The Princess of Las Pulgas (24 page)

I growl on my way to my
seat, but low enough that she doesn’t hear me. Once I sit down, I
unfold the paper and smooth it out. She’s scribbled red pen in the
margins and even between my lines. She’s written more than Mr.
Smith did about my story. I shove it inside my notebook without
reading her notes. I just can’t right now.

Chapter 39

That afternoon I pull into
the mall’s underground parking, turn off the ignition, and sit in
the quiet car. Lena’s “paw through the shelves” and the way she
said it still runs through my head. Mrs. Knudson uses that small
undercurrent of spite in her voice sometimes. The first time I
remember was after I’d won the eighth grade poetry contest and Lena
came in third. When I showed her the ribbon, Mrs. Knudson parted
her lips enough for her even little teeth to show. “How sweet,
Carlie. It’s a nice little keepsake.” The word, jealousy, flits
through my mind as I recall the incident.

At the time, when I’d asked
Mom why Mrs. Knudson didn’t like, her exact words were, “Remember,
you have a terrific imagination. Keep the real world separate from
the imagined one, Carlie.” I wonder what Mom would say now, if I
told her what Lena’s mom had said last Saturday about my dress for
the dance. I didn’t imagine one bit of
that
conversation. But they used to
be friends, so maybe Mom didn’t see what I did.

When I reach the main
gallery, Lena is ahead of me, texting. She ends her message and
holds out her arms when she sees me. Her expression’s like the old
Lena. I feel ashamed for thinking my friend would turn spiteful on
me.

“We haven’t done the mall
in a hundred years. I’m so into shopping today and it’s double fun
now that you’re here. I’m, like, totally in need of a break from my
schedule which you have to know is intense. I’m doing Spring Fling
decorations, arranging for the DJ, and trying to sleep
occasionally. I have news and more news!” Lena links her arm
through mine without stopping for a breath. As we enter Très
Elégant, her cell chimes the French national anthem and she answers
it.

“Hi. What’s up? That is so
awesome. Right. Bye.” Lena texts, then shuts down her cell
again.

“That was Paula, you
remember her— the exchange student from Paris? She, like, sent to
Paris for her Spring Fling dress. I am totally green. Imagine a new
dress all the way from France.” She scans the marquee.
“Accessories, second floor. There’s a really awesome purse just
over our heads and it’s all mine.”

I step onto the escalator
behind Lena. “Oh, before I forget—she chatters on, “you have to
text or call me on my cell. My computer crashed. We think it’s the
hard drive. Can you believe it? I’m getting a new one when my dad
comes back from South America, but that’s two weeks. He says I can
. . .”

Lena is on and on, but I’ve
tuned to another station.

I seem to have a BFF who
babbles, who never asks about how I feel or what's happening in my
life.
What should I do, just listen and
listen and listen to talk, talk, talk?

Lena steps off the
escalator and looks over her shoulder at me. “So where do you pick
up your dress?”

I point to the couturier
section of the store.

“Oh,
couturier
. Do you want to do that
first?” The mean undercurrent so like Mrs. Knudson’s is back in
Lena’s voice.

“How about if I pick up my
dress while you ‘paw through the shelves.’”
Talk about undercurrent.
“I’ll
probably finish first; then I’ll find you.”

“No way, Carlie. We are
together on this mission. Come on, couturier first.” Lena leads the
way to the desk. Without being asked, she speaks for me. “We’re
here to pick up a dress for—”

“Carlie. I am so happy to
see you again.” Miss Lily comes from behind her desk, and I’m the
recipient of the two-cheek European-style kiss. “Your dress is
ready, but I want you to model it for us first. I’ve told all of my
ladies how amazingly beautiful you are in it.” She takes my hand.
“Come.”

The dressing room is still
as glamorous as I remember. I flash back to Sean sitting with me,
watching the models, helping me choose. A small tornado whips
around in my belly. I wish—I don’t know what I wish. Yes, I do. I
wish Sean wasn’t gay. Mostly I wish he could be here with me
instead of Lena.

