Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit (11 page)

“Well, hey there, MILF.” Dana has no shame. None. None at all.

Dahlia sets our coffees on the counter.

“How are you, Dana?” Three's smile is counterfeit, like she stole the one from her mother's face and put it on her own. So maybe not as cool when the gay girl's not her stepdaughter.

“Great, now that y'all are here.” Dana shoves her hands into her back pockets, getting her flirtatious thing going.
“I sure had a nice time at your wedding.”

Three pales and there went our good day, squashed under the memory of Mrs. Foley witnessing some skirt diving. “Yes, well, I'm sure Jo was happy to have you there.” She turns to me. “Car? Twenty minutes? I don't want to get stuck in traffic.” Then to Dana, “Nice to see you again.” She keeps a smile plastered on her face as she grabs her coffee, but I can tell by the tone of her voice she doesn't really mean it.

“Bitch ever going to get over her problem?” Dana watches her as the door shuts and Three walks past the windows to the car.

“She's actually cooler than I thought.”

“Please tell me that housewife isn't brainwashing your hot ass.”

It's not worth the argument. I look over my shoulder and down at my butt. “Hot?”

“Yeah, even if you have gone all Mall Bitch 101 on me.” Her arms cross over her chest.

“Your idea.”

“You took to it like a duck to fucking water.”

“What's your problem, Dana? You seem mad. You know I'm doing this for my dad. And for us.” More people are filtering in after school. Through the window, I see
Three on the phone and I know she's antsy to beat the Atlanta end-of-workday traffic out of town. But it's been too long since I've seen Dana, and we need to work out whatever
this
attitude is.

Dana rocks on her Docs. Her hair is freshly buzzed except for one tiny curl of bang, and she's upped the gauge in her ear. “Maybe you and me are just changing.”

“What?” The blood drains from my body, or at least it feels that way. “I'm still the same me as always, Dana. The me you always swore balanced you out.”

She points. “Look at you. All clean-cut and filled with Jesus. I bet you don't even mind being in the closet up there. I bet it works for you.”

I clench my fists to keep from pushing her into the espresso machine. “Don't bring Jesus into this.” But her point hits way too close to my fears.

“Whatever. Am I wrong?”

I can't answer.

She rolls her eyes. “Unbelievable. I always knew you were a pussy, but I never thought you'd turn against your tribe.”

“I'm not turning, Dana. I came out to that kid George. Are you really going to keep being such an ass?” I nudge her with my elbow. “Come on. The only thing keeping me
going is knowing we're going to have an amazing summer. I thought you understood.” I grab her arm. “Please. I'm legit begging here.”

She lifts a hand to some tatted girls walking through the door and keeps ignoring me, but when I add a thrust to my lower lip, she caves with a slug to my arm. “I'm not blowing you off. Though seeing you beg is definitely a point in favor of lesbian tough love.” She pulls me into a hug. “Can I remind you, though, you're the one going to Bible study and football dudes' houses. I'm left here, still doing my same old thing.” She pulls back. “And . . . I'm seeing somebody.”

Jealousy, and relief, course through me. Girlfriends and Dana are old news. And they never last. “That's it? You haven't been in touch because you have a new girlfriend.” Then I stop. “How bad is she?” It's a known fact that new girlfriends do not like old friends. Especially ones as close as me.

Dana smirks. “Bad. Her name is Holly. She'll be here in a minute, so maybe take a step back or two.”

I don't have time to respond before this loud girl busts through the door. She's dressed like a fifties pinup girl, all tits and red lipstick and platinum hair. I am a drab mouse in comparison.

“Hey, baby.” She marches straight to Dana, grabs her
around the waist, and gives her a deep kiss. Then breaks away and looks at me. “Who's the cream puff?”

I don't give her the benefit of an answer, because, hello, rude. “Dana. I better head out. Three wants to beat the traffic.”

Holly narrows her eyes. “Are you Jo?” It's like she can't believe I'm flesh and blood.

“The one and only. BFF to your shining star here.” In a normal situation, the BFF would take the time to get to know the new girlfriend. Ease the jealousy. But my instant impression of Holly is trouble. And my long-term knowledge of Dana includes her mercurial relationship tendencies. Why bother. Besides, Holly is type bitch with a capital
B
.

She responds with a “huh,” then, “You're not what I thought.” She leans into Dana, whispering something in her ear.

Dana's still watching me but looks away quickly, like I might be able to read Holly's whispered words in her eyes and she's embarrassed for me to see whatever they say.

I pick up my coffee when the air gets awkward. “Well, it was nice to meet you.” I lift my cup to Holly, then to Dana. “Don't be a stranger.”

Holly waves each finger. “See you around, Little Suburbia. Maybe next time you can stay and play.”

Yeah. No way I'm being the mouse to your cat.

