Twice As Nice Page 6

  “You coming to join us?” said a voice from behind me. I turned around to see Spencer, balancing two cheeseburgers and a large drink on a tray.

  “Oh, Spencer. Hi. I mean, hi, Spencer.” I heard myself gushing and tried to stop. “I was just wondering if it’s okay to be at the table.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” he said, flashing me a hint of dimple.

  I followed him to the table, and when I got there, Lauren made a spot for me next to her.

  “Sit here, Charlie,” she said. “I got you a yogurt. Small low-fat vanilla, no toppings, right? See, I haven’t forgotten.”

  I took a seat. Sean and Jared both put down their subs and stared at me, definitely not in a good way.

  “So is everyone okay with this?” Jared said. He didn’t even bother to say my name. I was just a “this.”

  “Yup, we are,” Lauren said. “We decided that Charlie is coming back to the group.”

  “She is? Why?” Jared asked.

  “I have my reasons,” was all Lauren said. It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love for me, but it was good enough. “So you two guys are just going to have to deal with it,” Lauren said with authority.

  “What if we can’t?” Sean answered, trying to stare her down. But Lauren was not going to back down. She just stared at Sean.

  “Just grow up,” she snapped.

  “Easy for you to say,” the General said to her, rising to the defense of his two friends. “You’re not the one busting your butt varnishing the deck, sweeping sand off the tennis courts, and pulling up weeds like a gardener.”

  “Why don’t we take a vote on whether or not Charlie can stay?” Brooke said. “This is America, and we’re a democracy after all.”

  “Yeah,” Jillian jumped in. “Just like they do on Teens Got Talent. Last night they voted off that creepy girl who was a contortionist. She could totally dislocate both shoulders and then put them back in the sockets. It was disgusting.”

  Everyone looked at me like I was going to suddenly stand up and do some kind of freaky body trick. It was so embarrassing. I was beginning to feel sorry that I had sat down at the table at all.

  “Whoa, guys,” Spencer said, jamming in next to me on the bench. “Stop talking about Charlie like she’s not here. We don’t need to vote on anything. Charlie’s our friend. Jared and Sean, you messed up and have to take the consequences. I say we move on.”

  “All in favor raise your hand,” Brooke said.

  “No, Brooke! You missed the whole point,” Spencer said. “We don’t have to vote on this. You don’t vote on what’s the right thing to do. You just do it.”

  “Listen to you,” Ben Feldman said. “The politician’s son. When are you running for city council, Ballard?”

  Everyone laughed, and suddenly, the tension broke. Jared and Sean went back to eating their sandwiches, Lauren passed me the yogurt, and before I knew it, everyone was talking about their plans for after school.

  Lily asked me if I wanted to help shop for stuff to decorate the hats for Bethany’s party. Lily’s mom was taking her to one of her favorite vintage stores.

  Lauren wanted to come along, too. And I was of course in.

  As everyone finished lunch, Lauren told us about how impressed the principal was when she said I would be part of the club. As I ate my yogurt, Spencer on one side of me and Lauren on the other, bragging her head off about me, I couldn’t believe how dramatically my life had suddenly improved. Everything I wanted was right there at that table. It was almost too good to be true.

  After lunch, I went to Ms. Carew’s fifth-period English. When I walked in, she smiled at me like we shared a secret, but never mentioned a word about what had happened at Truth Tellers the day before. Her quote of the day, which she always writes on the blackboard before class, was from a French writer named Pamela Kline.

  How I feel about myself is more important than how I look. Feeling confident, being comfortable in your own skin—that’s what really makes you beautiful.

  I had a feeling Ms. Carew had picked that quote especially for Sara. I glanced over at Sara, and she was writing it down in her black-and-white speckled notebook. Her hair was especially poufy and the curls bobbed up and down as she scribbled. It’s weird, I thought, how no one but the Truth Tellers, and me, knew what was hiding under her hair. I was among the few people in the whole world who understood why that quote meant so much to her. I wasn’t sure I wanted that information, but like it or not, I had it.

  As soon as school let out, Lily’s mom was waiting for us in a beautiful navy-blue convertible.

  “You guys want the top down?” she asked as we climbed in.

  “Duh,” Lily said.

  Her mom laughed, pushed a button, and within seconds, the top lifted off, folded up, and tucked itself into the trunk. As we drove off, I saw Sammie walking with Alicia and Sara. I waved, but only Alicia waved back. Sammie pretended not to see me.

  But I didn’t give Sammie a second thought as we cruised down Pacific Coast Highway, our hair blowing in our faces and the radio blaring. The only thing that kept going through my head was: Could this day get any better?

  Believe it or not, it did.

  Lily’s mom, who designs swimsuits—or as she calls it, swimwear—took us to Yesterday’s Treasures, her favorite vintage store in Venice, which is this funky area a couple miles down the beach from the club. The shelves were piled up to the ceiling with old clothes and flower vases and swatches of fabric and jewelry and buttons and weird sunglasses and anything else you could think of.

  “This place is a treasure trove,” she said. “Dig in, girls, and see what you can find.”

