Miss Match (4 page)

“
Yes
, Dad. What, did he just deliver my birthday present and disappear in the night like a skinny, middle-aged Santa Claus?” Looking at Maddie with her long auburn hair and beautiful makeup-free face makes me even angrier. I could spend hours in the bathroom and still not look half as good as her right-outta-bed look. Sheesh!

She yawns and stretches out her arms. “Beats me. But he told Mom he’d take us
to dinner at Papa Romano’s. I guess Valerie made a cake for you and everything.”

Ugh, Valerie. Her name alone makes me shudder. Oh, to be fair, Valerie’s nice enough. But the instant the woman Maddie and I have always known as Dad’s Boss became Dad’s Girlfriend, and shortly thereafter the Reason for Our Parents’ Divorce—well, let’s just say those company picnics and mandatory family get-togethers have reached a whole new level of dread. And now I’m going to have to eat the cake she’s making for me and pretend to be ecstatic about the freaking scooter. Wonderful.

“I just don’t get it,” I say, my voice all squeaky. “Did I do something to piss Dad off?” Then an even worse thought pops into my head. What if Mrs. Woosely backed out of our agreement and told him about the accident?

Maddie plants her hands on her nonexistent hips and frowns. “What’s got your panties in a twist, Sasha? Is it an ugly color or something? You know, you shouldn’t be so picky. We’re lucky to have such a generous father. Not every girl gets a car on her sweet sixteen. Take Jessica, for example. You know how her parents are totally loaded?
Well, she was almost seventeen before they bought her a car, and it’s a 2002 Buick. I’m
serious
.”

My mouth opens and shuts like one of those freakishly huge goldfish in the pond by Benihana. I grab Maddie’s arm and drag her to my bedroom, fling open the blinds, and bang my pointer finger into the window pane.

Her big green eyes grow two sizes as she focuses on the scooter. “God, it
is
the wrong color. It’ll
totally
clash with your wardrobe.”

I blink, dumbfounded. “You don’t think it’s a little odd that he bought you a VW for your sixteenth birthday, and all I get is a freaking
scooter
?”

She shrugs one shoulder, looking a little put off. “I was just kidding, Sasha. You’re not the only one in the family that can make jokes. So…I admit it’s a little strange. But look on the bright side.” She peers out the window. “It’s cute, don’t you think? Looks like one of those Vespas that Audrey Hepburn rode in
Roman Holiday
.” She presses her lips together and says under her breath, “But I totally can’t believe he chose a purple one.”

“Hel-
lo
?” I whirl around and topple over onto my bed. “This is Utah, not Hawaii. What am I supposed to do when it snows?”

Maddie hugs me. “Oh, sweetie. Don’t worry. I’ll still give you rides. That’s what big sisters are for.”

Oh, great. “Um, Maddie? You can let go of me now.”

I ride my new purple scooter to school that day. There’s a card stuffed into the color-coordinated helmet.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE SWEETEST SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD I KNOW
! is printed inside, with
I hope you like it. We had it custom-painted purple, your favorite color
.
Love, Dad and Val
in Dad’s chicken-scratch handwriting below.

Yeah right, my fave color when I was like three and in love with Barney the Dinosaur. I cram the card into my backpack. Which, for the record, is not purple. It’s
lavender
.

I can’t kick the sour feeling as I try to fluff my hair in my dinky locker mirror. Am I crazy to expect a little equal treatment of sisters? Am I unreasonable to figure that since Dad bought Maddie a brand-new, sunflower-yellow VW Bug on her sweet sixteen, he’d get me something in the kingdom
of transportation, phylum of vehicle, class of car, order of totally adorable?

“Happy birrrrthday to yooooooou,” Yasmin sings à la Marilyn Monroe, grabbing her books out of her locker. She’s wearing a halter top, a pair of low-slung jeans, and kitten heels. Her long black hair is coiled and twisted up, and her lips are painted shiny red, making her look even more exotic than usual. “Got something for ya.” She slips her books into her leather satchel and then hands me a tiny box, the kind that comes from upscale jewelry stores.

