Girls Acting Catty (14 page)

“I think that since Joe has dark hair, he'd look cute with a blonde,” said Taylor. “Or at least with someone who's a partial blonde.”

Okay now there was no denying what Taylor was talking about. “But it's not just about looks,” I said. “Emma and Joe have a lot in common.”

I didn't offer up any more information. Something told me Taylor wouldn't take kindly to the fact that Emma liked the way Joe's braces glinted in the sun. Or that she'd asked Claire to help her design an outfit for Darwin, his pet rat, as a surprise birthday gift. (But whether it was for the rat's birthday or Joe's, I didn't know.)

Luckily Taylor seemed bored with this subject and moved on. “Hey, I almost forgot to tell you. We were talking about you and your friends after school and we all agree that you're the prettiest in the group.”

I didn't know
what
to say to that. I was too busy trying to suppress the goofy grin that'd crept onto my lips. Taylor and her friends were the most popular girls in the entire sixth grade. They were the type of girls people noticed. And now they were noticing me. But wait. It didn't seem right, ranking people's looks that way.

“Hello?” asked Taylor.

Woops. I'd been quiet for too long. “Sorry. Um, thanks.”

“You're welcome,” said Taylor. “Look, that's my other line, so I've gotta motor. But I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay?”

“ 'Kay.”

It wasn't until I hung up the phone that I noticed my assignment book in my lap. I'd forgotten to give Taylor the English homework. I thought about calling her back, and even reached for the phone, but then I stopped.

Because something told me she never really needed it.

chapter fifteen
mango madness

I
had my final dress fitting on Saturday. At least I hoped it was the final one. We'd already been to the tailor twice before, and it wasn't exactly fun or exciting. Besides having to try on my dress and stand there while this lady with big teased-up hair made chalk marks and put pins all over the fabric, I also had to watch her do the same thing to my mom's gown.

There was something good about getting to go, though. My mom and I hardly spent any time alone anymore. And today I needed to talk to her about something important. I waited until we were finished and about to go home, though.

As soon as we put on our seat belts, but before we were moving, I blurted it out. “I think I want to start shaving my legs.”

“You think?” My mom glanced at me.

“I mean I definitely do.”

“How come?” she asked, as she pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward home.

I slunk down farther into my seat and shrugged. “Because my legs are hairy,” I said. “And because I just want to. It's time.”

“Okay,” she said, simply. “I'll show you how when we get home.”

“It's not like it's a big deal, or anything. Most kids in my grade already shave.”

“Most?” asked my mom.

“Well, a lot. More than half, I'm sure. I mean I haven't done a survey, or anything . . .”

My mom smiled, and pulled into the drugstore parking lot.

“I thought we were going home.”

“We are. I just need to get you some razors.”

Oh right. Wow, this was happening quickly. “You mean I can really do this?” I asked. “Like now?”

She shrugged. “Why not? They're your legs and you're old enough to decide for yourself. And now is as good of a time as any. Ted and Jason are on an all-day hike in Malibu, so we'll have some privacy. We can use my bathroom, since it's got a bigger tub.”

“Um, okay.” I was glad my mom realized that I couldn't do anything as mortifying as learning how to shave when they were in the house. I'd been contemplating waiting to ask until after Jason went back to Switzerland, but I really wanted to have smooth legs for the wedding, which was only two weeks away.

As much as I wanted to do this, I still felt nervous, knowing it was happening so soon. I half-dreaded having asked in the first place. But at the same time, I was excited too.

Twenty minutes later, I was perched at the edge of my mom's bathtub. I'd changed into my navy blue tank suit because . . . well, just because it made sense at the time. Now I felt silly, but luckily my mom didn't say anything about it.

She sat on the closed toilet seat and tore the wrapping off the razor. It was green with a pink stripe on the handle, and it came with three extra blades. Mom said she'd show me how to change them later.

“The first thing you need to remember is that razor blades are sharp. You always want to shave from your ankle, pulling up. Never move the razor from side to side or you'll cut yourself. And never try to swipe a blade clean with your fingertip. I did that once, when I was your age, and ended up with a sliced thumb. Not fun! Oh, and remember this: the newer the blade, the sharper the edge and you always want a sharp edge.”

I shivered, involuntarily. “Um, are you sure? Even for my first time?”

My mom smiled. “I know it's intimidating, thinking about sharp razors, but you're more likely to nick yourself with a dull razor. Okay?”

“If you say so.”

“I usually just use soap, but I bought you some shaving cream.” She handed me a red can. “Now lather up.”

“Which one?” I stared down at my legs, which were sticking out of my suit. They seemed so small and skinny— and not that hairy, even. I sort of felt sorry for them. If you can feel sorry for individual body parts, that is.

“It doesn't matter. We're doing both,” Mom said.

She sure was serious about this. I chose my left leg and squirted. The shaving cream came out like funny-smelling whipped cream. I lathered up just past my knee and looked up at her. “How high should I go?”

“That's up to you,” she said. “When I was your age, I only shaved to right below my knees, but if you want to go higher, that's okay, too. The knees are a little tricky, though. Since the surface is kind of bumpy, you're probably more likely to nick yourself there.”

