The Queen of Cool (9 page)

“Ha,” I say.

“I had to get rid of them,” Dad says. “They were bringing me down.”

“I’ll give them to Perla. She’s always on a diet.”

I start unwrapping the packages under the tree. I get a sweater that I hate, a new hair dryer, a pair of silk pajamas that I wanted but in the wrong color (typical), and gift certificates to Amoeba Music, Fred Segal, and Sephora.

At least my parents have learned to let me make
some
decisions for myself.

Later, before I go to meet Sid and Mike Dutko for Chinese food and a movie, I hear my parents arguing in their room.

It seems as though there are more of these kinds of conversations behind closed doors lately. Why is it that parents think that shutting the door means that you can’t hear them when they yell at each other? It may be muffled, but it’s coming through loud and clear.

“I thought we agreed, Mitch, a
small
Christmas, no big presents. How could you get those gift certificates?” Mom yells. “You should have talked to me about it. We had an agreement.”

“She’s a teenager, Julietta,” Dad says calmly. “I can’t make her suffer because I’m changing my life.”

“She may be the teenager, but
you’re
the one acting like a kid. An irresponsible kid,” Mom says. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

Her voice sounds weird. She might be crying.

“I’m the kid you fell in love with,” Dad says, soothing.

“I don’t want to lose everything,” Mom says.

“Trust me,” he says. And as long as he says it, with all that love, I know they’re not heading for Splitsville.

A few minutes later, Mom and Dad come out of the bedroom all dressed up to go out, wearing big smiles and acting as though nothing has happened at all.

“Do you want us to drop you off somewhere?” Dad asks.

“Yeah, I’m going to the movies,” I say.

As I emerge from the shed after putting away my brushes and carefully washing my hands, I see Sheldon standing in front of the giraffes.

He’s stretching his neck, hopping slowly from side to side. At first I think he’s doing tai chi or yoga or maybe just losing his mind. That wouldn’t surprise me. Then I realize that he’s trying to move his body like the giraffe.

What
would
it be like to be a giraffe? I wonder, slowing down. I stretch out my own neck and crane it toward the nearest bush. I open my mouth and pull off a leaf.

“What are you doing, weirdo?”

I spit the leaf out and look around. Sheldon is staring at me, and Tiny looks very amused.

“I was hungry,” I say. “And the food here sucks.”

“You already look like a giraffe,” Tiny says. “Don’t you think, Sheldon? With that ballerina neck of hers?”

“I always thought she moved like a gazelle,” Sheldon says. “Very graceful. But she’s definitely doe-eyed, like the giraffe.”

“And her hair color is kind of the same shade as the giraffe,” Tiny says. “Me, I’m slightly warthog-like, don’t you think?”

“Why do you say that?” Sheldon says.

“Because of the way I walk,” Tiny says.

“I always thought you were more koala-like.”

“Ha!” she says, “You’re just being generous.”

“Boy,” I say. “And you’re calling
me
weirdo?”

“Hey,” Tiny yells to me from across the parking lot.

“Hey,” I yell back as I start to open my car door. But I’m not fast enough, and she and Sheldon catch up to me.

“We’re going to go and have a little walk by the old zoo,” Tiny says, a bit breathless. I think it’s sometimes an effort for her to run. “Want to come?”

I want to say, no, I don’t. I have plans for this afternoon. I have things to do. Like shop. It’s the day after Christmas, and I have three gift certificates to spend. I can’t be hanging out with you guys. I don’t even really
like
you guys.

But it’s already three p.m., and I bet that everything good is already gone, and I don’t really want to go shopping by myself. So really I have nothing to do at all.

“Okay,” I say.

“Terrific,” Tiny says. “It’s not far. Just follow us.”

I get into my car and follow them deeper into Griffith Park. I want to go faster, but Sheldon insists on going the speed limit, twenty-five miles an hour. Finally we park. I get out of my car and look around. I see nothing but trees and picnic tables.

“Great,” I say. “What a waste of time.”

Sheldon rolls his eyes and mumbles something.

“I can’t hear you,” I say.

“He said,
follow me,
” Tiny says. They start walking past the trees, past some picnic tables, and up some stairs. Soon, I see a row of impossibly small cages. There’s a sign above them.

It’s the Old Zoo.

Tiny sits on the grass under the shade of a large tree and opens her bag, pulling out three bottles of water, and hands one to Sheldon and one to me. She stares at the cages. Her face has a far-off look on it.

The cages are open. There are picnic tables inside them. I move toward the first one. I step inside. Immediately, it’s claustrophobic. There is no room, and the fake rock face has no purpose. It’s desolate, like an animal ghost town.

