Harsh Pink with Bonus Content Read online

  “I wanted tomatoes,” explains Nana.

  “Yeah.” Andrea rubs the soapy washcloth over Nana’s twisted old foot, then uses the European shower nozzle to spray it off until it’s almost clean. “Of course, the tomatoes are gone by now. But she was walking around in the garden without shoes and when I asked her if she needed help, she said she couldn’t remember where she lived.”

  “I forget things.” Nana shakes her head sadly

  “So I walked her home and then I asked if she needed help getting her feet cleaned.”

  “She’s a good foot washer,” says Nana proudly. “What’s your name, girl?”

  “Andrea,” I offer.

  Andrea tosses me a look. “Oh, you do remember my name?”

  I sort of roll my eyes. “Yeah.”

  “Well, I didn’t know how to get her into the house without making a mess. The front door was the only one open. Sorry that the floors got a little muddy.”

  “That’s okay,” I tell her. “If you have things under control here, I’ll go clean up the rest before my mom gets home.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “That’s cool,” echoes Nana, sounding like an elderly teenager. As I get out the mop and start working on the hardwood floors, I can hear the two of them in the bathroom just chatting away like they’re old friends. I don’t catch everything they say, but I can tell that Andrea is completely comfortable with Nana. And, judging by the way Nana’s talking, I can tell that she likes and trusts Andrea.

  We finish up about the same time. Just as I’m pouring the bucket of dirty mop water out, Andrea and Nana come into the kitchen. Nana has on a big smile and her nonskid moccasin slippers.

  “Andrea put lotion on my feet,” says Nana proudly.

  “Good for Andrea,” I say in a less than friendly tone.

  “Be nice,” says Nana.

  I blink and look at Nana, surprised that she picked up on that. “I’ll go clean up the bathroom,” I say, wanting an escape from this strange pair.

  “I already did,” says Andrea.

  “Oh.”

  “I told Andrea that we could have cookies and milk,” says Nana.

  “We don’t — ”

  “That’s okay,” says Andrea quickly. She gives me a wary glance. “I have to go now.” And before I can say anything, she takes off.

  “My friend,” says Nana sadly. “You weren’t nice to my friend, Reagan.”

  “Sorry,” I say. And the truth is, I really am. Still, I don’t know what to do about it. Why is everything so complicated?

  ***

  The next day things get even more complicated when Sally asks Falon about the annual fall barbecue. “Isn’t it about time we started talking about it?”

  Falon just holds up her hands. “You can talk about it all you want, but I really don’t care whether or not we have — “

  “We always have it,” protests Meredith. “It’s a tradition. It’s our time to bond together.”

  “That’s right,” says Sally. “We need to set the date.”

  “Fine,” says Falon. “Set the date. But hurry up, okay? We need to get practicing.”

  “Next week is homecoming,” says Meredith. “How about the Saturday after that?” Fortunately everyone agrees. Even Kendra, although she’s been uncharacteristically quiet today.

  “But where will we have it?” asks Sally. She looks over at Kendra as if she expects her to help out now.

  Kendra shrugs. “Well, if I wasn’t just an alternate cheerleader, I’d offer to have it at my place. But in this case, I guess I won’t.”

  Some of the girls groan in disappointment.

  “That’s too bad,” I say, hoping to show some support for Kendra, and she smiles gratefully.

  “Why don’t you have it then?” says Sally suddenly.

  “Oh, I don’t think — ”

  “Yeah,” says Meredith. “We should let one of the new girls host the barbecue.” She glances at the others and they all quickly agree.

  “Sort of an initiation,” teases Meredith.

  “I don’t think I want to host — ”

  “Then Jocelyn can do it,” says Sally.

  “No way!” demands Jocelyn.

  “Okay. Then, Reagan, you’re on,” proclaims Sally. “All in favor, say aye.” And before I can protest, everyone, including Jocelyn (little traitor) yells, “Aye!”