As I walk out the door, Holly's raucous laugh pounds my ears and her words slam against me. “
That's
who I've been jealous of? Oh come here, baby D, you don't have to worry about that boredom anymore. You've got your Holly now.”

The door shuts behind me and it's nothing but the static sound of traffic. I gulp in air, forcing my way to calm.
Dear heavenly Mother, forgive me for my current murderess feelings. And please give Dana the guidance to deal with that evil demon. My gut tells me she's going to need it.
I pause.
And thanks for this day with Elizabeth. It was pretty good up until now. Amen. Joanna.

When I get in the passenger seat, Three smiles. “How'd it go?”

I hook my seat belt. “It involved prayer, Elizabeth.”

She nods and acts like my use of her real name is no big deal, but I can tell by the slight smile and the crinkle near her eyes that it meant a whole lot. It's a good way to leave the sour taste of Hellcat Holly behind.

TUESDAY MORNING, GEORGE GREETS ME
in the parking lot. “Where were you yesterday?”

I start to answer but he cuts me off. “Never mind. That was insane what you pulled with Gemma on Sunday.” He bro-punches me. “You're brilliant. Roller coasters—she'll be sure to need to grab my hand or something.”

I tug my T-shirt out from where it's bunched under my backpack straps and shift the pack to the opposite side. “Careful there, killer. You need to play this right. Don't want to seem like you're throwing me off the bus too quickly. That's the way to get yourself a reputation.”

“Right.” He does the bang push thing. “So what do I do?”

I hook my hand through his elbow. “Be yourself.” The irony of my own advice is not lost on me as Mary Carlson and B.T.B. pull into their parking spot a few yards up from us.

B.T.B. hops out first. “Jo . . . anna! You were gone yesterday. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, buddy. Needed a day.”

Mary Carlson appears at the back of the car and her eyes land on my arm looped through George's elbow. I move it.

“Nice frames.” I point. She's got on a huge pair of pink glasses instead of her usual ones.

She moves her hand up and fidgets with them, a little blush rising in her cheeks. “Eighth-grade me. I secretly wanted to be a K-pop star. I left my regular glasses at the club yesterday.”

We walk four across toward the school. It seems like she's gotten over being upset.

“K-pop, huh? Did you have the little skirts to go with those frames? Maybe a pair of suspenders? A bow tie?” I nudge her. “The whole sexy schoolgirl look.”

She drops her face, her hair making a curtain, but there's a smile there. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

And, sweet holy mother of all things not lying low, we are flirting. Or are we? I blow past it. “Actually, I would
pay good money to see the pictures, because I know, deep in my fortune-teller's soul, that you dressed up K-pop for Halloween one year.”

B.T.B. laughs. “She is right, sister. I remember. You and Gemma and Betsy. You even did a performance for me in our living room.”

“Freeeeshhhh. That video must be shown.”

Mary Carlson is laughing now. “No way, city girl. You are not getting a chance to make fun of my choreography.” She looks up and the sun glints off the edge of the pink frames. “Even if I did look hot.”

George chimes in. He seems utterly clueless about the thick slice of heat he narrowly cut in two. “I remember that dance. Mr. Mulroney fell and broke his leg and the ambulance came. Gemma was the only one not completely freaked out by the angle of his leg.”

“Doctor parents,” Mary Carlson says.

“Ah.” George swings his book bag up under his arm. “Is that why she wants to go premed?”

“Gemma would be a very good doctor. I would let her be mine.” B.T.B. nods in serious consideration.

“I think she's into it. Science and all that stuff.” Mary Carlson tilts her head. “Why are we talking about Gemma?”

I grab George's arm again. “Because George here is
secretly worried about launching off a coaster and wants to make sure he's accompanied to Six Flags by a qualified companion. Plus he doesn't want to lose out on those free tickets.”

“Hey!” George protests. “I'll be the one trying to stand in the front car. That's my true coaster secret.”

Mary Carlson laughs, then B.T.B. points to Mr. Ned standing by the wheelchair bus. “I need to help with Zeke. He likes to see me in the mornings.” He leaves us at a jog.

George grins. “Your brother's awesome.”

Mary Carlson hugs her books to her chest and watches him go. “Yeah, at the risk of sounding cheesy, my future career is for him. I'm already accepted into West Georgia. They've got a special education degree and a ladies golf team.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Mary Carlson and George both look at me when I don't pull it out immediately, but I know it's Dana.

“I, um, I'll catch up with y'all later.” I pivot away from them before they answer and walk to a bench. One glance back and I see Mary Carlson watching, then turning so I don't notice. I can't stop the flutter under my rib cage or the smile on my lips when I'm around her.

Check this out.
Dana's attached a picture. It's a Rosie the Riveter tat, her bandana in rainbow colors, another
Rosie tat on the tat's arm.

