my mom has picked out that will make the Hot Shot Dance a night to remember. Pink and red paint, big sheets of white paper on which to write out her theme: "Shot Through the Heart". Glitter and glue and sequins to make the gym come alive.
I push the cart up to the cashier, trying my best to be excited about what's in the bin.
"We forgot the glue gun," my mom says. "Run and grab one, please."
I walk back down the yarn aisle, taking my time. The dance will be great , I remind myself. And my mom means well. She really does. She has a knack for these things; she can't help it if her creative mind takes over.
A black spool of yarn with silver specks intertwined in the thread catches my attention. It reminds me of something Lil would like. It's weird that even though I don't know her, I feel as though I do. Maybe it's because she wears who she is right on her skin and in her words.
Lil didn't speak a word to me in English yesterday. She didn't even look in my direction.
"You can't have your seat back, Jock Strap," is all she said when Alex walked down the row toward her. He didn't respond, just smiled at me and went to his new seat. Lil stared forward and picked at her nails for the rest of class. By the end, she had stacked a huge pile of black polish in one corner of her desk. She didn't even throw it out when she left.
Just looking at the yarn makes a bubble of frustration rise in my stomach. Not at Lil. At myself. It makes me want to tear off my skin and crawl into someone else's. Someone like Lil, who says what she wants, who can sleep with any boy and not care and smoke cigarette after cigarette out in the open for the whole town to see. Who can say you smell like virgin and I want to get laid and ' Shot Through the Heart' is a terrible theme because no one cares about Bon Jovi anymore!
I take a breath. And then another. And another. Once my blood pressure eases back to normal, I put the yarn down, grab the glue gun, and find my mom at the front of the store. She's talking to Mrs. Rogers, Pippa's mom, when I walk up behind them.
"Did she honestly think changing her daughter's last name would make a difference? We all know she's back," Mrs. Rogers whispers.
My mom leans in closer. "Poor Marty had to show the girl around school." She shakes her head. "I just hope she stays far away from us."
Lil? I hold my breath, wishing I were invisible so they would keep talking; but at that moment, my mom turns and finds me standing there, glue gun pointed directly at the two of them.
"Found it." I shrug and smile.
"Marty." My mom tucks my hair behind my ears and smiles. "We were just talking about you."
"Hi, Mrs. Rogers," I say.
"Your mom was telling me how spectacular the Hot Shot Dance is going to be. It was always my favorite when I was in high school." Mrs. Rogers grabs a basket and hooks it over her arm. I grit my teeth, squeezing my jaw so tight I feel like enamel might chip off.
"I'm excited," I squeak out.
"It was good to see you, Marilyn," my mom says as she ushers me toward the door.
"You too."
They eye each other for a second before Mrs. Rogers takes out her cell and turns toward the scrapbooking aisle.
"What about the glue gun?" I ask.
My mom places it on one of the cashier stations. "We'll get it some other time."
CHAPTER 5
Back in my room, I sit on my bed next to the Hobby Lobby bag full of decorations and rub the ear of the gray stuffed rabbit my grandma gave me when I was a baby.
We never named animals on the farm when I was younger. Harder to eat a burger when you'd named the cow Sally , Grandma would say. So I never named him.
I replay my mom's conversation with Mrs. Rogers over and over, trying to understand what they meant. Did Lil change her last name? And they said back , which means Lil's been here before?
But every few seconds, out of the corner of my eye, I'll see the pink and red cardboard sticking out of the top of the bag and start singing, Bon Jovi's song "You Give Love a Bad Name".
I push the cart up to the cashier, trying my best to be excited about what's in the bin.
"We forgot the glue gun," my mom says. "Run and grab one, please."
I walk back down the yarn aisle, taking my time. The dance will be great , I remind myself. And my mom means well. She really does. She has a knack for these things; she can't help it if her creative mind takes over.
A black spool of yarn with silver specks intertwined in the thread catches my attention. It reminds me of something Lil would like. It's weird that even though I don't know her, I feel as though I do. Maybe it's because she wears who she is right on her skin and in her words.
Lil didn't speak a word to me in English yesterday. She didn't even look in my direction.
"You can't have your seat back, Jock Strap," is all she said when Alex walked down the row toward her. He didn't respond, just smiled at me and went to his new seat. Lil stared forward and picked at her nails for the rest of class. By the end, she had stacked a huge pile of black polish in one corner of her desk. She didn't even throw it out when she left.
Just looking at the yarn makes a bubble of frustration rise in my stomach. Not at Lil. At myself. It makes me want to tear off my skin and crawl into someone else's. Someone like Lil, who says what she wants, who can sleep with any boy and not care and smoke cigarette after cigarette out in the open for the whole town to see. Who can say you smell like virgin and I want to get laid and ' Shot Through the Heart' is a terrible theme because no one cares about Bon Jovi anymore!
I take a breath. And then another. And another. Once my blood pressure eases back to normal, I put the yarn down, grab the glue gun, and find my mom at the front of the store. She's talking to Mrs. Rogers, Pippa's mom, when I walk up behind them.
"Did she honestly think changing her daughter's last name would make a difference? We all know she's back," Mrs. Rogers whispers.
My mom leans in closer. "Poor Marty had to show the girl around school." She shakes her head. "I just hope she stays far away from us."
Lil? I hold my breath, wishing I were invisible so they would keep talking; but at that moment, my mom turns and finds me standing there, glue gun pointed directly at the two of them.
"Found it." I shrug and smile.
"Marty." My mom tucks my hair behind my ears and smiles. "We were just talking about you."
"Hi, Mrs. Rogers," I say.
"Your mom was telling me how spectacular the Hot Shot Dance is going to be. It was always my favorite when I was in high school." Mrs. Rogers grabs a basket and hooks it over her arm. I grit my teeth, squeezing my jaw so tight I feel like enamel might chip off.
"I'm excited," I squeak out.
"It was good to see you, Marilyn," my mom says as she ushers me toward the door.
"You too."
They eye each other for a second before Mrs. Rogers takes out her cell and turns toward the scrapbooking aisle.
"What about the glue gun?" I ask.
My mom places it on one of the cashier stations. "We'll get it some other time."
CHAPTER 5
Back in my room, I sit on my bed next to the Hobby Lobby bag full of decorations and rub the ear of the gray stuffed rabbit my grandma gave me when I was a baby.
We never named animals on the farm when I was younger. Harder to eat a burger when you'd named the cow Sally , Grandma would say. So I never named him.
I replay my mom's conversation with Mrs. Rogers over and over, trying to understand what they meant. Did Lil change her last name? And they said back , which means Lil's been here before?
But every few seconds, out of the corner of my eye, I'll see the pink and red cardboard sticking out of the top of the bag and start singing, Bon Jovi's song "You Give Love a Bad Name".
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