  I feel like I’m going to faint or maybe throw up. How on earth am I supposed to host the barbecue at my house? I think about Nana and the crazy things she’s done already this week. Or what about my mom and her tendency to go ballistic if anyone makes a mess? How can I possibly pull this off with those things to contend with? Still, it seems useless to argue, and besides, Falon is yelling at us to get in line for a new cheer. I decide to approach Falon after practice. I’ll beg her to get me off the hook. If that doesn’t work, I’ll go to Coach Anderson. And if that doesn’t work … well, maybe I’ll just quit. I mean, seriously, it’s just not worth the torture.

  I see Kendra off to the left as we practice. As usual, she’s not actually in the lineup, but I suddenly wonder if this is her big setup. Did Kendra get Sally to do this so I would be stuck hosting the stupid barbecue and get so intimidated that I’d quit cheerleading and she’d get to be back on? No, that seems impossible. For one thing, no one — well, besides Andrea — has any idea what kind of madness lives at my house. For another thing, it would’ve made much more sense to target Jocelyn, since by now I’m sure that someone on this squad must know her financial status and that she lives in a cruddy little house and would be too embarrassed to have the barbecue. In fact, I reassure myself, if all else fails, maybe I can influence Kendra to influence Sally to push this whole thing onto Jocelyn. The way she’s been acting today — all offended at me for practically nothing — almost makes me wish this on her.

  “Falon,” I say as we’re walking back to the locker room after practice, “I cannot host the barbecue at my — ”

  “I don’t really care, Reagan.” She turns and gives me a warning look. “The barbecue doesn’t really have anything to do with the squad. For all I care, we can just forget it. Tell them you don’t want to have it and — ”

  “They’ll get mad at me.”

  She shakes her head. “Like I said, I don’t care. And to be honest, I’m sick to death of the bickering and game playing. It almost makes me want to quit.” She glances over to where Kendra and several others are huddled together, talking. “But I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.” Then Falon walks off.

  Great. I consider approaching Coach Anderson, but I have a feeling she’d back Falon. And I suppose I don’t blame her. Except that this just is not fair. I look over to where Kendra and the others are still standing, and I suspect they’re talking about me now. I cannot let this go on. I’ve made such progress with Kendra these past few days and I’m not about to lose it now.

  I join them and the talking stops.

  “Hey, Reagan,” says Kendra. “What’s up?”

  “Well, this is the deal,” I begin. “I really don’t want to host the barbecue.”

  Kendra frowns and looks sincerely disappointed in me. “Why not? It’s really fun, Reagan.”

  “Fun for you, maybe. But from what I’ve heard, you’ve set the standard pretty high and I know there’s no way I can do a barbecue that will be even one-tenth as nice.”

  “Oh, Reagan.” She puts her arm around my shoulders. “You’re so sweet.”

  “Really, Kendra,” I insist, “it’s too intimidating. I can’t do it. You’re a hard act to follow.”

  “Isn’t she sweet?” Kendra says to the others, and to my amazement, they all agree. Well, except for Sally. I can tell she’s not buying it.

  “Why don’t you make Jocelyn do it?” suggests Kendra.

  “Yeah,” says Meredith. “She’s the youngest. Let’s make her do it.”

  The next thing I know — feeling like I just jumped onto a moving train — we are approaching
Jocelyn. She’s already stripped down, wrapping a towel around her, and about to head for the showers. When she sees us coming, she looks scared.

  “We decided you get to host the barbecue,” announces Meredith.

  “We voted and it was unanimous.”

  Okay, I realize that’s not completely true. But it’s not my job to set anyone straight. I keep my mouth shut, telling myself I’m only a spectator here.

  “No way!” yells Jocelyn.

  “Way!” Sally yells back and it turns into a shouting match. And cheerleaders are good at yelling. If Coach Anderson was anywhere to be seen, I’m sure she’d shut them up. I see Falon over by her locker. I can tell she’s listening, but she doesn’t interfere. I’m not sure if this is a tactic on her part or if she’s afraid. I know I wouldn’t want to get in the middle of this.

