Apple's Angst (4 page)

“Oh, my God,” Apple groaned. “My toes are killing and I haven't even taken one step.”

“Here,” Happy said, opening the medicine cabinet. “Take these.”

She handed Apple over two Advils, turned on the tap, and filled a glass of water, which she also handed her. “It will help. Trust me. Sailor does it all the time when she goes out in heels. She takes two Advils and swears she can last four hours longer on her feet.” Sailor was Happy's older sister. They definitely had a love/hate relationship, but Apple knew that they were as close as twins. Apple was often jealous that Happy had a sibling,
even if they often fought like it was World War III. Sailor, next to Apple and Brooklyn, was definitely Happy's best friend. While Happy often complained about her sister, if anyone else said something even slightly negative about her, they would have to deal with the wrath of Happy. No one wanted to cross that line.

Brooklyn and Happy threaded their arms through Apple's and walked her out of the bathroom into the bedroom.

Guy, her mother's flamboyant assistant and best friend, had appeared in Apple's bedroom and was checking out his hair in her full-length mirror.

“Guy should never have gotten highlights,” he moaned, running his fingers through his hair. “This is why I'll never meet a man. Who would want to be seen with Guy and his awful highlights?”

Then Guy noticed Apple. “Sweetie! Oh, my God! You look amazing! You look like a model! Honestly, red is
so
your color. Guy never sees you in a dress. Guy thinks you should totally wear more red and more dresses. You have a nice little body. Who knew?” he giggled. “And those boots? Can you say fabulous? Guy thinks you look fab-u-lous!”

He was practically screeching now, getting more excited each second. He grabbed Apple's hand and started jumping up and down, like a little boy who had to use the bathroom ASAP. “Guy is so excited for you! The boots make the outfit!”

“I know!” said Happy. “Aren't they fierce?”

“Fiercely fabulous,” responded Guy. “Guy wishes he had a pair.”

He laughed his infectious laugh. Even Apple couldn't help but laugh.

Apple loved Guy, who was practically a part of the Berg family. He had worked for Apple's mother for more than fifteen years, since Apple's birth. Apple couldn't help but smile when he was around. He was just one of those people who was almost never in a bad mood, kind of like Lyon. Even when Guy was in a bad mood, like Lyon he managed to hide it.

Happy described Guy as a “drama king,” and that's exactly what he was, and he wouldn't dispute it. Apple wished Guy, who was always so handsome and fashionable, could convince her mother to update her “look.” It was about time, she thought. It was just so odd how her mother complained about Apple's sloppy clothes when she herself only wore white or cream, or if she felt wild, beige. She had been wearing the same colors
forever
.

(Although they never talked about it, Apple knew it was Guy who had convinced her mother to get a mini facelift two years ago and Botox a couple of times a year. In Dr. Berg's world, it was okay to announce all things matter of the heart, but when it came to cosmetic procedures, that was strictly personal.)

“Well, they're Happy's boots and two sizes too small for my feet. I'm going to end up in the hospital,” moaned Apple. “I may never be able to walk normally again.”

“Oh, sweetie.
Never
complain about designer boots.
NEVER. No price is too high, no pain too much, to look as fabulous as you do right now,” Guy said.

“Exactly!” agreed Happy. “You really do look good, Apple. You look sexy yet professional. But I think you should change your bra. That one's a little lumpy. And you have to take off your underwear. You can see lines. You can't have panty lines.”

“Guy agrees,” said Guy. “Lines are a no-no! Even for men!”

Again he laughed his infectious laugh.

“Lines are gross, I agree,” said Brooklyn, pointing to her panty-line-free butt in her tight yoga pants.

“My daughter is
not
leaving the house without wearing unmentionables,” Dr. Berg said sternly.

Apple could not believe her mother had just used the word “unmentionables.” What era did her mother think she lived in?

“She's not going to be like one of those entitled brats who go out and party to all hours of the night and flash their private parts at the paparazzi,” Dr. Berg continued. “Those girls who are famous for being famous? Don't those girls have
mothers?
It's one thing to make a name for yourself by hard work, but to make a name for yourself for not wearing underwear?”

“Oh, come on, Dr. Berg,” laughed Happy. “It's not like the paparazzi are following
Apple
around. And the dress goes down practically to her knees. She's not going to pull a Britney or Paris. That dress is just too clingy for her to wear underwear. Seriously, you have to trust me on this, Dr. Berg.”

Dr. Bee Bee Berg smiled politely. “I'm so glad I didn't
know all these things when I was your age. Times have certainly changed. I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear this part of the conversation,” she said. “I'm going to trust you, Happy.”

“Good idea, Dr. Berg!” said Happy, shooing Apple back into the bathroom.

Happy had that effect on people. She always knew just how to get her way, whether it was getting an extension for an essay or convincing her parents to give her a credit card when she was ten.

Apple headed back into the washroom with a new T-shirt bra and took off her underwear. She was surprised how freeing it felt.

“What about my hair?” she called out, suddenly—and much to her surprise—finding herself caring about what she looked like. Everyone else was making her anxious. Even Brooklyn wanted to spray some weird scented oil on her, which, according to Brooklyn, would “calm” her. Thankfully, Happy shot that idea down.

