Little Miss Red Page 17

  “So where’s your boyfriend?” Jack shouted over the blaring salsa music as we made our way through the crowd. I guess it didn’t bother any of the old people because none of them could hear anyway.

  I rolled my eyes. “I told you—he’s not my boyfriend,” I yelled, trudging behind him.

  He stopped in front of the refreshment stand. “I’ll have a chili dog with extra onions, some cheese fries, and a grape Frosty Freez,” he said to the guy behind the counter. He turned to me. “I bet your boyfriend doesn’t eat chili dogs. Or onions.”

  I sighed and ducked as a kid who looked like a pumpkin used his grandfather’s cane to whack a golf ball. “I told you—I don’t have a boyfriend anymore. He hit the stop button.”

  “Yeah, and you wouldn’t let me push ‘play’ again,” came a voice from behind me. “What on earth are you wearing on your head?”

  I turned around to see Michael standing there in his HIP-HOP HEEB shirt with a girl who—judging from the fact that she definitely had a “booty” and was wearing a pair of leopard-print short-shorts to show it off—had to be Carmen.

  Carmen ran her fingers through her dark, curly hair with chunky blonde streaks and looked me up and down. “Wait—this is her?” she asked, snapping her gum.

  Jack crossed his arms and gave Michael the once-over. Michael crossed his arms and glared at him.

  Jack turned to me. “You’d rather be with this clown than me?”

  “I never said I wanted to be with him! I don’t want to be with anyone—I just want to be alone,” I said. Sure, the kissing and cuddling part of having a boyfriend was fun, but the other stuff that went along with it? Like, say, the human being part? I wasn’t too wild about it. I’d rather date someone I didn’t have to actually speak to. Like Dante.

  Carmen blew a bubble. “Aw, chica, you can’t just give up like that! I mean, you might not be eye candy or anything, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna end up alone for the rest of your life with cats or something nasty like that. You just gotta practice the power of positive thinking.” She walked over and fixed my hat so it wasn’t covering my eyes. “You should read that book—whatsitcalled…the one that Oprah was goin’ off on…”

  “The Secret?” Jack offered.

  Carmen turned to him and flashed him a very white smile. “Exactly!” she said with a wink.

  “That’s twelve bucks, dude,” the counter guy said, handing over Jack’s food.

  “Hey, Red, can you…?” Jack asked, trailing off.

  I was so used to paying, I automatically reached for my emergency fund, which had dwindled down to almost nothing. As I was about to hand over the cash, I thought about Nestled by Need, when Devon’s family held an intervention and sent her to codependency rehab in Arizona after they discovered she was about to harvest her eggs to pay off her Slovakian auto mechanic-slash-sculptor’s credit card debt. Would that be me in five years? No food to eat, my clothes hanging off my body—because I had given all my emergency fund money to yet another guy. Would I be standing in front of a circle of people saying, “Hi, my name is Sophie, and I’m addicted to kinda-hot guys who ride motorcycles and are way into themselves”?

  Just before Jack could grab the bills, I snatched my hand back. “Actually…no, sorry—I can’t,” I said, shoving the money in my pocket. “This money is supposed to be for emergencies, and last time I checked, a chili dog wasn’t an emergency.” The minute the words left my mouth I felt like I grew two inches and my boobs grew a cup size. For the first time in forever, I was standing up straight and not slumping.

  “But I have hunger pains,” he whined. “I’d call that an emergency.”

  “Well, I don’t,” I said, “and it’s my emergency fund.” Even my voice sounded different—deeper, like it was coming from my belly and not my head.

  Carmen reached into the pocket of her short-shorts and took out her own money. “Chica, I get the grrl power thing, but you can’t let your man starve to death,” she said as she handed it over to the counter guy.

  “He’s not my man,” I said in my new strong voice.

  Michael let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. You’re back to normal! I have to say, I was a little worried there, Sophie. I mean, I don’t want to be dating a crazy girl. Maybe it was being out in the sun that did it. You know you really should wear sunblock.” He reached over and tried to take my hat off. “Or maybe it’s the hat. Didn’t I tell you you’re not a red cowboy hat kind of girl?”

