Who's Your Daddy? (19 page)

Our mail carrier, Roland, is a nice old toothless guy who drives an orange Volkswagen Thing, which is this übercool ugly car from the olden days. He’s really friendly and carries milk bones for all the dogs who live on his route. I don’t think any of them have ever bitten him. He’s too nice! Plus, he wears regular clothes instead of that oh-so-recognizable uniform that makes dogs go, well, postal.

Just then, I saw the Thing bounce up the dirt road and creak to a stop at our mailbox. I scrambled to my feet and waddled toward the front door as fast as my foam toe spacers allowed. I had bought a special pair of open-toed slippers, with thick rubber soles and felt uppers that closed over the top of my foot with Velcro
but wouldn’t mess up my pedicure, and I hurriedly put them on. Dad must’ve heard the commotion, because he appeared at the door of his study, holding a music book and peering at me over the top of his half-glasses. He always looked ancient when he did that.

“Hi, Daddy.”

“Where’s the fire, young lady?”

“I’m just going out for the mail.”

“Hmm.” He leaned one shoulder against the jamb and studied me with those creepily all-knowing paternal eyes. They made me feel transparent. “Expecting anything in particular?”

Ummmmm … uh-oh. Hadn’t seen that one coming. I cleared my throat, searching my brain for an answer that would seem feasible. Birthday cards … nope. Not my birthday. Bills? Nah. I don’t have any. Presents—that’s it! Gifts to myself, that is. “Oh, just a shipment from Sephora.com.” I smiled blandly.

Dad stared at me for a few moments, then shook his head and sighed. “What could you possibly need from them, child? Between you and your mother, we own every cosmetic known to man right here in this house.”

I rolled my eyes. “Very funny, Daddy.”

“Well, hurry on back in,
chérie
. It’s cold out there. I don’t want you to catch your death.”

“Okay.” I reached for the door handle, but my dad stopped me before I could get outside.

“Oh, Caressa. Tell me something.”

I gave him a put-upon sigh. “What?”

He tipped his head to the side and removed his glasses, tapping one earpiece against his bottom lip. “Doesn’t UPS usually bring those boxes from Sephora.com, rather than the U.S. Postal Service?”

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOPS. He was right. Who knew the old guy paid that much attention?

I laughed nervously, but managed to cover pretty well, I thought. “Oh. You’re right. Huh. Oh well, I’ll just run and get the mail anyway.”

“Mm-hmm,” Dad said, before raising his eyebrows in this certain disconcerting way, then slipping back into his study.

Okay, he was giving me the willies. Did he know something I didn’t? Or did he suspect something that wasn’t true? Or something that
was
true, which would be infinitely worse. Or had he somehow intercepted a reply from Bobby Slade written to me?

Waitonefreakinminute!

I screeched to a halt right there in the portico, realizing the gravity of my mistake. My obvious, horrible, I-shoulda-known-it-from-the-beginning mistake. HOLY, HOLY, HOLY CRAP.

BIG DUH—any reply from Bobby would’ve come addressed to my DAD, not to me. The forged letter looked, obviously, as if my dad had written it. It was SUPPOSED to look that way. WHY HADN’T I CONSIDERED THIS BEFORE? I WROTE the stupid thing, and yet, in my lovesick haze, this had never occurred to me.

AUGH!

There went any career aspirations as a spy.

Then again, if my dad had already received a reply from Bobby Slade, wouldn’t he have mentioned it? I mean, it would’ve baffled him, since he’d never WRITTEN a letter, so he would have started poking around to get to the bottom of it … right? I was almost sure he would have, but I certainly couldn’t get all Nancy Drew about it now. If I started asking questions, odds are my whole forgery ploy would be exposed and I’d be grounded for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t be able to hang with LILA anymore, that’s for sure. My parents would start
thinking she was this big criminal influence, which is SO undeserved. I probably wouldn’t be getting any more prize packages from Sephora.com, either. URK.

God, I’d dug myself a Lila-esque hole with this one.

I hurried to the mailbox and found, of course, nothing of interest inside it. Back in the house, I kicked off my pedicure slippers, tossed the mail on the entry table, peeled out my foam toe spacers, then took the stairs two at a time until I reached my room. Forget the pedicure. I’d fix it later.

I signed online and checked for Meryl and Lila. Meryl wasn’t on (where WAS she these days?), but Lila was. That worked, because she was my partner in crime anyway. I IMed her.

Lipstickgrrrrl:
Lila!
Help!

LawBreakR:
What??

Lipstickgrrrrl:
I royally screwed up!!!!!

LawBreakR:
How? What? What’s going on?

Lipstickgrrrrl:
U know the letter 2 Bobby?

LawBreakR:
Um … DUHHHU!! I signed the thing, remember?

