The Big Picture (15 page)

I am now among the chosen. The few. The proud.

The street legal.

Chapter seventeen

GUYS HAVE IT SO EASY.

To get ready all they do is shower and swipe on some deodorant (if we’re lucky). But girls? Our required routine takes an hour of planning, an hour of execution, then no sudden movements all night so the look is not disturbed. It’s so not fair. Women bear the burden of PMS
and
primping. What do guys deal with? Um, hairy arms and chin stubble. Big whoop.

Determined to maximize our remaining month together, Frances came over to my house to get beautiful for our night at the drive-in.

“Maxine bought me this new lip gloss. Wanna try it?” I scoot my makeup bag down the bathroom counter to make room for my friend. “It’s called Hot Tamale.”

She laughs. “That’s from Maxine? Probably should be called Lethal Lips or Vampy Vixen or — ”

“I’m not deaf, you know.” Maxine jumps off her bed and stomps into the bathroom to join us. “And hurry up, would you? I need to get gorgeous too.” She flips her hair. “Not that I have to do much to get there.”

I pat her cheek. “Then why does your makeup bag weigh more than my backpack?”

My hair hangs in loose waves past my shoulders. It’s taken nearly a year, but I think my locks have finally forgiven me for my pre–In Between home color jobs. With the help of a curling iron, frizz potion, some gel, and half a can of spray, my tousled strands look natural and free flowing. And it only took forty-five minutes to make it happen.

I take in my reflection in the mirror. I’m no exotic beauty like Frances, but tonight I don’t exactly feel like Ugly Betty either. Plus there’s just something about a new outfit that gives a girl a boost of confidence. I grab my fitted blazer hanging behind the door and slip it on over my vintage eighties T-shirt. My Audrey Hepburn–style ballet flats go perfectly with my new miniskirt. For a finishing touch, I add a funky ring and my industrial-sized pink hoop earrings.
Look out
Teen Vogue.
I got me some style tonight.

“You look great, Katie.” Frances applies some blush. “Retro-preppy-punk.”

I smile at my best friend, then turn away to dig into my makeup bag as tears push at my eyes. Frances is my first
real
best friend. Not just somebody I hung out with because it was the best I could do. Not somebody I hung out with because we both had tattered jeans and got free school lunch. Not somebody I was friends with because our moms partied together. Frances likes me for me. She gets me. My neurotic tendencies. My moodiness. My math handicap. All of it. And I could lose her forever. There might never be another Frances Vega in my life. It’s like it’s still not real to me. Like I’m going to wake up and discover I don’t have to walk away from all of this. That life can go on as it was before my mom was sprung from prison. Well, plus the totally rockin’ driver’s license part.

“You do look pretty fab, Katie. Both of you girls do.” Maxine applies a powder puff to her nose, her face consumed in a cloud of talc. She twists up a tube of lipstick. “Did Sam Dayberry mention if he would be there? Not that I care, mind you.”

“Not care?” I wave her powdery dust out of my face. “I nearly killed you this afternoon on your bike. Ripping through a neighborhood going
Mach ten on your tandem doesn’t exactly scream ‘who cares’ to me.”

“Well, you’re just a child. What do you know? I was simply getting some exercise today.”

I turn away from the mirror and face her. “Maxine, you ramped some kid’s slide to catch up with Sam. I don’t think that was about burning calories. Why don’t you just tell Sam you got cold feet but you still love him, and put us all out of our misery.”

“Who says I still love him? Is that what he thinks? Is that what he says?”

“Admit it,” Frances chimes in. “You are just afraid of love. You’ve been a widow for a long time now, and you’re running scared.”

Maxine goes nose to nose with Frances. “This from the girl who couldn’t even form a single sentence when you first began talking to Nash? Who giggled like you had voices in your head and said things such as, ‘I like water,’ while drool dribbled out of your mouth? Yes, please, I’d love some more love advice.”

“She’s just trying to be helpful, Maxine. And you know she’s onto something.”

“And you, little missy.” My foster grandmother jabs me with her blush brush. “Who are you to be spouting romantic wisdom? You’re so insecure the second your boy starts hanging out with that blonde again, you call it off.”

“I didn’t call anything off. He did.” Well, not exactly. “He was never my boyfriend anyway.” I’m not really sure what Charlie was. “Besides, he can’t have me
and
Chelsea. Is he studying polygamy or something? I’m not that type of girl.”

