she said.
"Oh, yeah," I said. "I had dinner there." Was that what we'd done at Piazzolla's? I couldn't actually remember eating a thing.
"Want some gum?" she held out a pack in my direction. Through the wrapping I got a whiff of
something very strawberry.
"No thanks," I said.
She put the gum back in her bag. "I waved as you were leaving, but I guess you didn't see me."
She'd waved at me? "I guess not," I said. "Sorry." Just then Bethany Miller came in and made a beeline for the empty desk on my other side.
"Hey," said Bethany. She was wearing a miniskirt that would have been too small on a house cat.
When she took off her jacket, her boobs practically fell out of her low-cut shirt and onto her
desk. She gave me an enormous smile.
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"Hey," I said. Rachel and Bethany, who were best friends, usually sat right next to each other so they could pass notes from the second class started to the second it ended. Once, in September, I
made the mistake of sitting at the empty desk next to Bethany's, and she asked me to move.
Actually, she didn't ask me to move, she told me to move. What she said was, "You're sitting in my friend's seat."
"You and Connor Pearson are the cutest couple," Bethany squealed. "You guys looked so good together Friday." She squeezed my shoulder when she said "Friday." Then she dropped her hand onto my desk.
"Um, thanks."
'"Cause you're both, like, tall and thin and stuff. You look like two models."
"Thanks," I said again. If there's one thing I know I don't look like, it's a model. I looked down at my doodle as the rest of the class started filing in. A few people smiled at me or said hey.
"Oooh, that's cool," said Rachel, looking at my notebook. "It really looks like a glass of water."
Bethany looked down to admire my drawing, too. "Totally. Are you, like, a really good artist?
Because that's really good." She nodded enthusiastically, then repeated. "Really."
"Oh, I'm not--" I started to say, but just then Miss Merriam walked in.
"Let's settle down, class," she said.
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Rachel reached over and tapped my shoulder. Then she mouthed, "Call me."
I nodded, too surprised to mention I didn't have her number.
I may have become royalty at school, but my elevated status didn't have any effect on my home
life, where I remained invisible as ever. At dinner Mara and her daughters talked exclusively
about the shopping spree they'd gone on after school (without me, naturally). Princess One
couldn't decide if she should have gotten a sweater in green, like Princess Two had, or if she was
right to have gotten it in blue, like Mara had. Mara promised they could go back to the mall on
Friday and Princess One could get the green sweater, too.
While Princess Two complained about how unfair that was, Mara listened intently, taking tiny
bites of her food and following each with a sip of water.
"Oh, girls, I almost forgot," she said after assuring Princess Two she could get another sweater also. "Your father called and said you need to bring something nice to wear this weekend
because they're having people for dinner on Saturday night."
"I hate when they have company," whined Princess One, clacking her fork against her plate for emphasis.
"It's so unfair," said Princess Two. "We have to sit there and not say anything and everyone ignores us."
"I'm going to speak to Diana about that," said
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Mara. "The two of you are a lovely addition to any dinner party. She should be more gracious."
The Princesses hate their stepmother Diana with a passion, and I got the sense the feeling was
mutual. I'd met Diana a couple of times when she and the Princesses' dad dropped them off or
picked them up, and I always tried to use ESP to let her know I shared her feelings and supported
her one hundred percent.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," said Mara. I swear, she was practically tearing up. It was all I could do not to puke up my risotto.
"You don't understand," said Princess Two. Then she slumped down in her seat like going to her
father's was the equivalent of going to the electric chair. "You don't know what it's like to live
with Diana."
I wanted to point out that actually she doesn't know what it's like to live with Diana considering she "lives" with her about four days out of every thirty. Then I wanted to point out that I'm the one who lives with her horrible stepmother three hundred and sixty-five days a year, and that if I
only had to do it two weekends a month, I'd consider myself lucky.
I finished my risotto and spooned some more onto my plate. Mara watched what I was doing
with her eyebrows raised. "Lucy, you don't need to gobble your food. It's not going anywhere."
"Sorry."
"If you eat too fast, your brain can't register that
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your stomach is full. That's why you should take tiny bites and wash each one down with a sip of
water."
Just as I was about to tell Mara what she could do with her water, the phone rang. I looked at my
watch. Eight o'clock. The only hope I had of getting even a second alone on the phone with my
dad was if I moved faster than Mara. "I'll get it," I said. I raced into the kitchen with my plate and grabbed the phone.
"Hey, Dad," I said, still holding my plate.
"Hey, Goose," he said. "How's it going?"
"Okay," I said. I wanted to tell him just how okay things really were, since usually my okay was a total lie, but there was no time for that. Through the open door, I saw Mara stand and make her
way toward the phone in the den.
"Are you going to watch any of the Knicks game?" he asked. The other line rang, and I heard
Mara pick up. I hoped it was one of her friends calling about a new home-decorating scheme,
something guaranteed to keep my stepmother occupied for hours.
"Maybe," I said. "Probably just the fourth quarter, though." I rinsed my plate off and slipped it into the dishwasher. The thing about a Knicks game is you know how it's going to end--defeat.
Still, every once in a while they can surprise you.
There was a click. "Lucy?" God, couldn't she leave us alone for two minutes?
"Yeah?"
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"Phone's for you."
"For me?" I couldn't imagine who it would be. Neither Jessica nor Madison had said anything
about calling me later.
"Bye," said my dad.
"Bye, Dad," I said. I heard him say "Hello, darling," before I had a chance to hang up.
I pushed the button for our second line. "Hello?"
"Hey, Red."
My heart started pounding. I squeezed my hand into a fist and pressed it against my scalp,
hoping the pressure would somehow keep me from floating into outer space. "Hey," I said.
"How's it going?"
"Okay," I said. "How's it going with you?"
"Not too bad," he said. There was a pause. This was definitely not good. It's one thing to have a long silence when you're walking next to someone and he's massaging your neck. It's another to
be on the phone with that someone and have nothing to say.
I wracked my brain for a conversation starter. "You watching the game?" I asked finally.
"You know it. In fact, you hear that?" I could hear something in the background, but I couldn't