The Kissing Diary (8 page)

“Maybe.” Rosie wanted her mother's theory to be true, more than anything. “Mrs. Geller ruined the moment by talking.”

Mrs. Goldglitt laughed. “Don't you mean teaching?”

“Whatever. She started jabbering about Marco Polo.”

“As long as she didn't give you a weekend project. I want to visit Grandpa.”

Rosie felt a wash of sadness. “Do I have to go?”

“I'm not going to make you.” Her mother stood up abruptly and looked in the mirror on the living room wall. “I hope this business with Grandpa isn't going to make me lose my hair.”

Rosie observed her mother, who had been moping about Grandpa for days. “It doesn't look any thinner.” Even if it had, Rosie wouldn't have told her. Why make her feel worse, anyway? When Grandma had died, and her parents were getting divorced, her mother's hair started falling out in clumps. The doctor had told her it was stress-related, and it freaked her mother out. His wife, the receptionist, recommended taking yoga.

“Do your mantra,” Rosie told her mother.

“I've lost it somewhere.” Mrs. Goldglitt shook her head. “Can you imagine? I've lost my mantra.”

“I think you lost it when you started seeing Sam,” said Rosie.

“Could be,” said her mother, breaking into a smile.

Her mother's mantra had been written down on an index card by her spiritual adviser. Rosie remembered hearing her chant it through the bedroom wall, something like
“Ombody ohbody almighty umbody,”
over and over.

Rosie had found the card one day when she was borrowing a necklace from her mother's bureau. She tried reading it aloud, but her mother came running and snatched it out of her hand. “
Don't do that!
It's my own private mantra. If anyone else repeats it, it loses its power!”

Rosie turned away from Faith Hill and her mother. “Are we done?” she said, and her mother nodded.

It was time to invent a mantra for herself. Rosie sat on her bed and began chanting,
“I am cute I am cute Robbie thinks so I am cute I am cute I am cute I believe that I am cute.”
She looked in the mirror and repeated it. Her face was shining. She smiled at herself. She chanted once more. Her eyes were glowing. Maybe the mantra was working.

*   *   *

On Saturday, Lauren, Summer, Sarah, and Rosie hung out together. They had their own routine, walking to the local drugstore, which had a lot of cool jewelry and a ton of makeup. Afterward, they would eat a slice of pizza at Sal's next door. Rosie suggested they try the new ice cream shop, and the girls nodded knowingly.

Summer found a lip gloss she liked right away. She bought two of them, which made Rosie feel jealous. Summer never had to worry about money, and often bought doubles: two T-shirts in different colors, two pairs of pants, two bracelets. Summer's mother let her wear lipstick, mascara, and blush. Rosie's mother only allowed colorless lip gloss. “I might as well be wearing Vaseline,” Rosie protested, knowing that back in the Vaseline ages, her mother had worn exactly that. Summer convinced Lauren to buy a cool-looking Mocha Peony. She painted a line of Cherry Malt on her wrist, saying, “This one has your name on it, Rosie.”

Rosie smeared a dab of it on her own hand. It was pale pink with a wisp of mocha and cream. It looked good enough to eat.

“I think you can get away with that one,” said Summer. “Your mother won't mind.”

“Robbie will think you're even cuter,” whispered Lauren, in case someone was lurking nearby who shouldn't hear.

Rosie appreciated Lauren's good sense. Her mantra drifted through her head:
I am cute I am cute Robbie thinks so I am cute I am cute I am cute I believe that I am cute.
She bought it immediately.

“Let's help Sarah now,” said Summer.

“It's hopeless,” said Sarah. “My mother only wants me to wear natural products. She's afraid these were tested on dogs or something.”

“I've never seen a dog wearing lipstick,” said Summer.

“Ruff ruff,” said Lauren. “That means, let's eat!”

There was something about hooting hysterically in public that made the girls feel happy and popular. They did just that, and left the shop with their purchases to go eat pizza at Sal's.

Rosie's nickname for Sal was Mr. Grouch. They ordered their slices and grabbed bunches of napkins, dabbing at the oil until the table was littered with paper. Sal glowered at them as if they'd started a raging forest fire. When Sarah gathered up the napkins and threw them in the garbage, he said, “What a waste.” Pulling a small packet of baby wipes out of her purse, Sarah took one out and polished the table. “All clean,” she announced, checking to see if Sal's frown had changed. It hadn't. “I tried,” she said. The girls finished their pizza and pulled out their lipsticks, applying Mocha Peony and Pink Powderpuff and Cherry Malt, pouting in the pizza parlor mirror.

