He’s holding a giant garbage bag, which is not an image you want first thing in the morning. It implies work. And I’ve been working all week! For money. Actual motivation.
“Your mother wants you to come out and help her weed. Get dressed. You’re wasting the day. Oh, and Claire’s here. You’ve got five minutes. I assume she knows you’re grounded.”
Of course she knows. She’s usually the reason I am grounded, but it usually feels worth it. I shuffle out into the living room, where I see Claire dressed like a human tent of primary colors.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“I got a job.”
“What do you mean you got a job? You don’t need a job.”
“You have a job.”
“I have no money.”
“It’s good for self-respect to have a job. You know that hot-dog stand in the mall?”
“You are not wearing that thing in public. That is not good for anyone’s self-respect.”
“I totally am. You should have seen my parents’ faces, Daisy. I Facebooked my picture, and they got it while boarding the plane. They almost cancelled their trip! I tried to get a job at Nordstrom, but my nails were painted black, and they were all nice, but you could tell they weren’t going to hire me.”
“Were you wearing your spider nose ring?”
“I was! You think that was it?” Claire shrugs. “So I went to get a lemonade, and then I saw it. I thought, That has to be the most heinous outfit in the entire mall. That’s the job I need! It says, Mom and Dad, I need your help.”
“No, it says, Dr. Phil, I need your help.”
She twirls about. “Can you see me showing up to the club in this? Not only will people think I need a job, but then, to work in the mall! It’s so blue-collar.”
I lift up my hands. “Hello? I am standing here. Some people need that job, you know. They don’t dress like a psychotic circus tent for fun.”
“Whatever. You’re just jealous.”
“Yeah, that’s it. You need to get dressed, I’m going shopping today. For real clothes, and you’re coming with me.” I clap my hands like a seal. “Shopping!”
“No, I’m working,” she says with a straight face. “Besides, aren’t you grounded?”
“I told my mom I was going to spend some money to buy new pants. She doesn’t have time right now to sew up my black ones, so it’s a modesty issue.”
“Ah.”
“Come on, you’re going to steal my joy? The one time I need to go to the mall, and you’re going to tell me you’re busy? You owe me! Go quit your job so someone who actually needs it can have it.”
“I can’t go shopping. I have to work.”
“What’s the sudden work ethic about? Are you trying to shame your parents again?” We walk back to my room and I shut the door behind us. “And I’m pricing a cell phone. You don’t want to miss that.”
“I thought you were already in trouble. If your mother finds a pair of holey jeans or a cell phone in here, it will be like you’ve left the faith altogether. Have mercy on me. They already think I’m to blame for everything you do wrong.”
“You generally are responsible for everything I do wrong. If I’m not with you, I’m working.”
“It takes two to tango.” Claire pauses. “Who am I kidding? Get dressed. I quit.”
My dad is in the doorway, frowning. He opened the door silently. I swear he hovers, just waiting for me to screw up. It’s like he enjoys it. “What do you want, Dad?”
“I want you to get up and go help your mother. I have a job today, and your mother needs help in the garden.”
“It’s my day off,” I whine. It’s sort of hard to take my dad seriously about a “job” after yesterday’s fiasco. He’s waiting for me to say something about his performance, but I refuse. I won’t give him the satisfaction of telling him he humiliated me. Or that he has no street cred whatsoever when it comes to rapping.
“You’re a part of this family. You live under this roof, and as a member of this household, there are chores we ask of you. School comes first, so if work and chores are too much for you, you’ll quit your job.”
Work is my only respite. There is no way on earth I’m giving up my job. I abhor when my dad lays down the law. It’s almost like another persona for him, just one more gig in the dad suit.
“Claire, Daisy is grounded this week.”
“A week? For not doing one page of homework? Man, that is stiff!”
My dad ignores her comment. “You’re welcome to stay here, since I know your parents are gone, but Daisy’s had trouble with the truth lately and I want to nip that in the bud. Nothing is more important than character, Daisy. Nothing.”
“But . . .” Claire pouts, her lip protruding. She is so good. She actually lets her bottom lip quiver. I have no idea how she does that, but it’s a skill I might want to learn. I think if my dad had her acting skills, we would not be living in this dump. “Mr. Crispin, it wasn’t Daisy’s fault what happened. There were others in Calculus who didn’t do the assignment because the teacher hadn’t written it down. I’m sure they’ll fix it on the computer system on Monday. There wasn’t time, being the weekend and all.”
