My Big Nose and Other Natural Disasters (5 page)

I shook my hair as Zane smiled his lazy smile. "See ya, Jory." He squeezed my shoulder and walked back over to a group of just-graduated ex-seniors.

"Ooh, Jessica Milton is totally giving you the evil eye," Hannah said.

"So," Megan said. "Do we go hang out with the potheads, get drunk with the basketball team, or—"

"Meg." Hannah pouted. "We're going to have fun."

Right then Rachael Beal stumbled toward us holding out a small silver flask. "Want some? I stole it from my mom." She laughed, but it sounded like she was trying too hard. "Crème de menthe. It'll make your breath smell good. Just in case." She made a kissing sound.

"No, thanks." Megan turned around and pulled Hannah with her.

"I'll try some." I tilted the flask into my mouth. It tasted minty at first, but I gagged as liquid fire scorched my throat. "It tastes a lot better on ice cream." I coughed.

"You gotta sip it." Rachael took a big swig.

I took a few more tiny sips. It wasn't so bad. My face felt warm, but I didn't feel any better about talking to Tyler, rolling around on the ground with Dave Richards, not looking Zane in the eye, or the fact that we were standing close enough to the fire that my Super Schnozz was probably emerging from my enhancing makeup like some mythical beast.

"Tyler!" Rachael yelled. I hadn't noticed Tyler getting out of his Jeep. Rachael ran up and flung her arms around his neck. He patted her back but looked over her head. At me? I drew my hair over one shoulder and tried to look alluring in the firelight, but Tyler only nodded at me as he joined a group of new and ex-seniors passing a bong around.

Megan appeared next to me like a sudden conscience. "One bad choice is enough for tonight."

"I don't have to try the drugs or anything," I said. "We could talk. Or something."

"Oh, Carlos is over there. He's totally cool," said Hannah. "He knows my body is a temple."

Megan shot her the Look.

"Not like that. We've just talked about how I like to make healthy choices." Hannah rolled her eyes. "We
are
at a party."

"Fine." Megan walked ahead of us to the group. "But you both owe me cheese fries."

Like that's a healthy choice!

People sat around on two-by-fours stolen from the construction site. Did they use the same wood for the bonfire? Was that legal? Oh, God.
Don't be so practical. You're here. You're a new senior in high school. You're at a party. Tyler Briggs is sitting not five feet from you. The mood lighting is great, plus he's in an altered state. Oh, God. That's pathetic thinking

"Let's try to get Tyler to talk about his decorated car," Hannah said.

"No! Don't." I took off my flip-flops and squished my toes into the cool dirt.

Hannah shrugged and plunked herself down between Carlos and me. She shook her head when he offered her the bong. The rest of us did the same.

"Cool." He nodded real slow.

Tyler sat across from me, wearing Rachael Beal like a scarf. She flung one of her long skinny legs over his and wrapped one arm around his neck. Tyler sucked on the bong for a long time before passing it to Rachael. She started giggling and couldn't hold the smoke in. She leaned over and started whispering in his ear, but his expression didn't change. He merely stared straight ahead. Straight at me, but he didn't seem to be seeing me.

"You're staring." Hannah nudged me. "She's just a tease." She tilted her head as Zane Zimmerman sat down on the other side of Megan.

"Sleepy, what up?" Carlos handed Zane the bong.

He shook his head. "I gotta pee in a cup Monday."

"Casino job?" some older guy asked—one of the guys who still hangs out at high school parties years after graduation. He probably bought the keg.

"Naw, I'm helping out with the Wolfpack Junior Basketball Camp before I leave for school."

"Rugrats. Cool." Carlos nodded.

"Hey, Tyler, how come you don't have to pass a drug test to work for your daddy?" the same guy yelled. "I guess you get special treatment when Daddy's the big boss."

Tyler focused a hard stare on the guy.

"I'm not working for my father." He stood up so fast that Rachael lost her balance and fell over backward. Tyler left her there and walked toward his Jeep; Rachael jumped up and followed him.

"Wait for me, Tyler," she whined. They both got into his car.

Tyler ground his gears, made a sharp, dirt-spraying turn, and sped down the hill too fast. Was he okay to drive? He seemed pretty wasted. And what the hell was Rachael Beal going to do with him,
to
him?

