The Crazy Things Girls Do for Love (13 page)

“Nothing.” She shrugs off her new parka (made from ethically sourced materials and trimmed in fur that has never been closer to an animal than Sicilee’s head) and picks up her menu. “Same old, same old, really.”

“That’s not what we heard,” says Abe.

“That’s right,” agrees Davis. Rupert’s inane grin seems to be as contagious as measles. “We heard that you were boldly going where no one’s boldly gone before.”

“Risking isolation, destruction and possible certain death,” chips in Chris.

Sicilee clamps her teeth together to hold her smile in place. Somebody’s told the boys about her new extracurricular activity. Somebody with a mouth the size of Lake Michigan. Which one of them was it? She glances at Kristin, Loretta and Ash, all of whom are gazing at their menus as if they haven’t eaten enough pizza here to feed half of Sicily. She’ll find out later.

“Well, you heard wrong.”

Davis leans across Kristin to brush something from Sicilee’s arm. “Oh, sorry.” He might sound more sincere if his smile was less jubilant. “I thought there was some bark on your sleeve.”

Loretta, Ash and Kristin all bite back their smiles, but the boys laugh uproariously.

Following the example of her friends, Sicilee is gazing at her menu. “You know, I don’t think I’ll have any pizza tonight,” she says, as though this thought has just occurred to her. “I think I’ll just have a salad.” There is no way she can eat pepperoni pizza in public. What if Maya Baraberra and her friends walk in? What if Cody does?

“Salad?” hoots Rupert. “But we always get pepperoni pizza with double cheese.”

“And am I stopping you?” Sicilee speaks so sweetly that it might be wise for Rupert to remember that sugar kills. “But I’m having a salad. I don’t want anything too heavy this late at night.”

Chris leans towards her earnestly. “So what’s the deal, Miss Kewe?” He waggles his eyebrows. “An eager world hangs on your every word. Is it true that all of a sudden you’ve decided to be born-again Green?”

Sicilee takes a sip of water. “If you’re referring to the fact that I’ve joined the Environmental Club, Christopher,” she says evenly, “no, it doesn’t mean that I’ve been ‘born-again Green’. It just means I’m taking an interest in my country and in my planet.” She sets her glass back on the table very carefully. “As all good citizens should.”

“Well, it sounds to me like you’ve been born again Green,” says Chris. “I mean, look at you. You’re dressed like you live in Arizona.” Tonight, Sicilee is in muted earthy tones – beige and umber, sienna, ochre and terracotta. “
And
you’re eating salad.”

“I eat salad a lot, Chris. It happens to be very good for you. I eat it all the time.”

“Not by itself, you don’t,” says Rupert.

“Well, tonight I do.” Sicilee’s afraid to pick up her glass again, in case the temptation to throw its contents at Rupert proves too strong. “I told you, I want something light.”

“Or maybe you’ve become a vegetarian,” suggests Davis.

Merciful Mother, is there nothing the boys don’t know?
she thinks.

Sicilee’s mouth is so rigid it could crush bones. There had better be one thing they haven’t been told. “And what if I am?” It certainly beats being vegan. After what Kristin told her and what she overheard of Maya’s conversation with Cody, Sicilee figured that given the choice between veganism and working fourteen hours a day gluing the soles on trainers, she’d choose the sweatshop any day. “In case it’s escaped your attention, Davis, vegetarianism’s very popular nowadays.”

“Sure it is,” sniggers Davis. “Especially among rabbits.”

Kristin, possibly to keep herself from laughing with the others, finally comes to Sicilee’s aid. “Actually, a lot of really famous people are vegetarian,” she says. “Isn’t that true, Siss?”

“Yes, it is true,” says Sicilee. Though she’d be hard put to name any of those famous people.

“You mean like Hitler?” asks Rupert.

“I don’t think I could give up meat,” says Loretta. “It’s so, like, radical. Like having a stud put in your tongue.”

Ash squiggles up her nose. “And it’s so, you know,
meatless
. I mean, what do you eat if you don’t eat meat?”

“Salad,” says Abe.

Davis wants to know if this is the last time Sicilee will be hanging out with everyone socially.

“It’s not a cult, Davis, it’s a club,” Sicilee explains. “I can hang out with anyone I want.”