“Daisy’s nearly an adult, Claire. She needs to be responsible for herself, and she should have asked for homework.”
“I wish you could see everyone else’s scores. That’s what that online system doesn’t tell parents. It doesn’t tell them when the teachers screw up, only their kids. But I’m willing to bet you real money, Mr. Crispin, that come Monday, I’ll be proven right and Daisy’s grade will be corrected.”
My dad watches Claire carefully. He can’t tell if she’s telling the truth or not, which says something about his own acting skills. He leans against the doorjamb, ducking his head. My dad has infinitely long legs and a mere scrap of hair on the top of his head, which he tries to round out with oversized mutton-chop sideburns. If there were any Dickens parts around here, he’d be a shoo-in.
“Claire, I think I should speak with your parents about leaving you alone. You’re far too young to be left at your age.”
“Well, we have an alarm, you know, and Marisa stays, but she gets so little time with her family. I hate to have her babysit me when her own children need her.”
“That’s admirable of you. Daisy, why don’t you and Claire go get her things? I don’t want you staying by yourself, Claire, but this isn’t over, Daisy.” He walks out of the room and calls behind him, “But enough plotting, you two! If you’ve taken advantage of someone, God is aware of that!”
I flatten my lips. “Thanks a lot. Let’s go before he changes his mind. You are a terrible liar.”
“Would it be better if I were a good one?” She shrugs. “I mean, really.”
“Did you notice my dad didn’t even ask you about your outfit? I’m telling you, Claire, whatever this identity crisis is, it’s time to lose it. My dad isn’t even responding. You know it’s bad when you can’t get a rise out of my father. I mean, the man lives to preach.”
My dad comes back into view. “I heard that. I wondered what was up with the outfit, Claire.”
“I start a new job today. I make lemonade at the mall.” She does a little twirl.
“That’s very brave of you, I’m proud of you.” Dad smirks at me. “You should think about getting a job at the mall, then you wouldn’t have to work during the week and take time away from your studies.”
It’s everything not to roll my eyes. Yeah, I should leave my customer-service job where I create ledgers and Excel spreadsheets for decent money to squish lemons in obscene shorts. There’s the future for me. It would not matter what I did, that man will never be proud of me. There is never a point where he says, “Yeah, that’s good.”
“All right, I’ll see you girls later. Remember, I want you back here to help your mother as soon as you pick up Claire’s things.”
Sometimes I wonder how my father would react if I really did get into trouble. I take my frustration out on Claire. “You are so bad. Don’t you have any guilt? ‘It doesn’t tell them when the teachers screw up.’”
“I used to have guilt. Your parents used to scare the daylights out of me, but now I just think your dad will never be happy, and it makes me feel violent, actually. Rebellious.” Claire looks at herself in the mirror as she talks, and checks out her backside. “Nothing you do is ever good enough, and that totally ticks me off. Like he’s perfect. I mean, anyone who hasn’t bought a new pair of pants in what, ten years? That is so not perfect. I just get sick of the way he treats you, like you’re four and haven’t made a good decision in your life.”
“His pants? You’ve got my dad’s mutton chops, his lack of solid employment, his rap attempt in front of everyone we know, and you’re going to pick on his pants? Claire, that’s the least of his problems.”
She scowls at the door. “He wants to control everything! Life doesn’t work that way.”
“All right,” I say, trying to calm her down. “He’s frugal. He’s careful about what he spends.”
“No, Daisy. Your dad is cheap. Frugal is spending less for what you want. Your father thinks if he spends anything, all the world will fall apart, and greater humanity depends upon his skill to be cheap. That, dear Daisy, is cheap and strange. My parents may spend like water, but sheesh, they’re not afraid to live their lives.” She picks up my hairbrush and starts to brush her hair. “Got any spray gel?”
“Stop it,” I tell her, grabbing my brush. “You’re not going to work. You’re helping me shop. You obviously need to work some anger out.”
“You’ve waited this long, what’s another week? Your dad’s done it his whole life.”
My first inclination is to support my dad. I mean, it’s hard to hear Claire’s assessment of him. Harsh. But when he comes back down the hallway, he’s wearing his pirate pants and puffy shirt, and it’s sort of hard to defend him. He’s also accessorized with a fake, sagging parrot doll on his shoulder. It’s not exactly the stuff of pride, is it?
