Perfectly Ridiculous (7 page)

“That's unfortunate, but Daisy, you understand I'll have a hundred children here this week. They have to be my first priority.”

“Naturally, but Libby, I think you'd be surprised how well the guys and I could work together, and we might change your mind about mixed teams. You might see an advantage to them.”

“I doubt that.”

“My parents can come stay and chaperone if you're worried about that.” I regret this the second it pops out of my mouth.

“There's no room for your parents, Daisy. That's why they left in the first place.”

“Not even out in the classroom?”

“No.”

Feeling more desperate, I start to panic. “Leo, you're not going to be overcome by passion for me while you translate, am I right? Couldn't I just sleep on the porch?”

Leo laughs. “You're a beautiful girl, but we're here to work.”

“Do you see?” Libby says. “He acknowledges you're beautiful, and the fact that he notices renders you useless.”

“He was being polite!” I counter. He's so out of my league, can't she see that? If not, I suggest she get thee to an optometrist. “I need this, and I'm good with kids, Libby. I'll be too busy to think about guys. What can I do to prove it to you?”

She stares at me, her beady eyes calculating all that I'm capable of doing with my pure animal magnetism. Ha!

“Every summer these kids rifle in here for the free food and plastic toys at the end of the day, and we've got that one chance to hit 'em with the gospel. I don't want the leaders being sidetracked by any Latino love moves, you got it?”

“We want the same thing!” I say. And to their credit, the guys nod. I'm just praying no one announces they wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole. That's a truth I can do without, even if it does spare me my scholarship.

She invades each guy's space and looks directly into their eyes, mere inches from their noses. “Do any of you have divinity school experience?”

Leo, the vampire, nods. “We're all in theology school. We're all about self-control, Libby. I assure you.”

“Then I suppose I have no choice but to trust you, but Daisy, if you want to stay, you need your mother or another female here. I'll be too busy to keep an eye on you, and I'm not going to risk my funding by running a Christian dating service by night.”

“Can't I just stay in the house like I did last night?” I ask. “I can't cause any trouble that way, right?”

“I'm sorry, did I stutter?” Libby asks me. “My husband doesn't want to sleep in the car again.”

“Your husband?”

“Everybody decent?” Hank, the man who drove my parents to town, sticks his head in the house.

“You're married?”

“That's my husband, Hank.”

Hank is a middle-aged man, wide in girth, with a baggy face and a permanent look of worry. I imagine that comes from being married to Libby.

I reach out my hand. “It's nice to meet you. I'm Daisy. Thanks so much for taking my parents to the hotel last night. I had no idea I put you out. I'm so sorry.”

“It's no problem, sweetheart. I'm only glad we had a place to put you. Your parents sure are proud of you. A full-ride scholarship. That is really something!”

“She can't have her scholarship if she doesn't complete this mission trip,” Leo, my vampire hero, says.

“Good thing you're here then.”

I run to the stove to check the oatmeal and turn off the heat. The last thing I need to do is come between Libby and Hank and then, on top of it, burn the oatmeal.

“Hank, Daisy is the only girl on this crew. You know we have no place to house her.”

“I'll call my best friend. The two of us can sleep in Hank's car!” I offer, thinking there is probably no chance of Claire checking out of her luxury suite to sleep in a car in the barrio. But I'm desperate.

Libby puts a finger to her chin. “That would work. You know how to reach her?”

“I just have to put a call in at her hotel. She can most likely be here by the end of the day.”

And at the same time, we might want to look out for the pigs flying by.

J.C. appears behind Hank in the doorway. “Brrr. Anyone mind if I come in? That classroom is freezing out there. Should I get a fire going?”

“There's no wood for the day,” Libby says. “When the kids are here tomorrow, the room will be warm enough from body heat. Daisy, are you watching the oats?”

“I just turned off the heat and stirred them again.”

“That's tomorrow. I'm cold now,” J.C. says.

“You American kids. All you do is complain. When you see how the kids down here have it, you'll sing a different tune. Put on a sweater.”

J.C. opens his mouth—I assume to explain his ministry background—but he shuts it quickly. I think that was the right move. Libby is one of those people who doesn't invite freedom of expression easily.

“May I use the phone to call my friend and see if she can stay?'

“Hank, how do you feel about the girls in your car?”

“Well, terrible. I don't want them to sleep in the car. I can sleep out there. It's only a week.”

“No, I want these kids to learn what sacrifice is, and I think it's important that things aren't always done to make their life easier. We have rules here at the mission and they're always the same rules. I can't go changing them because my college roommate's daughter is here.”

I stammer a bit and then stand back and point to the phone. “I need to run up to my backpack and get her number.”