“Are you proposing? Don’t you think we should move in together first—you know, test the waters?” I joke.

She rolls her eyes. “As if. Just open it already.”

I flip open the box and find a gold heart charm nestled in the velvety folds.

“Thanks, sweetie.” I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I love it.”

She smiles. “I knew you would.” She glances down at her bangle-watch. “Well, gotta bail. I want to sit by Brian in English Lit today.”

“I don’t blame you.” Yay!

“Oh, by the way. I like your hair better
the way you usually do it. It’s all…” She scrunches up her nose, apparently searching for the perfect word. “Squashed.”

I sigh. “The clinical term is helmet head.”

She gives me a look that clearly says,
What the heck are you talking about?

“A birthday gift from my dad.”

“Soooo. He saw you banging your head against the wall again, I take it?” Her dark eyes twinkle mischievously.

“He got me a scooter. A Vespa or whatever.”

“Cool! Is it fun?”

“I guess so…but he got me a
scooter
for my
sweet sixteen
,” I say slowly, hoping it will help her catch on.

I wait for her to roll on the floor laughing, but she just stares at me. “You mean, instead of a car?”

I nod, the sour feeling rushing back into the pit of my stomach.

Yas is speechless.

“Do you want to come to my big fat American birthday dinner tonight?” I ask hopefully. If Yasmin comes, maybe Mom, Dad, and Valerie will be on their best behavior. And she could assist me in getting Maddie
to notice the cute guy with the dark blue eyes sitting off in the corner of the restaurant. (Yup, I’m going to arrange for Derek to be there, enjoying an Italian meal for Maddie’s viewing pleasure.) “I would’ve given you more notice, but I just found out myself this morning. Through the Maddie grapevine.”

Yas’s red lips curve downward. “I’m so sorry, Sasha, but I can’t.” She mumbles something about a sale at Nordstrom and then glances at her watch again. “I really need to go.” Yas isn’t stupid. We’re not exactly up for the Fabulously Functional Family of the Year award.

“Okay, well, see you later then. Maybe we can take a spin on my new scooter…?”

But Yas is already too far down the hall to hear. While a posse of bored-looking skaters coasts by, I pull out my cell phone and text Derek:
Papa Romano’s at 7 tonight. I want Maddie 2 see U there, looking irresistible. Which isn’t hard for U:). Just get a table and I’ll take it from there. xoxo, Miss Match

Ha! If Derek can handle our family, it’s sure to win points with my sis!

I casually glance around Papa Romano’s, trying to see if Derek is here yet. The quaint little restaurant is totally packed. I hope he didn’t already come and get turned away for not having a reservation!

Mom isn’t here yet either, and the waiter is clearly set on feeding us and then shooing us out so he can turn our table as many times as possible tonight. Eventually, Dad makes the executive decision to order without Mom. Which probably wasn’t the best move, because the instant her stilettos step through the double doors, I can tell she’s in one of her moods. One where she shows a happily married couple a gazillion houses
and they don’t like a single one. Not because she cares that she spent all that time and gas money and won’t be getting her six percent, but because, well, they’re a happily married couple.

Mom storms across the restaurant, takes one look at Valerie, and visibly melts into the wood-planked floor. Dad flags down the waiter and supersizes his glass of wine. “Make that a bottle,” he says.

“Valerie, I haven’t seen you for a while,” Mom says, taking her seat across from me. “You’re looking especially lovely today. Have you done something different with your…nose?”

Valerie’s hand flies to her face, and her cheeks flush the color of her raspberry lemonade.

Maddie claps her hands together. (She’s always doing that. I’m afraid that one of these times she’s going to automatically launch into a cheer.) “Way to go, Val! It looks
way
better. Like Ashlee Simpson’s.”

“Is Ashlee one of your friends at school?” Valerie asks, obviously interpreting Maddie’s “compliment” as (a) an invitation to bond and (b) a chance to change the subject.

