A Taste of Silver Read online

  “No! No, I don’t want it!” Chanel shook her head as I shoved the phone in her face. The car was steering into the other lane.

  “Nelly!” Christy snapped. “I can hear you, you know!”

  “Aw, great.” Chanel snatched the phone. “What, Chris?”

  Some terse yelling came through the line, but exact words were difficult to identify. Chanel went back and forth between English and Chinese, their usual sister-rivalry breaking out between them.

  Leaning my head against the window, I blinked at the passing lights of the street lamps. Los Angeles was a huge city. I was thankful to live on the outskirts of such chaos most of the time, safe and sound in my little neighborhood on Johnson Avenue. I was more of a small town girl than a city slicker or Beverly Hills beauty. Giant mansions like Trent’s in wealthy housing developments? Oh yeah, I haven’t met one that didn’t make me edgy.

  As Chanel finished yelling, she flung her phone back into the depths of her purse. “Ugh, I can’t stand her!” she snarled, slapping the wheel. “Crimany, why couldn’t God have blessed me with a brother?!”

  “No idea.” I closed my eyes, wishing she’d let it go. The negative energy in the atmosphere was starting to get to me. “Is she threatening to tell your parents when they come back from Vegas?”

  She wrinkled her nose, resembling a scrawny pug. “Of course… but she won’t. You know why?”

  I cracked one eye, not sure I should ask.

  A wicked smile curved her face. Taking my expression as a yes, she continued, “I found her video dancing at the Viper and Vixen down town. Oh my goodness you should see it! She tried taking her clothes off and tumbled over the counter!”

  I grimaced. “I’ll pass, thanks. The last thing I want to see is your sister taking her clothes off, though I guess since it was at The Viper and Vixen I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Another reason I didn’t like the city: the partiers. And the Viper and Vixen was one of the most scandalous dance clubs in our part of LA. Besides Trent’s house, it was supposed to be “the place” for newly grads and college kids. The only way anyone younger could get in was if they were in a band or close friends with the manager (not likely). I happen to know, however, that some of the seniors from school often snuck in there because they passed for twenty-one or had access to fake IDs. I didn’t know what the attraction was. Everything that went on in there seemed to either get put on Youtube or the News Channel.

  “Are you mad?” Chanel’s voice interrupted the grotesque club images in my head. “I’m sorry I made you go. It’s not like we did anything bad, and I just wanted to see Trent for a minute. Is that so wrong?”

  “No.” The word was rough as it left my mouth. “And I’m not mad at you, but I just hope you know that Trent is one heck of a player. The last thing I want to see is you getting hurt by someone less than worth it.”

  “I know.” She went quiet for a moment, then swapped subjects. “… Would a milkshake make up for this night?”

  I hesitated, thinking about how good a smooth, chocolate shake sounded after lingering in a house of spiked punch and tequila. “… Maybe. But you’d better order one with me.”

  She giggled. “I’m sorry about your hair, by the way. I’ll make sure Christy cleans it up for you before we go to bed.”

  I flipped my hair over my shoulders, viewing the damage at last. I’d lost about four inches, and her cutting job had indeed left jagged ends in more places than one, but it could’ve been worse. “At least Trent will have something to remember me by when he goes to take a wiz.”

  She burst out laughing. “You’re so awesome, Rose. Now chocolate, or vanilla?”

  I smiled as she flicked her blinker on. “Chocolate. No second thought.” *

  Chanel’s driveway was completely empty as we pulled in. The moon shimmered over the small neighborhood as the car clock changed; it was now a quarter to eleven. I wondered if Christy had left, though I knew she rarely passed up an opportunity to pin Chanel for blackmail. Maybe her little Camry was in the garage.

  “I wonder where the she-devil is,” Chanel growled while parking.

  I snorted. “I was just wondering that.”

  We crept up the sidewalk, taking our time unlocking the front door. Chanel even peeked in the grand windows of the living room, like she was expecting an ambush on the other side. “The lights are mostly off. Huh. Maybe she’s at her boyfriend’s.”

  Stepping into the hallway, a gust of floral scents hit my nose—proof that Christy had candles going not long ago. It hadn’t smelled so strongly of lilac when we left. Chanel turned on the main light, and our heels click-clacked across the wood floor into the kitchen. The Ballantine household was nice. Everything was neat, tidy, totally new age. Rooms and furniture all matched nicely thanks to Mrs. Ballantine’s years of interior design.