“You can do that after breakfast. Let's get breakfast cleared up and get on to the day's planning. J.C., I suppose you'll have to lead with the translators, seeing as how we didn't get enough women. I suppose that means you're on cook duty, Daisy.”

“Cook duty?”
Have mercy.
I came down to help, not harm. The one time I could really use my parents' help, they are nowhere to be found, and Claire's experience is relegated to calling for takeout. Not that she's going to agree to this fiasco. But one can hope. And pray.

“This may be the only meal those kids get today. It's important work.”

“No, I know, I just—” Can't . . . cook.

“Everything is simple enough, you'll be fine. Boys, eat up, we need to get out to the classroom. We're going to have five stations set up when the rest of the local students get here.”

“Are they women?”

“It doesn't matter, Daisy, they don't spend the night.”

“Maybe I—” I shut my mouth at her expression.

“If we run low on translators, the craft station is the easiest to explain without words.” Libby opens a cabinet and pulls down six wooden bowls, then she opens a drawer and takes out mix-and-match spoons. She places them on the table. “You, the tall one—”

“Oscar,” he says.

“Oscar, I want you as a witness to what I'm about to say to all of the volunteers this season, and I'll repeat myself, but I run a tight ship.”

“I can see that,” Oscar says.

“Serve up the oatmeal, Daisy. We have a long day ahead of us.”

Some of us longer than others. I pick up the giant spoon and begin serving the bowls of what I imagine to be crunchy oatmeal. Or maybe just chewy, like wet sawdust. Either way, I think this group of boy band members is not going to be bowled over by my culinary skills, nor excited about a week of eating my cooking, but it's a job that fulfills my requirements and that's all that matters. Now I just have to get Claire or my mother to have mercy on me and join me as Cinderella.

Libby clears her throat. “As you can see, we will probably be shorthanded this week. That means that I expect everyone to pull their own weight, and if you're here for any type of school or community service credit”—she looks right at me when she says this—“I am not a pushover when it comes to signing paperwork. If you want the credit necessary for school, you will do the work, and you will do it to my specifications. Is that clear?”

“She ain't kidding,” Hank adds.

She rambles on for some time, and we sit down to eat while she takes Oscar out to the classroom building to get something down for her. I breathe a sigh of relief just by her leaving the room—the air suddenly feels lighter. Hank follows her outside.

“She's a piece of work,” J.C. whispers in my ear.

“Shh. She's probably got the place bugged.”

“Did you ever hear from your date?”

I shake my head. “It seems coming to Buenos Aires may have been a bad idea all around. I should have stayed home and worked in my church's food bank. Not only could I have been dumped stateside, but it seems I could have gotten my college credits a lot easier too.”

J.C. puts his arm around me. “It will be over before you know it, and we'll be learning to surf in Malibu. Because you know we're just spoiled Americans, might as well live up to our stereotype.”

J.C. makes me smile. He hears Libby's voice and drops his arm immediately.

“I hope Max is all right. It's not like him to just disappear without a word.” But maybe it is and I haven't faced reality. Maybe I'm meant to be single for the rest of my life, and this is the time to face it so I can concentrate on the life God has for me.

“Really?” J.C. says as if he doesn't believe me, and for a moment I have to wonder.

“I didn't think so. He picked my parents and me up at the airport.”

“That was seen.”

“Pardon?”

“When people do nice things and it's only stuff that's seen by others? You have to wonder if that's who they really are or if this is who he really is.”

“I'm not following.”

“My mom's a psychologist, so she talks about this stuff all the time. Maybe Max is really a jerk, but he doesn't want your parents to think that, so he acts right when they're around. Any reason he needs to impress them?”

“Not in the least.”

J.C. shrugs. “So maybe I'm wrong. All I can say is that I wouldn't do that to a girl I liked. Maybe to a girl I was trying to lose, but not to a girl I liked.”

“So what does that say about you and your girlfriend? Aren't you going to Pepperdine when she's going to ASU? Are you trying to lose her?”

“No comment, as I fear it might get a cereal bowl thrown at me.”

I pick up my bowl of flavorless oatmeal and put it on the table. If this mission trip's aim was to make me feel useless, worthless, and humbled, I think my work is done here. And it hasn't even begun.

 7 

My Life: Stop—July 7

Factoid: My internship is “illegal,” or unregistered, as they call it here. To work legally, I needed to have temporary residence, but because of the short time frame, I was assured this wouldn't be necessary. Well, that and the fact that there's no pay, so what's to quibble about, right?

I've never worked so hard to stay on a vacation in my life, and I'm not even wanting to be on this vacation. My mother's college roommate is a piece of work. Even as I write this, I'm afraid she's looking over my shoulder and looking for an excuse to send me packing.