“I didn’t mean that. I meant that because it’s going to kind of cramp everyone’s style, isn’t it? OK, you eat a bowl of lettuce when we come here, but what happens when we go bowling? No more deluxe nachos or hamburgers. And no more pool parties or barbecues when summer rolls around…” He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. “What a shame, after all the fun we’ve had together, Siss. We’re really going to miss you.”

Sicilee’s smile is as steady as the smile on a statue. “What a shame that I can’t say the same about you.”

“Ooooh…” crow Rupert and Chris.

“Ouch!” Davis shakes his hand as though he’s burned it. “That really really hurt, Sicilee. I think I may be traumatized for life.”

Chris, having regained his composure, leans forward again as if he’s about to say something important. “I have a question, Miss Kewe. I want to know now that you’re living on bean curd and recycling your toenail clippings, does that mean you’re going to cut off your hair and wear combat boots from now on, too?”

Sicilee never realized before how little she really cares for Chris. He has the same laugh as Woody Woodpecker, but isn’t nearly as amusing. Or as cute. “
Meaning
?”

“Meaning?” Chris splutters some more, looking at the other boys for back-up and approval in an incredibly irritating and childish way. “Meaning that everybody knows the Green brigade is pretty much gay.”

Sweet Mary, she’s surrounded by fools. If smiles were punches, Sicilee would knock him out cold. “I’d rather be gay than an ignoramus like you.”

Rupert – who apparently gets his information from a different source to Chris – wants to know if Sicilee is going to become a nudist. “You know, back to nature … running around in the moonlight worshipping the Corn God…” He gives her a smile that would be sleazy from anyone who looks less like a chipmunk. “That’d be cool.”

Sicilee rolls her eyes. “That’s only funny if you don’t think you’re joking.”

Maybe she doesn’t really care for any of them.

Except Abe. Abe hasn’t cracked one juvenile joke, or laughed so hard he nearly choked. In fact, Sicilee has always had a soft spot for Abe, who plays the saxophone and works in his father’s nursery, and who suddenly says to her in total seriousness and with no trace of sarcasm, “So, is that true, Sicilee? Are you really taking an interest in the planet and everything?”

“Of course it’s true,” says Sicilee. “You don’t think I’m doing it for fun, do you?”

Abe shakes his head. “No, I guess not.”

Sicilee returns his smile with a very nice smile of her own.

Chapter Twenty-four
Maya goes shopping

“Get
away from me!” shrieks Molly. “Don’t touch me!” She kicks her legs and hides the cereal bar she was opening behind her back.

“
Gott im Himmel
, don’t be such a baby.” Maya can only hope that the club has more success educating the student body than she’s having educating the Baraberras. She pokes her head into the gap between the passenger’s and the driver’s seats. “I don’t want your stupid bar, Molly. I just want to see it.”

“Get your own!” screams Molly. “Mom! Mom! Make her leave me alone!”

Mrs Baraberra’s eyes stay on the road. “Leave Molly alone, Maya.” From the tone of her voice it seems likely that she has probably given this command before.

Maya faces the front again, thumping and harrumphing. You’d think that her mother would be thanking her for giving up a Saturday morning to help her with the shopping. Really, why couldn’t she have a family like Cody’s – aware, concerned and principled – instead of the one she has – unaware, unconcerned and with the principles of cold callers? “I only wanted to see what’s in it.”

Molly kicks her seat. “Cereal’s in it.”

The car seems almost to sigh as they turn into the parking lot. “By now you’d think you’d know what’s in it,” says Mrs Baraberra. For a woman known for her sunny disposition, she sounds a little bitter.

Maya’s conversation with Cody about the hidden contents of pea soup and bread rolls may have convinced Sicilee that even pretending to be vegan was too much like hard work, but for Maya it was a moment of revelation. She had never given a thought to what was in the soup or the roll or anything else before. She’d assumed that if something wasn’t dripping blood, it was meat-free. Now Maya reads all labels as if they are the Dead Sea Scrolls. She was surprised to discover just how many things that she assumed are vegetarian aren’t. Cody is right, you can’t be too careful. This is why Mrs Baraberra sounds a little bitter. It’s bad enough that Maya’s suddenly decided to reject things she’s always loved, like scrambled eggs and cheese and chicken casserole, but now she questions her mother about every single thing that comes into the house.
But does it have whey? Does it have lactose? Oleic acid? Keratin? Was it processed with lard? With animal charcoal? With Isinglass? How much sugar’s in it? How many additives? Is it carcinogenic? Toxic? Is it from a sustainable source? Was it flown thousands of miles or is it locally sourced?
Mrs Baraberra is beginning to feel as if Maya’s the Royal Inquisitor and she’s the heretic.