Maddie giggles, and before she has a
chance to launch into a long-winded biography that’s part Wikipedia and part
Access Hollywood
, I say, “Yes, Ashlee Simpson is one of Maddie’s very closest friends.” Which makes Maddie giggle even more.

While the waiter performs his sommelier act, a small grin plays on Dad’s lips. He takes a sip of wine before it grows into a full-fledged smile.

I do another Derek check, but he’s still a no-show. Well, it won’t hurt to prime Maddie for when he
does
get here. “Do you have plans later tonight, Maddie?” I ask, not waiting for her answer. “Just wondering ’cause I’m totally in the mood to watch
Failure to Launch
. You know, that movie with Sarah Jessica Parker and
Matthew McConaughey
?” I close my eyes. “Mmmm. I swear, I can get lost in that sweet southern drawl of his.” When I open my eyes, I’m looking directly at Maddie.

“Isn’t that the one when he’s totally old, like thirty, and still living with his parents?” she asks. “What a loser.”

“Uh, yeah. But isn’t his voice to die for?”

She shrugs. “I guess so. But he’s still a loser.”

Okay, so it’s obvious I’ll have to try another tack. I crane my neck to see out the window, but there’s no ’66 Chevy pickup in the parking lot. Shoot. Where is Derek?

Then the conversation turns to the reason we’re all twisting our forks in piles of noodles: my birthday. Dad asks, “Sasha, how do you like the Vespa we got you?”

What’s a girl to do? Tell the truth? Pretend it’s the greatest gift ever? Lie and say everything is totally cool?

“It sucks.” Oops. Guess my internal filter needs to be replaced.

Everybody’s eyebrows skyrocket, and Mom starts coughing, reaching desperately for her water glass.

I look Dad straight in the eyes and say, “Well, I’m sure it’s fine as far as scooters go, but…” How do I say this without sounding like a total ingrate?

“She wanted a car.” Aha. Maddie to my rescue.

Valerie places her hand on top of Dad’s. She presses her lips together like I’m a nine-year-old asking about the birds and the bees. “In this day and age we believe it’s best for young people to learn the value of hard
work. You’re sixteen now, which is a very exciting age—”

“Because I can drive now. A
car
.” I take a bite of my garlic bread, crumbs exploding all over the red-and-white-checked tablecloth.

Valerie sits up straighter, staring me down with her beady little eyes. “Because you can get a job, Sasha. And earn the money to buy a car for yourself. Just think how much more that car will mean to you when you’ve
earned
it.”

Maddie nods. “True story. When I made cheerleader freshman year, it really meant a lot to me, ’cause I did it all by myself. Instead of having my father, who happens to be the
governor
, make a phone call to the athletic department. Not that I’m naming names.” She mouths “Kennedy” to me across the table.

I bite the inside of my cheek, realizing that Maddie isn’t the problem. It’s not her fault she’s so clueless. It’s not
her
fault she was born unbelievably beautiful and thin and perfect and gets
everything
she freaking wants out of life, while I get the few hand-me-downs that I can stuff myself into, rides in her VW when it’s snowing, and (lest we forget!) a Barney the Dinosaur scooter.

Mom speaks up. “Richard, don’t you think that since you gave Maddie a car when
she
turned sixteen, it would only be fair to buy one for Sasha?”

I cross my arms on the table, eyeing Dad. Again, Val’s hand finds its way onto his. Funny, but while Valerie seems to be looking better and better—even glowing—Dad appears wilted and stressed out. He’s looking in every direction except my eyes. Dad loosens his tie a notch, seemingly buying time. “To be honest, I’m not so sure we didn’t make a mistake, Sue.”

I glance at my sister through the corner of my eye, but she’s just munching her salad merrily, either (a) unfazed by Dad’s words, (b) unhearing of Dad’s words, or (and I lay my money on this one) (c) uncomprehending of Dad’s words.

Mom shifts her jaw from side to side, exclamation marks in her eyes.

