Guardian Girl (The Chronicles of Staffordshire) (8 page)

Silence. Stunned, mystified silence. Lenore stared slack-jawed at Lena, considering the slim possibility… The utter improbability… That the unkempt, devil-may-care, wild child of the tennis court might… Just perhaps… Be...

Brilliant?

“Lee-na…?”

“Yes, Lenoooore…?”

“Would you answer a personal question for me?”

“Sure. Ask me anything, roomie. I’ll always tell you the truth.”

“What was your GPA?”

“4.26… On a 4.0 scale, of course,” Lena winked.

“What were your SAT scores?”

“1580 out of 1600.” Lena fell back onto her elbows and winked again. She pulled her hand up in front of her face, blew on her in-turned fingernails, and brushed them against her T-shirt. Lena mock polished in self-delight over her kick-ass academic performance.

“You... You scored 1580… On your SATs?”

“Why? Something wrong with that? Not good enough for ya? You want me to go back and get you a 1700?”

“Lena…?”

“Yeeesssss…” came Lena’s taunting response.

“Who was Albert Camus?”

Lena rolled her eyes, as if everybody and their mother were on a first name basis with good, old, ‘Al Camus.’ “Oh, C’mon Lenore! Really? You really want this now?”

“Yes, Lena. Please. It is important.”

“Oh brother… Well, Albert Camus was a French journalist and philosopher. He was born in the early part of the century and got really famous in the 40s and 50s. He won a Nobel Prize, though I can’t remember what for off the top of my head, so don’t bother asking. If you ask me, though, he was basically a nut job, a real existentialist Negative Nelly. As far as I’m concerned, he’s just a major bummer. I’d rather reread Siddhartha any day of the week compared to Frenchie. Hell, I’ll even take Nietzsche or Kierkegaard or even that wackadoo Vonnegut over Camus! LOVED ‘Slaughterhouse Five’!”

Lenore’s eyes popped. She blinked with astonishment at her new roommate’s perplexing mix of beauty, brain, and brawn. Lena Sardi, the bad seed of the pro tennis circuit, the notorious racket-breaker, she of the obscenely skimpy tennis skirts and post-pubescent pin-up posters, was a… a…

A brain!

“Lee-na…?” Lenore labored.

“Oh c’mon, Lenore! What is
wrong
with you? You’ve never heard someone talk about Camus and Hesse before?”

“Lena… I have never heard someone like YOU talk about Camus and Hesse before.”

Lenore remained engrossed by the study in absurdity named, “Lena Sardi.” She stared open-mouthed. Another outburst of Lena’s raucous laughter broke Lenore’s stunned silence. Lena rolled on her bed, kicking her heels wildly.

“I stumped you! I stumped the genius! I stumped the genius!” Lena sing-songed her teasing. “I stumped the geeeee-nius!”

Lena jumped up off her bed and pointed her finger at Lenore, leaning her body toward the model student, resting her hand on her right hip. “YOU don’t know what to do with me,
do
you?”

Lenore shook her head side to side in abject amazement.

Bounding to Lenore’s desk in one gigantic leap, Lena knelt and threw her arms around Lenore’s waist. Lena hugged Lenore and whispered in her ear. “Freaky supermodel, something tells me this is the start of a bee-u-tee-ful relationship!”

Four

August 28, 1980

Dear Diary,

I met my new roommate today. At first I did not recognize her. She wore no makeup and she was dressed very poorly when she moved in. She looked nothing like she does on TV or in the photos I have seen of her in magazines. Once I heard her name, though, I knew it was her.

Fate is playing a cruel joke on me.

My college roommate is that wild American tennis player, Lena Sardi.

Our first meeting did not go well. Although she believes everything will work out between us, I must still consider seeking another roommate, one with whom I have more in common. Lena and I are nothing alike. She is so sloppy and disorganized and unkempt and loud. It is so hard for me to not clean and arrange her side of the room!