  Lily instructed us to look for old hats and interesting things she could use to decorate them with. I found a white sea captain’s hat buried under a pile of moldy magazines, and a crazy-looking orange straw hat with a purple brim. I even pulled out a construction worker’s bright-yellow hard hat. Lauren unearthed a glamorous little black velvet hat that had a lace veil in the front and a well-used Detroit Tigers baseball cap. Mrs. March had the find of the day, though—an old-school Girl Scout beanie with a little green tassel on the top. She thought that it might be from the 1970s. Lily spent most of her time collecting buttons and scarves and glittery jewelry that would make each hat original and fun.

  After an hour, we had collected a big pile of stuff. Mrs. March bargained with Claude, the shop owner, who she seemed to know pretty well. They settled on a price of twenty-five dollars for everything.

  “That was the most fun thing ever,” I said as we walked out carrying everything in brown grocery bags.

  “I can’t wait to show all our treasures to Bethany,” Lily said. “She’s going to be so excited.”

  “Let’s go show her now,” Lauren suggested. “She texted earlier that she was at the club.”

  I didn’t want everyone going back there in case we’d run into Sammie. She was in such a bad mood, there’s no telling what she’d say to them. But I couldn’t think of a reason to say no, so we got in the car and Lily’s mom dropped us off at the club. I was so relieved when we went inside and Sammie was nowhere in sight. Bethany was sitting at a table outside, drinking a bottle of water.

  “How’d the shopping go?” she asked.

  “Wait until I show you all the cool stuff we got,” Lily said to her. “We have enough for seven or eight hats, and I’ve already designed some others.”

  “This is so amazing,” Bethany said. “Let’s lay everything out.”

  The two outside tables were reserved for the ladies bridge club, so we went inside the clubhouse. GoGo was in the kitchen, experimenting with kebab marinades for Bethany’s party. She thought kebabs would go better with mini quiches than chicken drumettes. My dad was having a meeting in the living room with two men about possibly adding a locker room and resurfacing the tennis court
s. They had plans and blueprints spread out all over the coffee table. No space was available.

  “No problemo,” Lauren said to me. “Let’s just go to your room and lay everything out on your bed.”

  Before I could say anything, she headed toward the bedroom I share with Sammie. Our bedroom door was closed with a sign tacked up on it. It was in big, red letters, in Sammie’s handwriting.

  PRIVATE! it said. DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT COMING IN HERE.

  Lauren looked at it and laughed, then with her usual swagger, pushed the door open.

  “You can’t go in there!” I shouted to her.

  But it was too late.

  “Hey! Didn’t you see the sign?” Sammie yelled. She practically threw her body in front of Lauren to stop her from entering our room. Lauren tried to peek around Sammie, to get a glimpse of what was going on.

  “What’s the big secret, anyway?” she asked.

  By that time, I had caught up with her. I quickly glanced into our room. I could see Sara and Alicia standing by the far wall. Sammie was doing her best to block them from our view.

  “Get her out of here,” Sammie warned me. “I’m not kidding, Charlie. Now!”

  “Come on,” I said, taking Lauren’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  “It’s your room, too,” she grumbled. “Sammie has no right to keep you out of it.”

  Sammie stepped into the hall and closed the bedroom door behind her.

  “I think you should mind your own business, Lauren. And that goes for her, too,” she snapped, pointing her finger at someone behind me.

  I turned around to see Bethany.

  “Sammie? Tell me what’s going on,” I said.

  “Alicia and Sara and I are busy. That’s all you need to know. If you guys come in, I’ll never forgive you.”

  “Wow, that’s intense,” Bethany said.

  “Let’s just go back into the kitchen,” I suggested, trying to lighten up the situation. “I’ll ask my grandmother if we can use the counter.”

  “But I don’t want to get kebab juice on my hats,” Bethany said.

  “We’ll be really careful,” I promised. I steered Lauren and Bethany away from the door. Just before I left, I turned to Sammie and said, “Don’t worry. We’re going now.”

  “Good,” she said. “And don’t come back.”

  Then she opened the door and disappeared inside.

  GoGo was really nice and cleared off the whole counter for us. She put the bowls with different kebab marinades on top of the stove instead. “We’ve got curry, herb and garlic, and pineapple-soy,” she said. “I think your friends will have lots of tasty choices, Bethany.”

  “Do I get to do a tasting before the party?” Bethany asked. GoGo seemed quite surprised at that. “When my parents had their twenty-fifth anniversary party,” Bethany went on, “they had lots of tastings until they felt the chef finally got the menu right.”

  “Well, dear,” GoGo began. I knew what was coming. Whenever GoGo calls someone dear, it means she’s annoyed. “When you’ve been married twenty-five years, perhaps you’ll have lots of tastings, too. But you’re only sixteen, and I think you’re going to have to trust the chef on this one.”

  GoGo wiped off the counter with a damp cloth to make sure it was clean.

  “You girls can put your things here,” she said. “I’m going down to the beach to watch the sunset.”

  As soon as GoGo left, Lily opened up the bags and started to put the hats on the counter. I wasn’t paying much attention, though. I kept glancing toward my bedroom. I really wanted to know what was going on in there. Lauren noticed and smiled a mischievous smile.