Looks like Dad’s got a rod up the back of his shirt. “Listen, Sue. I realize we don’t see eye to eye on everything, but Sasha is perfectly capable of earning enough money to buy a car. It wouldn’t hurt her to have an after-school job, since she’s not cheerleading like Maddie, or playing sports…”

A horrible thought infiltrates my mind and brings goose bumps to my skin. Does Dad love Maddie more than me? Is she the Favorite Daughter and I’m just a black sheep, a rotten apple on the Finnegan family tree?

Before I can completely indulge my insecurities, Dad meets my eyes. “I love you, Sasha. But times are changing. These days, you can’t get a college scholarship on good grades alone. Part-time jobs really give you a step up.” He starts blathering on about motivation and whatnot, mostly for Mom’s benefit, and I politely tune out. Except now Valerie is vying for my attention and starts a little tête-à-tête on the sidelines. Lucky me.

“You’ll be saving money on gas, Sasha. Vespas are better for the environment,” Valerie declares, digging into her pasta.

“Won’t I have to get a whole different kind of license to drive it?” I ask, tagging on a weak, “Legally?” when I realize that I very well might have driven it illegally to school today.

“Eventually, you will have to get your motorcycle license, but I hear the classes are a lot of fun. Plus, you might meet a handsome young man in yours.” She takes a bite
and chews thoroughly before swallowing. “For now you just have to take a written exam, which will get you a temporary permit that’s good for six whole months. Then you can show it to all your friends, take them on spins. I’m sure they’ll all be envious.”

Okay, this conversation has gone far enough. I smile at Valerie as if she’s just hit a home run—that my friends being jealous is my sole goal in life—and shift my attention back to my parents. Whose discussion can
not
be any worse than Valerie’s and mine.

Mom says, “I’m not sure, Richard.” She hasn’t touched the vegetarian lasagna Dad ordered for her. “I really think you’re being unfair. And with the real-estate market so slow, I can’t even afford to buy her a Yugo.”

“I don’t think they make those anymore, Susan,” Valerie says softly.

Mom shoots her a vicious
stay out of it, you nasty homewrecker
glare.

Dad fidgets and blows out a puff of air. “Okay, maybe we can compromise, then.”

“They don’t call you the king of compromise for nothing,” Mom mumbles, poking her fork in the lasagna and leaving it there.

Dad takes a hefty swig of his wine. “If
Sasha gets a job and works hard, I’ll match whatever she earns.” He pats his mouth with his napkin and then grins benevolently. What, does he expect me to cry for joy or give him a standing ovation or something?

I feel like I’m going to explode. Which would be way gross, ’cause I’ve been stuffing myself with spaghetti for about thirty minutes. I shove my chair back, bolt upright, and stomp to the ladies’ room. I hear Mom say, “Now look what you’ve done,” probably to Dad. Unless Maddie spilled her Diet Coke all over the table, which is entirely possible.

When I come back and plunk down in my chair, all I get is crickets. I scarf my piece of homemade chocolate birthday cake, which is admittedly to-die-for delicious. How did Val know I’m a chocoholic? Well, it’s the least Val could do for stealing away our father and sucking all the sense out of his brain.

To make matters worse, Derek never shows up. There’s nothing more frustrating than a client who doesn’t give one hundred percent. Especially when there’s less than a month to work with. I can hand him the
bat and help predict the pitch, but he’s gonna have to step up to the plate!

After first-period American Government, I run into the ladies’ room to check my appearance. Luckily, I haven’t busted out of my jeans yet. You never know, what with all that chocolate cake I ate last night. I fluff my ponytail—the only hairstyle that seems to work after my hair’s been stuffed in a helmet—and daub on the lipstick Maddie gave me. (She thought her new first-day-of-school color looked better on me.) Next stop: Chem Lab.

Hurrying toward room 116 I yank my emergency brake when I see Kevin McGregor, a senior whose face is splashed across virtually every page of Snowcrest High’s yearbook. He’s leaning against Maddie’s locker. Which is no big deal. Except that he’s leaning in to Maddie, whispering something in her ear that has her giggling like a loon on nitrous oxide.

