Calli (17 page)

Folks near the stage start dancing. Dub rocks me to the beat. “I love you, Calli,” he says over the loud music.

Legend has it that a mean pirate named Jean Lafitte (French, no doubt) buried treasure in a bayou here in Lake Charles. Nobody has ever found it, but I feel like I have when I tell Dub that I love him too.

“WATCH ME, CALLI!” Lemond yells as he attempts another cartwheel in our backyard.

This time he manages a sort of somersault on the thick green grass. I clap my hands. “Good job!”

Lemond gets right back up and tries again. Earlier this morning he said our house was the first place he’d ever seen in person that had a “real live backyard,” and he wanted me to play Olympics with him. Lemond tried to sucker me into jumping around, but there is a limit to the things I’m willing to do.

Sassy was interested in being chased at first, but she fell asleep on the stoop when the excitement of Lemond’s acrobatics wore off. She pops up now when Liz slides the door open. It makes a grinding noise, and I’m sure Liz will be giving it a dose of WD-40 soon. “Calli! Delia is on the phone, and she says she needs to talk to you right this minute.”

Right this minute? This could be good or it could be bad. Did John, aka Hot Chick-fil-A Guy, finally call her? Since I’ve been so busy with Lemond, I almost forgot about giving John her number. Almost.

Liz takes my place outside, and Lemond practically somersaults into me as I make my way inside to answer the phone.

“Delia?”

She doesn’t bother with a greeting. “Intervention today? I can pick you up about one.”

“I’ll have to check with Mom and Liz, but count me in unless they say no.”

We don’t say anything else before she hangs up. Good or bad, we need to talk.

 

Mom and Liz don’t say no, especially since I have a ride, but Lemond has an issue with me leaving. “Can I go to the mall with you? Pretty please?” he asks as we finish lunch. Mom made him more pancakes while the rest of us ate spinach salads.

Lemond sticks his finger into the maple syrup and attempts to draw a happy face. “My sister always let me go shopping with her.”

“Calli needs some alone time with her friends,” Mom says, which is a relief because I don’t want to tell him no or to disappoint him, especially since we’re off to a pretty decent start.

When Lemond turns his attention back to drawing in the maple syrup, I look at Mom and mouth the words, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she whispers.

Lemond frowns and then licks the sticky syrup off his hands. “Fine then, but can we make a book later, Calli?”

“Sure. You can illustrate it.”

Lemond starts telling Mom all about Redhots and the stories we’ve made up. He talks so much that all Mom gets a chance to say is, “Uh-huh. Really?”

A horn honks.
French maid!
Delia’s here twenty minutes early. I’m not ready. I don’t even have makeup on. I throw my hair into a ponytail and quickly say good-bye before trekking out to the driveway.

Mrs. Jones isn’t driving. Rashell is! Torey and Delia are in the backseat together, which doesn’t surprise me.

“Hey, kiddo,” Rashell says after I get into the car and slam the door shut. Before I buckle up, she leans over to hug me. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, it’s been awhile.” Unlike how Delia lets her curls go wild, Rashell straightens her hair. She’s cut her hair short since the last time I saw her, which makes her look older and more mature. “How’s college life?” I ask after saying hi to Torey and Delia.

“Thank God I finished finals early.” Rashell starts rambling about what it’s like to live in a dorm with a weird roommate who never sleeps, how college classes are different, and why she likes New York so much better than Louisiana. Once Rashell stops at a light, she takes a deep breath and looks over at me. “Little sis says things have been pretty weird lately. What’s up?”

Part of me wants to answer, “Not much.” Torey’s such a gossip that I don’t want her to know the details of my life, but with how close she’s gotten to Delia, I
figure she’ll find out anyway. This could be the mega-Intervention I was hoping for, so I fill them in on the last couple of weeks.

Rashell parks the minivan in the mall parking lot, and we stay inside the car for a few minutes to keep talking. Even though she’s left the air conditioner running, it’s stifling hot in here.

“I had no idea things had gotten that bad,” Delia says. “I wish you would’ve said something to me.”

I want to say that she would’ve known if she’d reached out more. That she hasn’t made it easy to open up to her. If I’ve learned anything though, I know that some things are better left unsaid.

“I’m here for you if you need anything,” Torey says, which is pretty nice of her.

“Thanks. Just please keep this to yourself.”

“You have my word.” She leans forward from the backseat and extends her pinky. I wrap my pinky around hers and squeeze.

I expect Rashell to say something all cheesy, but she chuckles. “I never thought you would’ve stood up for yourself like that, kiddo. Didn’t think you had it in ya.”

Delia clears her throat. “No kidding. So, um, Calli, besides finding out what’s been going on, I wanted to talk to you about a really weird phone call I got last night.”

Really weird phone call? This doesn’t sound good. I wipe away the beads of sweat forming on my forehead. “I gave John, the cute guy from Chick-fil-A, your number since I knew you liked him.”

“Well, not anymore! Do you know what he said to
me?” She doesn’t wait for me to guess before mimicking his deep voice. “‘I’ve got a ship, you’ve got the harbor, and even though we don’t know each other, we could tie up tonight.’”