My dress hangs by its tiny
rosette straps from a golden hanger and it’s more beautiful than
before.

From behind me Lena
gasps.

“Your friend also
appreciates how lovely this is for you.” Miss Lily hands the dress
to me. “Here is a pair of heels to use. It will look so much better
with the heels. Now try it on and I will gather my
ladies.”

I strip to my underwear and
carefully step into the dress. “Can you zip this for
me?”

Lena yanks the zipper to
the top.

“Whoa. A tad rough,
mon amie
.”

“It stuck.”

I step into the pink heels
and face the mirrored walls. “Well, what do you think?”

“It’s fine. Of course, I
asked you not to get something pink.”

“No. You said not to buy a
red dress. This isn’t red.” But I’m
seeing
red. Flames lap around Lena
who is now tied to a stake in my mind. I want to scream,
“Witch.”

I’m relieved when Miss Lily
returns with two other Très Elégant sales women. Their chatter
covers the tension between Lena and my pizazzy pink
self.

Miss Lily boxes the dress,
carefully tucking it between folds of tissue paper, then tying it
with Très Elégant ribbon. She kisses me again on both cheeks,
pressing the box into my hands. “Enjoy a wonderful
dance.”

Lena has her back to us,
fingering a chiffon skirt on a mannequin. It was a mistake to do
this with her.

“So what kind of purse are
you looking for?” Maybe I can salvage the rest of the afternoon if
I sincerely help Lena buy the right accessory.

“It’s getting late. Maybe
I’ll wait.” Lena is already on the escalator, her head descending
slowly from view, so I can’t argue.

“How about a Coke?” I
haven’t given up.

“Sure. The Food Court’s the
close.”

Maybe humbling myself will
ease Lena back into a good mood. “I can’t shop today. I’m pretty
broke.”

Lena doesn’t answer, but
when we’ve bought our drinks and found seats she says, “Are you
broke because of that?” She points at the Très Elégant
box.

“Not really.” I don’t want
to get into how much the dress cost. “It wasn’t that expensive. You
might say I got a—”

“Hey! It’s the
Des.”

K.T. and her gang of six
encircle us. I almost snatch the box from the seat and hold on to
protect it.

“Being a mall rat is not
what I expected of the star.”

“I do more than act in Mr.
Smith’s play, K.T.”

“When do you do all that
fancy writing?”

It’s in her eyes. All that I wrote about my
dad, all that I wrote about how I feel. Why does she have to be
here today? Now?

“Who’s this?” K.T. points
at Lena who sits without moving anything but her eyes. These dart
between K.T. and the six girls at her back.

“Lena Knudson. She’s a
friend, so be nice.”

“I’m always nice. You know
that.” K.T. grins at the six girls who laugh. “So what you got in
the fancy box?”

“A dress.”

“Lemme see.”

I think Lena’s shrinking
inside her clothes.

“It’s nothing
special.”

K.T. fingers the ribbon.
“The outside sure looks kinda special.”

I’m not getting rid of her
until she gets her way, so I untie the bow, lift off the top and
peel back the tissue.

“Holy—” K.T. exclaims. “Get
your eyeballs ready to pop. Lookit at what Des has bought
herself!”

The gang of six clusters
around the table, forming a cave around Lena and me.

The girl with tightly
beaded hair extends a finger.

K.T. slaps her hand
away.

“It’s okay,” I tell her.
“Touching won’t hurt it.” Picking up my dress has just become an
event, instead of a chored to finish so I can escape Lena’s sour
looks and ping-ponging moods.

K.T. sets one hand on her
hip and does an exaggerated head shift right and left, so that her
dangly earrings dance above each shoulder. “So
where
you gonna wear
this?”

“She’s going to Channing’s
Spring Fling.” I turn around to see if Mrs. Knudson has suddenly
appeared, but it’s just Lena, doing her best imitation of her
sarcastic mom.

