Sealed With a Kiss Read online

  “Connor Forrester?! I know he’s your celebrity crush, too, but I have to say I think he’s totally gross,” I said. Teen People may have just named him one of the Most Beautiful Teens in the world, along with his BFF Austin Mackenzie (Laurel’s celebrity crush), but as far as I was concerned, any cuteness he had was completely erased by the fact that he once ate a worm on camera. According to the gossip blogs, because he was all into being as real as possible in his acting, it was a real worm, not a gummi one.

  Before I could ask Beatrice if she thought that Cristina had kissed a boy yet, Beatrice’s mother Marsha stuck her head in the door. (I’m sorry—while I was willing to put a little effort into finding a crush, I could not promise that I’d be willing to then kiss the crush. Especially after hearing that when Beatrice kissed Eli that one time his braces got caught on her bottom lip and it started bleeding. ) Like Beatrice, her mom had a short black bob and was usually dressed all in black. Except for the rims of her glasses—they were bright red. “The Korean food is here, girls,” she announced.

  Like Mom, Marsha was a writer, but she wrote plays. Unlike Mom, she finished the stuff she wrote and, according to Beatrice, was pretty famous in New York. Which is why she and Nicole, Beatrice’s other mother, were always going out to dinner parties. Which meant Beatrice and her brother, Blair, got to eat a lot of takeout. I, however, had to suffer through Mom’s attempts to cook all the recipes in some woman named Julia Child’s cookbook after Mom saw a movie about another woman who did that.

  “Now, Beatrice,” she said, pronouncing it Bee-a-treech-ay , which, according to Beatrice, was the correct Italian way to say it, even though she was Jewish and not Italian. “Blair’s in charge tonight while we’re out, so I want you to listen to him.”

  Apparently this Bee-a-treech-ay person was a character in a famous Italian poem. Like wearing a lot of black, naming your kids after famous characters in literature was also a very New York thing to do. (There were two Holdens in our class—named after this kid Holden Caulfield from a famous book called The Catcher in the Rye.) According to Mom, it was a very pretentious thing to do. At least that’s what it sounded like she said when I was overlistening to her on the phone with her BFF Deanna a few weeks earlier. Mom says that my eavesdropping is a horrible habit. I say it’s not eavesdropping. It’s overlistening. There’s a difference. And it’s not like I can help it if I have excellent hearing. Plus, most parents would be thrilled that their child was paying attention to what they were saying, even if what was being said was technically not supposed to be heard.

  Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Why can’t I be in charge some of the time?”

  “Because he’s older,” her mom said.

  “Only by nine months!” Beatrice cried. “Plus, everyone knows that girls are more mature than boys.” I hadn’t met Blair yet, but from everything Beatrice had told me, he sounded just awful. She said he picked his toenails on the couch when they were watching TV, and his room smelled like someone had hidden open milk cartons under dirty socks. The reason they were so close in age was because Nicole had given birth to Blair, and Marsha had given birth to Beatrice. They were technically half brother and sister because Nicole and Marsha’s gay friend Bruce was their dad.

  Just then a boy with light brown hair and black-rimmed glasses wearing a faded black T-shirt with a picture of Albert Einstein sticking out his tongue popped his head into the doorframe. “Does that mean that if I tell her to clean my room, she has to do it?” he asked.

  Blair pretty much looked exactly like Beatrice had described him: a little tubby, kind of a big nose, a few stains on his T-shirt. To some girls—okay, probably most girls—he wouldn’t have been considered all that cute. In fact, he probably would’ve been considered sort of gross. And yet . . . there was something about him. Maybe it was because he wasn’t so cute that you could imagine a ton of girls liking him, therefore giving you lots of competition; and yet, on the other hand, he wasn’t so ugly that the only way you’d understand someone being interested in him was if that person was legally blind. Or perhaps it was because, as I watched him chug orange juice straight from the carton, instead of getting grossed out like I usually did when someone did that, it didn’t bother me. As I listened to the glunk-glunk-glunk sound he made (also something that I normally would find disgusting, but this time did not), I started to think that maybe Blair Lerner-Moskovitz could be my local crush. At least until someone better came along.