  “I don’t hear her.” Chanel stared up at the banister overlooking the kitchen. All the lights were off on the second floor, no lit candles in sight. “HEY! SHEDEVIL I’M HOME!”

  No response.

  I slurped down the last of my shake. “Chanel, she’s gone.”

  “Maybe. I bet she’s just waiting for us to think she’s gone.” She hawk-eyed the dark dining room, hands on her hips.

  I dropped my purse on the counter and eyed the fridge. “You got any left over pizza?”

  Her head turned, eyebrows raised. “You’re still hungry? That milkshake was a large, you know.”

  I smiled, proud of my good metabolism—though my body was no twig. But as long as I kept the slimmer hourglass shape, she knew I’d eat what I wanted. She directed me to the fridge’s bottom shelf before sitting down on a stool, kicking her heels off.

  I pushed aside a few cartons of left over Panda Express. Hidden behind was a cardboard box that smelled wonderfully of mozzarella and onion. “You want any?” I asked.

  She pursed her lips, then shrugged. “Hey, you’ve got it out. I guess I might as well take a piece.”

  I slapped three pieces of Veggie Delight onto a plate and stuck it in the microwave. Sliding to the cupboard, I plucked out a glass for some apple cider, praising the fact that—unlike Trent’s house—it would be alcohol-free.

  We were quiet while eating our very late dinner. As I started on my second piece, the kitchen’s apple-shaped clock caught my eye. Eleven-thirty. Pulling my purse over, I wondered if mom had called yet.

  “Anything?” Chanel asked, knowing what I was looking for.

  “No. But somehow I managed to miss her text message.” I examined my phone’s screen, a digital envelope displayed. My finger tapped open, and the message appeared.

  Hey honey.

  Going to bed. Too tired to call. Plz forgive me. Pick you up at noon.

  Love you lots

  Mom

  Chanel asked, “What’s it say?” “Not much.” I held back a frown. “Just the usual hello and that she’s picking me up at noon.”

  “Oh.” Chanel’s tone reflected my disappointment. “I hope we’ll have time to at least grab coffee in the morning before you go. I don’t know why she won’t just let me drive you to the flat. I’ve done it before.”

  I put the phone away. “Mom’s weird like that.”

  “… How’s she taking you living with your dad? Are you guys ok now?”

  A heap appeared in the pit of my stomach. I answered, “We’re talking now, but yeah she’s been mad. Though you know, I’m eighteen, and once I graduate… well…” I trailed off, thinking, she’s already losing control over me.

  An awkward silence settled between us. Chanel swirled the contents of her own cup of apple cider, avoiding eye contact. My eyes wandered over my other piece of pizza. I wasn’t so hungry all of a sudden.

  “Are you going to go to the wedding in November?”

  The heap bloomed into a full-out stomach knot. I knew that was coming, yet I still had to take a few sips from my glass, hoping it would keep my voice even. “Probably. I might be mad at her, but I don’t hate her�
�� She’ll be hurt if I don’t go.”

  “What are you going to do after everything’s over? Will you move in permanently with your dad?”

  “I don’t know if I can stand living with her and Lyle. I can’t stand the man as he is, and I know he can’t stand me.” Images flickered in my head of a time mom’s boyfriend wasn’t in her life. My head conjured up pictures of dad and mom still together, and a little pigtailed girl identical to me sitting at the counter in our old house. I shook my head. I didn’t want to think of them… any of them. “I don’t want to talk about this. Can we do something?”

  She pursed her lips as she collected our empty plate and glasses. The pucker between her eyebrows told me she knew she’d asked too much. She was sorry. “Dance-Dance Revolution?”

  I nodded. That was good enough for me. Anything but sitting here and talking about my stepfather-to-be and my old life. Hoping to get my energy back, I jumped to my feet and bolted for the stairs. “I’ll race you!”

  “Hey! Cheater!” Dishes clattered into the sink. Her swift footsteps came bounding after me.

  We raced to the game room at the end of the second floor, and I sprang onto one of the dancers’ pads, my dress swirling around me as Chanel messed with the TV. As she hopped onto the other pad, the lightness in the air returned. Maybe tonight would have a good ending after all.

