My Big Nose and Other Natural Disasters (25 page)

Like an old regular, Mom strutted into the classroom, dragging her special jewelry-making supply case. Over the past three weeks Mom had purchased all the little pliers, wires, and magazines for the Enthusiast. Her love of jewelry-making pretty much ensured that I would despise it and suck at it. Yup, it was going to be a hell of an evening. I didn't even allow myself to think about Gideon; thankfully, his door was closed when we walked past. I didn't hear him playing his violin either. My hands got sweaty and my heart beat fast every time I thought about all the crap he overheard at the photo studio. Mom swore they couldn't hear anything, but I stood there waiting for her nose to grow. I think mine just grew for her. I'd heard the photographer gushing over Ashley, so I
know
Helen and Gideon heard everything I'd said at a much louder volume—every last pathetic, embarrassing syllable.

Mom patted the plastic chair next to her at the table.

"Hello, girls." Mom grinned. "Some of you know my daughter, Jory."

"Nice to see you again, Jory," said an older lady wearing so many beaded necklaces that she resembled the jewelry rack at Hannah's favorite secondhand store. They all knew. Every sordid detail. I could tell by their too-kind smiles of sympathy.

"I thought her daughter had long hair?" the lady next to her whispered.

"She cut it, Rita," Necklace Lady said. "Remember?"

Cynthia Simons from the Ranch made a
tsk-tsk
sound. My hands flew up to my head; I crunched a stiff clump with my fingers, dusting the table with purple glitter. I smashed the rest of my hair down with my hand. I don't know if it looked better. At least it
felt
better.

Helen swept into the room, carrying a tray of cake slices and a teapot.

"Here come the goodies, ladies! Jory, welcome back. I'll teach you how to knot, even if these other ladies insist on moving on."

Everyone laughed as if she'd made an actual joke. Old people!

Helen set the tray down at the end of the table. "Go pick out something special. Ten large beads, twenty small ones."

I tiptoed past Gideon's room. I might have heard music playing low, but it could've been my heart beating like a drum solo. I swung the door to the main room open, feeling exposed, like even the walls watched me, mocked me. I quickly chose several swirly orange-green-yellow beads. I wasn't going to wear anything I'd ever make anyway, right? I was only here for enforced mother-bonding-with-crazy-nose-obsessed-daughter night.

As I walked back down the hallway, I watched the beads roll around on the little tray, like jaundiced eyeballs.
Wham!
The beads flew up in the air as I sprawled flat on the floor.

"I am so sorry, Jory," Gideon said. "I keep tripping you like some kind of idiot."

I sat up, rubbing my stinging palms. "No,
I
keep
tripping
like some kind of idiot."

"Let me see." Gideon sat down next to me, taking my hands in his. I nearly jerked away, but his touch felt so warm. He blew ticklishly on my palms while I stared at the rip in the knee of his jeans. "You'll be okay." He gave each hand a little squeeze before dropping it. He stood, pulling me up with one hand. "Why did you choose the vomit beads? They're so ugly."

"Maybe I'm in an ugly mood." I reached down to pick up a couple of beads. Why couldn't he let me suffer in peace?

"Yeah, Helen said she'd be surprised if you showed up."

"Great. I'm a regular gossip item." I blinked to prevent tears, noticing glitter on my eyelashes. "Why can't my mom just shut up? Blabbing about every stupid, embarrassing thing I do and then you—" I stopped myself from saying something about Gideon eavesdropping and hearing stuff but getting half of it wrong—like his thinking I actually had a boyfriend.

"Give her a break," he said in a soft voice. "She's worried about you."

"Whatever." Figures he'd take her side, though I probably deserved it. I scanned the floor for my other beads. Gideon's big toe stuck out of a hole in his sock. "Where did the rest of my stupid beads go? I just want to get this over with."

Gideon held the door open for me. "Come on, I'll help you pick out some new ones."

I stood among the bins of beads with my arms crossed while the gray and white cat wound itself around my legs. Gideon held the little tray. What a dork. He plays the violin. Dorky. He knows how to make jewelry. Major dorky. He likes his mom. Freaky dorky. He was still being nice to me even after knowing
all
about me. Just plain freaky.

"What color do you want?"

"Black."