“I think you should wear it down. I love your hair,” said Happy. “Your hair is one of your best features!”

Apple had always hated her curly hair, which took hours and hours to dry naturally. There was just so
much
of it. It was the only thing about Apple, aside from her name, that made her memorable. Sometimes Apple felt like pregnant women must feel. People just couldn't stop themselves from touching Apple's boingy curls without asking. The one person she didn't mind playing with her hair was Lyon. When he pulled on her boings—while they cuddled watching a movie, for example—it felt calming and nice.

“We've really got to run if we're going to make it on time,” Dr. Berg said, tapping her watch. “Whatever you do, you never want to be late on the first meeting. You have only one chance to make a first impression. That's why it's called a
first
impression.”

God, thought Apple, her mother really was a piece of work, always stating the painfully obvious and somehow managing to make it sound like she was the first person to come up with the statement.

“Let me look at you one more time,” Happy said, grabbing Apple and looking at her from head to toe. “Yes, you look perfect. And remember, if they're looking for another intern, don't forget to mention that you just happen to have this fantastic fashionable friend named Happy who would be more than honored to take an internship position.”

“Absolutely,” Apple said, giving Happy a big hug. “Thank you for your help today. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Wait!” Apple turned toward Guy, who was armed with a mascara wand, which he applied to Apple's lashes. “A little mascara and a little lip gloss. Now you are perfect!”

“Let's move!” Dr. Berg said, like a drill sergeant. Apple followed her mother down the stairs, holding on to the banister for fear she'd tumble over in Happy's high-heeled boots.

At the door, Apple called up to Brooklyn, Happy, and Guy, who stood watching her from the floor above. “Wish me luck!”

“You don't need luck,” called out Brooklyn. “Your
aura is perfect. Your vibe is really good. So is your energy! I'm sending you positive vibes!”

“You don't need luck!” screamed Happy. “You have my boots. Nothing bad has ever happened to me in those boots!”

“You don't need luck,” retorted Guy. “You're Dr. Bee Bee Berg's daughter! They'll want you no matter how badly you screw up.”

“Thanks a lot!” Apple shot back. She could hear Happy and Brooklyn giggling at Guy's comment.

“Don't be so sensitive,” Guy called out. “Guy can only
dream
that the one and only Dr. Bee Bee Berg will adopt him someday. For reals!”

Even Guy, apparently, knew that Apple was being given this opportunity to work at
Angst
magazine only because she was the
daughter of
, not because of anything she had accomplished on her own.

This was exactly what Apple didn't want to happen. As they got into the car, she saw that her mother was smiling proudly and, thought Apple, a little smugly, as if she was entirely to be thanked for Apple's internship opportunity at
Angst
.

Shoot me, thought Apple. Shoot me now.

“A
re you nervous, honey?” Dr. Berg asked as they drove in her white Range Rover to the
Angst
magazine offices, which just happened to be on the same block as the
Queen of Hearts with Dr. Bee Bee Berg
studio. Just my luck, thought Apple.

“Wouldn't it be exciting to work so close together? You could stop by to visit and
I
could stop by to visit. It would be fun! We could do mother–daughter stuff all the time. We could meet for lunch.” She glanced at Apple. “Don't worry, you'll be fine!”

Even though Apple thought she didn't care, she found herself becoming more nervous as they got closer to the
Angst
offices. Her mother seemed to know it. Her mother read faces like Apple read words.

Though Apple's relationship with her mother had been far from perfect, it had improved tenfold since Apple finally admitted how she had snuck into her e-mail and pretended to be her. Apple pressed her lips together.
It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had been so obsessed with Zen that she was willing to lose her best friend.

Apple hated to admit it, but she still thought about Zen. Often.

It wasn't as easy as Apple had thought it would be—even after everything—to suddenly stop thinking about someone she'd been secretly obsessed with for years.

And while she would never admit this to anyone, it wasn't always easy for Apple to see Happy and Zen cuddle and kiss at school. It wasn't easy to see them walk hand in hand through the hallways, or to hear about their date nights, although Apple had gotten pretty good at acting like she was totally okay with it.

Apple was still waiting for what her mother always said: “Time does heal all wounds.” Did it? If so, when would Apple would thinking about Zen?

Not that she would ever admit this to anyone either—not to her mother, not even to Crazy Aunt Hazel, definitely not to Happy, and barely to herself—but her heart still skipped a beat whenever she saw Zen. Apple was certain that she didn't like him in that way anymore. Still, she knew that others gossiped about her at school, wondering if she still had a crush on Zen. But he was into Happy. Happy was perfect. Apple wanted nothing more than for her best friend to have a worthy guy as her boyfriend. Zen
was
worthy.

Even
thinking
about Zen, and the fact she
shouldn't
be thinking about Zen, made her feel guilty. Plus, Apple now had Lyon. And she really, really liked Lyon. Lyon was kind, funny, smart, handsome, generous, sweet. Apple was lucky to have him.

“Honey? I just asked you a question. Where were you? What were you thinking?” her mother asked, placing a hand on Apple's knee. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”