  2) Three Customers

  Never once in my in eighteen years have I been a morning person. My car even had that bumper sticker that said: I’m out of bed, what more do you want? So it wasn’t really a shocker when I realized I would be late for school Monday morning. Between the remainder of the weekend at mom’s, the stress, and the lack of sleep, I promised not to be offended should someone mistake me for the living dead.

  I slugged up to the attendance window, yawning. At least I remembered to put on some makeup, and my flip-flops matched (I was that girl that upon being too tired had worn mismatched shoes to school before). I lifted the pen and started to sign the late sheet, not even looking inside the tiny office.

  “Hi, Rose,” greeted a gentle voice. My heart skipped a beat. I jerked my head up to see a young man with thick chestnut curls and warm eyes. He was leaning on the counter, rather close as he wrote my late pass.

  My cheeks felt hot. I couldn’t stop a smile. “Hey, Paul. You’re not wearing your glasses today.”

  He chuckled, face turning rosy, too. “Nope. Left them at home by accident. I was running late.”

  “You were running late?” I raised an eyebrow. “Then I must be really late.”

  “Just a little. It’s alright.” He laughed, handing over the pass in exchange for the late sheet.

  I stared at him. Jeez, talk about a cutie. He had one of the highest GPA’s of the whole senior class, too. Beauty and brains, I thought. What more could a girl ask for?

  “Well, get going,” he laughed, then added hopefully, “I’ll see you later?”

  I nodded, folding the pass and sticking it in my pocket. “Hopefully it will be somewhere besides the attendance office. I’d like to actually be on time tomorrow.” My smile turned flirtatious, fingers wiggling a goodbye. But if being late means seeing you again, I thought to myself, maybe I’ll be late from now on.

  Turning the corner, I took a shortcut through the lunch room. I had a cooking class first period, just outside the cafeteria. I wondered if Mrs. Jansen would yell at me for being late this morning, since timely arrival wasn’t my area of expertise. I’d been late three times already—in her book that was a detention, but if I was lucky the class would already be moving around at their stations. I could sneak in, blend with the crowd. Avoid her radar one more time.

  I stopped outside the culinary arts door in the F hall and peeked in, praying that people were out of their seats. I exhaled. Kids were bustling around at their cooking stations, laying pans and pots on burners. Mixers were going as they rushed around with spoons and cupfuls of ingredients. The smell confirmed today’s task: an Italian pasta dish.

  I snuck through the door, eyes locking onto Mrs. Jansen’s figure at station four. When she turned her back, I raced to my table and dropped my stuff off, then slid over to my group.

  A busty girl in a pair of jeans and a yellow Hollister sweatshirt was working at the counter. As I floated to her side, I saw her knife coming down on a zucchini. “Hey, Cheyenne.”

  She startled, then scuffed. “Oh my goodness, don’t do that! I could’ve cut my fingers off!”

  “Sorry,” I whispered with a giggle. “I won’t do it again.”

  “Why are we whispering?” she whispered back. “And why are you late?”

  “Overslept. I didn’t get back from mom’s house until midnight.” I yanked the black bungee off my wrist, tying my hair back. My head had this habit of suddenly shedding when I was cooking. Besides the fact I’d lost enough hair this weekend it’s pretty bad when someone pulls it out of their dish and it’s a mile long. It would take two seconds for people to know who it belonged to.

  “Ooh.” Cheyenne nodded knowingly.

  I spared a glance over my shoulder. “Has she taken role yet?”

  “Mrs. Jansen? Not yet. She’s been trying to get everyone going because we’re behind on our labs. If we don’t get the Italian unit out of the way, she said we might not be able to do the short unit on pastries and cake decorating.”

  “I’m gonna be ticked. The only reason I signed up for this class was the sugar unit,” I laughed, rolling up my sleeves and turning on the hot water. There was already a load of dishes waiting, and the two freshmen that completed our group were busy staring at their pans.

  “I heard you went to Trent’s party on Friday night.” Cheyenne’s whisper got even lower. “Was it wild?”

  “Ugh, you don’t even know.” I rolled my eyes while retrieving soap from the lower cabinets. There were the memories of the horrible bathroom scene again.