“Whoa. Excuse my asking.”
K.T. hops back, pretending to be threatened. Her gang moves behind
her like a chorus line. “We’ll be travelin,’” she says and leads
them away.

“Thanks,” I call after
them.

K.T. looks back, suspicion
in her eyes.

“Glad you liked my
dress.”
Glad you interrupted a perfectly
horrible conversation is more like it.

She sticks one hand on a
hip and says, “It’d be better in red. And dump those strappy flower
things.”

She can’t let up for a minute, can she?

Like always, her gang plays
its way across the Food Court. Big Teeth shoulders K.T., then K.T.
slings her arm around the girl’s back and does a hip-hop move on
her rubber heel. I watch until they merge with the crowd. And I’m
the girl left behind at the table with her elegant dress and
sour-faced friend. Staring after them, I feel lonelier with their
every step away.

Lena slurps the last of her
Coke through a straw and crumples the plastic cup. “So what’s all
this, ‘Des’ stuff?”

“I’m in the junior play.
That’s my nickname.”

“For?”

“Desdemona.”

Lena tosses her crumpled
cup into the trash. “How many nicknames do you have at Las
Pulgas?”

“Two. And one isn’t meant
to be flattering.” I don’t want to explain Juan’s to
her.

“How come you didn’t tell
me about the play?”

“It just never came up. I’m
sorry, Lena, but you don’t know what kind of mess I’ve been in
since my dad died.”

I’ve played the “Dad Card.”
Lena switches from bitchy to sweet. “Can we come? I mean Eric and
me?”

“You want to?”

“Sure. I saw posters at
Sam’s, but I didn’t know my best friend was the star.”

She’s chatty. She’s happy.
As long as the pizazzy pink dress doesn’t enter the conversation,
as long as I remain the one with major troubles Lena’s
fine.

“Sure, if you’d like
to—that would be, uh, great.” I can almost hear the “ah” escape.
It’s like a huge carbonated burp. Finally, I’ve invited Channing to
Las Pulgas.

Relieved?

Yes.

Scared?

Absolutely.

And here I thought K.T. and
the track team were the scariest part of my life.

Chapter 40

After Lena leaves the
parking garage, I sit in my car without putting the key into the
ignition. The Très Elégant box fills the passenger seat and anxiety
fills the rest of the space, as I picture Lena and Eric sitting in
the Las Pulgas auditorium, staring at me while I pretend to be
lovely, innocent Desdemona. On the way from the Food Court, Lena
even suggested asking Nicolas to join them—sort of a rehearsal for
our big double date.

I’ll break my leg like K.T. did. Mr. Smith
will have to cast somebody else, maybe Dolores. She knows a lot of
my lines.

By the time I reach the
apartment, it’s almost dark, but tonight the lights are on in our
apartment windows. Clutching the box I hurry up the stairs,
grateful that I’ve made it past the pool without having worry for
my life. As I hurry past Apartment 147, the door snaps open and
Gerald and his wife come out. He doesn’t seem to notice me, but she
does.

“Hi, honey. You’ve got the
joint to yourself tonight. Me and Gerald got a date.” She flicks
her cigarette ashes over the balcony, then follows her husband down
the stairs. “Wait up!”

Inside the apartment I
call, “Mom, I’ve got the dress.”

She comes down the hall
barefooted, still in her gold and brown uniform. “Let’s see it.
I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

I undo the ribbon and hold
up the dress.

“Oh. It’s absolutely
beautiful.” Mom’s eyes glisten as she wraps me in her
arms.

“Are you
crying?”

“Yes. And don’t try to stop
me. I need this cry.”

Keith pokes his head out of
his bedroom, sees us and ducks back inside.

Mom steps away and holds
the bodice against me. “Try it on. I have to see you in it right
now!”

I change, dig quickly
through my closet for heels, and check my jewelry box for the small
sparkly earrings. When I pull the dress over my head I’m careful
not to snag it on my bracelet. I twist my hair into a knot and pin
it in place.