Apple's Angst (3 page)

“Have you ever heard of
privacy?”
Apple asked her, already knowing what the answer would be.

There was no such thing as privacy in Dr. Bee Bee Berg's world—the world of talk-show television, where everyone shared every little dirty secret just to get their fifteen minutes of fame. Apple's mother's career relied on people's airing their dirty laundry. She lived and breathed it, like oxygen.

Her mother may be an expert in the etiquette of love and relationships, thought Apple sullenly, but she was clearly not an expert in any other aspects of etiquette—like knocking before entering.

“My goodness! Have we been broken into?” Dr. Berg asked, appalled, her wide eyes sweeping the room. “Your room is a disaster! What happened?”

“Hi, Dr. Berg,” Happy chimed chirpily. “We're trying to find something for Apple to wear for her meeting. Help me convince her that she can't wear jeans.”

“Of course she can't wear jeans,” her mother huffed, heading into Apple's walk-in closet. Her mother, as always, was immaculately dressed in a white pantsuit with a string of pearls around her neck. Her hair was in its usual updo. Not a strand was out of place. Her mother had had the same hairstyle for as long as Apple could remember. And those pearls around her neck? Apple wondered if she even took them off to shower.

Happy shot Apple a “See? I told you so!” look.

Happy adored Apple's mother and had never quite understood why Dr. Berg annoyed Apple so much. Likewise, Apple had never understood why Happy got annoyed with her own parents. They were never around, spending most of their time traveling the world on exotic vacations. Apple could only dream of what it would be like to have a mother who wasn't ever around, never barged in uninvited, never asked personally questions, and especially a mother people didn't know. Happy had no idea how lucky she was!

“How is it,” her mother asked, walking out of Apple's closet empty-handed, “that you own no dress pants? We should really get you some professional-looking clothes. If you want to be treated like a professional, you must dress the part. You want them to know that you're serious, that you want this job, that you'll do anything to get it! How do you think I have the number-one television show in my time slot? It's not because I dress like a slob, I can tell you that much. You have to dress for success!”

“Hear, hear!” chimed Happy, wrapping an arm around Dr. Berg's waist. “I was just telling Apple the same thing.”

Dr. Berg beamed and patted Happy on the back. Apple turned away and rolled her eyes.

Happy always seemed to be way more in tune with Apple's mother than Apple ever was. It was Happy who always told Apple's mother what was going on at school or in her life. Happy treated her mother like she was a friend!

“Mom! Please!” Apple moaned. “You don't need to constantly remind us. We
know
about your popular show. We
know
about the ten self-help books you published. We know, we know, we know!”

Dr. Berg shot Apple a warning look. Apple looked away. She was
trying
to be nicer to her mother these days, but her mother made it difficult. While Apple was trying to be nicer, her mother didn't seem to be trying to be less annoying.

“Excuse me, Dr. Berg, let me in there,” Happy said, pushing her way into Apple's walk-in closet for the umpteenth time. “There's got to be something in here,” she yelled out. “A closet full of clothes and nothing to wear.”

“Isn't that always the case for all women?” laughed Dr. Berg.

Apple tried to laugh too and get into the spirit but she couldn't quite get up for it. She thought about how unsure she felt about being the teen advice columnist at
Angst
. Or giving advice anywhere, for that matter. She had yet to admit this to anyone except Lyon.

“Just check it out and see if you like it. If you don't, then just don't do it,” he had told her supportively when she mentioned her hesitation the other night.

He was so sweet, but Lyon didn't completely understand.

How could Apple complain about the opportunity to work at
Angst
magazine when everyone was so thrilled for her, even envious? It's not that she didn't see the need for a teenage advice columnist. Even Apple had needed relationship advice when she was
trying to win Zen's affection, and especially when she was caught.

Everyone Apple had told about the phone call from the editor of
Angst
couldn't believe how lucky she was to land herself a gig at a magazine where people actually
worked for free
answering phones and fetching coffee, just to be able to
say
they worked at
Angst
magazine.

But Apple had fought her entire life against being her mother's daughter, and following in her mother's footsteps was like admitting she actually was proud of what her mother did for a living. She just didn't get why her mother was so interested in people's private lives. It was almost as if she was using the guests for ratings. Then again, the guests on the
Queen of Hearts
weren't forced to appear. They seemed to really want to tell the world about their straying husbands. They seemed to genuinely want everyone in the world to know that they cheated on their fiancés right before the wedding.

Apple had spent her life fighting hard to be the exact opposite of her outspoken, never-at-a-loss-for-words mother. So the fact the people at
Angst
more likely than not wanted Apple only because she was the daughter of someone famous, or worse, thought she might actually be like her mother, was off-putting to say the least.

Apple inhaled deeply again and watched her mother critically scour her clothes alongside Happy.

Did Apple really want to follow in her mother's footsteps in the advice-giving market? Wouldn't she
then always be compared to her mother? Being perceived as a mini Dr. Bee Bee Berg was one of her worst nightmares. And what if she was bad at giving advice? Then people would surely make fun of her, thinking that she was
trying
to be a mini Dr. Bee Bee Berg and failing! Apple already felt the need to scream out, “They called me! I didn't ask for this!”

Apple had no idea what she wanted to be in the future—she just knew she didn't want to end up like her mother. Apple, as always, kind of just wanted to be unnoticed. She didn't want to bring any attention to herself, and attention was the one thing her mother couldn't seem to get enough of. Her mother loved signing autographs, accepting awards, and being asked to pose for magazines. Apple didn't understand why anyone, including Happy, would want to be
famous
.