  I pushed his hands away from me. “But you’re not my man either, Michael.”

  Carmen stopped the semi-X-rated version of fry-eating she was doing for Jack’s benefit. “Oh, honey, what are you talking about? A girl needs a guy, chica.” She motioned to Michael. “Even if, you know, it’s someone like him.”

  Did a girl need a guy? Jordan had once told me there was this famous saying: A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle. I wasn’t sure if that was true, but my legs sure were tired from pedaling—especially since it felt like it had all been uphill.

  “Nope, I’m done,” I announced. “The whole guy thing is way too much trouble.”

  Jack took a big bite of his chili dog and shook his head. “My shrink would say that’s just your fear of intimacy talking, Red,” he said with his mouth full. “You can’t not make a decision—you have to pick one of us.” He walked over to the box of putters and took out two of them. “I have a great idea—we’ll decide for you. Nine holes, no do-overs. Whoever wins not only gets the free soda, but gets you,” he said, throwing a putter toward Michael, who missed it completely.

  I couldn’t believe this. “What happened to the whole stray-dog/girlfriend’s-such-an-ugly-word thing?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Maybe I finally realized what a catch you are, Red. But regardless, it’s not like I’m gonna let this clown beat me at something.”

  Of course he wasn’t. Clearly, no one was listening to me when I said I was done with guys and wanted to be alone. “So you’re going to play putt-putt to decide who gets to be with me?!” I asked. When men fought for Devon’s heart it was with yacht races or polo games in sexy, exotic locales—not a miniature golf course in humid, buggy Florida, surrounded by screaming kids and old people.

  Carmen, who was now sitting on a motorized plastic horse filing her nails, looked up. “Hey, chica, I know you say you wanna be alone, but I can tell you from personal experience, I’ve been there and it’s not fun,” she said, cracking her gum. “I was in between boyfriends for five whole days once and it was just horrible.” She motioned me over. “If you want a different class of guy, you need to rethink your look.” She pointed to my red and white polka-dotted dress. “It’s kind of, I don’t know, what a character in one of those fairy-tale stories would wear. I am, however, loving the motorcycle boots. If you want, I’ll take you to the mall, and we can use that emergency fund of yours to pick out some new stuff.” She pointed to her shorts. “They had these in a zebra print too. You have slamming legs. I bet you’d look jalapeño hot in them.”

  “Yeah, thanks. The thing is, I spent all my money on food for him,” I said, pointing at Jack.

  By the third hole, the two of them were bickering so much about the stupidest things (“You’re not allowed to switch clubs midway through the game!” Jack yelled; “Says who? The putt-putt police?!” Michael yelled back) that I was wondering whether I should hang out with Jordan’s friend Isis and see if I had any lesbian tendencies and could possibly switch to girls.

  I watched as Jack popped out from behind the volcano at the sixth hole each time Michael was about to take a swing, trying to scare him. Why was I sitting here again? “They’re acting more immature than those eight-year-olds over there,” I said to Carmen, who was sitting with me in the sandy moat surrounding the castle and painting her nails Dark as Midnight.

  She shrugged. “I read that guys don’t reach the same maturity level as girls until they’re thirty.”

  Maybe I didn’t need to become a lesbian.
Maybe I just needed to date a much older guy. Like thirty. Something told me my parents wouldn’t go for that, though.

  Carmen blew on her nails and pointed at mine. “Want me to do yours? Girl, that blue is nasty. I have some remover in my bag.”

  “Sure.” It wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

  As she painted my nails, Jack stomped over from the clown’s head at the seventh hole and, after unchaining his wallet, jammed it in my purse. “The weight of this is completely screwing up my swing. Guard it with your life, okay, Red?” he said, stomping back.

  I don’t know why he was so worried—it wasn’t like there was any money in it.

  “The two of them fighting over you like this? It’s just so romantic,” Carmen said as she painted away. “Like something out of a book.” I could tell that when she was a kid, she probably never stayed within the lines when coloring, because she was getting an awful lot of polish on my fingers.