Lipstickgrrrl:
I never considered the fact that, SHOULD Bobby reply, it would go 2 MY FATHER, not 2 me.

LawBreakR:

LawBreakR:
Oh crap! R U telling me your dad got a letter from Bobby Slade? R U totally busted??

Lipstickgrrrrl:
No, I don’t know if he got a letter at all. But, short of going through my dad’s mail, which I simply won’t do, how will I ever know?

LawBreakR:
[sigh] Settle down, Caressa, ya freakin’ crack smoker. Think about it logically. If your father got a letter or phone call back from Bobby Slade, he’d put 2 and 2 2gether and your a** would be grass. DON’T BORROW TROUBLE (as my father says). U haven’t heard anything because Bobby Slade hasn’t written back. CHILLLLLLLLLLLLL.

Upstickgrrrrl:
U really think so? [fret]

LawBreakR:
I know so. Come on, have I ever steered U wrong?

Lipstickgrrrrl:
ROFLMAO!!!!!!!!!! Only like every freakin’ day of my life since 5th grade, U dork.

LawBreakR:
Ha ha, you’re so funny—NOT.
Don’t worry. 4GET about Bobby, and I mean it. (Please, GOD, 4get about Bobby.)

Lipstickgrrrrl:
I wish I could, [sigh]

LawBreakR:
That makes 2 of us. I gotta blaze, girl. I’ll TTYL, okay? Keep me posted. [SWAK]

Upstickgrrrrl:
Okay, thanks. Where R U headed?

LawBreakR:
Some stupid junior narc thing. What else?? Lila—unfairly persecuted and deprived of a life.

Lipstickgrrrrl:
LOL. TTYL, GF. Kiss Hutch 4 me.

LawBreakR:
GAK—shut up.

I signed off and decided to make a conscious decision to chill. Lila was right. I was most likely worrying for nothing. Bobby Slade would be in touch as soon as the time thing worked out for HIM. I released the stress of it, but I
did
plan on going through the mail just a little bit more thoroughly from here on out. If I did see a letter to my dad from Bobby Slade, I’d clip it before it ever landed on his desk.

I flung myself on my bed and closed my eyes with a pleasant sigh. Hey, I could afford to relax. Bobby and I had the rest of our lives to spend together, after all. Why rush things?

It was March. ALREADY. I could hardly believe it. My life was completely passing me by, kicking my butt and taking absolutely no prisoners. T-minus two months and counting until prom, and my buds and I remained woefully “dateless in da mountains.” We didn’t even have real prospects—some things never change!

It had been an überbusy, draining winter for all of us, and, looking back, it seemed like junior year was a steep mountain we were all sliding down, unable to grasp a single fingerhold. I SO didn’t want to hit the bottom. Life had turned into one big out-of-body experience, and OHMIGOD, we were going to be seniors in, like, five and a half months. DATELESS seniors, if we
didn’t do something drastic, and quickly.

Wanna know the worst part? As Meryl’s, Caressa’s, and my school and extracurricular commitments had revved up over the year, we’d started to see each other less frequently SUPER BUMMER. We all felt SO out of touch. I don’t know if our dads had planned it that way, but it sure felt like an evil paternal plot to keep us apart so we didn’t get into any more trouble.

Meryl had been working a lot and studying like a mad fiend—even more than she usually did. It seemed like Caressa and I hardly ever saw her except (1) at school, and (2) online (occasionally). I mean, she was ALWAYS off studying, which was weird, even for her. If you want my opinion I think she was studying too hard, because she seemed a little bit down whenever we talked. I have to say, I missed my bubbly Meryl buddy who could find a bright side of anything—even the vomitous man pants.

As for my universe, I had been putting in a ridiculously unfair number of hours with the nares. I was now certified in first aid and CPR. Yeah, I know, yipp-freakin’-ee. The weird thing was, as much as I still despised being sentenced to the group, I had begun to let myself secretly
enjoy spending time with Dylan. I hated to admit it, but he was cooler than I’d ever imagined he would be, what with all the major strikes against him at first glance.

He and Jennifer had broken up and gotten back together so many times since the Christmas Market, everyone had started to call them J-Lo and Bennifer. It was a giant eye-roller, their so-called relationship. I had high hopes that he’d eventually come to his senses and dump her altogether, but so far, no luck.

Pros? I got to hear the dish about their relationship straight from Dylan, and it made me realize how NOT to act with a guy, if I ever scored one. Jennifer’s main complaints about Dylan were:

(1) He spent too much time on junior narc stuff (true)

(2) He spent too much time with MOI (not true at all)

(3) He didn’t give her enough attention (but who could? she was high maintenance to the core), and here was the best one:

(4) He didn’t appreciate what he HAD in a girl like her (ummm, I’ll bite. A relationship not unlike a hemorrhoid?)