Gideon shook his head. "Not your color." He walked around the room picking up beads here and there. I concentrated on his feet. Wears socks in the summer. Super dorky. But I kept looking up at his face and glorious hair. I touched my hair. At least it didn't feel too stiff, but I probably looked like a raving lunatic/rejected showgirl/cheap whore.

Gideon glanced at me sideways. "I like your hair. You kind of hid behind that long hair."

"No, I didn't." I turned away from him.
Did I?
I'd had to develop a whole new set of gestures since I'd cut my hair. All that twisting, flipping, and tossing—gone. I'd even tried biting my nails, but it didn't do much for me.

Gideon stared at me with a half-smile. "Maybe I should cut my hair."

"No, don't!" I plunged my hand into a box of beads. "I mean, you can do whatever you want, right? You don't have an image-obsessed mother who'd be embarrassed by you."

"You don't embarrass your mother."

"Yeah, right."

"You may freak her out, but you don't embarrass her." Gideon came over and handed me the little tray of beads, all different shades of soft brown and green. "Trust me. I
do
hear more gossip than is good for a growing boy's gender identity. Your mom's proud of how you worked hard all summer."

"Did she mention that I wrecked the van?"

"Well, I think anyone who knows you knows that you're accident-prone." Gideon ruffled my hair. "Ooh, it's sparkly too." He showed his purple glitter—covered palm to me. "You better get back in there or Helen will come searching for you." He rested his hand on my cheek. Just briefly. "Hang in there, Jory."

I could still feel his handprint on my cheek as I walked back into the beading room. Everyone ohhed and ahhed over my beads when I set the tray down. Matches your eyes, suits your blond hair, sassy style. I put my hand to my cheek. When I took it away, it glittered.

"That stuff is getting on everything." Mom sighed. "Girls and their hair."

"Leah, remember that awful colored mousse we used to use?" Mrs. Caughlin Ranch said. "I once ruined one of my mom's shower curtains with that stuff." She fluffed her streaked hair. "Now I can pay to have it done properly."

Everyone laughed (pathetic, humor-starved old people!). Helen sat down next to me and showed me how to use the needle-nose pliers to crimp the clasp onto the end of the silk string. I put my beads in order. Each bead was a little bit different, but they all belonged together somehow.

Helen showed me how to make a knot. "Hold the silk like this; now, give God the finger." I couldn't help but giggle as she demonstrated. "Throw little Timmy in the well." She dropped the silk down the center. "Use your tweezers to send Lassie down for the rescue. And pull." She'd made a perfect knot.

I tried, and I did it on the first try! I picked up a green bead with a pink rose on it and strung it onto the silk.

Helen nodded. "Great. Now make another knot. Use your cutoff straw as a spacer. Add your next bead."

Helen watched me do the next few beads before moving on to help one of the other ladies do something complicated with earrings.

I felt calm as I strung a little green bead on top of a new knot. My necklace actually looked pretty good! I half listened to the other ladies gossip.
Well, you know, she found out about the cancer only the week before. And he still left her! Oh, I did give her the name of a great lawyer. Speaking of lawyers, my son is changing his major yet again. Another year of tuition; my husband is about to disown him. Well, that's nothing. My daughter was out with her boyfriend and came home so drunk—she had actually driven her car home in that state. I don't know what to do.
All the other ladies chimed in with advice.

Mom leaned over to me. "Thanks for calling me that night from the casino," she whispered.

I threw little Timmy back into the well, thinking that just a couple of hours ago I had wanted to throw myself into a well.

On the way home, Mom suddenly pulled to the side of the road. "I'm not very good at this," she said. "You're my oldest and it's always taken me longer to figure things out with you." She turned the engine off. "I don't mean that as a criticism." Mom sighed, filling the silent car with a whoosh of breath. "What I want to say is that I love you. Just the way you are. It hurts so much to think that I've made you feel bad about yourself—bad enough to want surgery. Just thinking about your Nice Nose Notebook makes me cry." Mom wiped tears from her eyes. "I never thought that my feelings about myself would affect you—"

"You care so much about looks."

"Only my own." Mom slapped her hands on the steering wheel. "No, I'm sorry. I've established a standard of perfection that neither one of us can meet. And I'm sorry that I've hurt you. I love you so much, Jory. And I want you to love yourself too."