  “I wouldn’t go in your room for a million dollars,” Beatrice said. “It’s so disgusting there are probably rats living in there.” Uh-oh. I wasn’t sure I could have a crush on someone who was really dirty. I mean, I was unorganized, and messy in a not-really-seeing-a-point-to-putting-your-clothes-away-in-drawers-if-you-were-just-going-to-take-them-out-eventually-and-wear-them-again way, but I wasn’t dirty.

  “Shut up, Dogbreath,” he replied. “I’ll have you know that they did this study, and it turns out that almost every genius in history had a messy room. It’s part of being a creative person.” Huh. I liked the way he put that. I could definitely have a crush on someone who made messiness seem like a good thing. Not to mention that my crush had to be smart, and if he read studies about geniuses, he was definitely on the smart side. He pointed at me. “So are you Laurel Moses’s stepsister?” he demanded.

  I sighed. I might as well have just officially changed my name from Lucy Beth Parker to Lucy Beth Parker, Laurel Moses’s Stepsister-to-Be, because that’s how everyone in the world referred to me. Even Mr. Kim at the deli, and he barely spoke English. It had gotten so annoying at school that I was seriously considering getting little business cards made up that said “For information about what Laurel Moses is like, please visit her website and STOP ASKING ME.”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Well, I mean, not yet, but I will be. After my mom marries her dad. But according to my mom, there’s no hurry,” I babbled. “Especially since they can’t seem to decide on a place to get married, because my mom wants to do it somewhere nature-like and Alan—Laurel’s father—is afraid of bugs.”

  Huch. I was ovesharing. Was that a sign of a crush? Then again, I had overshared to the pizza delivery guy the week before, when, as I was paying him, I noticed that you could totally see the box of Stayfree maxipads peeking out of the Duane Reade bag next to the door. And because I didn’t want him to think they were mine, I said, “Oh—by the way, in case you think those maxipads are mine, they’re not. They’re for Aunt Flo” Which was actually a really clever thing to say, because just the week before I had learned that Aunt Flo was a synonym for getting your period. And I definitely did not have a crush on the pizza guy.

  “So, yes, she will be my stepsister . . . eventually . . . I just don’t know . . . when,” I trailed off. I bit the inside of my cheek to shut myself up. “Ow!” I cried out.

  He gave a very loud, very long burp. Could I have a crush on a guy who burped like that? I guess burping wasn’t that bad. As long as he didn’t do really disgusting things like fart “Oh! Susannah” with his armpit. That’s the kind of thing where I’d really have to do draw the line. “Well, see ya,” he said, walking away.

  “ Now do you see why I hate him so much?” Beatrice asked, going back to her e-mail.

  I shrugged. “He doesn’t seem so bad,” I said, focusing on the laces of my purple Chuck Taylors. My collection was now up to ten pairs, but I tended to wear the purple ones the most because purple is my is my favorite color. “Actually. I was thinking . . . I might have a crush on him.”

  She looked up from the computer screen and snorted. “I know you’re always saying you’d never want to be an actress like Laurel, but that was really good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The way you said that—it sounded like you actually meant it. I mean, only a total loser would have a crush on my brother. Could you imagine? The idea of that . . . c’est fou!” C’est fou was French for “that’s crazy.”

  As Beatrice went back to analyz
ing whether the “Talk to you soon” in Eli’s latest e-mail meant that he would call her, or she should call him, or they’d iChat at some point, I stood up. “I should get going,” I said. I really needed some advice about this crush stuff—especially the part about Beatrice thinking I was nuts for having one on her brother. My mother had been totally ignoring me ever since the move to New York, but if I told her I really needed to talk to her, she’d listen. And it wasn’t like I was going to tell her what was really going on. That would’ve been way too embarrassing. Instead, I was going to do the whole “Okay, so I have this friend . . .” thing.

  With the move to New York, and living with a superstar, and my mom ignoring me, and my dad about to have a baby, and having to get a new bra every six weeks because my boobs would not stop growing, and not having my period yet, sixth grade had already been hard enough. But now, having to find a crush that my BFF thought was acceptable? Jeez. How much could a girl take? I thought as I rode up in the elevator.

