Wicked Jealous: A Love Story (23 page)

He shook his head. “Could she be any more jealous of you?”

I looked away from the group of skaters who were staring at me as we walked by. I still found this being-noticed thing very uncomfortable.

“You know, the women at Zumba say the same thing, but to be honest, I have no idea why she would be,” I replied. “I may have lost some weight, and, yes, I’m dressing better, and now that I’m used to it, I agree that my hair may have been a little too long and rat’s nest-y before, but I’m still the same on the inside.” I sighed. “Complete with being totally clueless as to what I’m supposed to do on this date thing.” If I thought any more about the wedding, I was going to get seriously depressed. I had to move on to a subject that, while still depressing, was not soul crushing.

“What do you mean you don’t know what to do,” he said. “You just go and act normal. You know, be yourself.” His eyes narrowed. “And you keep all your clothes on and his hands off you.”

I rolled my eyes. “What’s up with you guys and this just-be-normal thing? You make it sound like it’s so easy or something.” I sighed. “I wish there were some sort of class I could take. Or maybe they have a
Dating for Idiots
book.” I always did score high in the reading-comprehension part of standardized tests. “I know—I’ll just watch MTV all afternoon. I should be able to get some tips off there, don’t you think?”

His eyes bugged out. “From the network that brings you
Teen Mom
and
Jersey Shore
?!” he cried. He shook his head. “No way. If you want to learn about this stuff, better you learn from some real experts.”

eight

Other than the one time I had gotten to the locker room late and had to change in front of everyone else for gym class instead of in the bathroom stall because Monica Betrucci was in there disposing of her lunch via her throat, I couldn’t really think of anything more embarrassing than pretending to be on a date with a guy who kept yawning while six other guys watched my every move. Except, say, if the date was being filmed with a flip camera by my best friend, because, according to her, it would be helpful for me to study it later on. Like they do in football. Even though I knew that was a total lie and that the truth was
she
could study it later on, in preparation for a date at some point in the future with my brother.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” Doc announced as Narc and I sat across from each other the next day at the card-slash-dining room table, which Noob had recently found on the street, pretending to have a pretend meal on our pretend date. According to Doc, if his parents hadn’t pushed him into being pre-med, he would’ve been a film major, which is why he was the most qualified in the group to direct this whole thing. “But Simone, this time, try not to pull your hair across your face every time you say something. It makes it very hard to hear you.”

I let go of my hair and nodded. “No hair pulling. Got it.”

“But maybe the way she fidgets with her hair and uses it as a shield against connecting with other human beings is just part of who she is,” Thor said. “I understand that we’re trying to help her here, but that doesn’t mean molding her into someone whom she’s not. See, that’s exactly what’s wrong with this city—it’s like there’s no room to be an individual. They just—”

“We got it, Thor. L.A. sucks. Duly noted,” Max interrupted.

“Omigod! I feel the
same
way about L.A.!” Nicola gasped. Was it my imagination, or did her pupils get ginormous whenever she was around him? “I can’t believe we haven’t discussed this. You know, I actually wrote this blog entry with a list of one hundred and one things about the city I don’t like. If you go back to last February—”

“Let’s just get back to this and get it over with,” I interrupted in an attempt to save my brother. I turned to Nicola. “You ready?”

“For what?” she asked, all hazylike, as if she had taken one too many of Wheezer’s Benadryls.

I pointed to the camera. “With that.”

She turned red. “Oh. Yeah,” she mumbled as she turned it on. “Simone’s Fake Date, take thirteen!” she yelled—from the way he cringed—right into Max’s ear.

Narc looked at me and smiled. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I murmured as I sat on my hand to stop myself from hiding behind my hair. I glanced over at Blush, who was sitting on the stairs watching the whole thing with a small smile. Like the kind that people watching monkeys at the zoo have on their face, especially when the monkey does something particularly stupid.
Not a word,
I mouthed to him.

He smiled wider. It was too bad his shyness stopped him from doing that too often because it was a really great smile.
I’m not saying anything,
he mouthed back. It was kind of cool when you reached a point in a friendship when you could understand what someone was mouthing across a room. Nicola was pretty much the only person I had been able to do that with. Except when she was chewing gum—then it got all complicated and made it look like she was speaking Chinese.

“You might want to speak up,” Noob yelled. “Like I’m doing right now. You know, protect your voice.”

“I think you mean ‘project,’” Wheezer wheezed.

“Okay, okay,” I said. I turned to Narc. “Can we start over?”

“Sure. Let me just get into character again.” He cracked his neck a few times and fluttered his lips. “All set.”

“And we’re rolling!” Nicola yelled. “Wait—scratch that. We never actually stopped rolling.”