“I'm not sure why you guys care so much,” threw in Brooklyn suddenly. “I'm kind of with Apple on this. It's what's on the inside that matters.” Apple, Happy, and Dr. Berg were so startled to hear Brooklyn's voice, they all stopped mid-movement. Brooklyn, apparently, was ready to rejoin the real world.

“Oh, dear God! You almost gave me a heart attack, Brooklyn,” Dr. Berg fluttered, putting her hand to her heart. “I didn't even see you there. I'm not as young as I used to be. You can't just go surprising people like that! And what are you doing, my dear? How long have you been sitting like that?”

“Sorry, Dr. Berg. I didn't mean to scare you. I've been sitting like this for, I don't know, maybe an hour? You know, you should try meditation. It really calms you.
I feel so much calmer since I've started meditating,” said Brooklyn, before letting out a loud yawn.

“Yeah, so much calmer that you're always falling asleep in class,” Happy said.

Brooklyn shrugged. She didn't care about school or grades. She had always planned on going to India when she graduated, and she didn't see how learning calculus or science could ever help her find her inner peace or get her on a plane to India.

“Thank you, dear,” Dr. Berg replied. “But I am
much
too busy to sit around and do nothing. Have you also been helping destroy my daughter's room?”

“Yeah, Brooklyn's been about as much help as that desk. I even forgot she was here,” said Happy, “and I
drove
her here.”

“That's the
point
of meditating. The point is to find silence within,” said Brooklyn, uncrossing her legs and standing up to stretch her arms above her head. “Anyway, like I said, I think people will see the beauty in Apple no matter what she wears.”

“Thank you, Brooklyn,” Apple said, pointedly looking at her mother and Happy. “At least someone here understands me,”

Happy wasn't having any of Brooklyn's free-spirited nature right now.

“Brooklyn! You know I love you, but we don't have time for your mantras on life. Can you please start helping us pick out something fabulous for Apple to wear to her interview?”

“I thought you already
had
the job. Why do you care what you wear?” Brooklyn asked, rolling over on her
head, gearing up to get into a handstand position.

“I don't. But
they
do,” Apple said, eyeing her mother and Happy. “I guess I should look presentable. I'm meeting the editor-in-chief. I think they just want to see that I can talk without crying or something. They just want to see that I'm not a total whack job in person. I mean, the one time they saw me, I was blubbering like an idiot.”

Apple waited for someone to say, “You still looked great!” but nobody did. Again she wished Lyon were around. He would tell her how great she looked. He would make her feel like she was the most important person in the room. He didn't care if she got the job or not.

“T
ry this. You look amazing in red!” Happy said, throwing a piece of clothing across the room. It hit Apple in the face.

Apple looked at the red T-shirt dress Happy had tossed over. She couldn't remember where or when she had bought it. “I found it on the floor under a pile of shoe boxes,” Happy said, as if she could read Apple's mind. “It's not too wrinkled. I like it,” she added, pleased. “I wish you had some knee-high black boots to go with it. Now that would look hot. Oh. My. God. You can wear mine! We're practically the same size.”

“My feet are, like, two sizes bigger than yours,” said Apple, looking at Happy as if she had lost her mind.

“Who cares? I can't think of one guy who wouldn't want to see you in these boots,” she said, winking. “Friggin' hot hot hot! These are my come-get-me boots!”

“Happy, dear,” interrupted Dr. Berg. “Is that how you girls talk today? It's foul! Remember, you should
always talk like a lady. I mean, of course we all want to feel good-looking and confident, but we don't need boots to woo men, do we?”

“Sorry, Dr. Berg,” Happy said, facing Apple and Brooklyn, who was still upside down, and rolling her eyes. They had to turn away from each other so as to not burst out laughing. Dr. Berg was old-fashioned, to say the least, when it came to love, language, and apparently, clothing. According to the bloggers' and critics' reviews of
Queen of Hearts
that Happy had read to Apple, her mother's old-fashioned nature was part of her appeal and charm.

“Brooklyn, please don't hurt yourself,” said Dr. Bee Bee Berg, glancing at Brooklyn. “I'm worried that all the blood rushing to your brain is going to make you faint.”

“Don't worry. I could stay like this for hours,” said Brooklyn.

“Go! Go! Get dressed,” screamed Happy, hopping on one foot as she took a boot off. “Take them!”

“Are you sure, Happy?” Apple asked.

“I'm sure! I'm so sure! My best friend is going to be the editor of
Angst
one day. The least I can do is lend her my boots!”

“Happy, I'm not going to be the editor. It's, like, an intern position,” Apple muttered.

“Whatever! Just get changed already!” Happy said, shooing Apple into the bathroom.

“If you believe in yourself, it will be,” called out Brooklyn.

Apple took the red dress and Happy's knee-length Prada boots into her bathroom. She slipped off her
faded blue jeans and her tank top and threw the red dress over her head. Then she sat on the toilet and tried to yank the two-sizes-too-small boots over her feet.

“Oh, my God,” she screamed out. “These boots will
never
fit! Help!”

Brooklyn and Happy burst into the bathroom. Happy looked like she meant business. Brooklyn was flushed from her handstand.

“Stay seated. Now stick your legs out,” Happy demanded. “Brooklyn, use those strong yoga arms of yours and help me pull them on.”

“These will
never
fit!” Apple moaned again. “This is ridiculous!”

“Shut up, Apple!” Happy groaned. “These boots cost $400. You should be honored that I'm letting you stretch them out. They're on! See?”

Amazingly, the boots
were
on her feet, although Apple could feel her toes curl under. The pain was instant and intense as she stood up.