  Unfortunately, when I got back to my apartment, Mom was drinking tea at the kitchen table with venus, her new friend from 2F who was really weird. Not only did she not capitalize the “v” of her name, but she didn’t use capitals ever, not even in any of the seven books of poetry she had written (“I’m all about trying to express the idea that we are all equal, so why would I make any one letter more important than another?” she explained when I asked her why).

  According to Mom, they were the same age (forty-seven), but venus looked way older, while Mom looked way younger. I think it was because Mom wore regular clothes like jeans and T-shirts with her brown shoulder-length hair either hanging down or in a little ponytail, whereas venus wore these bizarre flowy nightgown-looking things with her curly red hair up in a huge bun with chopstick things hanging out of it. According to Mom, she was “flamboyant, but harmless.” At least that’s what she had said to Alan a few weeks before as I was overlistening from the doorway of my room.

  “Hi, honey!” Mom said as I walked in.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hello, Lucy,” venus said in such a soft voice I could barely hear her. That was the way she talked all the time. One time I made the mistake of asking her if she had laryngitis, and she said, “Why should I yell to be heard in this world? I have trust in the universe that those who are supposed to hear me will hear me.”

  “Why don’t you come sit with us for a while? It’ll be some nice quality time,” Mom said.

  I didn’t want quality time with my mother and her nightgown-wearing, capital-hating friend—I wanted quality time with my mom alone. “Um, actually . . . I’m going to go . . . double-check my mixed-fractions homework,” I lied. “But after you guys are done, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

  “Honey, is everything all right?” Mom said.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine.” Actually, it wasn’t. During the elevator ride up, I had decided that I was going to keep Blair as my local crush, even if Beatrice thought I was crazy, which meant I was either going to have to (a) convince her that she was wrong or (b) lie to her, neither of which I was too psyched about doing.

  Mom gasped. “Oh my God—did you get your period?!” She turned to venus. “She’s just dying to get her period.”

  “Mom!” I yelled. I could not believe how embarrassing she was.

  “Don’t you remember being her age and feeling that way?” she continued, to venus, completely ignoring me. “Is that not the cutest?”

  “Mom! Enough!” I yelled louder. venus flinched. “I didn’t get my period, okay?” If she told venus about the fact that I used my allowance to buy maxi- and minipads so that when I did get it, I’d be prepared, I was seriously going to move back to Northampton.

  Just then Alan walked in. Of course he did. Because I couldn’t have one of those lives where embarrassing things happened once in a while. I had to have one of those lives where embarrassing things happened EVERY DAY. “You got your period?” he asked nervously. “Already? Isn’t that on the young side? You’re not even thirteen yet. That’s when Laurel got hers.” I couldn’t believe it. Not only were they embarrassing me—they were embarrassing Laurel, who wasn’t even there to defend herself!

  “I did not get my period, okay?” I said. “Now I’m going to my room.”

  While I waited for Mom to come see me, I took out my metallic Magic Markers to make the title page of the new crush log fancy. I even went into Laurel’s bathroom and borrowed one of her bajillion lipsticks (makeup companies were always sending her free stuff because she was a star) so I could make some smooch marks on it. After what seemed like forever, I heard venus leave and hid the log in my nightstand drawer so Mom wouldn’t see it when she came in. After what had just happened, there was no way I was letting her know about that. With my luck, she’d announce it in her Pilates class to everyone on the Upper West Side.

  Finally, Mom popped her head in the door. “Good night, honey.” She yawned. “I’m exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

  I couldn’t believe she was ignoring me again! “Don’t you remember I told you there was something I wanted to talk to you about?”

  “Right! Yes! I’m so sorry, sweetie.” She came in and flopped down on my bed. “What is it?”

  She expected me to tell her after that? “Just forget it,” I snapped.

  “Lucy, I said I was sorry. My brain is just fried today. So tell me what’s going on.”