It was a grand day for Rosie, out with the girls, no boys to bother them, no mothers worrying about losing their hair or yelling about something. Just the four of them. Today, Rosie loved them more than anything. She would wear the glossy new lipstick to school on Monday with her mantra humming inside her head.

“What's it like kissing a boy when you're wearing lip gloss?” Rosie asked Summer, who had done it once.

“You wipe it off if you think it might happen,” Summer advised.

“Does the boy care?” Rosie wondered.

“I think some of them do, and some of them don't,” Sarah gave her opinion. “I would mind.”

“Because you're a clean freak,” Summer said, watching her friend deposit their paper plates in the receptacle.

“What if the guy ate mint chocolate chip ice cream before he kissed you?” Rosie mused. “Mint makes me want to hurl!”

“What if he hates the taste of mocha chocolate chip?” Lauren said, laughing. “That's your favorite!”

“You'll grin and bear it,” said Sarah.

“Is Robbie a virgin kisser, do you think?” The minute the words were out of Rosie's never-been-kissed-by-a-boy mouth, Mary Katz walked in. Rosie shushed them and said, “Hi, Mary!”

Mary spoke to Sal. “I'm picking up the order for Katz,” she said, giving Rosie what could only be called a semi-smile.

“Aren't you glad the Greek skit is over?” Rosie kept her voice friendly.

“Hey, I'm sure
you're
happy!” Mary said, animated. “At least I was wearing a prom dress, you know? You were stuck looking like a big bowl of fruit salad. Robbie had me in stitches, we thought it was so funny! I almost wet myself!” Her smile was so malicious it took Rosie's breath away.

Lauren, forever loyal, couldn't keep her mouth shut, saying, “He told her she looked cute.”

“Too bad she doesn't know when someone is kidding!” Mary drummed her French-manicured fingers on the counter. “Is my broccoli rabe ready yet?”

“Nasty stuff,” muttered Summer. “It smells so bad.”

Rosie watched Mary sail out of the restaurant, her order in hand, the word
Juicy
emblazoned across her rear end.
Trust her to leave disaster in her path like a hurricane ripping through an entire town,
she thought.

“Don't even think about it,” said Lauren.

“Don't believe her,” Summer added.

“Zap it out of your head,” Sarah said emphatically.

Rosie hugged her friends when they got to her block. She walked slowly past Mr. Slope's manmade pond with the fountain of water running out of Cupid's mouth, past the strip of flowers that Mrs. Goldberg tended, past the mailbox that Mrs. McCue had painted bright pink, past the house that had permanent Christmas lights. She repeated her mantra over and over. It soothed her. It healed her. She would not listen to Mary. She would wear her new lipstick on Monday morning. And when Robbie saw her, he would think she was cute again, because they'd talked for real and because she knew she was cute without anyone telling her.

Home at last, Rosie ran up the stairs and opened her diary. She kissed the blank page with her lips slightly parted. Underneath, she wrote:

Saturday

Rosie in her new Cherry Malt lipstick.

Then she added:

Mary tried to make me feel bad about myself today. I won't buy it. I won't wear it. I won't eat it either. Grandpa said I was beautiful. Mom says I'm smart. Dad says I'm both. I don't need anyone but me to believe it. I am so much better than a bowl of fruit.

I am also,

Yours sincerely,

Rosie Gold-getting-cuter-and-cuter

9

Rosie Wrestles with Reason

A mantra only works for so long, until real life hits you over the head. Early Saturday afternoon, a week later, Rosie was still lounging in her pajamas when her mother got back from visiting Grandpa.

Rosie could tell by her face that it hadn't gone well. Her mother looked as sad as Rosie had felt when she had knocked over a bucket of minnows at the creek, and couldn't save them. “How's Grandpa?” Rosie asked, steeling herself, remembering the tiny fish flipping and dying at the edge of the water.

“He thought I was still married to Dad, poor thing. But he recognized me, which was a blessing. So the nurse said I could take him out to lunch, that he was having a good day.”

“And?”

