Summer of the Geek (11 page)

I smiled faintly. “I know what she’s like,” I said.

“So why are you letting her get to you?”

“I’m not.”

Dex raised his eyebrows. I knew he knew I wasn’t being entirely truthful, but what was I supposed to say?
I don’t think I fit in with your friends? After years of geekdom, I feel uncomfortable around the shiny, popular people?

“Come on, let’s go get some hot dogs,” Dex said. “And then I’ll challenge you to a game of hoops. One-on-one, you against me.”

“I can’t play basketball.”

“Good, then we should definitely place a bet. Let’s see—if I win, you have to wash my car—”

“No way!” I said.

“—and if you win, I’ll give you another driving lesson,” Dex finished.

“Absolutely not!” I said. “First of all, there’s no way I’d win, and I don’t want to wash your car. And second, I don’t really want another driving lesson, either.”

“Why not?” Dex asked, look affronted. “I’m a great driving teacher.”

I glanced over at the crowd of his friends. A few of the guys had gotten out a soccer ball, and were kicking it back and forth. Two girls joined them, and surprised me by being fairly good players, despite the fact that they were wearing miniskirts and flip-flops. Meanwhile, Tiffany’s boyfriend, Roy, was holding up a creation of three hot dogs, stacked vertically.

“It’s a triple-decker dog!” Roy announced triumphantly, and then stuffed the whole thing into his mouth, to the cheers of the crowd.

“Don’t you want to hang out with your friends? I don’t want to get in your way,” I said. I glanced over at the girls who were sitting at the picnic table, drinking Diet Cokes and talking animatedly. Avery sat in the middle of the group, holding court. When she saw me glance over, she smirked at me. Clearly, I would not be welcome there.

Great, I thought. So much for the social triumph of the geek girl.

Dex’s hand encircled my wrist, and he tugged on it gently.

“I want to hang out with you,” he said. “Now come on. Let’s go shoot some hoops.”

I
was sitting on my bed, reading, when I heard Hannah’s voice echo in the hallway.

“I’m home!”

Willow was reclining on her bed, but at the noise she lifted her head and her ears perked up.

“It’s okay, girl. It’s just Hannah,” I told her. Willow lay back down with a grunt and promptly fell back asleep.

I stood up, stretching, and padded out to meet my stepsister. I was surprised by how much I’d missed her and how empty the house had seemed in her absence.

By the time I got to the foyer, Hannah wasn’t there, although her hot pink luggage was piled by the front door. I heard voices from the kitchen, and headed back there. Hannah was standing at the island, drinking Diet Coke from a can, while Peyton fussed around her.

“Hey,” I said. “You cut your hair!”

Hannah beamed at me, turning her head from one side to the other, so I could admire her new look. She’d cut her long hair to a shoulder-length shaggy bob with bangs. It made her look so much older and more sophisticated, all traces of the Disney princess gone.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I love it!” I said honestly. “You look amazing.”

“Thanks,” Hannah said happily. “Jackie took me to her stylist to get it cut. He’s really famous. He does the hair for all kinds of celebrities and movie stars.”

I was about to ask whose hair he cut, but Peyton’s expression stopped me. Her nose was flaring, which was always a danger sign. Hannah didn’t seem to notice.

“Do you want to see my portfolio?” Hannah asked.

Peyton frowned. “Your portfolio?” she repeated.

“Hold on,” Hannah said, and practically skipped out of the room. Apparently, Hannah no longer planned to keep her modeling plans a secret from her mother. I glanced at Peyton—her face was pinched with displeasure—but I looked away before she felt the weight of my stare.

Hannah reappeared, with a black leather-bound book in her arms. She looked radiantly happy. “Wait until you see these photographs. They’re amazing,” she said, setting it down on the counter.

“So this is where everyone is,” Dad said, appearing in the kitchen door. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and he looked tired and rumpled. A few nights earlier, I’d found him sleeping on the couch in the living room. I wondered if he’d spent last night there, too.

“Hi, Richard! I’m back!” Hannah said.

“Hi, Hannah,” Dad said, giving my stepsister a smile and a pat on the back. “How was your trip?”