“Hi, Maddie!” I say, all chipper. “Are you heading this way?” I nod in the direction from which I just came. Thing is, I know very well that her next “class” is in the attendance office. I’ve memorized her school
schedule as part of Derek’s matchmaking gig. Not waiting for her to answer, I grab her elbow and snatch her away from the two-hundred-pound wide receiver. “Great, I’ll walk with you! We’d better hurry. The bell’s going to ring any second, and you don’t want to be late.”

As I whisk her away, she waves at Kevin, and he just kind of stands there, watching her with a dopey expression on his face. I escort my sister to the office, and as soon as she passes through the door, I flat-out run to Chemistry Lab.

I get to class a mere twenty seconds before the bell, all breathless. Derek swaggers over to me and says in that sweet Southern drawl, “Wanna pair up with the new kid?”

“Er…”

“Cool! Looks like everyone else already has partners.”

He sits down beside me, and I get a whiff of his sexy cologne. Oh, good, he took my tip. It’s just a hint, enough to notice, but not so much it’s overwhelming. Maddie’s going to love it when they have their tutor session tomorrow afternoon.

He hands me the lab sheet and spreads out his binder. “Choose a lab partner” is
printed on the blackboard, and Mr. Foley diligently scrawls “How Bonding Affects Acidity.”

Just as Mr. Foley instructs us to begin, my sister walks in. Her red and black cheerleader skirt swishes around her long, spray-on-tan thighs. I hear my new lab partner gasp. He’s spellbound, just like every other guy in the room. She sashays over to the blackboard and hands Mr. Foley a pink piece of paper.

Mr. Foley twitches his bushy gray mustache as he scans the note. “Thank you, young lady,” he says, adding the paper to the clutter on his desk.

She nods in her official attendance-office-helper way and turns to leave. Right before her red and black K-Swisses reach the door, she catches my eye. “Hey, Sasha! Tell Mom I won’t be home for dinner, okay?”

Where’s she going to be?
I wonder. Normally, I wouldn’t care. But now that she’s the object of my client’s affection, I’ve got to keep tabs on her. “No problem.”

Once Maddie is out of sight, Mr. Foley starts marching up and down between the tables, making sure we’re all on the right track.

“Where were you last night?” I ask my new lab partner after Mr. Foley passes by.

Derek bites his lower lip for a split second. “Oh, well, my dad was grilling steaks and…”

I shake my head, giving him my
tut-tut
face. “You have to work with me, Derek. I can’t do my job if you don’t show up. It’s important that you two are in the same picture as often as possible. She can’t fall for you if you aren’t ever around.”

“Right. Sorry. Next time I’ll just eat dinner twice.” He fixes his dark blue eyes on me like he’s just told a hilarious joke and he’s waiting for me to crack up. Finally realizing that this is no laughing matter, he scratches the back of his neck and says, “I know you’re trying really hard to fix me up, and I promise from here on out I’ll do my part.” He holds four fingers up. “Scout’s honor.”

I take his hand and lower his pinky. “There.” Then I cave in and let a smile break through.

Mr. Foley clears his throat, which makes his mustache wiggle. How long has he been standing there? I glance down at the lab instruction sheet and run my finger down the page, pretending to be all into it.

When the coast is clear of snoopy teachers, Derek whispers, “Hey, Sasha?” He carefully fills the buret with the 0.250 M NaOH.

“Mmm?” I jot down the buret reading on the specified line and grab the Erlenmeyer flask for the next step. Man, Derek and I definitely work well together. “I have some good news, and I think it’ll more than make up for me messing up last night with the restaurant and everything. I’m still making adjustments to my school schedule, so I figured, why not take a class with Maddie, you know, so we can get to know each other better? See how you and me are getting to know each other, being in this class together? And like you said, it’s hard for a girl to fall for someone if he’s never around.”