Maxine sucks in her cheeks and applies a pink tint. “He told you to trust him. And what do you do?”

“I did trust him!” I feel my face warming. “And every time I looked up, Chelsea would be there with her arms wrapped around him. And hey, we’re talking about
you
here, not me. You are the one who had a diamond ring on your hand but gave it up because you were afraid Sam would expect you to bake a casserole once a week.”
Humph!
Like she
could even identify an oven.

Maxine gasps, her ruby lips forming an
O
. “That is not fair. This is so much more complicated than that.”

“Then what is it?” I stare at my foster grandmother and watch her eyes lose some of their fire. “You tell me why you broke it off with Sam.”

“I . . . I . . .”

Ding-dong!

“My date is here.” And Maxine grabs her purse and sails downstairs.

Date? No, Maxine
has
to get back with Sam. I can’t leave In Between with things like this.

“Come on.” I motion Frances to follow. We ease down the steps, our ears peeled for the sound of the visitor at the front door.

“Why Maxine, you are a vision,” a squeaky voice says. I hear Maxine giggle like a middle-schooler.

“Thank you, William. So nice to be appreciated,” she purrs.

Frances and I tiptoe through the kitchen. I step into the entryway with Frances at my heels.

And freeze.

Frances plows into my back.

“Oh, my gosh,” I hiss.

“Well, hello there, ladies.” Maxine’s date tips his cowboy hat and smiles bigger than Dallas. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Behind me Frances sucks in her breath. I throw out my hands to hold her back.

“Girls,” Maxine says, tucking her hand into the gentleman’s arm. “I’d like to introduce you to my date, William.”

William twists his handlebar mustache. “But you can just call me Mr. Mayor.”

Chapter eighteen

“I CANNOT BELIEVE YOUR FOSTER grandma is dating the mayor. That’s a lot of nerve — even for her — to bring him
here
.” Nash sets his chair on the gravel next to his car.

“Unbelievable,” Frances fumes. “She’s dating the enemy. After all we’ve been through, she’s snuggling up with Mayor Crowley — the dream killer.”

I know she’s probably just doing it to make Sam jealous, but couldn’t she have picked someone else? Someone who doesn’t wear a belt buckle the size of a hubcap. Someone who doesn’t think Wranglers are business attire. And someone who isn’t planning on bulldozing Bubba’s Big Picture tomorrow.

Like I have a built-in radar, I look up as Charlie wheels in five spots down. My heart constricts a bit at the sight of his copilot, Chelsea. I should be used to it by now, though. Where he is, there you’ll find her. Needy never looked so cute.

He gets out of his truck and goes straight for his lawn chairs in the back. I rejoice over the fact he doesn’t open her door first. He always opened my door. And while it annoyed me at the time, I miss it. Miss him.

The two of them make their way over to our group. He saunters closer in his cargo shorts and blue T-shirt. He could pass for a surfer.

Our eyes meet and hold.

Then he smiles.

And reluctantly I do too.

I still totally dig this boy, but I know we’d never make it long distance. Not that it wouldn’t have been fun to try. It would be nice to be that new mysterious girl in town who says things like, “My boyfriend back home . . .” And “Gotta take this call. It’s my boyfriend . . .” But now I’ll just be the loser new girl who stays home on Friday nights watching Lifetime marathons and drowning her sorrows in boxes of Twinkies.

Everyone greets the two. I do my best to smile at Chelsea like she doesn’t bother me, but it comes out more like a grimace. Or like I have gas.

“I heard you got your license today.” Charlie pats me on the shoulder, his hand spreading warmth up and down my arm.

“Yeah.” I beam. Seriously, my face hurts from grinning over this. “It’s been quite the day.”

“I didn’t see you much this week. How were finals?” His hand drops back to his side.

“I survived them. Frances helped me study for algebra and history. How about yours?”

“I thought biology was a little tough. I almost called you last night to get help with the study guide.”

Help.
From me? Surely you jest
. “That’s funny. I almost called you too.” And I did. Last night I wanted to pick up the phone so bad. I miss talking to Charlie. Miss just hanging out.

His eyes wander across the parking area. “It’s gonna be sad to see this go. I watched my first movie here.”

“Yeah, but I think Buford picked a great flick to end with —
Star Wars
.” For Halloween once I twirled my hair into buns like Princess Leia. They were in knots for the next two days. It wasn’t attractive. And
my mom’s only advice was, “Get the scissors.”