  Carmen was right—it was like a book. But unlike the books I liked to read, it wasn’t romantic or fun. It was just…exhausting. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be so exciting,” I said.

  “It’s not?” Carmen said, confused.

  “No, it’s not. Maybe my grandmother’s right, and life’s supposed to be boring most of the time,” I said, starting to pace and smearing my wet nails on my dress in the process. “So in those moments where there is something truly exciting, you’ll know, and appreciate it that much more.” I stopped pacing and looked at Carmen. “Plus, the truth is, this whole…thing isn’t even about me. The guys may say it is, but it’s really just all about them and their dumb egos.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck finding a guy where it’s not about his ego,” she replied. She pointed to my nails again. “You want me to fix those?”

  I looked down at my hands smeared with Dark as Midnight. Who was I kidding? They looked horrible. Even if they had been painted correctly rather than looking like I had dipped my fingers in the bottle, me plus Dark as Midnight equaled…wrong. With my pale skin, it made me look like I belonged in a morgue. Maybe Lulu and Carmen could pull it off, but I was still always going to look best in pale pink. It may have been boring, but now that I had come to the realization that life in general wasn’t supposed to be a constant emotional roller-coaster ride, it didn’t really matter. Why try and fight who I really was?

  She took out a bottle of bright, sparkly purple. “We could do this one instead.”

  “Um, thanks, but I think I’ll just go without it for the time being,” I replied. “Let them just breathe.” When I reached inside my purse for a tissue, Jack’s wallet fell out. As I was putting it back in, it flipped open and I saw a folded-up hundred dollar bill. Okay, maybe it didn’t exactly flip open by itself—maybe it was more like I opened it—but still, I saw the bill.

  Jack hadn’t had any money before—just mine. Where had this come from? He couldn’t actually be a thief, could he?

  I looked over to where Michael was about to hit the ball between the hip-swaying hula dancer’s legs, his brows all mushed together like Ali’s shar-pei because he was concentrating so hard. I knew he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore, and it wasn’t like I wanted him back or anything—especially when I saw his belly shake like Jell-O when he wiped his sweaty face with the bottom of his T-shirt—but I couldn’t help but worry about his safety.

  “What’s wrong, chica?” asked Carmen. “You’re all pale.”

  I stood up. “I…think the butter on the popcorn might have been bad. I’ll be right back.”

  Weaving my way between the little kids and their grandparents, almost crashing into an old man on a motorized scooter, I made my way to the bathroom. Once I locked myself in a stall, I whipped out my iPhone to call Lulu. If anyone would know how to handle this, it was her. But as I went to push the button, I stopped myself. Who was I kidding? Lulu was nuts. And I had watched enough detective shows to figure out what to do myself.

  I could call the cops. But if I called the police, and Jack was arrested, and there was a trial and he was found guilty, what would I do if he put a hit out on my family from jail? And how would I keep Jack busy until they arrived? This was harder than I thought.

  Michael. I had to tell Michael what was going on.

  I found the guys at the last hole, and I knew that the planets had gone totally haywire.

  Jack and Michael had stopped fighting over me, and were now total BFFs.

  Mercury or whatever was definitely in retrograde.

  “Red, you didn’t tell me that Michael was going to be an intern at a record company this summer!” Jack boomed. “That’s even cooler than my buddy who won that radio contest where he got to spend a week as a roadie on the Gods of Metal tour.” He turned to Michael and punched him in the arm. “Dude, you da bomb!”

  Michael flinched and rubbed his arm. “Thanks, bro,” he said. He turned to me. “I told Jack that I want to try and hook him up with Dogz Howz so they can do a duet. Kind of a Kid Rock–redneck-meets-inner-city thing.”

  “Man, I love that idea—it’s so five minutes in the future,” Jack said. “But I prefer ‘nouveau classic rock’ rather than ‘redneck.’”

  “That’s cool,” Michael said.