Mrs. Goldglitt plopped down next to Rosie on the couch. “He couldn't remember what he liked to eat, so I ordered him eggplant parmigiana. He used to love that. He ate it, but…” She stopped, at a loss for words.

“What? He didn't like it?”

“He eats so strangely. Very messy. Sauce is dripping on his shirt. He doesn't know when he has to wipe his mouth, you know?” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she continued. “Then I go to put him in the car, and he can't remember how to bend his knees. Can you imagine? This big tall man, and I'm trying to tell him how to bend his knees and put his head down so I can get him into the car.”

“What did you do?”

“I managed, somehow. Or he remembered.” She picked up the pillow next to her and peered at it. “Is this a chocolate stain?”

“Jimmy eats in here, too, you know! Go on, Mom. What happened?”

Mrs. Goldglitt shook her head and put the pillow down. “So I drive him back to the nursing home, and I get him out of the car, and he starts shouting, ‘There's no bed for me at this hotel. I want to go home! Take me home. Take me home!' I was trying to soothe him, but what could I say? ‘This awful place is where you'll live until you die'?”

“Oh, Mommy.” It was Rosie's turn to get teary.

They were silent for a while. Suddenly her mother sprang up from the couch. “Enough of that. It's Saturday afternoon. You're going to the movies tonight, aren't you? I'm seeing Sam. No more crying! Come with me!” She took Rosie's hand and dragged her in her slippers through the dining room into the tiny bathroom off the kitchen. “Now look in the mirror,” she instructed her.

Rosie stood cheek to cheek with her mother, two oval faces with a similar bone structure, her own green eyes flecked with bits of gold. Perhaps they were a little too deep-set and small, but she knew they were pretty without being told. Her mother's eyes were brown and soulful, framed by wrinkles that threatened to deepen.

“Now smile!” she commanded.

The two of them smiled, staring at their reflections. Rosie's face came alive, and her mother's wrinkles appeared to recede.

Rosie laughed. “Is there a space for us at the loony bin, Mom?” she said.

Mrs. Goldglitt put her arm around Rosie. “It's a scientific fact that when you smile, and especially when you laugh, it triggers the release of chemicals called endorphins. It makes you feel better!”

“Do you feel better?” Rosie asked.

“I do. Do you?”

Rosie honestly did. She followed her mother into the kitchen. Her mother made a pot of coffee. Rosie told her about Mary's hurtful words.

Her mother said, “Far be it from me to pass judgment, Rosie, but that girl is evil!”

Rosie agreed. “I keep wondering what I ever did to hurt her! I mean, I saved her from standing in her bra and underwear in front of the whole class!”

“You may never know why she doesn't like you,” said her mother. “But I can tell you this: Mary feels better by making people feel worse. We should pity her.”

It was hard to pity a person who had everything: good looks, a big house, great clothes, lots of friends. She was even athletic. Couldn't Mary have inherited a flaw or two? Couldn't she suck at basketball? Either the gym teacher made Mary captain, or she was chosen first for a team. Mary didn't have a grandfather who forgot how to sit down.

Rosie left her mother and wandered upstairs. The thing about Mary was that she had so much power. Like the time she was eating lunch in the cafeteria. Every time a new person walked over with her tray, Mary said loudly, “I know, don't you hate her? What does she think she's doing in those boots? Shhh! She's coming, she'll hear you!” Everyone laughed, and someone else would arrive, and Mary started the game all over again with another judgment. What does she think she's doing in that skirt, with that nerd, with her hair in a ponytail, wearing knee socks? There was always laughter, from the crowd around Mary and even from the person who'd been dissed.

Rosie rearranged her line of stuffed animals. She repeated her mantra, trying to banish Mary's nastiness from her head.

She took out her diary and wrote:

Saturday afternoon

Dear Diary,

Did I get it wrong? Did Robbie say, you are a
fruit
, instead of
you're cute
? Was he being sarcastic, like Mary said? Oh, you're cute, real cute, you
loser
? Am I reading too much into everything? Am I losing my mind?
No! Believe in yourself.
Like Mom said, Mary is evil. She made the whole thing up, to bring me down. Because Robbie didn't have to talk to me in class the other day, or ask, out of the blue, if I'd tried the new ice cream shop. It makes me so mad that I doubt myself because of one evil person!