“Well, little darlings. How are we tonight?” Maxine strolls by on the arm of the mayor. I pierce Nash with a look that says,
Don’t let Frances loose.

“Fine, Mrs. Simmons,” Charlie says. “Just enjoying our last night at the drive-in.”

“Forever,” Frances grunts, as she’s nestled quite tightly into Nash.

“Kids, don’t look at this as good-bye. Look at it as hello,” the mayor says. “Hello progress. Hello growth for In Between. Hello — ”

“Capitalistic Nazi dictatorship.”

“Now, Miss Vega,” Mayor Crowley coos. “One day you’ll thank me for this. And you will be grateful I didn’t let you stand in the way of progress. Sometimes we have to tear down to grow.”

The only things Frances wants to tear are his eyeballs.

“Maxine, I think I see James and Millie over there waving for you to join them.” I jerk my head to the left. “They’re probably missing you by now.”

“Missing me? They’ve sent me to the concession stand five times already.” Maxine takes two steps away from us, pulling her date along. Then freezes. “Oh, no he didn’t.”

We all turn. Sam Dayberry. Walking with Betty Lou Lawson.

“That two-timing, back-stabbing, overall-wearing gigolo. How dare he come out here tonight on the arm of — Well, hello there Betty Lou. So nice to see you.” Maxine steps closer to the mayor. “Oh, why hello, Sam. Didn’t notice you there. Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

Charlie whispers low. “Looks like we’re going to get fireworks with our movie.”

“With Maxine it’s more like pistols and brass knuckles. This could get ugly.” And embarrassing. Betty Lou, seventy if she’s a day, sports one of those fake ponytails, and I know that will be the first thing Maxine goes for if a catfight breaks out.

“That’s a lovely hair piece you have there, Betty Lou.
So
natural.” Maxine pats her own perfectly coifed do. I watch my foster grandmother
narrow her eyes, no doubt scrutinizing how hard it would be to grab it in one yank.

“Mayor Crowley, many in the town feel like we didn’t get ample opportunity to sign that petition to stop the closing of the drive-in,” Sam says, tearing his eyes away from his ex-fiancée. “I would think the neighborly thing to do would be to let us have another week or so. Give Buford Hollis a fair shake.”

The mayor laughs. “I’ve been more than fair. I’ve given him years to clean this place up. Enough is enough. As I was telling the kids here, when progress rolls into town, nobody will miss Bubba’s Big Picture.”

I don’t really care about progress, but I have to admit a McDonald’s on the corner would be nice. Just not in this location.

“Betty Lou,” Maxine says, stepping toward her competition. “I thought you were seeing old Donnie Blevins.”

Betty Lou takes a bite of her popcorn. “He died.”

Maxine’s eyes widen, then she settles her gaze on Sam. “See what you have to look forward to? She’s cursed. She’s a praying mantis.”

“Let’s go, Betty Lou. You don’t have to listen to this.” Sam pushes a bewildered Betty Lou along.

“She’s a man-eater! Is that what you want? I danced for Sinatra, Betty Lou. Can you top that? Whatchu got?”

“Maxine?” I sigh with relief as Sam and his lady friend walk on.

“I can still do the splits!”

“Maxine?”

She retreats and reigns her temper back in. “Yes, snookums?”

“As much as we have all enjoyed the geriatric version of
Bring It On
, you probably need to go back to your seats before you scare everyone off.” I lean in, and my voice drips with disdain. “I am making a memory here tonight, and you trying to pick a fight with that poor woman is not what I want to remember.”

“He brought another woman here, Katie.” Maxine crosses her arms over her ample chest.

“You brought a man.” And the town pariah at that.

“That’s different.”

“Yes, it is different. In
Crazyville
— in your head! Now move on,” I whisper. “Your date is upsetting Frances. And I don’t exactly like to look at him either.” Or his outfit. If it were winter, we could sled on the man’s belt buckle.

Maxine clears her throat. “Good-bye, children. William and I will be returning to our seats now. Enjoy your evening, keep your hands to yourself, and no swapping spit.”

“Oh, and Miss Vega” — the mayor stops — “Time will heal your wounds, my dear. You’ll see.”

Frances’s hands are balled into fists. “It’s not over yet, Mayor. I’m not giving up until the final hour.”