His pickup line is so horrible that it makes me laugh! Soon the only one not laughing in the minivan is Delia. I straighten up. “Sorry—I’m a terrible matchmaker. I never would’ve given him your number if I’d known he was a jerk.”

“Well, I hope he loses it. Thanks for trying though. Sort of.”

“Sort of ” is acceptable.

When the four of us finally walk inside JCPenney, I freeze.

There is a familiar-looking girl standing not too far away with her back to me. She has thin, muscular arms. Wavy hair. A light blue shirt with baggy jeans hanging low on her narrow hips.

Is there more to this Intervention? Have I been set up?

DID MICHELLE LIE about Cherish’s detention? Have Mom and Liz withheld information to protect me?

I feel like I’m part of some sort of reality TV show where a person gets confronted with someone from their past. My brain sends mixed messages.
Run out of the store. Talk to Cherish. Stay put. Hide behind the purses.

I hold fast to my resolve. No. More. Chicken. Turd.

“Where are you going?” Delia asks as I make my way to a display of dressy shoes.

“Just want to check on something real quick.” I clench my fists in case Cherish tries to repeat what happened during our last encounter.

And then I feel stupid when I get closer.

So incredibly stupid!

The girl is at least two inches taller than Cherish, plus her hair is a lighter shade of brown. And when she turns around, she’s wearing glasses and her face looks nothing
like Cherish’s. Her nose is pinchy and her eyes are much closer together.

I reach for a pair of strappy silver sandals so she doesn’t think I’m staring or stalking her.

I jump when Rashell says, “Those are cute.” I hadn’t notice her, Torey, or Delia approaching me because I was too caught up in the moment.

Before we head to the juniors section, Delia leans into me and whispers, “Is it just me, or does that girl over there kind of look like Cherish?”

“It isn’t just you. I almost freaked out when I saw her.”

 

Most of the prom dresses are on clearance since it’s late in the season. And most of the dresses are a size zero, meaning they probably won’t fit over my head.

Rashell selects a yellow cotton tube top dress. She
is
a size zero. “What size do you wear, Calli?” she asks as she keeps flipping through the dresses on the clearance rack.

Torey glances over at me like she’s trying to guess my size. She’s practically half my body weight and I’m embarrassed to say my dress size out loud. But just by looking at me, she has to know I’m a sturdy girl. “Thirteen.”

Rashell hands me an emerald green dress and says, “You should try this one. It’ll make you look curvy. It’s a size eleven, but it might fit.”

“Isn’t that the dress you tried on before?” Delia asks.

I look it over. “It sure is.”

“You looked beautiful in it,” Delia says. “Try it on again.”

My cheeks feel warm. Delia had noticed me that day I thought she wasn’t paying attention. She picks out
a black strapless dress with ruffles. Torey’s holding the same dress in purple. Size seven.

“This is like old times,” Delia says before we each go into separate dressing rooms.

Delia’s right, especially with Rashell here. And I hate to admit it, but Torey fits right in.

My dress is all but zipped up when I hear a loud boom followed by a thud. Something in the stall next to me has crashed down, and when I look underneath the dressing room divider, I realize it’s not a something that’s fallen, it’s a someone. Torey’s lying on the ground, laughing hysterically.

I rush out of my stall to check if she’s okay. Delia and Rashell help me lift her off the ground.

“First your brother and now you!” Delia says.

“We must be cursed.” Torey then mentions how she lost her balance because the dress was hard to put on, and how it must’ve had something to do with having ear tubes when she was younger. It’s hard to understand her because she’s laughing so hard. She rubs her elbow where she’s cracked it against the door.

I check her pupils. “You know what year it is? Do you know where you’re at?”

My questions are serious, but they make Torey cackle. By this point we’re all laughing harder than we were in the minivan, including Delia.

“Do you need any assistance?” a saleslady asks. We must be causing a big scene.

Torey coughs from laughing so hard before she answers, “I’m okay.”

“Have you been losing weight?” Delia asks when we calm down and the saleslady backs off.

I spin around in front of the mirror. If Torey hadn’t fallen, I might’ve noticed sooner that the size eleven dress fits.

It
fits,
even if it is tight in the chest! No numbers separate Delia and me right now. None. We’re not related like I always wanted to be, but we’re sort of like sisters again.

“I was right,” Rashell says, sporting the yellow dress. “It looks good on you.”

“Really good,” Torey says. The purple dress makes her butt look big, but I don’t say a thing.

I close my eyes for a moment and picture myself walking along Bourbon Street. I imagine some incredibly handsome guy stopping me to say, “You’re positively stunning.”

“Thank you, but I have a boyfriend.” I’d smile so wide that he’d notice my braces. Dub thinks they’re cute.

Delia interrupts yet another daydream. “You should buy that dress.” The dress she’s wearing isn’t as tight on her, but it makes her look square shaped like Liz.

I glance at the price tag dangling from the side of the dress. It’s been marked 60 percent off, so it’s now $39.99 plus tax. “It’s more than I can afford. Besides, it’s not a practical dress.”

Rashell smooths her short hair back into place. “Practical is overrated.”

“I can loan you some money if you want it,” Torey says.

I stare back at the gown. I do want it, even if I don’t have any special plans to wear it. Maybe Dub will take
me to his junior prom next year, and this dress will still magically fit. “You’d loan me the money?”