I do not understand how this happened. How could anyone in the housing office believe that Lena Sardi and I would make good roommates? Although she has not yet thrown a temper tantrum in our room, I can only imagine that it will happen someday. She has a very poor reputation for self-control when she plays her silly game. When I asked her about her temper, she joked that she has “only” broken a dozen rackets this year. A dozen rackets indeed!

Her real name is “Malena.” This is another thing I do not understand. The name Malena is so beautiful and flows so smoothly from the tongue, yet she chooses to go by “Lena.” It also seems that since she has given herself a “nick” name, she is obsessed with giving everyone around her nick names of their own. As soon as we met, she began calling me “Lennie” without my permission. It took great effort on my part to convince her that I prefer to be called by my full name. Even so, she still struggles with calling me by my proper name and often exaggerates it as if to prove that a name with more than one syllable is too difficult for her American mouth to pronounce.

I simply do not understand this girl! It is so hard to understand how a girl who is as beautiful and as brilliant and as athletically gifted as Lena Sardi could have achieved so much with such a carefree attitude about life.

Papa warned me that I would encounter difficult people once I left for college. He warned me that I have been too sheltered by Charlie and Rosette and that I must learn to become more forgiving of people and their many faults. Until I met Lena Sardi, I did not believe him. I never imagined that I would be forced to room with a feral cat.

But Papa also told me that I should always try to find good in people, even those who might offend or hurt me. Papa would be very disappointed in me if he were to learn that I did not try to become friends with this girl. So for Papa’s sake, I will try to become her friend.

Perhaps Papa is right about finding good in people? For all her faults, Lena does have one quality I admire greatly. Lena is extremely friendly. Even though she is a wealthy, famous girl, she is also the friendliest girl I have ever met. Perhaps a little too friendly at times, as she is always hugging me and kissing my cheek even though I have told her I do not like to be hugged or kissed. Even so, Lena makes me feel “normal,” as if I am just another normal girl and she is just another normal girl and together we are normal college roommates. Lena’s friendliness seems so effortless for her and I can tell she is not acting. She seems to have a very loving heart and seems to want me to be happy. I can tell she is working hard to make me feel as if we have been friends forever.

On our way back from dinner this evening Lena asked me to be her cross-training partner. She asked me to go to the gym with her before breakfast tomorrow to help her remain in shape for a tournament at the end of September. I think asking me to help her cross-train was her way to build friendship. I can see no other reason why Lena would ask me to join her. I am clearly not as athletically conditioned as her. But she said she believes that working out together will also help us get to know each other and become better roommates.

I only hope I have the strength to do what she has asked. She wants me to get up at 5AM! That is far too early, even for me. I do not know if I can do it. I will do it tomorrow for the sake of being a good friend, but once classes begin I may need to excuse myself.

I suppose that captures the essence of my relationship with Lena. I must try. I do not believe it will work, but I must try to be her friend. I owe it to Lena and Papa to try. I know she is trying hard to become my friend, so I must try just as hard.

May God help me. This is NOT what I thought college would be like!

With all my Love,

Lenore Consuela Maria De La Fuente

Five

August 28, 1980

Dear Diary,

I have the most AMAZING roommate on the WHOLE FRIGGING PLANET! I’m rooming with Lenore De La Fuente! YES! THAT Lenore De La Fuente! OH MY GOD! She’s even more beautiful in person than in the magazines! Lenore is absolutely the most beautiful girl on the entire planet! You have to see this girl up close to believe just how beautiful she is. Oh my God! Her eyes… They’re so beautiful! They are this super-hypnotic golden brown color and you just want to stare into them for weeks.

I’m such a worthless mess next to this girl. She’s so stinking perfect and so put together and I’m such a frigging mess. I’ll never be that beautiful. Okay… So I sold 5 million copies of my white bikini poster. So I guess
5 million perverts
think I’m beautiful. But not like the kind of beautiful Lenore is. Oh my God, she’s so perfect! She’s so thin and so graceful and her smile is so frigging perfect.

And WOW does she have clothes! She has a closet full of phenomenally expensive Shalamar dresses. Shalamar, for Christ’s sake! There isn’t a single off-the-rack rag in her closet! And I didn’t see anything BUT dresses in there. No jeans, no Ts. No sweats. Nothing.