“You are what you eat, you know,” says Maya, though, in fact, she could assume that her mother does know this by now. “It’s really important that we watch what we put into our bodies.” Reading labels has proved to be not only addictive, but informative as well. “Especially older people like you and Dad. Arthritis and heart disease are only a part of the fate that could await you if you don’t have a healthy diet.”

Mrs Baraberra pulls into an empty space. “Your father and I appreciate your concern.”

The bitterness, now tinged with sarcasm, in her mother’s voice doesn’t go unnoticed by Maya. “I’m only trying to help, you know.”

“Don’t.” Mrs Baraberra turns off the engine. “You just worry about you, and I’ll take care of the rest of us.”

Once inside the supermarket, Mrs Baraberra and Molly go off to buy all the things that make Maya grimace and pretend to gag, and Maya goes to search for things that she can eat.

“We’ll meet you by the frozen foods in half an hour,” says Mrs Baraberra.

But half an hour later, she and Molly stand in front of the freezers of ice cream by themselves.

Maya, as it happens, has got no further than aisle B.

Her mother finally finds her scrutinizing the contents of a package of tortillas like Sherlock Holmes studying a pile of cigar ash. “For God’s sake, Maya. What are you doing? They’re just flour and water.”

“I told you, you can’t be too careful.” Maya holds out the tortillas. “Look. They have milk in them.”

Mrs Baraberra doesn’t look. “We don’t have all day, Maya. We’ll meet you by the bread in ten minutes.”

Twenty minutes later, Molly is sent as a scout. Maya has made it out of aisle B and is reading her twelfth box of cereal with the avidity of a gambler checking the racing results.

“Mom’s getting mad,” announces Molly. “She says you’d better hurry up.”

“Tell her that I need just five more minutes,” says Maya. “No, make that ten. I’m almost done.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Mrs Baraberra marches down aisle E to tell Maya what time it is.

“But it’s not my fault,” argues Maya. “This store doesn’t have any sugar that I can eat. It’s—”

“So don’t eat it. You’re the one who’s always telling us how bad it’s supposed to be.” Maya’s mother thrusts some notes into her hands. “Molly and I will be in the car. If you’re not out in fifteen minutes, we’re going home without you.”

It is possible that Maya has spent the longest amount of time selecting the smallest amount of goods in the history of Clifton Springs, but this isn’t only because she’s been hypnotized by the small print on wrappers, cans and boxes. Maya got up this morning with one of her hunches.
I’m going to run into Cody Lightfoot today
, she thought as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She could feel it in her bones. And there would be no Sicilee Kewe to interfere; no Sicilee Kewe trailing behind him like toxic fumes. He’d be all by himself. It would be just her and Cody. The way it’s meant to be.

So when Mrs Baraberra suggested that she come shopping with her and pick out her own stuff, Maya immediately recognized the finger of Fate, stirring up the waters of her life.
Cody’ll be in the supermarket
, Maya decided immediately.
Shopping with his dad.
She was ready to go before her mother had finished writing out her shopping list. And so she has lingered longer than she needed, giving Fate a chance to get Cody out of bed, out of the house and, at least metaphorically, into her arms – thinking that at any minute she would look up to find him beside her and they’d laugh together over what was in that box of crackers or can of soup. On the other hand, it’s a bitter winter’s day and Maya doesn’t want to have to walk home. She speeds through the last few aisles, grabbing things she already knows she can eat, and comes out in Baked Goods at the far side of the store.

She is checking the breads – pick one up and put it down, pick one up and put it down – when she becomes aware of someone behind her, so close that she can feel his breath against her cheek. Her heart flaps and flutters like a chicken surprised by a fox.

“What the hell are you doing, Maya? You look like you’re the bread inspector.”

She turns around. Fate has been toying with her again. She can hardly hide her disappointment.

“Just pick a loaf,” says Jason. “They’re all the same.”

Maya explains that this isn’t true. “Not if you’re vegan.”

“Vegan?” Usually, when he smiles like that, Maya thinks Jason looks really cute. Today, he just looks annoying. “You never told me about that.”

“Well, you knew I was a vegetarian,” says Maya. “It’s not that big a difference really. I didn’t feel it needed a public announcement.”