I left a guilt-ridden (worthy of my mother!) and pleading message for Claire at her hotel, but no doubt she was off learning the tango with some of Argentina's sexiest teenagers and then soothing her tired muscles with a hot rock massage back at the hotel spa.

I also left a message for my mother asking for money. I figure if I can hitch a ride back to their hotel or pay for a closer one, I'd be considered local and Libby would have no choice but to reinstate my missionary status.

Never heard from Max, but here's the really amazing part: I don't care. I'm not even faking it. Being with J.C., who is nothing more than a friend, made me think I always felt terrible when Max left. Even if we'd had this really great time together, I always felt slightly lower when he left. Like I didn't know what to expect the next time. I think in the future I'm going to search out more stable personalities. Like Claire. I mean, she may be perpetually crazy, but the fact is, you can always count on that.

Maybe working for my playboy boss all those years taught me some bad habits. There's nothing wrong with a drama-free existence. Let's face it, Claire provides more drama than anyone needs in life, so I need more of that like I need another guy on this mission trip who looks like a telenovela star.

I think my stomach will be in a perpetual knot until I get out of Libby's presence. If it's possible, I feel like she just resonates this nervous energy that makes me want to jump out of my skin. It makes me long for my toilet-paper-strewn bedroom and the strictness that I understand and—let's face it—that makes more sense. My parents being freaked out because Claire might take us on a wild goose chase in her Mustang is reasonable. Believing every guy currently residing in Argentina is hot for me—not so much.

Even though this is not quite a travel journal and more a place where I spill my pathetic life secrets, I've come to understand that flying across the world has not changed who I am. In fact, it's only made me feel more invisible, as if I can be cast off by Libby Bramer as easily as an old winter coat.

But that's my choice, I figure. I'm not going to let a woman like her make me feel bad. She's miserable by nature. I can't fix that, and truthfully, I don't even want to try. I just want to do what J.C. says and get out of here as soon as possible with my paperwork signed.

I think I need to reframe my life. Maybe I only see the negative because I focus on it, and seeing that personality in an adult like Libby makes me want to never say anything remotely depressing again! How can anything look good to someone who sees everything through dark-colored glasses?

Maybe if I had more Pollyanna attributes, the world would look prettier. It's worth a try. Right, God? God, are you up there? Since I'm in the southern hemisphere, can you hear me better or worse? The Bible says I do not have because I do not ask. Well, I'm asking, Lord. I want to finish this mission trip well and get my full scholarship, so if you could see it in your heart to put a bug in Claire's ear that this would mean the world to me, I'd be so grateful!

In the late afternoon, we had taken our orders and eaten the slop I made for lunch. It was officially known as chili, but with the absence of meat and beans, it came off as more of a spicy, runny soup. Yum!

I dry the last bowl and place it on the open shelf just as there's a knock at the door. I'm afraid to answer it for fear it's a guy and I'm in the house alone, which will definitely make me a harlot in Libby's eyes. “Heaven knows the guys of Argentina can't stand the temptation that is Daisy Crispin,” I say before chastising myself. My positive-speech promise isn't going well.

The person knocks again. Harder this time.

“Who is it?”

“It's Claire! Open up!” She pounds on the door and I lift the latch.

“What are you doing here?”

“I got your message. I'm here to work.”

I'm about to blubber, but I don't say a thing. I just grab her up in a bear hug and jump up and down. “I love you, I love you, I love you! God totally answers prayer!”

“Stop. Or I'm going to leave.”

“You left the hotel for me?”

“Sure I did. You'd do the same for me. Besides, it's really no fun being pampered when you're all by yourself.”

“I'd like to give it a try. I sure hope I'd come rescue you in the same situation.”

“You would.” Claire has her bobbed hair pinned back with a sparkling barrette, and her makeup is perfect. “But don't hug me like that again. It freaks me out. I like my personal space, you know?”

“Fine. So did you get the part about sleeping in the car?”

“I thought you were kidding.”

“I might be, but I'm not sure. Libby is . . . well, she's different,” I say. “That dress is cute. Where'd you get it?”

“In town, at this little boutique.”

“It's cute,” I say again, wistfully.

“I bought it when I was out with your parents last night for dinner.”

I'll admit, it's hard to see how easily life comes together for Claire. I know her parents are a mess, but she always looks like she's straight out of a teen style magazine.

“Did you check out of the hotel?” I ask, because she's got only a small leather satchel, no doubt also from one of Recoleta's boutiques. She brought enough luggage to secure passage on a cruise to Europe after this trip.

“I called your parents and told them to come and take the room while I was gone. You should see the dump they're staying in. Your parents sure do love you, Daisy.”

“That was so thoughtful! You try to be tough, but I know you're all mushy inside.”

