Page 13 of The Rebel
“Hey, let’s go to The Kitch after school tomorrow,” she said. “And then you can come over for dinner? Okay?”
“Sounds good,” I said, and for the next twenty minutes I heard how Scott had given her a chef’s apron and hat for her birthday, held her hand on their walk at Victoria Lake, shared a cheeseburger at Meg’s Diner, and how nervous she’d been before their first kiss. But Scott had been sweet and gentle. I smiled through it all, and afterward I took the pair of alligator socks and stuffed them in my bottom drawer—I would not be giving them to Scott after all.
And though I tried to convince myself that I was happy for Gabby achieving all her first milestones before me—first date,first kiss, first boyfriend—snuggled under the warm duvet and surrounded by pillows with Volley at my feet, I became a mess, eyes leaking and heart breaking.
The next morning Mom was whining about the cold again, repeating for the hundredth time how we’d been basking in 75° heat yesterday and now we were shivering in the 30s. People who complained about the cold annoyed me. My response was always to dress more appropriately.
“Maybe you can wear your long redItaliancoat?” I said, heavy on sarcasm at the mention of the expensive designer coat that she’d treated herself to when we’d been in New York for the tennis tournament.
Mom cast a look of disdain in my direction, but I was saved when Dad walked through the kitchen. “Good morning, Poppet,” he said as he found his keys in the fruit bowl. “Have a good first day back at school.”
“Yeah,” I said unenthusiastically.
“What? Not pleased to be back with your friends?” He pretended to be shocked.
I conjured up a cheesy smile. “Oh yeah. Can’t wait for another riveting semester of algebra,” I said.
“That’s my girl,” Dad said, tapping my shoulder as he headed out.
“Is that makeup a little much?” Mom said, her frown heavy as she peered up over the top of her laptop screen.
“It’s my normal,” I fired back with a scowl. Okay, the extra coat of mascara and smoky eye look was an attempt to hide my hooded, swollen eyelids, but it was still minimal compared to what most girls wore. Light and discreet makeup was allowed in the school rules, but no one abided by it, least of all the seniors.
I quickly turned and stood in the pantry, selecting a box of cereal. I poured a small amount of Frosty Flakes into a bowl and sat at the breakfast bar, my back to her.
I swallowed hard, like I had a lump of coal in my throat, a whole rehearsal happening in my head about how to broach Mom for a ride to school without having to tell her about Gabby’s new relationship with Scott. Mom would ask too many questions and I wasn’t in the mood to have a discussion with her, mainly because I was still processing it myself. I needed to sound spontaneous, but the longer I left it, the more non-spontaneous it would seem.
My phone pinged with a notification of my daily phone use, so I grabbed the opportunity to pretend it was a text.
“Oooh, hey,” I said, “Ah, Gabby has to get to school early. For band practice. Can you give me a ride to school?”
There were a few seconds of silence before Mom said, “Huh? What was that?”
I swung around on my stool to see her frantically tapping on her keyboard.
“I need a ride to school,” I said. “Can you take me?”
“Gabby can’t?”
“She had an early band practice.”
Mom’s focus was on her screen and I jumped off the stool and huffed, “Okay I’ll just walk then.”
“What? Wait,” Mom said, finally giving me her full attention. “Vali?”
“I’ll walk,” I said, not hiding my irritation as I tipped the cereal in the trash and slammed the dishwasher door shut.
“Wait a minute.” Mom stopped me with her equally sharp tone. She stood and checked her watch, adding in a calm, if not patronizing voice, “What time do you need to leave?”
“Fifteen minutes,” I said crisply.
“Okay, fifteen minutes, then,” she said on a sigh, closing her laptop. “Gabby’s in band?”
“A jazz band, playing the piano,” I snapped, rushing out.
My moodiness carried on in the car, not helped by the fact that Mom had been on a phone call and I’d waited eight minutes for her, more time to ruminate about the upcoming day.
“Valencia?” Only the shout of my name jolted me out of my head—an imaginary conversation on how I’d greet Gabby and Scott.“Do you want me to pick you up?”Mom’s tone indicated she’d asked more than once.