  “Nothing. Forget it. I’ll just figure it out myself. It’s no big deal,” I replied. I gave the biggest yawn I could. “I’m really tired, too, all of a sudden.” I got off the bed and yanked her up and shoved her toward the door. “Good night. See you in the morning,” I said, pushing her out and closing the door behind me.

  So much for thinking I could actually depend on my mother to help me out.

  chapter 2

  Dear Dr. Maude,

  I know I just wrote to you the other day, but the reason I’m writing again is because things have gotten a lot worse. Remember I told you that my mom is kind of ignoring me? Well, you can take out the “kind of” part. Now she’s ignoring me BIG TIME. Like the other night, I told her I needed to talk to her about something, and then, when she came in to say good night to me, she had completely forgotten.

  So that’s one of the things I need some advice about. The other is the issue of crushes. According to Beatrice, I need to get a crush because if I don’t have one then people might think I’m weird. In fact, that’s one of the reasons why my ex-BFFs Rachel and Missy dumped me. You’re actually supposed to have three crushes—a local one, a long-distance /vacation one, and a celebrity one—but honestly I’d be happy with just one. And I found one, I think: Blair Lemer-Moskovitz, Beatrice’s brother. But here’s my problem: I haven’t told Beatrice, even though we’re BFFs and that’s exactly the kind of stuff you discuss with a BFF. I tried to tell her, but she thought I was kidding because she thinks the idea that anyone would like her brother is crazy.

  Okay, maybe he’s not Connor Forrester kind of cute. (You know who he is, right? That fourteen-year-old actor who played the brother in that movie And Monkey Makes Four about the family that adopts the chimp?) But he’s not AWFUL-looking. And he’s creative. And he seems smart, which is a very important quality for a person you’re crushing on to have. Obviously, I’ll have to get to know him a little better, but as I looked around my classroom today, there aren’t a lot of good crush candidates to choose from. Either they pick their nose (Sam Rothenberg) or they rock back and forth in their chair a lot (Charlie Bivins) or they compare everything to a video game (Theo Morgan). And the semi-decent ones are already taken by my friends: Max Rummel (Alice) and Chris Linn (Beatrice).

  I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want my BFF to think I have horrible taste in boys, but it feels weird to be hiding this from her. This boy stuff is all totally new to me. I’m going to ask Laurel for some advice, too, but it’s not like she has all that much experience with regular-kid stuff
other than when she plays one on her TV show.

  yours truly,

  LUCY B. PARKER

  P.S. Please—if you see BLM in the elevator, DO NOT—I repeat—DO NOT tell him I have a crush on him. Thank you.

  P.P.S. BLM = Blair Lerner-Moskovitz

  P.P.P.S. Do you think having a crush could possibly bring on my period?

  When Alan had first brought up the whole IBS idea, I thought it was pretty dumb, but I was glad for mine and Laurel’s on Sunday, because it gave me the chance to talk to her about Blair. When Mom and I moved in, Alan insisted we start having official Parker-Moses Family Meetings on a weekly basis. And during one of our first official Parker-Moses Family Meetings, the first thing on the typed agenda (like Laurel, Alan was super-organized) was Individual Bonding Sessions. Alan said that in order for us to be a happy blended family (instead of the kind of blended family like Marissa’s, where there were lots of slamming doors and everyone had to go to therapy), we would all have Individual Bonding Sessions, or IBS, with the other people in the family. (“IBS? Isn’t that what Grandma Maureen has where her stomach is all screwed up and she goes to the bathroom a lot?” I had asked. Mom said that that IBS stood for irritable bowel syndrome.)

  Mom and Laurel were both nature lovers (can you say b-o-r-i-n-g?), so their IBS was usually a walk through Riverside or Fort Tryon Park. For Alan and me, our IBS was usually spent at the Apple Store because (a) even though he was a guy and should have been good with computers, he was always managing to do something to his MacBook and iPhone that the people at the Genius Bar had to fix and (b) I desperately wanted an iTouch and an IBS gave me the opportunity to tell him all the reasons why it was important that I get one (“Because it’s so easy to read, I’ll save you and Mom a lot of money on glasses because I won’t be squinting to read the screen!”).