“Cut that out! My parents are paying for the room. They'll never know the difference.”

I giggle at this. “Well, come on in and see your luxury accommodations. If we're worthy of the house, that is, and not relegated to the car.”

“Cool! It's not that loft up there, is it? I always wanted a loft. It's so cool.”

“I'll have to sleep on the floor. There's only one cot up there, and again, that's
if
we get to stay in the house. Libby's husband Hank is pretty cool, so I doubt he'll let us sleep in the car.”

“Where's the bathroom?”

I pause at this. “It's . . . um, it's outside.”

“As in an outhouse! You never said anything about that on the message.”

“But there's the loft—so cool, remember? You always wanted one!”

She's not buying it. “Is it clean?”

“I'll clean it for you. Actually, I'll clean for everyone. Apparently, that's one of my duties this week: cleaning the outhouse.”

“Gross.”

“But here's the good news, and the really awesome part is that you didn't even know this when you came. Okay, the guys working this mission week as translators? They make Max look like a troll.”

“Really?” This grabs her interest.

“But we can't really talk to them in front of Libby. She thinks we're all sex-starved teenagers.”

“Didn't you tell her about the purity play your parents put on, and that we're the good girls?”

“She's not the type to believe anyone's above temptation. And I gotta admit, wait until you see the vampire, Leo, and you might understand her fears.”

“Libby sounds delightful. Wait. What? Vampire?”

“You'll see what I mean. I'm just warning you so you can play it cool. Trust me, it won't be easy.”

Claire sweeps her gaze around the room. “I like this place. It's like we get to see Buenos Aires as it really is, not how they portray it to be downtown. I wanted to go home with a real experience like this.”

“I guess you got your wish then.”

“That's why I was so bummed we never heard anything from Max. What is up with that?”

I shrug. “I haven't the slightest. He was supposed to come back and bring me candy for the kids, and nothing. Well, maybe he implied he'd come back, but he's not one to promise things and not come through. And yet, not a word.”

“You have terrible taste in guys.”

“Thanks for the support. I'm working on that, you know. Had a bit of an epiphany about it.”

“Glad to hear it. You needed one. Some guy calls himself a Christian and you buy it without a shred of evidence.”

“I'm trusting.”

“You say trusting, I say ignorant.”

I do my best to hide my emotions from Claire. The last thing I need is to hear another sermon about the art of being dumped internationally. We all know I could have stayed home for the privilege.

“So what's on the agenda here?” Claire looks around the sparse room again. “I love the way everything is so pieced together and natural. Somehow it's more homey than a designed home where everything is perfect.”

I nod. “My house is pieced together.”

“But that's more tag sale. This is more authentic.”

We both laugh.

“So now we wait for Libby to come back and tell us what to do next, and we try to look really busy,” I say.

“Well, look at the cobwebs in that corner. I'll get the broom and take to those.”

I look up into the corner and see what Claire's talking about, but I sure never saw it before she said something. She grabs the broom and starts swishing it back and forth on the ceiling. When she can't reach it, she grabs a chair and climbs atop it. The door swings open and Libby stands there taking in the sight.

“Who's this?” Libby, who has to be the palest woman in Argentina, stands with her fists on her hips.

“It—it's—”

“Hey.” Claire jumps off the chair with the broom still in her hand and reaches out to shake hands with Libby. “Claire Webster at your service.”

A giggle escapes from Libby and she covers her mouth. “Claire? You're here to help?”

She giggled!

“
Sí
,” Claire answers. “Here to help you with Vacation Bible School and make sure Daisy goes home with her scholarship. She needs that, you know.” Claire says this like she's sharing a dark family secret, but somehow it works.

“We're going to do everything possible to make sure Daisy goes home with her paperwork, and if she's paying attention, she might just learn how to cook while she's here.”

“Her parents can't afford to send her to Pepperdine, and that's what she wants.”

“Claire!” I lower my brows. “Ixnay!”

“Well, they can't. You know, her dad's disabled. He has his own small business, and it's hard in the Bay Area. Housing prices are sky-high. I mean, even my parents struggle sometimes, and they have my dad's salary. He's a partner in a law firm and does teaching on the side, and my mom inherited money, so they have plenty, but they spend a lot too. I think about some of the stuff she could sell just in her closet and this place could be a palace.” Claire seems beyond wordy—even for her.

“You don't say,” Libby says. “Come on and sit down. You girls have been working so hard, so let's have some strong coffee. We've earned it. The classroom is all ready for tomorrow.”

“She just got here!” I exclaim.

“Daisy, I showed you how to make the coffee this morning, right? The
cafetera
is right there.”

“I figured it out,” I tell her. “My parents still use a percolator, so it wasn't that difficult.”