The Russian nesting doll of cool tattoos.

I'm getting it.

Won't your mom die? She won't sign off. Isn't it like a taboo thing in your house?

She can't stop me. Besides Holly knows a girl who'll do it without the form. And please, who listens to their parents about tats.

Point. Prison tattooist?
I know it's low, but Dana's new girlfriend hit me with a double whammy of bad intuition.

Maybe.

Okay, I deserved that.
Expensive?

Bank for sure. But Holly baby's got us covered.

What? She got a preacher daddy, too?
Not that I ever would have convinced Dad to let me pay for Dana's tat. Not that he has anything against tats—on other people.

Naw. Girl has means. Love ya. Oops, better delete that.

Did you stick your head willingly in this noose?

Har, har. You ran off and left me, remember? Besides, her whole thing intrigues me.

Eewww.

Not THAT thing. She has skills in other areas. Business areas. Oops. Gotta run for the bell.

My own first bell rings. Shit. I push my phone into my
pocket and get ready to hit the hall at a run, but Gemma stops me. “Who you talking to, new girl? Is that George?” She draws his name out all middle-school singsongy as she catches up to me.

“No.” I try not to look guilty. “An old friend down in Atlanta.” We kick into mall walk trying to make it to our classrooms.

My answer seems to satisfy her curiosity. “You sure you're okay with Saturday? I really don't want to stir anything up or cause hard feelings.”

“Hard feelings? I'm totally fine with it. It's cool that you're both so into amusement parks. Couple of brainiacs out on a bender.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles. “Because hitting tiny little white balls with a stick is so enlightening.”

“Exactly.” I point to my classroom. “Later.”

“See you, new girl.” Gemma rolls into a jog as she leaves.

Saturday's arrival is fast and interminably slow. Every morning, all week long, I've rolled out of bed thinking about it. A whole day of Mary Carlson and me, without the girl gang, without B.T.B., without George. I'm glad we're going to be somewhere public, because my crush, instead
of diminishing, is only getting stronger. And Dana's no help. We were supposed to Skype every night, but she's been so busy with Holly doing whatever they're doing that she's had no time for me.

I pick up my phone and scroll through texts. Some funny ones from B.T.B., mostly GIFs of elephants or dancing bananas, but he sent me a few family photos of him as a kid—that just happened to include his sister. And then the texts with Mary Carlson.

Here's what I've learned about her this week. She knows she's not good enough for the LPGA but she doesn't care. She likes the mental flow of the game and challenging herself. She's not a vegetarian but she is an environmentalist and the whole growing-food-to-feed-cows-instead-of-people thing bothers her enough that she quit eating hamburgers. Her favorite childhood vacation was to Yellowstone even though her father almost ran over an elk. (That one I learned from B.T.B.) She loves her brother, her parents, and her old dog, Sugar, who they had to put down just before I moved here. She also talks a lot when she's nervous. She talks a lot around me.

Three is standing at the counter when I come downstairs to make a smoothie. “About to get your golf on, huh?” She plunges the strainer down on the French press.
The smell makes me forget my plans for an energy-building healthy breakfast. Dad's voice rings from the radio on the counter. He's preaching about grace in the face of hardship.

“You have enough for me?” I eyeball the level of liquid through the glass.

Three pulls two mugs off the shelf and pours, then hands me a cup of black coffee. Since our trip to Atlanta together, our quiet has become easier, less awkward. Knowing she's not after my dad's money helps. And the way she was so cool at Hellcat, like maybe my sexuality doesn't freak her out, was pretty big, too.

“Is she taking you to her golf club?”

I nod. “I think so.”

There's a pause in Dad's sermon for a commercial break and my voice comes through the speakers. “Hi, this is Joanna Gordon.” Then Dad, “And this is Reverend Gordon.”

Three points at the radio. “That's cool.”

“Crazy. I can't believe he finally agreed.”

She sips her coffee. “A youth voice is important. I think it's smart.”

But
am
I smart? I have purposely finagled golf lessons from a girl I'm hard-core crushing on, and even if by some
miracle it's mutual, I've promised not to do a damn thing about it.

Three interrupts my thoughts. “Do you know what you're wearing?”

“She said something about khakis and a collared shirt. We wear the same size shoes, so she has me covered with those and she's bringing me gloves.”

“Do you have a collared shirt?”

“Um, I don't think I have what she means. Do you?”

Three puts down her cup. “Be right back.”

She returns with a green Izod shirt. “I tried to play with a couple of friends from school. Never could get into it. Keep this. You might find out you have talent.”

“I could use a talent.”

Three smiles. “Have fun, Joanna. Mary Carlson is a great girl.”

Does she mean something by that? But when I look back, her head is tilted down to her tablet and she seems so unconcerned that I brush it off.