Aspen (12 page)

“Damn.” Mickey sets down the bags and snaps his fingers.

“That’s because Aspen-tree is on homecoming court,” Ninny squeals.

He groans, putting a bunch of kale in the refrigerator. “I thought I taught you to fight against conformists, not join them.”

I help Mickey unload the other bag. “I’m not joining anybody. But I can’t turn down the nomination.”

“Nor should she,” Ninny interjects, sitting back in a chair and putting her feet up on the table. “My baby deserves to win.”

“I don’t deserve anything. And get your feet off the table. I just cleaned it.”

“So turn it down.” Mickey puts his hands on his hips.

I look from Ninny to Mickey, like the devil and the angel sitting on my shoulders fighting about what to do. Except I’m not sure which one is the demon and which is the voice of reason.

“You know as well as I do, Mick: If you go against the tide, you’re asking to drown. I just want to get through this year alive.”

The statement hits them at the same time, like a rock to the face. Pain surfaces in their eyes. Real pain, not the pity I get at school, and I wish I could reverse time and take it back.

Ninny shakes it off first. “You’re gonna look great in a crown.”

“Just promise me you’ll both be at the football game,” I say, going back to cut more strawberries.

Ninny comes around the counter and hugs my shoulders. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Me neither.” Mickey smiles.

I keep my head down and cut, stroke after stroke. Homecoming is a moment. And then it’ll be gone. Like everything else.

And there are worse things than wearing a crown.

Later that week, Tom Ingersol congratulates me on my nomination. We’re standing at my locker, and he’s got his faux-hawk in perfect position. “I voted for you,” he says.

“Thanks, Dex,” I say and then realize my mistake.

“Who’s Dex?”

“Nobody.”

Tom gives me a sideways grin and says, “Do you have a date?”

“I do.”

He runs his hands over his slick hair. “Then I’ll see you later, locker buddy.” Tom winks at me. It should give me a good kind of butterflies, because Tom is actually really hot if you shave his head, but it just makes me slouch lower in my shoes.

On Friday, Kim and I are about to get in my car when someone yells my name across the school parking lot. We look up at the same time, and see Ben in his soccer uniform, running like a madman toward us, his cleats clomping on the ground.

“Aspen,” he says, out of breath and bending over, clutching his side. “Shit, I have a cramp.”

“Put your hands over your head,” Kim says, and Ben does it. He looks cute in his shin guards and shorts with little beads of sweat coming off his forehead. For a second, I imagine what’s under the shorts. He said he wears boxers.

“Aspen,” Ben says. That’s when I realize I’m staring at his crotch.

“Yes.” My eyes snap to his face.

“I slept through class like three times this week, and we have a test on Monday,” he says, panting, arms stretched up to the sky. “Will you study with me?” When he notices Kim raising her eyebrows at him, he qualifies, “Because we’re lab partners.”

“I don’t know. You’re not really keeping up your end of the bargain.”

“Please, I’m begging you. If I fail physics, I’ll lose my scholarship.” Ben grabs my hand. I steal another glance at his shorts.

“Let go of her hand,” Kim says, annoyed. We both look at her, our hands dropping to our sides.

I choke and squeal out, “Can you come to my house?”

“I’ll go wherever you want me to go.”

“When do you want to shop?” I ask Kim.

“Sunday. Kim Jong Uma’s got me on lockdown tomorrow. College prep.”

“Tomorrow then.”

Ben nods. “I promise, I won’t sleep as much.” He walks away, and I go to get into the car, but Kim doesn’t move. She just stands there, arms across her chest.

“What the fuck?” she says.

“What?”

“What the hell was that?”

“Ben asked me to study with him.”

“You say that like it’s normal for Ben Tyler to do that.” Kim says the words in a flat tone. I can’t tell if she’s happy or sad or mad. “Something’s going on.”

“Whatever, Jasmine.” I get in my car, and turn up the radio. Kim slides into the passenger seat. We don’t say a word as I take her home.

The next morning, Ninny and I sit at the dining room table, eating cereal. I had to endure another evening with Uncle Toaster and his smacking lips while he ate the mushroom ravioli that I cooked. At one point I asked him if he was a cow. He looked at me, confused, and said, “No, why would I be a cow?”

“You sure do like grass.” I pointed at his bloodshot eyes. “And you smack your lips like you were raised in a barn.”

At that point, Ninny sent me to my room. I didn’t mind. I had a pounding headache anyway. I fell asleep for a few hours here and there, until the sun came up.

I poke at my cereal with my spoon. “Do you love Toaster?” I ask Ninny.

“I dunno. Define it.”

“Love: an intense feeling of deep affection or romantic sexual attachment.”

Ninny scratches her head. “The second part, but minus the romance. I love the way he loves on me.”

“That’s gross.” I plop my spoon in my cereal, now finished eating. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Aspen, baby, you know I don’t put a lot of weight on emotions like that. People who believe in love and marriage and forever tend to break promises.” Ninny sits back in her chair.

“Is that what happened with Uncle Steve in Taos?”

“Taos was different.” Ninny’s eyes get serious.

“How?”

She sits back in her chair. For a moment, Ninny doesn’t answer my question, and then she says, “You want to know what I believe in? When you meet someone and you’re drawn to that person for a moment in time. But that’s it. It fades like everything else. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I’d rather spread my love.”

“I’m ready for your love to fade with Toaster.” I get up and rinse my bowl out in the sink, slightly annoyed that Ninny didn’t answer my question. She comes up behind me and wraps her arms around my waist.

“Now, the love between a mother and her child,” she says, petting my head. “That is forever.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I don’t know. It just is. Some things can’t be defined.”