  I turned to see what Carmen thought of all this, but she was nowhere to be found. “Where’s Carmen?”

  “She got bored and went to Pizza Hut with some guys from a gospel group,” Jack said. “Hey, can I have my wallet back?”

  I froze. If I said no, he’d know something was up. But the police would probably be really grateful that I was saving them time by presenting them with the evidence.

  “You still have it, right?” he asked.

  I reached into my bag and took it out. “Yup. Right here.”

  He reached out his hand to take it from me.

  “But I don’t mind holding on to it,” I said, not letting go of the wallet.

  He yanked at it. “No, it’s okay. It’s my wallet, and I should carry it. Especially since, you know, you want to be alone.”

  “It’s okay. Really,” I insisted, yanking back.

  He gave me a weird look and tugged so hard not only did I let go, but I almost fell in the process. “I don’t want to get all in your business, Red, but you might want to look at that codependency stuff.”

  I grabbed Michael by the arm and started marching him to the corner. “Will do. Can you excuse us for a second?” I yelled over my shoulder.

  “Ow,” Michael said, rubbing his arm. “What’s your problemo?”

  “My problemo is that your new BFF is a criminal,” I whispered.

  We looked over at Jack, now talking to a girl with pink hair and a nose ring who was examining his snake tattoo.

  Michael rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. Is that what happened to that chick Devon in one of your books?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, it kind of did,” I replied. It happened in Smitten by Surprise, when Devon returned to L.A. after being in New York for Fashion Week to find that not only had her old lover and her new lover become friends, but they had actually fallen in love with each other before her old lover found out that her new lover was a criminal. “But I don’t have time to sit here so you can make fun of me when we’re in danger.”

  I filled him in on the details about the break-in, the hundred dollars, everything.

  “Okay, maybe it does sound a little strange,” Michael conceded when I was done. “But I’m sure there’s a rational explanation for all of it. He seems like a really good guy. Maybe…I don’t know…the hundred-dollar bill is like, I don’t know, emergency money from his mom or something.”

  “If it’s emergency money, then why have I been paying for everything?”

  “You have? You never pay for me.”

  I rolled my eyes. When I got back to school, I was going to have to ask Mr. Dreyer, the biology teacher, if there was something in male DNA that made them all self-centered.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. I really think yo
u’re overreacting. I’m gonna go finish our game now. We’re on the last hole.”

  He was no help. “By the way—who’s winning?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.

  “I’m not sure. We stopped keeping score a while ago.”

  “But…”

  “But what?”

  “How are you going to know who gets to date me?” I asked.

  “You said you didn’t want to date either of us anyway,” he said.

  True, but it had been the point of the whole putt-putt game!

  “We’ll figure that part out later,” he said as he continued walking.

  Maybe my life wasn’t like a romance novel after all. Because in a romance novel, the two guys who were fighting for the girl would actually fight for the girl rather than trust it would all just figure itself out.

  thirteen

  After what seemed like an eternity (even though it was only ten minutes), the guys finished the last hole and it was finally time to leave. With Carmen gone, Jack and I were stuck having to drive Michael back. Not that I minded. Having Michael there made me feel safer. Plus, the idea of being alone with Jack and having to listen to him talk about himself some more wasn’t very appealing. Of course, now that he and Jack were best friends, it wasn’t like Michael was any better. Not to mention the fact that if worse came to worst, Michael would have no clue what to do in case of an emergency.

  Like, for instance, if we got a flat tire on the highway.

  “Don’t you just want to call Triple A and wait for them?” Michael said nervously after we had pulled over to the shoulder.

  Jack shook his head. “Triple A’s for amateurs,” he scoffed.

  As he opened the driver’s side door, the loud rumble of eighteen-wheeler trucks filled the air. It was already eleven at night, and the highway was deserted except for them. It was definitely creepy—like something out of a horror movie about killer trucks.

  “You know, when I was in the car with my dad recently, there was a story on the radio about how truck drivers take uppers so they can drive all night and that it’s almost as bad as if they were drunk driving,” Michael said.