"Touchy!" the older guy said. "I tried to work for his daddy but couldn't pass the drug test. The Atlantis sucks anyway. But those casino jobs pay good." The guy laughed. "God, I miss high school."

I'd never been so happy about Hannah's curfew. We had spent the last forty-five minutes listening to people debate the merits of crunchy versus puffy Cheetos. Zane had left with Jessica Milton in his shiny new truck, taking the music with him. My makeup started feeling itchy, and a breeze pushed smoke from the dying bonfire over us.

"That was kinda fun," Hannah said as we inched down the steep hill.

"I can't wait to get to college," Megan said. "I'm
so
done with high school."

"Do you think he, like, actually
likes
her?" I stopped to pick a pebble from between my toes. "It's not like she's gorgeous or anything. Is she? And she's kind of dumb and he really cares about his grades, doesn't he, Meg?"

"Ahh, Jory. He was pissed, stoned, and she was drunk. Do the math," Megan said.

"That was kinda weird." Hannah stopped. "He completely freaked about his dad."

"
Serious
father issues," Megan said.

"Maybe he just needs an understanding girlfriend." I imagined how we'd drive back to Caughlin Ranch in his Jeep, walk along the path to the pond, and watch the swans float around in the moonlight. I'd listen as he talked about his dad; he'd listen as I talked about Mom. Then we'd kiss. And he'd walk me home.

"You've
got
to find something to do with your life," Megan said.

"Remember, this is the summer for finding our passions," Hannah said.

"In the creative sense of the word," Megan and I said at the same time.

"Actually, I have a plan," I added. "You just wait."

For the millionth time, I stifled a yawn as I swung the heavy van door shut. I might have to start drinking coffee. The fact that my bike was my only transportation to work only made it worse. I had shown up for my first day with my hair all wild from blowing out behind me as I cruised downhill. Stinky sweat marks darkened my shirt's armpits, and now I looked completely bored, or lazy, yawning all the time. Great first impression, Jory.

By seven o'clock, we'd filled the racks in the van with pies and cakes for the Monday-morning casino deliveries. With the frosting smell and the humongous flowers painted all over the van, it was like driving the entire cake and flower shop around town. Pretty embarrassing.

"If you don't mind, I'll drive," Katie said. "That way you can take notes." She handed me a yellow notebook. "Write down the address and the order. I've been doing this for so long that I've got it memorized."

She pulled the long skinny gearshift to reverse. I kind of grimaced; Mom's minivan was an automatic. I'd never
technically
learned to drive a stick after that slightly disastrous experience in driver's ed. Smoke. Melted gears. I made Kyle Cartwright swear never to tell anyone. And no one ever saw car #647 again. I'd obviously have to practice. By tomorrow.

"How is this going to work if you won't even pay attention?" Katie asked.

"I'm listening. I swear."

"Well, write it down. The Fitzgerald takes sixteen pies: four apple, four lemon meringue, four chocolate cream, and four berry pies." Katie pulled into the service entrance. "You can park here, but you have to be fast."

I helped Katie pull her delivery cart out of the van, loaded the pies, and wheeled them through the casino. Some drunk guy who'd obviously been playing video poker all night staggered past us and said, "Won't you give me some pie, honey?" He laughed—lots of missing teeth.

"Ignore the riffraff," Katie said.

Katie introduced me to the food-service manager, an older Chinese man who nodded a lot and showed me how to write a receipt, and then we moved on. Next stop: the Sands. We delivered a dozen pies to the buffet place and followed that up by dropping off six small plain white wedding cakes to the casino wedding chapel.

"Any changes to tomorrow's flower order?" Katie asked.

"Naw. Some gal asked for three dozen roses in three different shades of pink, and I told her she'd have to sober up and drive back to California and find a wedding planner for that one." The lady laughed. "She ordered your Forever Bouquet for nineteen ninety-five instead."

Two hours later, we'd restocked the van three times and I'd filled up several pages in the notebook. I glanced at my watch. Only an hour until lunch break. I was going to hate Mondays, and Wednesdays, and Fridays. My head ached with the smell of stale cigarette smoke, crazy casino carpets, and the names of more wedding chapels than I even knew existed in Reno: Beautiful Beginnings, Agape Love, Antique Angel, Candlelight, Celebration, Chapel of Bells, Heart of Reno, Silver Bells, Starlight, Strawberry Fields, White Lace and Promises, Drunk Night O' Passion. Okay, I made up that last one.