“Hey,” Narc said.

“Hey!” It came out so loud it sounded like I was talking to someone who was very hard of hearing. I turned to Doc. “I hate to do this. But we can start over just one more time? I think I’d like to try it with ‘hi’ instead of ‘hey,’ I swear it’ll be the last time.”

“Take fifteen!” Nicola yelled.

“Actually, it’s take fourteen,” Wheezer corrected.

I glanced over at Max, who had his head in his hands.

“This
was
your idea, you know,” I said defensively.

“I know it was,” he sighed. “Just start again.”

“Hey,” Narc said.

“Hi,” I replied.

“That was great!” Wheezer wheezed. “Good volume. And just the right amount of flirt without being all skeezy and easy. Kind of says, ‘If you play it right, then—’”

“Okay, dude? I do
not
want to hear this,” Max said, covering his ears.

“You can tell all that just from ‘hi’?” I asked, amazed.

Wheezer shrugged. “Well, yeah, sure.” He looked at the group. “Right?”

They nodded.

Huh. Maybe I had underestimated them and they weren’t as clueless as I thought.

“And it also says ‘I’m going to have the burger, medium well,” Noob said.

Well, some of them weren’t.

“Okay, we’re still rolling, so keep going,” Doc ordered.

“So . . . how are you doing?” Narc said.

I shrugged. “Fine. I mean, you know, a little nervous because it’s weird having to be on a pretend date in front of a bunch of people, but other than that, I’m good.”

“I think he was asking you that in character,” Max said. “As part of the date conversation.”

I looked at Narc. “Were you?”

He yawned as he nodded.

“Are you yawning because of the narcolepsy thing or because I’m boring you?” I asked.

“The narcolepsy thing,” he replied as he yawned again. “At least I think.”

Seeing that I still didn’t know where the date was going to take place, we jumped ahead to the saying-good-night portion of the evening (“Tell him that kissing before marriage is against your religion,” Max said) when the front door opened and Hillary’s perfectly unfrizzed head could be seen. I never thought the day would come where I’d actually be happy to see Hillary, but if it got me out of my fake date, I’d take it.

“Hello, hello!” she cried. “Is everyone decent?” she asked, without waiting for an answer before she
click-clack
ed in holding a garment bag. She looked at the guys and smiled. “Max, you didn’t mention how
handsome
your friends were.”

My brother and I looked at each other and cringed. Hillary clearly had no problem with the age difference between her and the guys. My father was lucky that none of these guys had made a Mark Zuckerberg–like fortune by inventing some sort of social networking site. Luckily, they all looked pretty freaked out by the cougar-esque look on her face. Except for Noob. He just looked confused.

Hillary took in the messy living room. “Well, this is certainly—”

“I hope you’re not planning on saying ‘messy,’” said Thor. “Because although it might appear that way to the average person, what we’re going for here is actually a well-thought-out artistic decision to mirror the chaos that currently surrounds us on both a national and international scale. Not to mention what we, as young men on the threshold of adulthood, must struggle with—”

“
Anyways
,” Hillary interrupted, “I just swung by because I bought Simone a little something for her date,” she said as she held up the garment bag. “It just felt like a sweet soon-to-be-stepmother thing to do.” She held up her still-ponytail-holdered hand. “I’m not sure if Simone and Max mentioned it, but I’m now engaged to their father.”

Who
didn’t
know? Not only did all of Hillary’s 756 Facebook friends know, but she had also tweeted about it
and
started a blog called “Countdown to Bliss—How You, Too, Can Lasso the Man of Your Dreams.”

“Wow. I’ve never seen an engagement ring made out of marbles. That’s really cool. A lot cooler than diamonds,” said Noob.

I stood up. “That’s so nice of you. Let’s go up to my room.” I grabbed Nicola’s arm. “You, too.”

“Well, look at this,” Hillary said after we got to the attic. “This is equally charming.” She pointed to the wall. “There’s not asbestos in there, I hope,” she said.

Nicola and I looked at each other. Was it my imagination, or did she actually sound a little hope
ful
?

“I have no idea.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” She shrugged. She held out the garment bag. “Here you go.”

I unzipped the bag and gasped. Inside was a stunning emerald-green silk 1960-ish sailor’s dress.

Hillary smiled sweetly. “I know if your mom was alive, she’d make a big deal about the fact that you’re going out on your first date.”

“Omigosh—it’s beautiful,” I gasped.

“Wow. It is,” said Nicola. “It’s so . . .
Mad Men
.”