“Fab-u-lous,” Hannah said, drawing the word out into three syllables. “I was just about to show Mom and Miranda my new portfolio.”

“Portfolio?” Dad asked. He looked at Peyton, who raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

We all stepped closer to look, while Hannah slowly turned the pages.

“Wow,” I said, impressed.

The book was filled with page after page of professionally shot photographs, close-ups, and full-body shots, all featuring Hannah. She was right—they were amazing. Hannah looked absolutely beautiful in each and every picture. In fact, she looked like a real model out of a magazine.

For the first time, I appreciated my stepsister’s obvious talent. Maybe her aspirations to become a model weren’t as frivolous as I’d first thought. In fact, I felt a little ashamed of myself that I hadn’t believed in her, and resolved to be more supportive from here on out.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” Dad said.

“Thanks,” Hannah said. She looked up at her mother, who had remained silent. “What do you think?”

Peyton drew in a deep breath. “They’re very good,” she finally said.

“Really?” Hannah was delighted. “You like them?”

“Yes, of course. But we’ve already talked about this,” Peyton said. She folded her arms over her bony chest, clearly bracing herself for battle. “You’re not running off to New York to model. You’re going to get your education first.”

“Peyton, you should hear her out,” Dad said.

“She’s my daughter, Richard,” Peyton said sharply.

“Don’t worry,” Hannah said quickly. “I’m not dropping out of school, Mom. And I’m not moving to New York.”

“See? That’s good. Nothing to worry about,” Dad said.

Peyton shot him the sort of look that would have turned my blood to ice. She was clearly not pleased with my dad’s input. “Then what exactly are you proposing to do with this portfolio?” she asked.

Hannah drew in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and said, “I want to audition for some local modeling jobs. Jackie talked to an agency in Miami that’s agreed to represent me, and they said there are lots of opportunities for models in South Florida. I want to try it, just for the summer. You know—see if I get any work, see if I’m any good at it, see if I like it.” Hannah spoke quickly and earnestly, looking hopefully at Peyton. “I promise I won’t miss any school, once it starts,” she added.

When Hannah finally finished, there was a long silence. Dad, Hannah, and I all looked at Peyton. She stood perfectly still, arms still folded across her chest, and stared at her daughter.

Finally, Dad spoke. “That sounds like a reasonable plan. Don’t you think, Peyton?”

“You’re not going to Miami by yourself,” Peyton said. “It’s not safe.”

“You can come with me on every job,” Hannah said. “In fact, you sort of have to. The agency requires I have a chaperone because of my age.”

“And you’ll check with me first before you accept any jobs?” Peyton said, hedging.

Hannah beamed, sensing that she had already won the battle. “Of course!”

Peyton sighed. “Okay. You can try it for the summer.”

Hannah let out a high-pitched squeal and threw her arms around her mother. Peyton hugged her daughter back, and her face relaxed in a rare smile.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Hannah said, hopping up and down in place.

“But only for the summer!” Peyton cautioned. “When school starts back up, you’re going to focus on your studies. This year is your last chance to get your grades up before you start applying to colleges next year. Deal?”

“Deal!” Hannah said. She gave her mother one last hug. “I have to go call Jackie and tell her!”

Hannah dashed from the room before she saw her mother’s expression sour at the mention of Jackie’s name.

“I don’t like the influence that woman has over Hannah,” Peyton complained. “She’s the one who’s putting all of these modeling ideas into Hannah’s head.”

“Don’t worry,” Dad said. “I think you’re doing the right thing.”

Peyton let out a bark of humorless laughter, and turned on him. “Don’t worry? Why would I worry? My daughter wants to pursue a mindless career that chews up and spits out girls like her by the dozen. Do you know what kind of lives these models have? They’re out all night partying and taking drugs. Most of them are washed up by the time they’re twenty-five.”

“Hannah has a good head on her shoulders. And you’ll be there with her,” Dad said.

“For now! What about in two or three years?” Peyton asked, her voice rising.

Dad held up his hands, palms facing out. “I don’t want to fight, Peyton. I just think you’re doing the right thing by being supportive of her dreams.”