"Now we check the flower orders for today." Katie held the shop door open for me. I breathed in the sweet scent of roses and frosting; Katie found another notebook over by the cash register.

"Two baby bouquets at St. Mary's, and a birthday bouquet in the Northwest. Not bad." Katie looked me in the eye. "You think you can handle these on your own?"

I nodded as she told me how to go to the front desk in the hospital lobby.

I waited until Katie had gone into the kitchen and started making noise with her mixer—didn't want her to hear me grinding the gears—before grabbing the keys and running down the front steps.

"Let's just get this over with." I hopped onto the front seat. Nice and springy. Sliding the gear into neutral, I peeked at the secret notes I'd taken while watching Katie drive. I turned the key, pressed my foot onto the clutch pedal, latched my seat belt, and moved the gearshift into first. Or what looked like first. So far, so good. I eased my foot off the clutch as I pressed on the gas.
Lurch!
The van died. I did it all again, a little bit slower. The van eased forward. I drove away from the shop going about ten miles an hour. I didn't want to risk having Katie watch me.

I tried shifting to second as I drove down Vine Street, but the van died again. Oh, God. I couldn't ruin another car by shifting wrong. I glanced at my watch: 11:45
a.m.
Megan had mentioned something about meeting for lunch since she worked so close. Maybe she could teach me to drive a stick? Then I could make the deliveries. After all, the ladies with babies probably wouldn't be going anywhere, and the birthday person would have to work until at least five. There must be a law or something about having to give your employee a lunch break, right? I pulled the van over to the side of the road, got out, and ran to the path along the river. I huffed and puffed all the way to the U.S. Attorneys' office, right across the street from good old Reno High.

Megan pushed through the front doors right as I arrived all sweaty, wiping mascara smudges from under my eyes. Not a great idea to go running in eighty-five-degree weather at noon.

"Meg!" I breathed.

"What's wrong?" She rushed over to me. "Are you okay? You look all red."

"I need you to teach me—" I looked up to see Tyler Briggs standing next to Megan. Wearing those khaki pants and a blue shirt with a tie. What was he doing here? Did he get arrested for a DUI? He smiled and said, "Hey, Jory."

Megan shrugged. "Guess who's interning with me? Isn't that funny?"

I felt dizzy. "That's great."

"Why don't you sit down," Megan said.

"I'll grab you a water," Tyler said, running back up the steps.

Once he was gone, I turned to Megan. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just found out. He missed orientation. We're totally having fun, even though we're stuck in this refrigerator of an office with no windows, making copies." Megan smiled. "He's kind of a nice guy, actually."

Oh, no, you don't! He's
mine.
I've been pining for twelve months, eleven days, and about six hours.

"So he's no longer immature?" I smoothed my hair.

"Relax, Jory," she said. "I'm saving myself for college. No distractions."

Tyler arrived with a cold bottle of water. "It's one of our perks. Cold water for the kids working in the freezer."

Megan laughed like he was hilarious. Right, saving herself.

"Hey, let's all go to lunch. I'll drive." Tyler jiggled his keys.

"Actually," I said, "can I drive? Or rather, can you teach me to drive a stick?" My face felt hot again; at least I was already red. I put the bottle of water against my cheek. "I'm kind of having trouble."

Tyler drove us over to Vine Street.

"Thanks, Tyler." I stood by the now extra-embarrassing flower-covered van. "There are only two seats. The rest of it is all set up for the cakes and pies and stuff."

"If Tyler is cool with it"—Megan smiled at me—"I'll drive over and get us subs for lunch while he teaches you."

"I trust you, Chill Pill." Tyler tossed his keys to Megan. "Get me an Italian with everything, a bag of Doritos, and a surprisingly chilly Coke." He and Megan laughed again. I grimaced at the likelihood of a whole summer of private jokes between them.

"You know what I like," I said. "No onions." I felt relieved not to have to eat another PB&J. Day 2 of the Peanut Butter Diet. Peanut butter on toast for breakfast, PB&Js for lunch, Chinese chicken salad with peanut butter dressing for dinner. Peanut butter mixed with vanilla yogurt for dessert.

Megan gave me the Look. Just like Mom. But I couldn't really feel too irritated since she had figured out a way for me to get some Tyler time. Alone. (Yet, unfortunately, involving driving.)