“How could this be a zoo?” I say. “How could they think that animals would be okay in these cages? What about the animal enrichment? And how did they roam?”

“They didn’t,” Sheldon says. He must be projecting because I can hear him fine.

“This place is depressing,” I say. “I bet a lot of animals died of sadness here.”

Tiny and Sheldon watch me as I pace inside, twenty steps one way and twenty steps the other.

“Or boredom,” I add. “I bet they were totally bored.”

Perla is showing me all of the clothes she got for Christmas.

She is wearing that shirt that she wanted me to get. The brands run together like, maybe, an old cheeky Andy Warhol painting. Only I think the joke is on Perla, because when I stare at the shirt long enough I notice that the negative space between the logos spells out the words “BRAND WHORE.” As she continues to pull clothes out of her color-coordinated closet, I decide to keep this discovery to myself.

But the more I look at all those brands, the more I want to cut them up.

“So, we don’t even have a New Year’s Eve plan,” Perla says. “We always have a New Year’s Eve plan by now.”

“Don’t worry — I’ve got it covered. I’m going to throw a party,” I say.

“Oooh, perfect! Do you think your parents will let you?”

“Leave that to me,” I say. “But here’s the theme: Fashion Deconstruction.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not sure yet. But that’s what it’s called.”

“I love it!” Perla says. “I’ll post it on my blog.”

“Yeah, invite all real-life people. Let’s make it huge.”

“Everyone will come, Libby. Your parties are off the hook.”

She bounces on the bed and hugs me.

I run into Sheldon in the parking lot, and he waits for me to park my car, so I have to walk up to the zoo with him.

Lately, the wind must be blowing the words from his mouth in my direction, because I can actually hear them. Too bad I can’t understand most of them.

“I don’t know what that means,” I say after he throws out a fantastically-ginormous word.

He looks at me blank-faced.

“I don’t know what that means,” I say again.

“I know.
I
heard
you.
I just find that amazing,” he says. “How are you ever going to handle taking the SATs next year?”

Sheldon seems to go out of his way to make me feel like an idiot. But then again, maybe I am an idiot. For not paying attention. For not making an effort.

“Well, I once heard a story about a guy who filled in his SAT score sheet to look like a duck, and he got into Yale.”

“That’s an urban myth,” Sheldon says.

“No, it’s not,” I say. But actually, I can’t remember exactly where or from whom I heard it.

“I’m not an academic like you and Tiny,” I say.

“It’s almost a new year. You could turn over a new leaf,” he says in his careful way. “Or is that not cool enough? Would you rather keep pretending to be a dilettante?”

“Yeah, another word I’m not hanging on to,” I say.

“I don’t know why everyone thinks you’re so cool,” he says, shaking his head.

“Some people just are,” I inform him. “And some just aren’t.”

I think he knows who I mean. But just in case, I look him up and down, taking in those acid wash women’s jeans he’s sporting again, then look over at Tiny, who is waiting for us by the zoo entrance, her little hands on her regular-size curvy hips.

“Today we’re with the chimpanzees!” she yells.

“I think Tina is cool,” Sheldon says.

“Well, you’re a fan club of one,” I say.

He wants to say more, but I think he’s hit a wall. Thank God, he goes back to being quiet.

“Libby! It’s for you!” Mom yells to me.

“Hey, ho!” I say into the phone.

“Hey! I’m not a ho!”

“Tiny?”

“It’s Tina,” she says without missing a beat. “So, tonight’s New Year’s Eve, and you know, I’m just calling around to people I know to see what’s going on. I know that the Science Club is having a party at Melvin’s house, so I could do that. There’s the LPA New Year’s Bash, which is usually a good time. And Sheldon has a date with his telescope to look at the night sky; that’s always an option. But . . .”

“But what?” I ask.

Please don’t invite yourself to my party. Please don’t invite yourself to my party.

“I heard you were having a party, and I know your parties are legendary,” she says.

“How do you know I’m having a party?” I ask.

“Well, I read Perla’s blog. And since she said that all real-life people are invited, and I’m in your real life . . . I was wondering if you really meant it.”

What does it mean when you really mean something, only you don’t really mean it for everyone? Does that make you a liar?

“Why do you want to come to my party?”

“I thought it’d be a fun change,” she says.

We’re both quiet for a moment. Dad always says, when negotiating, never be the first person to speak. So it’s a tug of war.

At last Tiny takes a deep breath and breaks the silence.

“Look, I’m just tired of hanging out with all the same people all the time.”