  I can tell that Jocelyn is on the verge of tears when she finally backs down. She really didn’t have a chance — she should’ve recognized that from the start. I mean, Jocelyn might be loud and have a temper, but she’s no match for these girls. She narrows her eyes and cuts loose with some surprisingly foul language. I hope Falon isn’t close enough to hear, since this is a serious infraction of the cheerleaders’ contract — but then, so was that drinking party last week. Furious, but undeniably defeated, Jocelyn stomps off to the showers and stays there for a long time. And although I feel sorry for her and I have no idea how she’s going to handle this barbecue challenge, I also feel extremely relieved. Like I missed a bullet. Unfortunately my relief is tinged with some serious guilt. I am not proud of myself.

  nine

  “YOU’RE A PIECE OF WORK, REAGAN,” SAYS JOCELYN ONCE WE’RE IN MY CAR. They’re the first words she’s spoken since the big argument. And I know her silent treatment was aimed at me, since all the other cheerleaders had long since left the locker room by the time Jocelyn emerged from the showers. I expected her to be a shriveled prune.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her as I put my car into reverse. “But it wasn’t really my fault.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I can tell she doesn’t believe me. To be fair, I don’t believe me either. “Honestly, Jocelyn,” I try “All I said was that I couldn’t host the barbecue and suddenly they were all like, ’Let’s make Jocelyn do it,’ and — ”

  “And you didn’t stand up for me. You didn’t defend me. I thought you were my friend.”

  “Just because I’m your friend doesn’t mean I have to fight your battles, Jocelyn.” Suddenly I’m angry. I mean, she’s not the only one with crud to deal with. Sure, she might be poor. But maybe being poor is better than living with an angry mom and a crazy grandma, not to mention being the new girl. She’s not saying anything now. I think she’s pouting, but I’m getting really mad. “And what about you?” I toss back. “I thought you were my friend, but just how are you doing that anyway? I’m the one who gives you rides everywhere. I’m the one who helped you when you got plastered at Kendra’s party. What kind of friend are you being to me, Jocelyn?”

  Now there’s a great long silence and I think she’s crying, but I’m so angry that I don’t really care. I mean, really, why does she get to pick on me for being a lousy friend when she’s really not doing much better? What’s fair about that?

  Finally I’m pulling up to her house and she’s opening the door and I think, Fine, just leave without saying anything — I am finished with you!

  “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “You’re right. I haven’t been a good friend. I’m sorry!” Then she shuts the door and runs up to her house. Great, now I can’t even stay mad at her.

  When I get to my house, I feel like hitting something, and I know all I have to look forward to is cleaning up Nana’s messes before Mom gets home. But to my surprise there are no messes. And Nana looks neat and clean and fully dressed as she sits in her recliner watching the country music channel.

  “Hi, Nana,” I say cautiously “What’s going on?”

  She looks up and smiles. “Nothing.”

  I walk through the kitchen. All is clean and tidy I go to the downstairs bathroom — the same. Even her bedroom is respectable. I come out and stand between her and the TV, which makes her frown. “Did you clean house?” I ask, thinking maybe it’s a miracle. Maybe whatever it is that’s been making her act so strangely the past couple of years has moved on.

  “No,” she says with a grin. “My friend was here.”

  “Your friend?”

  She gets a puzzled look. “That girl … the one I found in the garden.”

  “Andrea?”

  She points a finger in the air. “Yes! Andrea. She came to see me again today.”

  “Oh.” I move out of the way of the TV, go into the kitchen, and start poking around to see what I can fix for dinner. What is Andrea up to anyway? Does she think if she’s nice to Nana, I will suddenly want to be her friend? No one could be that crazy. I finally decide on spaghetti, shoving thoughts of both Andrea and Jocelyn from my mind.

  ***

  The next morning I don’t know what to do. Normally I give Jocelyn a ride to school, but I feel like our friendship is over and I don’t really want to go pick her up and prolong something that needs to end. I consider calling her and making some excuse, but then I come up with an easier way out. I decide to be late to school. When I don’t show up, she’ll have to walk. I know this is mean and she’ll be late for class. But then, so will I. Doesn’t that balance things out?