But Peyton was too angry to hear him. “How would you feel if it was your daughter? What if, instead of becoming a doctor or mathematician, or whatever it is you see Miranda doing with her life, she threw it all away to chase a crazy dream?”

“I don’t want to be a doctor or mathematician. I want to be a writer,” I said quietly.

Neither Peyton nor my Dad heard me.

“I’d like to think I’d support her in whatever she chose to do,” Dad said. “As long as it was safe and productive.”

Peyton snorted. “That’s easy for you to say. It’s not like Miranda could ever be a model.”

I’d been about to sneak out of the kitchen—it was my normal course of action when Dad and Peyton started fighting—but at these stinging words, I froze. Her meaning was crystal clear: With my big nose and frizzy hair, I wasn’t pretty enough to model. Maybe I was cute, or even attractive on a good day. But I’d never compare to Hannah. I knew it was true, but, even so, it hurt to hear it put so bluntly. Even worse, I hated that it mattered to me—I was smart and nice and a good friend. What should it matter what my hair looked like, or how big my nose was?

“Peyton!” Dad’s voice cracked across the room like a whip.

Peyton looked up, the anger in his voice startling her midrant. “What?”

“Don’t talk about Miranda like that!” Dad said.

“What? What did I say?” Peyton looked genuinely confused.

Dad sighed irritably. “You owe my daughter an apology,” he said. When Peyton continued to look mystified, he said, through tightly clenched teeth, “For saying she could never be a model.”

Peyton looked at me for the first time, as though she were surprised to see me standing there. “Do you
want
to be a model, Miranda?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“Then what’s wrong with saying that she wouldn’t ever be a model?” Peyton asked my father.

Dad stared at her levelly. Then he turned to me. “I apologize on behalf of my wife, Miranda. You’re a lovely girl. I hope you know that.”

I shifted uncomfortably on my bare feet, while a flush spread over my face and neck. “Thanks, Dad,” I muttered, wanting very much to be anywhere other than where I was at the moment. “I’m, um, going to go to my room.”

I strode away as fast as I could, but even so, I could still hear them arguing.

“I still don’t know what I was supposed to have said that was so offensive,” Peyton said.

“And that right there is the whole problem,” Dad retorted.

Hannah was just coming out of her room as I was passing by. Tears were stinging in my eyes, but I quickly wiped at them with the backs of my hands before Hannah could see.

“I thought you were calling your friends,” I said to distract her.

“Tiff ’s calling me back in a minute,” Hannah said, waving her baby blue cell phone. “Did I hear my mom shouting?”

“She and my dad are fighting,” I said.

“Again?” Hannah asked.

I nodded. “Again,” I confirmed. “It’s been pretty much non-stop while you were in New York.”

Hannah leaned against the wall. “This sucks,” she said.

I nodded. “Yes, it does.”

We stood there quietly for a moment, hearing the sound of muffled, raised voices in the background.

“How was that party you went to?” Hannah asked.

“It was okay,” I said. “I didn’t really know anyone.”

“Weren’t Tiff and Britt there?”

I nodded. “But they were hanging out with Avery, and she wasn’t what you’d call friendly. Not to me, at least.”

Hannah snorted. “She’s just jealous that Dex is going out with you instead of her.”

“Yeah, I sort of got that impression.”

The shouting voices stopped abruptly as a door somewhere slammed shut. Both Hannah and I winced.

“Do you think we should do something to help them?” Hannah asked.

“Why?”

“I don’t want them to get divorced. Richard is way nicer than any of the guys my mom dated before she married him. You don’t want them to break up, do you?”

I wasn’t so sure. Peyton had always treated me like the ugly stepchild. Then again, I wanted my dad to be happy. And the constant fighting and door slamming was wearing on my nerves.

“How could we help them?” I asked doubtfully.

“I don’t know,” Hannah admitted. “Maybe we could arrange a romantic dinner for them.”

I shook my head. “I think they need a marriage counselor more than a romantic dinner.”

“Really?” Hannah asked interestedly. “Would that work?”

“My parents went to marriage counseling when they started to fight like this. They still got divorced, obviously. But, yeah, they were getting along better for a while,” I said.