“It is, isn’t it?” agreed Hillary. “You know, I think it’s wonderful that there’s a show on TV that features full- figured women like that.” She walked over to the mirror and turned around to get a glimpse of her butt. “Unlike, you know, thin women like me. I got it at Decades. Bedbug-free, I promise.”

Decades was a very upscale resale store over on Melrose, which meant it was expensive. I’d probably be too nervous to wear it. As I looked at the label on the neck, I realized I wouldn’t have to worry about that. “Hillary, this is incredibly nice of you . . . but it’s a size six.”

She looked at it. “Oh, is it?”

“Yeah.”

“And the problem with that would be . . . ?”

“I’m a ten.”

“Maybe in
regular
clothes you are, but it’s different with vintage couture things. They run
bigger
.”

“Really? I thought the expensive stuff ran
smaller
.” Especially vintage.

She held the dress out to me. “Just try it.”

With Nicola standing guard, soon enough I was in the bathroom with the broken lock (a complete nightmare when you were a girl living in a household full of guys) stepping into the softest, silkiest dress I had ever felt. At first it zipped up without a problem. But then . . . not so much. I stepped up onto the ledge of the tub so I could get a glimpse of myself. From my knees to just above my waist I looked just great. But from there on up I looked like a sausage that was about to squeeze out of its casing. I sighed. It was as if in one second, I was reminded that no matter how much weight I lost, how different my hair was, whether I got asked out on a date or not, I could only go so far before I was reminded of my place.

“How’s it going in there?” I heard Hillary call out.

“I don’t think it’s going to work,” I called back as I cringed at my back fat. As soon as I got back to my room, I was grabbing a T-shirt and some cargo pants.

“Let’s see,” she said as she flung open the door.

I was so startled that I slipped and landed butt-first in the tub. “Omigod—are you okay?!” Nicola panicked. “You didn’t break your butt, did you?”

“Forget about her butt—you didn’t rip the dress, did you?!” asked Hillary.

I stood up. Everything seemed to be in working order. “I think I’m okay.”

“Good. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you should be on that
Oh No They Did Not
show,” said Nicola.

“This is nothing,” Hillary said, marching over to me. “It’s just a little snug.”

“A little?” I gasped as she yanked at the zipper. “If that thing goes up any higher, my intestines are going to shoot out my mouth.”

“Oh please. I’ve wriggled my way into things way tighter than this,” she said. “If I can give you one piece of stepmotherly advice, let it be this: learn how to hold your breath for long periods of time. It will come in very handy.”

“What an empowering thought,” said Nicola.

Hillary yanked the zipper up even farther. “How’s that feel?”

If I had any air left in my lungs to talk I would’ve said, “If you removed five of my ribs, it might be okay,” but I couldn’t because I didn’t. Instead, I just gasped.

“I think she’s turning blue,” said Nicola.

“Oh, she’s fine,” replied Hillary. “It’s just the bad lighting in here.”

“I really think it’s too tight,” I managed to get out.

“Simone,” she laughed as she zipped it up even higher, “I had no idea you were such a drama queen! How cute! You think this is uncomfortable? Just wait until you start getting Brazilian bikini waxes. Now
that,
my friend, is pain.”

As she yanked the zipper up a little more, I felt like I was going to pass out. “I really can’t breathe,” I gasped.

But Hillary just kept zipping.

“Didn’t you hear her?” Nicola cried as she pushed her aside and began to unzip me.

Hillary shrugged. “Okay. If you want to give up
that
easily,” she said. “But it’s called ‘slave to fashion’ for a reason, you know.”

I shook my head. Nicola had gotten the zipper down enough that I could finally draw air back into my lungs. “Yeah, well, that’s never going to be me,” I said as the oxygen began to return to my brain. “Even if I become a size zero. Which, by the way, I have no interest in being. Plus, how are you supposed to eat if you can’t breathe?”

Hillary patted my cheek. “Ohhh . . . how cute. You really
are
that naïve. I thought it was just an act. Women don’t actually
eat
on dates, silly. You order a salad and you pick at it and then you pig out when you get home!”

Nicola’s eyes narrowed. “You know, I saw something like this on a TV movie once on Oxygen. Where a woman tried to kill another woman by suffocating her with a dress. I think it was called something like
Murder in Milan
.”

“Another drama queen! How cute! No wonder why you guys are BFFs.” She shrugged. “If you’re going to give up so quickly, I guess you should give me the dress back so I can return it. You know, it wasn’t cheap.” Her iPhone rang. “It’s the caterer. I have to take this.”

After she
click-clack
ed out, Nicola turned to me as I changed back into my clothes. “If we were characters on one of those detective shows right now, I would be turning to you and taking off my sunglasses and saying, “Let’s get her in for questioning
stat
,” Nicola said.