  I take my time fixing Nana’s breakfast. I take even more time fixing her lunch — tuna salad, which she loves. I even go ahead and change her sheets, a chore I usually put off for the end of the day. And I put a load of laundry in the washer and really scrub down the kitchen. I pause to admire our kitchen. It really is pretty cool, especially compared to our seventies condo back in Boston. I couldn’t believe it when I first saw this house. Everything was new and clean. The kitchen, with its dark cherry cabinets, granite slab countertops, and stainless-steel appliances, looked like something right out of a magazine. And we’d never had hardwood floors before. I think they look really elegant, and Mom plans to get an oriental rug for the entryway. Seriously, if it wasn’t for the Nana factor, I’d probably consider hosting a barbecue here just to help Jocelyn off the hook. Although it wouldn’t be as uptown as Kendra’s, I think I might possibly be able to pull it off with a certain amount of class.

  But as I walk through the living room, where Nana is already seated in her pink electric-lift recliner, I reconsider. There’s no way I will offer to have the barbecue here. I feel sorry for Jocelyn, but she’ll have to fend for herself. Fortunately Nana has no sense of time and has no idea that I’m running late or even that it’s a school day. My plan is to miss all of first period, which is AP History, but I’m totally caught up so I’m not worried. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I had a flat tire. In fact, that’s what I’ll tell Jocelyn too. Of course, she’ll ask why I didn’t call. I glance at my cell phone, still turned off and sitting on the breakfast bar. I’ll tell her my battery was dead. That’s easy enough.

  “Bye, Nana,” I say as I sling my new Marc Jacobs bag over my shoulder. Mom’s actually letting me use this one since she got a Kate Spade pocketbook that’s to die for. (I’ll figure out a way to borrow that later.)

  “Bye-bye, honey.” Nana wiggles her fingers in a wave, then turns back to watch the Martina McBride video.

  I get to school in time for second period, and for the rest of the day I avoid Jocelyn. Fortunately I only see her once and that’s as I’m coming into the cafeteria. She’s sitting with the JV cheerleaders, and I’m thinking that’s probably a good thing. I sit with Kendra and her friends during lunch. It’s amazing how easy it is now. It’s like they’re really accepting me. But that’s where I hear the news.

  “Jocelyn bailed on the barbecue,” says Meredith.

  “I heard that,” says Kendra, shaking her head as if she’s disappointed.

  “I knew she would,” says Sally in a vicious tone. “She’s s
uch a baby. They shouldn’t let sophomores try out for varsity. It’s just wrong.”

  Then they all go on about how girls should have to be at least juniors to be on varsity, and how it’s really Jocelyn’s fault that Kendra is still left out.

  “But how did Jocelyn get out of it?” I finally ask. Okay, I’m curious to find out how Jocelyn escaped this horrible fate just in case they decide to force it back on me now.

  “Didn’t you hear?” asks Kendra.

  I shake my head.

  “Her mother wrote a note.”

  They all laugh as if this is hysterically funny.

  “How lame is that?”

  “Totally pathetic.”

  “Poor Jocelyn,” says Kendra. “I think the stress may be getting to her.”

  I nod and act like I’m with them. But at the same time, I’m thinking the stress is getting to me.

  “Anyway …” Sally looks at me and I know something is up. “We’ve decided that you should go ahead and host the barbecue, Reagan. Are you okay with that?” She actually smiles at me like we’re good friends now.

  “And I’ll help you with the details,” announces Kendra. “I won’t be coming, of course, since I’m only an alternate. But you’re my friend, Reagan, and I can help you figure things out. Okay?”

  “I … uh … I don’t know …”

  “Come on,” says Meredith. “You’ll be fine. I saw your house and it’s brand-new and way nicer than mine.” She jabs Sally with her elbow. “And yours too, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “But, I — “

  “We’ll go shopping together,” promises Kendra. “I know this totally great party store where we can get some really cool plates and napkins and things. If you want I’ll even call my caterer and you can — ”

  “Okay!” I say suddenly, surprising even myself. “I’ll do it.”

  Sally looks shocked, like she was really hoping that I’d refuse and make everyone mad, putting me, like Jocelyn, on the outside again. But I won’t give her the pleasure.