I smile and lean my head back to meet hers, my annoyance fading. Her patchouli oil fills my nose, and it’s so familiar. It’s crazy how a smell can cause the world to spin differently. It can bring you back in time or move you forward or pause the moment so you can live in everything that smell means.

When Ninny was in Taos and I wasn’t sure if or when she was coming back, I curled up in her clothes every night after school and slept there. I was worried that one day the clothes would stop smelling like her and then I’d really be alone.

“But what about your parents?” I ask.

Ninny’s arms and back stiffen. “My parents are an anomaly, which can be defined as ‘assholes.’”

“Do you ever miss them?”

Ninny plays with one of my curls. “Do you want me to braid your hair today, baby?” She whispers in my ear, and I nod. Then we sit down, and she strokes my hair, separating it into two ponytails. Her soft touch on my head makes me sleepy and calm. Ninny lets out a long breath. “My mom taught me how to braid. We used to practice on my dolls. She would say every respectable girl knows how to braid.”

“You never taught me.”

“I couldn’t care less if you’re respectable.” Ninny ties a rubber band around the end of one braid. “I care that you’re you.”

“Your parents didn’t want that for you?”

Ninny doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Her hand just holds the end of my braid. The only other time she’s spoken this much about her parents is when she told me about her trust fund and the note her parents left. “My parents didn’t want a lot of things.” Her voice sounds distant and soft; then, as if snapping out of it, Ninny says, “They left. I have you. I prefer the latter. That’s all that matters.”

Ninny finishes the braid on the other side and goes into the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

“Do you ever think about them?” I ask.

“Why would I want to think about the worst moment in my life? It won’t change the fact that they’re assholes.” Ninny sips her coffee and stares down at the mug in her hand. I don’t press it further. This is one of the very few times I understand Ninny completely.

At that moment, there’s a knock at the door.

“Who’s that?” Ninny sets her mug down.

“That’s probably Ben.”

“Who’s Ben? Is he your boyfriend?”

“No,” I snap. “He’s my lab partner.”

“Is he hot?”

“Is that really appropriate?”

“When have I ever been appropriate? Do you want to make out with him?” My cheeks heat at the thought as I picture Ben’s round “I’m not a virgin” lips. “Oh, my God, you do!” Ninny yells.

“Please don’t do another cartwheel.”

“I’ve gotta see this boy.” Ninny nudges me out of the way and sprints to the front door.

“Don’t even think about it,” I yell after her, but I’m too late.

She flings open the door. “May I help you?” she asks in a mature voice that isn’t her own.

“Um, I’m here to study with Aspen,” I hear Ben say, as I hide, cringing.

Ninny takes a second, and then her voice returns to normal. “Studying, huh? I used to
study
a lot with boys. You look like you’ve
studied
with a few girls before.”

“What?” Ben’s voice is a mixture of fear and confusion.

I pull the door back and yank Ninny away. “Ninny’s kidding,” I say. “Well, not about the sex thing.”

“I thought we were talking about studying.”

“Boys and their
study
habits,” Ninny says to herself. “I bet you
study
by yourself every morning before school.” She rolls her eyes as she grabs her purse off the coat rack.

Ben walks in the door, looking half terrified, half intrigued. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mrs. Taylor.” He seems hesitant as he looks around the house, like something or someone might jump out and bite him.

“No ‘Mrs.’ Marriage is a misogynistic invention created by men who wanted to squelch the innate power of women, who had no security in their own sexuality and felt the need to control a woman’s. I am a free being, living without the constraints of a prefix to my name. Please, call me Ninny.” She holds out her hand to shake.

“Ninny, it’s nice to meet you.” Ben takes her hand, and like my mom is still in high school, she blushes.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Ben.”

“That’s enough of that.” I grab onto his backpack and yank him toward my room.

“Leave the door open!” Ninny yells after us. I turn around and squint at her. “I’m kidding. That was so unnatural. I’m heading to Shakedown Street, Aspen-tree. I’ll be back by dinner.” And then Ninny points to Ben and makes out with her hand.

“Bye, Mom,” I say through gritted teeth. Once we’re in my room, I slam the door shut. “Sorry about that.”

“Ninny,” Ben says, his eyes fixed on the door. “Now, I understand.”

“Why I’m so weird?”

“You’re not weird. You’re honest.” Ben sets his backpack on my bed and starts to wander around, picking up knick-knacks and pictures. I push down the guilt that creeps up at the word “honest.” “Did you do all these?” he asks, pointing to the Grove.

“I did.”

“Which one is your favorite?” Ben reaches out to take the one of Kim and Cass off the wall. I swat his hand away.

“That’s like asking a parent which kid they like best. I love them all equally.”

“Parents always lie.” Ben pulls on one of my braids. “They totally have favorites.” And then he winks at me. My stomach gets tight just seeing his eyelashes.

I sit down on my bed and wipe my sweaty hands on my quilt. “I will admit, every time I do a drawing, I think I like it the best, but then I hang it up with the rest and it becomes a piece of something bigger and better.”

“That’s poetic.” Ben sits next to me, his leg inches from mine. I can practically feel the heat of his body.

I grab my physics book. “Where should we start? Newton’s first law or the big bang theory?”

Ben lies back on my bed and then flips over onto his stomach, like he’s been here a million times before. He kicks off his Vans. He’s wearing white athletic socks. One has a hole in the heel.

“So do you have a date?” he asks.

“What?” I pull my eyes off his socks.

“A homecoming date.”

I flip a page of the book and pretend to look for something. “Yeah, I’m going with Cass Sawyer. You?”

Ben cradles his head in his arm. “I don’t plan on having a date to anything for a very long time.” He plays with a string coming off my quilt, wrapping it around his finger until his skin turns blue.