Claire turns to me and rolls her eyes. “Your dad thinks what I’m wearing to work is weird? I’m seventeen. What about him?”
“Shh,” I hiss back at her. “You’re not helping.”
We run out to Claire’s car and I call to my mom, “Bye, see ya when I get back. We’ll help you with the garden then. Dad said it was okay to go get Claire’s stuff. By the way, you look great today, Mom. Gardening is your look, girlfriend.” I stumble into the car before she has a chance to say another living thing or place another hard-and-fast rule on my day. I breathe out extensively as Claire pulls out of the driveway. “We made it.”
She looks at my legs. “Sort of. You’re wearing your pajamas.”
I look down. “I totally am. Go back. No, wait.” I look back at my mother, who is bent over her flower bed, watching us. “Don’t. I’ll borrow something at your house.”
Claire is about five inches shorter than me, but I ignore this fact. It’s that, or my mother.
My mom yells, “Daisy!”
“Just go, just go,” I tell Claire.
“Daisy, stop right there!”
Claire lets the car idle. Mom saunters over with a hoe in her hand and leans on it. She’s wearing blue-jean overalls and a long-sleeved plaid shirt. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a wad of cash. “Here. It’s for your shopping trip.”
“How’d you—What’s this?”
“You were right. You are the only one who dresses the way you do at your school, and that has to be hard.”
And it’s not helped by my parents’ Donny and Marie rapping onstage. “Yeah?”
“Go to the mall and get yourself some clothes.” Mom doesn’t meet my eyes. “I heard you and Claire through the heating vent.”
“Where’d you get this?”
“I earned it. Don’t worry, it’s mine.”
“Not doing that rap yesterday?” I don’t want tainted money.
She smiles and leans in to talk to Claire. “Shop at affordable stores, Claire. Daisy’s dad isn’t a high-profile lawyer.”
Maybe the pirate suit gave that away.
“We will. We totally will,” Claire says.
Claire and I look at one another. “Mom? What about Dad?” I ask.
“I’ll take care of that. Go shop,” my mother says as she pulls her gardening gloves from under her arm and studies her approach.
I squeeze my head under the windshield and look up.
“What are you doing?”
“Jesus is coming back. It’s the only possible explanation.”
Claire roars her engine to life and pulls away from the curb. She stares at my pajamas. “Why didn’t you go back in and change?”
“Just go. By the way, I told you my father wasn’t cheap.” I cross my arms in front of my chest.
“Your mother gave you the money.”
“Well, where’d she get it, Miss Smarty Pants?”
“Not from your father, I know that much. You really should go change. What are you going to borrow from me, a nightgown?” Claire asks as we drive away.
“Shorts. A skirt, I don’t know, just let’s go. If we go back, you know I’m not getting out again. My real mom will return, and I can’t take that chance. This is the first day of my new life!” I fumble through her glove compartment, tossing CDs on the floor and flipping through useless paperwork. “Where’s your makeup? You always have makeup in here.”
“I’m trying to be more organized. Besides, I told you, I had to work, so I already put it on at home. I gave you makeup four days ago. Where is it?”
“It wouldn’t fit in my wristlet,” I say sheepishly.
“Priorities, Daisy. I’m supposed to be at the store at ten for training. We open at eleven today, so I’m glad to take you to the mall, but I can’t shop. You can drop by the store and show me what you’ve bought.”
I gaze at my friend, who is literally a stranger to me right now. Getting organized? In a hurry to get to work? “What is wrong with you? I let the spider ring go, but this—you’re self-starting now? Has the earth shifted? I want my best friend back. The fun, flaky one.”
“Daisy, you know, if your dad was remotely reasonable, I wouldn’t have to break you out at 8:30 on a Saturday morning. You said you want this year to be different, but how can that happen if you do things exactly the same? If you want a different result, the only person you can change is you.”
“Who
are
you?”
“My life coach said I can be whomever I like. I can dress in a poetic mood, but I need to be adaptable and work within the world’s boundaries. No one wants to hire me if my looks scare them, but the truth is, I was only dressing that way for Ryan Embers, and he never noticed me. It turns out I’m not very good at dark poetry either. I’m too happy.”