  She stifled a giggle. “Um. Yeah, I do actually.”

  I stopped squirting soap in the sink and shot her a look. “What? Wait, who told you? Chanel?”

  Cheyenne dried her hands on a towel and pulled out her cell phone. She made sure Mrs. Jansen wasn’t looking, and I watched as she went through her inbox. “Don’t freak, but…. it’s because of this.”

  I gasped in horror. A picture of Trent’s toilet came up on the screen. My huge wad of hair appeared, knotted in the back where Chanel had chopped it. Underneath the shot there was a message.

  DUDES! CHECK IT OUT! I’LL PAY FIVE BUCKS TO THE FIRST PERSON WHO CAN GUESS WHOSE HAIR THIS IS!

  “Oh,” I whimpered, then snarled, “Who sent it?!”

  “Take a guess.”

  “Oh, Derek.” I jerked back to the sink. Ok, so I lost hair and bruised my reputation! There had been no winning for me that night. Why had I thought there would be? “Ugh, I can’t believe this! So much for hoping for a smooth day.”

  “Well, if it helps, it doesn’t look like anything happened to it.” Cheyenne ran a hand through the back of my hair. “It’s still down to your butt practically! It’s like, Hippie Hair.”

  “Is not Hippie Hair.”

  “Chanel did a nice cut for being in a hurry.”

  “No, my mom fixed it. She couldn’t stand that my hair was actually uneven. Bah, perfectionist. Now if only she were that picky about her men.”

  Cheyenne grinned and finished zucchini-chopping. “Hey, at least you have hair to be ripped out.”

  “Sometimes? I wish I didn’t.” I kissed her little bald head.

  Cheyenne had Alopecia, a rare disease that resulted in hair loss. But that didn’t matter to her or the rest of our group. She had a beautifully structured face and big eyes like sapphires. She was the reason the phrase, cute as a button, still existed.

  “I don’t think anyone knows it’s your hair,” she went on quietly. “At least, not yet. I only know because of the picture… and ok, yeah, Chanel spilled.”

  “I’m sure everyone will know by the end of the day.” I ma
de a grumpy face. “This is Derek we’re talking about. I’m sure that his group of friends know as of right now—aka, the whole football team.”

  “Eh. Yeah, true.” She picked up her cutting matt and weaved between the two other girls, dumping zucchini into their frying pan. Coming back she said, “Hey are you working at your dad’s shop after school today? I need some new goggles for the trip this weekend.”

  “Oh!” I flinched as a distant memory was jogged. “Oh my gosh, I almost forgot about the camping trip! Jeez, dad hasn’t even mentioned it this week!”

  “Yup. It’s this weekend.” She let out a quiet squeal and clapped her hands. “Eek! I’m so excited! I’ve been waiting for this for months! It’s the only thing I look forward to when starting school.”

  “Same here. I’ve been dying to try out my new little Honda.” I smiled, thinking of the new quad dad bought me for my birthday not long ago, then started going through a list of things to pack when I got home.

  First period was over in a flash thanks to my lateness. Before I knew it I’d written an essay in English and survived another torturous day of PE. Why the heck you had to have two credits of that class to graduate, I had no clue. It did nothing for my immediate future after graduation. I figured it was the administration’s way of saying, let’s punish them all. Even as I’d never skipped a class in my life, sliding PE was often tempting.

  “Yuck! I feel so gross!” Chanel complained, wiping her arms with a damp paper towel as we left the locker room. “Ok, tomorrow we bring stuff to shower with and just cut lunch in half!

  “Sounds like a plan,” I agreed. My face was red, my hair sticking to my shoulders and back. A shower before the rest of the day wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Lunch was upon us, so we weaved out into the cafeteria to our table. Unlike most of the students at St. Arthur High, my group wasn’t really considered a “clique”. We didn’t wear sweat pants and ponytails like the jocks, nor did we carry our dogs in hot pink bags. We were “individuals” as people had come to call the cliqueless. Ashley, my blonde, pixie-like friend, was dating James, who was probably going to be the next American Idol winner (the music geeks had tried abducting him many times, but it never worked). Then there was Tansy, who I rarely saw these days thanks to the new boyfriend, and Cheyenne, and Chanel.