The View from the Top (8 page)

T
he chocolate boob was much bigger than it had appeared to Lexi when she'd spotted it in the candy case at Normal's Naughty Nibbles. Probably a D cup. Maybe even double D. In any case, it was so gigantic that Anabelle couldn't seem to get her mouth around it. But Lexi had a sinking feeling there was more than the size of the thing that was keeping Anabelle from eating it.

Anabelle put the boob back down on the kitchen island, its bottom smacking against the wooden countertop. “I just can't stop thinking about what it is,” she said.

“It's your favorite food,” Lexi shot back.

“What it
looks
like.”

“C'mon, you prude, you know you want it.”

Anabelle rolled her eyes. Lexi took Anabelle's eye rolls as an extreme compliment. She only gave them to people she knew well—and they were specially reserved for things that really got under her skin. Calling her a prude, a kiss-up, anything that made her sound like a good girl, always worked.

Anabelle sighed and gingerly lifted the boob again. “It's heavy,” she said.

“It's solid chocolate.” Lexi sang the words, trying to make it sound more appealing.

“Milk
chocolate.” Anabelle giggled. Good. Giggling was a good sign.

“Don't suck too hard or you'll drain it all out!” Lexi joked.

Anabelle doubled over laughing, being careful not to drop the boob. It was one of her incredible deep hyperventilating laughs that she only did when she honestly thought something was funny. This was the goofy Anabelle that Lexi loved—the Anabelle who'd improvised a scene with her in theater class about a chameleon complaining to a shrink about how he can't stop blending in. The Anabelle who used to hang out with Lexi every day after school until her brother swooped in and somehow made himself Anabelle's Boyfriend For Life.

“Okay,” Anabelle said, mid-laugh, “I'm going for it.” She held the boob up to her face as if it were a mirror, then stuck the nipple between her teeth and bit, snapping off the rounded chocolate nub.

“Man, I can't believe you went straight for the nipple!” Lexi cried.

Anabelle put the boob back on the counter. “What was I
supposed
to do?” she asked, examining her melty-chocolate-covered palms. “It's the only part sticking out!”

“Even so!” Lexi said, grabbing one of Anabelle's gloppy hands. “Don't you want to save the best for last?” She leaned in and sucked the chocolate off of Anabelle's thumb with her best approximation of over-the-top movie-star sexiness. “What kind of lesbian
are
you?”

Anabelle stared at the finger that was covered in Lexi's saliva. That lesbian comment seemed to be sticking with her. But Lexi couldn't tell from Anabelle's squinty-eyed face what she was thinking.

This was a flawed plan,
Lexi thought.
It was never going to work.
As if eating a chocolate boob was really going to lead to an honest conversation about how nice real boobs were, and about everything that had been on Lexi's mind for the last year and a half.

Anabelle's jaw came unhinged, as if she was about to ask a question. But all she could get out was “Are—” before the phone rang.

Of course, it was Matt. And of course he wanted to talk to Anabelle. And of course he was pissed at her over God knows what.

As if Matt had anything to be pissed about. For the past week he'd been in Boston with their dad, finding an apartment for next year. Their dad had insisted that Matt not go to college right away, that he have some “much-deserved time off.” Whatever that meant. Dad always gave them whatever they wanted. As if trampolines, electric guitars, or city apartments could make up for his leaving them for Bridget, the Swedish au pair who used to vacation with them here—back when the Normal house was just their summer place.

Lexi stomped into the living room and threw herself on the couch.

Through the doorway, she could hear Anabelle's bummed-out
mm-hmms
and desperate
no, I love yous.
It was hard to make out exactly what else she was saying, but it sounded like she was defending herself.

Lexi didn't even realize she'd been nervously rooting around between the couch cushions until her hand came upon something that crunched against her fingers. It turned out to be a piece of grody brownish popcorn. Man, her brother was a slob. She'd been finding random pieces of popcorn all over the living room lately.

Suddenly, over in the kitchen, Anabelle's voice rose and Lexi distinctly heard, “How many times do I have to tell you? We're just friends.”

Lexi shot straight up. Was it possible, she wondered, that Anabelle was talking about
her?

For over a year now there had been rumors circulating that Lexi was a lesbian. She'd often heard her nickname,
Lexbian,
whispered or fake-coughed as she walked down the halls. At first she'd chalked it up to catty girls being jealous over a starring role going to a sophomore. But the thing was, the more she thought about it, the more Lexi wondered if maybe the rumors were true. Yeah, she found girls attractive. But she also found guys attractive. She'd never kissed a boy, only a girl—a girl with freckles on her lips named Jamie. That was back in eighth grade at drama camp. They hadn't labeled it as anything. Not dating, not fooling around even. It was just something they did as part of their hanging out. And it wasn't something they'd had to talk about to know they wanted to do it; they both just knew.

Lexi had never gotten a vibe like that from any other girl. Until she'd met Anabelle. Anabelle almost always chose to sleep in Lexi's bed when she stayed over, even though Lexi's mom wouldn't have cared if she stayed with Matt. Plus, Anabelle had recently confided in Lexi about how fooling around with Matt was no fun anymore. How he always wanted stuff done to him but never offered to do stuff for her. That was what Lexi didn't get about the appeal of being with a guy. Their parts seemed to be designed precisely to do things to you, not with you. But most girls seemed to think that was just fine, even desirable. Was something wrong with Lexi for not agreeing? She needed to know that there wasn't.