  “Me too,” she said, even though I hadn’t said anything.

  “Me too what?”

  “Let’s just say it. We’re both dying to know what’s happening. It’s your room, too. You have a right to know. Let’s go listen at the door and see if we can hear anything.”

  “Lauren! That’s so not nice,” Bethany said. “Let’s do it.”

  “No, you guys,” I pleaded. “Please don’t.”

  “I bet they snuck a boy in there,” Bethany giggled. “Who do you think it is?”

  “There’s no boy in there,” I told her. “I promise you that.”

  “Well, what else could be so secret that if you found out, Sammie would never forgive you?” Lauren asked.

  Bethany slipped off her shoes.

  “Take your shoes off, too, Lauren, so we can tiptoe over there without a sound.”

  This was getting out of hand.

  “Okay,” I said. “I tell you what. I’ll go see if they’ll let me in. If it’s anything interesting, I’ll come back and tell you. If it isn’t, we can just forget it and work on the hats.”

  “You promise?” Lauren said.

  I nodded and hurried off across our living room and down the tiny hall to our bedroom before they could change their minds.

  “Sammie?” I whispered, knocking at the door again. “Let me in.”

  “Who’s with you?”

  “No one. I swear.”

  I heard her whispering with Alicia and Sara, then a rushing around of footsteps. After a few seconds, Sammie cracked open the door and stuck her head out.

  “What do you want?”

  “Just let me in.” I pushed by her and went inside, expecting to be really surprised by something I saw. I didn’t think it would be a boy, but knowing Sammie, it could have been a stray dog. We had seen a lost-looking German Shepherd on the beach the other morning, and Sammie wanted to take him home. Our dad said no, even after she begged him.

  I looked around our room. No dog. No boys. No nothing. Just Alicia and Sara standing around with secretive looks on their faces.

  “What’s going on in here?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” they all said at once. They were obviously hiding something.

  I saw Sammie reach behind her back and tuck something into the waistband of her jeans.

  “What’s in your jeans, then?”

  “Just a brush. No big deal.”

  I glanced at Sammie’s bed and noticed that it was draped with four or five colorful scarves that belonged to our mom. One of them was clearly GoGo’s, because it had pink flamingos all over it. I saw two or three of my headbands lying on the pillow next to a floppy white tennis hat that I wear on really sunny days. Our mom’s hand mirror, the one that is regular on one side and magnifying on the other, was sitting on the pillow, too. And next to it was Sammie’s cell phone.

  “Why are you using my hair stuff?” I asked. “And GoGo’s scarves?

  No one answered.

  “Come on, you guys,” I said. “This is my room, too, and I need to know what’s going on in here.”

  “We’re just doing something for Sara,” Alicia said. “A project.”

  “For school?” I asked.

  “Kind of,” Sammie said. “You might say that.”

  “Oh, so now we’re playing twenty questions?” I was getting annoyed. “It really hurts my feelings that you don’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

  That got their attention. You mention the Truth (with a capital T) around these girls and the whole world stops.

  “It’s up to Sara whether or not to tell you,” Alicia said. “It’s her decision.”

  “I guess it’s okay if we tell her,” Sara answered. “We’re trying to come up with some different looks for me so I don’t always have to wear my hair down.”

  “To make her less sensitive about that issue she spoke of yesterday,” Alicia said.

  “Her ears?”

  “Of course her ears,” Sammie barked. “I can’t believe you even have to ask that.”

  “I’m trying on all kinds of scarves and headbands and hats to see what looks best,” Sara said. “I haven’t been abl
e to change my hairstyle since I started middle school because of, you know, the Dumbo thing.”

  The minute she said that, big tears formed in her eyes. “And your sister and Alicia are being so sweet to me. They’re even taking before and after pictures.”

  I saw Sammie reach out and pick up her phone, protectively.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to peek,” I said, “unless you want to show me.”

  “Maybe we could show Charlie the look I think is the cutest—the one where we wrapped your Grandma’s scarf around her head, pirate-style,” Alicia said. “Just to get another opinion. What do you think, Sara?”

  “Okay, you can show her.”

  Sammie held out her phone and I took it. The first thing that came up on the screen was a picture of Sara with her usual poufy hair. The next shot was Sara with her hair pulled on top of her head so you could see the full ear problem. I hadn’t really looked at her ears closely during Truth Tellers. It’s not exactly the kind of thing you feel comfortable staring at. But now, I could see why they bothered her so much. The picture reminded me of the toy Mr. Potato Head. Sammie and I used to play with the plastic potato when we were younger. He came with these big pink plastic ears that stuck straight out from his head.

  I don’t mean to sound rude. Sara’s ears weren’t as bad as Mr. Potato Head’s. But they were definitely in the same category, if you know what I mean.

  The third picture showed Sara’s hair all covered up with GoGo’s flamingo scarf. It was wrapped around her head tightly and tied in a fancy knot at the back. The scarf held her ears back so only the very tips showed, and Sammie had put some gold hoops on them.

  “You look great here,” I said to Sara, and I meant it.