Page 1 of Double Mountain Men

1

Misty

Ipush open the door to Liberty Bakery, and skulk across the shiny polished cement floor to wait in line before a large glass case filled with delectable pastries. Oooh, they look so yummy with their crisp, golden brown exteriors, decadent chocolate filling, and gooey, jam-filled centers. But my eyes catch sight of the price list, and I wince. Ugh, this is highway robbery! How can a single pastry cost eight dollars? That’s without tax or tip too –not that I can afford to tip.

But I have to buy something because I’m meeting my friend Jenna here, and it’s Jen who suggested the location. Still, I’m a little surprised because this place is fancy, and Jenna’s like me – a poor student. In fact, we’re probably the poorest students at Evergreen College because we both came from foster care. It’s a bit of a sad story, actually. I was left with Children’s Protective Services when I was just a tot, and have only vague memories of my biological family. They never came back to claim me, andI bounced from place to place before being placed in a group home when I was in high school.

It was as bad as you think. The center always smelled of anti-septic, with metal bunk beds, inedible food, and the oddest banging noises at night. Plus, the kids living there were just like me: unwanted, unwashed, and generally forgotten. But some of us misfits bonded despite the harsh conditions, and I even made a friend. Jenna is a sassy, funny girl, who also happens to be as smart as a whip. While some of our other foster siblings got into trouble and rebelled, we tried to avoid attention by studying hard and keeping our heads down. We took the SATs, befriended our high school guidance counselor, and tried to come off as exemplary citizens. After all, the state would only support us until age 18. Then, we’d be thrust into the real world, with nothing but our wits to keep us afloat.

Fortunately, the transition, while bumpy, wasn’t impossible. Jenna and I were both accepted to Evergreen State College with full scholarships, and there’s even a foundation that’s helping us cover housing and books. We were giddy when we got our offers, dancing around in circles while screaming with joy.

“OMG, OMG,” Jenna cried, grabbing my hands and we spun in a circle in the rec room of the group home. “This is the start to a new life!”

“New chances, new opportunities ... you’re right, because the world is our oyster!”

Dizzy with excitement and laughter, we could almost forget our problems.Almost, but not quite, because money’s always been an issue for us. Even with my scholarship and the stipend from the foundation, I’m still barely making ends meet. I have a work-study job at the science center, but it doesn’t pay much. I’ve evenconsidered eating some of the fish food because I get so hungry sometimes.

That’s why I’m surprised Jenna chose this fancy bakery. She should be in the same leaky financial boat as me, and pinching every penny in her wallet. So what are we doing at a hipster place like this? After all, Liberty Bakery is the epitome of understated chic, with iron pendant lamps, a burnished cement floor, and simple yet sophisticated blonde wood furniture. The lighting is mellow and the baristas are dressed in matching brown sackcloth aprons, as if they’re real millers that work with flour. My guess is that they’re actually trust fund babies who are only pretending to be poor by working in a cafe. Ah, how ironic life is.

But my thoughts are interrupted by the tinkling of the chime over the door, and a blonde girl strolls in with her hair tied in a bouncy ponytail. She’s dressed in a skin-tight pink sports bra with matching pink leggings, and has a fancy gym bag slung over her shoulder with a yoga mat poking out. Not only that, but her golden highlights are obviously the work of an expensive salon, and her nails are subtly shiny and perfectly pink with the latest “glazed donut” manicure.

“Hey Misty,” she calls before bouncing over to give me a hug. “Long time no see. How’s my girl doing?”

It’s only then that I snap out of my trance. I was so busy studying the blonde’s polished presentation that I didn’t realize that it’s my friend, Jenna.

“Hey!” I exclaim, my eyes wide with shock. “I didn’t realize it was you! You look different.”

Jenna merely giggles.

“I know, it’s the highlights. I finally got so sick of my blah brown hair that I had it professionally done. Matthieu at John Barrett is anace,” she confides in a low voice. “After having him handle my tresses, I don’t think I can go to anyone else again. I’m going to be one of those crazy ladies whose hair appointments are more important to them than food. I would rather starve than not get highlights.”

I stare at her.

“Really?” I ask quizzically. “That sounds extreme, Jen.”

She pauses for a moment.

“Okay, maybe I’ll keep buying food,” she concedes. “I know! I’ll skip my Botox appointments to get my hair done.” She pauses again. “No, scratch that because I don’t want to miss those either. Botox is too important to me.”

I stare at her.

“Jenna, you’re only eighteen. You’re getting Botox? Where? Why?”

She pulls her brows together, and then points to two very faint lines that form vertical tracks between her arches.

“See that?” she asks in a hushed tone. “Those are called elevens. Right now, they’re only there if I frown, but this is preventative Botox, girlfriend. I’m getting it done now so that the elevens don’t become permanent as I age.”

I stare, utterly stunned.

“But Jenna, you’re beautiful—” I begin. At that moment, the barista interrupts us.

“Can I get you something, ma’am?” the bored girl asks. I shoot a quick look at the price list, and internally wince.

“Um, yes, just a plain croissant, and a plain drip coffee please. Thanks.”

Jenna immediately steps in.

“Why would you get a plain croissant? That’s so boring, girlfriend! Two pistachio croissants,” she instructs the server. “Plus, two rose lattes please, made with pistachio milk.”

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