Another “I love you” from the kitchen. Along with a “No, don't say that. We'll figure this out. We
will.”

There was no time for this. Matt would be coming home in less than twenty-four hours. That meant less than twenty-four hours of one-on-one time with Anabelle. Less than twenty-four hours for Lexi to figure out how to start this very important conversation. And the more Matt dragged Anabelle down, the harder it would be to say, “Hey, I know this is gonna sound weird, but I think I like girls ... and, uh, I think maybe you do, too.”

Anabelle was busy giving Matt the longest-drawn-out goodbye in history.
Just hang up!
Lexi thought. She strutted back toward the kitchen, singing “So Long, Farewell” from
The Sound of Music.
It seemed to be working—a few lines in, she heard the click of the phone hanging up. She hopped toward the doorway, still singing, and tried to think of a way to pick up where they'd left off. But when she leaped over the threshold, it was clear that that wouldn't happen for a while.

Anabelle was standing in front of the boob with a meat cleaver. In one fell swoop, she chopped the boob in half. And she kept hacking away, hunks of chocolate flying everywhere. She was wielding the knife so recklessly, it looked like she was bound to chop off one of her fingers.

“Stop it!” Lexi yelled at the top of her lungs. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!”

Anabelle threw the knife down and jumped away, pressing her back against the refrigerator, as if the knife might suddenly lunge at her of its own free will. She was making a hyperventilating sound, kind of like her laugh, but this time it was because she was gulping back sobs.

Lexi had never seen Anabelle cry before. It was scary to watch. But it was also sort of a relief to know that she did sometimes.

As they washed up that night, Anabelle's spirits seemed to be a bit higher. They'd just finished playing one of their favorite games. A game they'd made up, which involved Anabelle pounding out show tunes from Lexi's Broadway book and Lexi making up funny, often dirty lyrics about kids at school. She went after the jocks, the art kids, the loners. Even the Players weren't safe.

“You're such a good pianist,” Lexi told Anabelle after spitting a foamy glob of toothpaste down the drain. “You're totally gonna go pro.”

“Maybe.” Anabelle shrugged, then splashed water over her soapy face. “Maybe you will, too.”

“No, you're way out of my league. Sure, I'm good here in Normal. But if we'd stayed in Boston, I never could've gotten a leading role.”

Anabelle unscrewed a bottle of facial toner and began to apply it with a cotton pad on her clear-to-the-point-of-translucent skin.

“Can you skip the face routine tonight?” Lexi asked, stretching and faking a yawn. “I'm sleepy.” Really, she was wired—she felt like she did right before the premiere performance of a play—but she wanted to get to bed already. She figured that lying down with the lights out would create the right atmosphere to finally bring up what she needed to get off her chest.

“I already started,” Anabelle said. “It won't take long.” Lexi was tempted to call her Face Geek or something to get an eye roll. But she didn't want to risk pissing her off right now. She sat on the side of the tub and watched Anabelle circle the cotton pad over her cheeks. She looked like a kid, standing on her toes even though she was tall enough to see the mirror. The pose made her calf muscles all taut just below the hem of her nightgown.

“You've got the best legs,” Lexi said. She was afraid she'd sounded more jealous than wistful.

“They're just legs.”

“But they're shaped nicely.”

“What do you mean? They're leg-shaped.”

“No, look at mine.” Lexi held out one of her legs.

“They're all skinny and deflated-looking.”

“Isn't skinny what most girls want to be?”

God, why couldn't Anabelle ever accept flattery? All she needed to do was say thank you. “You can't ever take a compliment, can you?” Lexi said, wishing the words hadn't come out so accusatory.

“That's not true, I can,” Anabelle said, her lips getting pouty.

“No. You can't,” Lexi said. “You're pretty lucky, you know. You've got curls I'd kill for, you've actually got curves. You're the best pianist in the state—and that's not even subjective. You were actually rated number one by real judges.”

Anabelle closed her toner bottle tightly and popped open the cap of her moisturizer. She squirted some in her palm and rubbed it into her cheeks in tiny circular motions. Lexi was sure she was going extra slowly just to agitate her. Great, she thought. Now you've gotten her all tense.

“You've got money,” Anabelle said, making eye contact with Lexi through the mirror. “You don't have to put on an apron and bonnet every summer and work at the freaking taffy shop, where they're so old-timey they don't believe in air-conditioning. You don't have to think about how maybe you won't get to be a musician because you'll be paying off your student loans for eternity. And probably supporting your parents on top of it all.”

Lexi didn't want to argue anymore, but there was no way Anabelle could've said that without knowing it would sting.

“Yeah, and you know why I have money?” Lexi asked.

“Yes,” Anabelle said with a sigh, “I do.”

“I'd trade it all in a second for what you've got. You're the only person I know who doesn't have a fucked-up family.”

Anabelle didn't have anything to say to that. She didn't even give an eye roll. In fact, what she did was way worse than an eye roll: she completely avoided looking at Lexi. And she kept up her silent treatment until they finally climbed into bed.