I decided not to go higher. At least not right away.

Once I finished lathering up, my mom rolled up her pants, held the razor an inch from her leg, and demonstrated what I was supposed to do.

“Just keep your hand steady and try not to move your leg,” she said, running the razor from her ankle, all the way up her calf in a straight line. “You only need to apply light pressure.”

It didn't seem that hard.

“And don't worry about cutting yourself. If you do, it'll bleed but it probably won't hurt that much.”

Of course, now that she mentioned cutting myself, I got super nervous.

“Are you ready?” she asked, holding out the razor.

“Sure.” I gulped and grabbed it with a shaking hand. I put the blade on my ankle. It felt cold but didn't hurt. I took the blade off and checked for blood. It was clean. So far, so good. I took a deep breath and focused on keeping my hand steady. Then I set the blade against my skin, again, and ran the razor lightly up my leg. The blade took all the shaving cream with it, leaving a clean stripe in the center of my leg. A smooth stripe—I couldn't believe how easy and painless it was.

“And that's it.” My mom turned on the faucet and showed me how to rinse the blade.

Not all of my hair made it down the drain, I noticed. Some of it got stuck to the bottom of the tub.

I made more stripes, shaving until there was no shaving cream left.

Once I finished my left leg, I lathered up my right and managed to shave that one without cutting myself, too.

“See, you're a natural,” said my mom. “And now you'll have smooth legs for the wedding.”

“If there is a wedding,” I mumbled.

Mom looked at me strangely. Wait, did I say that out loud?

“Is that some sort of joke, Annabelle?”

“No,” I said. “It's just . . . well, you and Ted have been fighting so much . . .”

“What do you mean? We don't fight.”

“You do too—about everything: your name, the guest list, the flowers . . .”

“We've never disagreed on the flowers.”

“Not yet.”

Mom sighed. “Oh, honey, I can't deny that wedding planning is stressful, but these arguments aren't serious. We're not fighting about whether or not we want to be together. I promise. But you can't expect people to get along all the time.”

“Well, how about some of the time?”

“We do get along most of the time. You know that.” Mom put her arm around me. “Please believe me. Ted and I are very much in love. I wouldn't be going through with this if I wasn't one hundred percent positive that we were ready. Both of us feel this way. You know there are ups and downs in every relationship, right?”

“I guess.”

“Is that why you haven't invited Rachel yet? Because you thought we were going to cancel the wedding?”

Actually, I'd completely forgotten to invite Rachel. But I didn't want to make my mom feel bad about that. Clearly this wedding thing was a big deal for her. So I just shrugged.

“Don't worry. We'll get through this ceremony and then things will be back to normal.”

I hoped she was right.

Mom left me alone so I could take a shower. I made sure to check the tub for evidence afterward. All those tiny, white-blond hairs were gone, rinsed down the drain, never to be seen again.

After I dried off, she gave me some mango-scented cream for my legs. It left them feeling all soft and silky and smelling like a tropical fruit smoothie.

I took the razors, extra blades, and shaving cream and shoved them in the back of my underwear drawer in my room. Once Jason left, I'd leave them in my bathroom, but until then, well, some things are just too personal.

chapter sixteen
double trouble

I
called Rachel later that night and said, “Guess what?”

“Aliens landed in your backyard.”

“No, we did that one last time.”

“Oh right. Um, let me think for a second. Okay— you traded your family's last cow for three magic beans, and everyone got upset, until you planted them in the backyard and this giant vine grew and then—”

“Close,” I said, interrupting. “My mom and Dweeble said I'm allowed to invite one friend to their wedding.”

“Oh, cool. Thanks!” said Rachel. Then she paused. “Wait, you were just inviting me, right?”

I smiled. “Of course.”

“I've never been to a wedding,” she said. “I'll have to check with my mom first, but I'm sure she'll let me go.”

Just then I heard someone belch into the phone.

“Cut it out, Jackson,” Rachel yelled.

“How'd you know it was me?” He laughed.

“Uh, because no one else in this house is that disgusting?”

“I need to use the phone,” he said.

“Well, I'm using it.”

“To talk about dumb fairy tales.”

“You were eavesdropping!”

“Just hurry up.”

“It's okay,” I said. “I've gotta go, anyway.”

“Okay,” said Rachel. “Bye.”

I wore jeans again to school on Monday. Not because I was embarrassed about my legs— they were looking nice and smooth. It was more like I didn't want to advertise that I'd started shaving. I didn't want Taylor to think I'd only started because of her comment from a few weeks ago.

It felt weird, putting on shorts at the end of the day for PE. But if Taylor noticed my smooth legs during roll call, she didn't say anything. Our volleyball unit was over, on account of the fact that someone broke into the sports supply room and stole all the nets. So until they got replaced, we'd have to do other stuff. Today we'd warm up with calisthenics and then jog, Ms. Chang announced. We were starting with sit-ups, which meant choosing a partner.

Taylor turned around and asked me to pair up with her.