"I'll try, Mom."

She leaned over and hugged me tight. "I'm going to do better, Jory. That's a promise." A passing car honked, flashing its lights. "Get a room!" a guy screamed.

"I guess we'd better move along or we'll get arrested."

"Wouldn't be the worst thing that's happened this summer."

"Oh, come on, it hasn't been
that
bad." Then Mom giggled. "That poor bride's cake."

"What about the van? The surgeon?"

"That appalling photographer!" Mom burst into laughter. "You're right. It's been quite a summer!"

I
have to get over my face. Rolling over in bed, I grimaced at the clothes and other junk scattered on my floor and noticed my Nice Nose Notebook half buried under a dirty T-shirt, supermodels grinning, like being on my floor was the best place ever. I don't look like those girls and, according to Dr. Lawrence, I never will. Maybe I don't even want to. Okay, I guess I'd
really
be crazy if I didn't want to look gorgeous and exotic. But those girls have problems too. How many of them suffer from eating disorders, or addictions, or just plain old insecurity?

I reached for the notebook, sat up, flipped through the pages, and mimicked a beaming model stepping off a train. Anyone can fake happiness in a photograph. I made several more model poses. Pouty lips. Kissy lips. Coy smile. Pissed-off diva. Laughing like I'm having the most fun in the world. Maybe I could walk around
pretending
like I'm self-confident. No one is ever really satisfied anyway, right? Hannah complains about her hair, as much as she tries to live in the moment, and sometimes she gets completely frustrated by her back problems and not being able to ski and stuff. Megan hates her hands because she thinks she has stubby fingers. Whatever.

The photographs in my notebook looked so artificial—super-skinny models don't eat huge slices of pizza.
Rip.
I tore the page into tiny pieces. Three gorgeous guys offering a girl diamond bracelets?
Rip.
Not in my world. Walking a dog in those stilettos?
Rip.
Don't think so. Wearing that much makeup to the beach?
Rip. Rip. Rip.
Yeah, right. One by one, I tore the pages from the notebook, creating glossy confetti. Adios, fake-happy models—even if you do have fabulous little noses.

Before sweeping the whole mess into my wastebasket, I sifted my shredded notebook pages through my fingers, listening to Mom and Dad talk-argue in the kitchen.
Promotion this and promotion that. Just don't blame me when they give it to Jones. I would never blame you. Yet you're the one who wants to move into some fancy house. You're the one who wants to join all those country clubbers for their golf vacations. Not really. Roberts can be such a prick. So is his wife. She stopped beading because Helen wouldn't special order precious stones. I won't put anything against my skin that isn't natural, she said. Dirt is natural. So is elephant dung.

Dad laughed. Mom laughed. They kissed.
Really, honey, our happy little home is enough for me. I think I just needed to be happy with myself. Well, if hell does freeze over and I get that promotion, I'm taking you on one hell of a second honeymoon.
More kissing.

I turned on my radio.

Kissing. Gideon talked to me. But would he ever kiss me again? I flopped on my bed and buried my face in my squishy pillow. I didn't want to jinx everything by thinking about it. Plus, Hannah and Megan kept saying he was too this and not enough that (the details changed daily). But they were wrong—about as wrong as Gideon had been about the casino-party disaster.

Mom knocked on my door. "I'm going to run down to the Jewel Café. Want to join me?" Mom came in and sat down on my bed, tucking her legs under her. "I love the necklace you made. Do you think you'll keep up with the beading?"

"Maybe." I rolled over and looked at her; her face looked rounder, but happier. No official diet, day 5. "I mean, I think so. It's actually kind of relaxing and not too hard even for a klutz like me."

"You're not a klutz."

"Mom. I got kicked off my fourth-grade soccer team."

"That coach was an ass."

"Well, you know. I'm not really good at anything. Not like inn."

"Finn simply found his talent early." Mom reached over and brushed my hair back with her hand. "I think I kind of like your hair short. I can see you better." She leaned over and kissed my forehead.

"It
is
easier to take care of."

"Well, then. Hop in the shower so we can get going. Helen just got a new shipment of charms that I want to pick over before anyone else gets to them."