(I have to get this kid down to Macy’s or something. Gotta get her to loosen up a little bit.)

And Lenore is incredibly smart! I never knew someone that beautiful could actually have a functioning brain in her skull. This girl is no dummy. She talked my ear off all afternoon about market trends, and medical discoveries, and her work with children’s charities, and all that shit.

(She wants to go into Product Liability law, for Christ’s sake. What 18-year-old would even know about something like that?)

I nodded and smiled a lot, like I actually cared and followed her, but it was kind of cool that she actually thought I understood even half of what she was talking about. I think she thinks I’m a brain, but I know I’m nowhere near as smart as she is. I just work harder at it than she probably thinks.

You know, Diary, Lenore Consuela Maria De La Fuente might just be the first real girlfriend I have ever had in my entire miserable life. She just lays it out there, you know? She says what’s on her mind and she doesn’t hold anything back. Everything with her is black and white, like she doesn’t have a lying bone in her body. When something is bugging her, she just lays it on me. It’s so totally cool!

Anyhoo…

When we met I could tell I freaked her out so I tried to come up with something we could do together as roommates. So on the way back from dinner tonight I asked her to be my workout partner. So starting tomorrow morning, she’s going to go to the gym with me and push me. And I’ll push her skinny ass, too!

(The poor kid’s 5’8” and a size 0. What a frigging toothpick. I have to put some meat on those supermodel bones, you know what I mean?)

Of course, I can’t let her know just how excited I am about rooming with her. So I’m playing it cool. I’m pretending like she’s just any other girl on the floor. I give her grief just like all the other rich bitches. But it’s so HARD! I’m rooming with the most frigging AWESOME girl on the entire planet! I’m rooming with Lenore Consuela Maria De La Fuente!

Even her name is beautiful! I just love saying her name. Lenore Consuela Maria De La Fuente.

I’m living the dream, baby!

Love always,

Lena.

Six

The leaf on Lena’s alarm clock flipped to 5:00AM. Zepplin’s Immigrant Song rattled from the tiny clock radio speaker. Robert Plant wailed. Classical-loving Lenore stirred, grumbled, and pulled the pillow over her head.

“HOSTIA PUTA! JODER! Mah-lee-na! It is too early! It is a Saturday! Let me sleep!”

Lena sprang from her bed, dressed in the dark, and grabbed a spare T-shirt, running shorts, and socks from her drawer. She tip-toed over to Lenore’s bed, snapped on the light above the supermodel’s head, and stole her pillow.

“Goood MOR-ning Little Miss Supermodel! It’s time to EX-er-cise! You promised you’d go with me. Sooo GET UP!”

Lena threw the clothes in Lenore’s face. Lenore flailed. “LENA! STOP IT!”

Lena clapped her hands in front of Lenore’s face. “Get dressed, Lenore! You’re my new wing-woman, remember? Wakey wakey! Rise and shine. Get your skinny supermodel ass out of bed, sister. It’s time to go work out.”

Muttering a string of indecipherable Spanish obscenities, Lenore obeyed. A promise was a promise even if it was only to herself. If Lena was making an effort, Lenore would make an effort, too, even if it meant waking up at 5am on a Saturday morning on Labor Day weekend.

Lena stood back and chuckled as Lenore changed out of her luxurious, hand-tailored, red silk pajamas and into Lena’s baggy, off-the-racks loaners. The T-shirt ballooned over Lenore’s svelte torso. The cotton shorts kept falling off her hips. The closest the supermodel had to cross-trainers was a pair of sneaker-like, baby blue, canvas flats. Lena tapped her chin and grinned.

“Supermodels. Sheesh. No meat on your bones. Give me a couple of weeks. I’ll fix that.”

Lena spun, rummaged through her already-junked-up desk, and procured a safety pin from her junkiest drawer. She stepped up behind Lenore, grabbed the back of the shorts by the waist, cinched them tight, and pinned the waistband closed. Stepping back, she admired her handiwork. Lean, supermodel spindles dropped from leg openings the size of sewer pipes.