD TO WAIT in the minivan several nineties songs before the mall opened, and now at 10:12 AM, we have JCPenney all to ourselves minus a few employees scurrying around.

Delia holds a clothes hanger high, dangling it from her finger. An emerald gown swishes back and forth. “You’re sure quiet for an Intervention.”

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Well, the whole point of an Intervention is to keep each other from spiraling into deep depression and shooting up.”

I can’t help but laugh as I grab the hanger from Delia. She picks out a coffee-colored knee-length gown to try on.

Staring at the rich emerald fabric makes me think about things other than this horrible week—future dances, fancy parties, feeling beautiful.

Once I change into the dress and zip it up, I try to ignore the size: thirteen. Instead I twirl around. It’s loose, and the satiny material slides against my skin. If I had $99.99 plus tax, I might buy it so I could try it on from time to time to escape. I’d have to hide it from Cherish. She’s too skinny to fill out the dress, but who knows what would happen to it.

When Cherish was depressed about the Maw-Maw situation, I invited her to try on dresses with me. To have our own Intervention.

“How stupid and immature,” Cherish said. “I’ll deal with things my own way.” She told me later that she hooked up with a senior to get her mind off things.

I wasn’t sure how to respond, and after a long pause Cherish asked, “What? Haven’t you and Dub ever fooled around?”

We had. A little. But I knew better than to tell her this if I wanted to keep my moms or the entire school from knowing. On the rare occasions Dub and I hung out alone, we’d make out until our bodies pressed into each other and our hands started exploring. That’s where we always stopped. I didn’t want to go too fast. Dub seemed to respect that, but maybe he didn’t really. Maybe that’s why he kissed Cherish—to get what he wasn’t getting from me.

Delia’s voice sounds muffled in the dressing room. “You ready for the reveal?”

We’re supposed to let our feelings out during an Intervention, but I keep mine to myself. I force a smile before leaning out of the stall.

Delia backs up. “Can you zip me?”

My fingers work the zipper up the coffee-beaded bodice, but it catches midway up her back. “Too tight.” She’s wearing a size nine. Four numbers separate her dress and mine. Throughout the years, we’ve always been about the same size. I loved it when people mistook us for sisters.

“You should try on that mesh dress, Delia.” It’s a size eleven and would decrease our difference from four numbers to two.

I don’t want to change out of my gown, so I stand near the mirror while Delia changes. I cock my head to the side and put a hand on my hip.

I’d love for someone to walk by and notice me, to stop and say, “Wow, you look stunning. You should model prom dresses.”

And I’d smile and say, “Thank you.” I’d avoid speaking too much or smiling so wide that I’d reveal my braces.

“Are you going to dump Dub?” Delia asks, sashaying in her dress and snapping me back to the reality I so desperately want to escape from.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen.” It’s easy for her to dismiss Dub since she’s never really given him a chance. He’s tried to be her friend and ask her questions or invite her to hang out with us, but she blows him off.

Delia shakes her butt and the fabric catches the bright store lights. Even though I’m irritated with her, I tell her she looks nice.

She pops her gum. “Thanks.” Delia turns around so I’ll unzip her. She doesn’t even compliment my dress. Maybe nobody would’ve stopped and noticed me after all.

I turn my back to the mirror, and the emotions bubble up. “Things are such a mess because of Cherish.”

“Not everything is her fault,” Delia says.

“Okay, Mom and Liz.” I’ve had enough of these sorts of talks at home.

“Hey, I’m just saying that Cherish is a piece of work and you should ignore her so she’ll eventually quit messing with you. She does it because she can.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve some of this.” Delia flexes her arm while preventing the dress from falling down with her other hand. “Look, Rashell and I fought all of the time.”

“But she never stole your crap or sucked face with your boyfriend or vandalized your locker or trash-talked your mom.”

“No, but we fought.”

Their fights were about who hogged the bathroom the longest or polished off the milk.

Delia’s missing the point and it’s clear I can’t talk to her like I used to. She’d flip if she knew about the stolen necklace and the shredded essay.

Some Intervention.

“Check him out.” Delia points at a guy working the cash register at Chick-fil-A.

I trip on a chair in the food court trying to get a good look. The guy is built and his head is shaved. “He’s okay.”

“Better than okay!”

The guy smiles when he notices us gawking at him. It’s a warm, sexy smile that lights up his dark eyes. His smile makes me agree with Delia. Despite myself, I smile back.

“I vote Chick-fil-A for lunch.” Delia grins and heads to the counter before I have a chance to cast my vote. Not that I’d ever say no to fried chicken.

The guy continues smiling as we get closer. He looks sixteen, maybe seventeen. Only a couple years older than us. A woman behind the next cash register asks if she can take our order, but the guy interrupts her to say, “I’ll take care of ’em.”

Delia steps behind me and giggles. I manage to order our lunch without laughing.

When the guy passes me my lemonade, his hand bumps mine. The rush of warmth and the softness of his skin catch me by surprise.

“Come back soon,” the guy says when he delivers our lunch. He smiles again, and my grip on the tray wobbles. I regain my balance to keep our chicken sandwich meals and lemonades from flopping onto the floor.

Delia barely eats her lunch because she can’t stop talking about Hot Chick-fil-A Guy. “I think I’m in love, Calli!”

I sip my tart, sweet lemonade to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Being in love means you crave being with your special person. You can’t stand it when you’re away from each other. It’s a sort of euphoria I can’t expect her to understand. Delia’s never had a boyfriend, and she wasn’t even brave enough to say hello to this guy. “Why don’t you refill your lemonade or order something else so you can talk to him?”

“No way. I blew it when I started laughing.” She starts laughing all over again when she repeats, “He’s going to take care of us.”

I chuckle and help myself to her salty waffle fries.