What You Always Wanted (2 page)

“That looks terrible,” I say.

She grunts and turns her head back the way we came. “Elise! Your sitter's here!”

There's stomping overhead and a little voice shouts, “I'm staying in my room!”

I spot two twenty-dollar bills on the counter by the phone. “Did your mom leave that for me?”

She nods, then yells, “Elise, get down here and meet her before I leave.”

More thumping from upstairs. “No! I have chalk hands. Mom said I can't go downstairs with chalk hands.”

Fantastic.

“Then wash them! Don't make me count!” Angela swipes at her pinky nail but the brush hits more of her skin than the actual nail. “Chalk hands,” she mutters.

“And you have nail polish hands,” I say, pocketing the twenties. I notice a ten-dollar bill under a set of keys on the kitchen island. Pretty sure that's supposed to be mine too.

Angela douses a cotton ball with remover and attacks her fingers. “I can't do this. I'll never get it.”

“Whoa, whoa, you're going to mess up your good hand.” I sit next to her and wet a new cotton ball. “Here, let me.”

“Elise!” she calls again. “I swear, that girl. She's like a little kid or something.”

We laugh as I carefully paint her nails. This feels so normal, like any other Friday night, me and my friends painting each other's trouble hands. But I've been here for two minutes. All I know about this girl is that she can yell really loudly and she thinks she's putting one over on me.

“So,” I begin, “about that ten dollars over there . . .”

She covers her mouth with her other hand and groans. “She told you how much she was giving you?”

“Uh, yeah.” I blow on her fingertips out of habit, then stop myself because really, I wouldn't want a stranger blowing on my hand.

“I'm sorry.” Her forehead falls to the table with a little thud. “She never gives me any money, not even when I watch Elise. But she'll pay
you
to do it.” She snaps her head up to look at me. “No offense.”

I shrug, wondering if Rider ever went through any of this with me when we were younger. Not that he's that much older than me—just a couple of years—but it must be a pain having to watch a sibling. So glad I don't have to deal with that.

“I didn't even have any real plans besides trying to get my friend Tiffany to go to the mall with me. There's this cute guy who works at the candy apple kiosk,” Angela explains. “I mean, how lame is it to hang out on the weekend with a five-year-old? No offense there either.”

“Hey, I have an excuse. I don't know anyone yet.”

Once we moved, I sort of made this plan to be a mopey introvert. I was going to act so alone and depressed that my parents would have to send me back to Chicago and I'd find a way into my old social circle—even though they distanced themselves after my dad lost his job and moved us to Texas, so admittedly, not the most genuine group of girls. But that's not exactly a realistic scheme, and I really want to be accepted here. I'm too needy to give up friends entirely.

Angela inspects her nails before blowing on them. “Thanks. They look great.” She sighs, leaning back in her chair.

“Well,” I begin, “if you really don't have anything to do tonight, what if we split the money and watch Elise together?”

She hesitates and instantly I feel like an idiot. This girl is a grade below me. I'm guessing she's the one who drives the Beetle the color of sunshine that begs to be seen on the road, and I'm asking her to stay in on a Friday night. Look how desperate I am to make a friend. I'm bribing her with money that she already stole.

“I could paint your nails,” she finally says.

I try to tone down my eagerness. “Sure!”

After she does a decent job of turning my nails a shimmery pink, Angela leads me up the staircase to meet Elise. Her bedroom is a purple explosion of pillows and stuffed animals, with three lilac walls and one black with chalkboard paint covered in doodles. A girl in jean shorts and a blue shirt turns her back on her masterpiece to face us, three fat sticks of chalk in her hands. I'm surprised to find that her hair's nearly blond.

“Lookit!” Elise points to a drawing of a pink house among flowers the size of trees.

“It's beautiful!” Angela picks up a few stray pieces of chalk from the floor and puts all but one into a bucket near the wall. “You're a true artist. Don't you think so, Maddie?”

Elise looks at me shyly out of the corner of her eye. I'm not used to little kids, so I'm not really sure how to interact with them. But I'm getting paid for this, so I might as well make an effort.

“I think you're fantastic,” I begin. “Best flower-drawer I've ever seen!”

This wins her over. She smiles and shows me a huge patch of chalk flowers in the corner by her dresser, going up as high as she can reach. “They're my favorite! Big ole daisies.”

Angela writes ELISE in yellow block letters in the blank space above the house.

“Hey, that's my name!” Elise giggles then turns to me. “What's your name look like?”

I make sure my nails are dry before taking the stick of chalk from Angela, and I spell out my name next to hers, drawing a little daisy as the dot over the
I
. Elise claps and I smile back at
her, strangely pleased that I've just been approved by a five-year-old.

Angela wipes her hands on a towel hanging over the edge of the chalk bucket. “Maddie and I are going to play with you tonight, how does that sound?”

“Okay,” Elise says, also wiping off her hands. “Can we have egg rolls? And white rice?”

“That sounds like a yummy idea,” Angela says. “Go wash your hands and pick out a movie to watch, and I'll order.”

After we decide on sesame chicken to go with our egg rolls, Angela points me to the TV room at the end of the hall—a living area with a gigantic screen, a couple brown leather couches, and a built-in bookcase along the entire back wall. As long as I don't look up too high, I can ignore the deer heads mounted above the window. I wander to the bookcase to look at the collection of family photos, and learn there are a total of three children. Elise is the youngest, Angela's the middle child, and whoever
that
gorgeousness is had better be in my class come Monday. He's a little taller than Angela with spiky, near-black hair and the same green eyes. Man, their parents make some pretty kids.

“That's Jesse,” Angela says, startling me.

“Cool.” If I were a blusher, I'd probably go tomato-faced. Nothing like getting caught drooling over a picture of someone's hot brother.

“Meh. He's pretty cool as far as brothers go, I guess.” She plops down on the love seat and hollers, “Elise, come pick out a movie!”

“Is Jesse here somewhere? I'm guessing that's his blue truck in the driveway.”

“It is, but he's out with friends. His popularity level is annoying.”

Because I can't help myself, I glance at Jesse's image one more time before sitting on the other couch. “Popularity with girls, you mean?” As if that needed clarification.

“Everyone, but yes, girls especially.” She wrinkles her nose in the sisterly way I know all too well.

“Don't worry,” I say, feeling suddenly guilty for finding him attractive. I put my hand over my chest in hopes of making her laugh. “My heart belongs to another.”

This seems to satisfy her, for now.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure no one's brother will ever be able to compare to the man of my dreams.

CHAPTER TWO

“Ma! Where's my backpack?” I shout, practically upside down in a moving box. I've sifted through all of these at least three times this morning. No backpack.

I walk across the hallway to my parents' room. “Ma?”

The toilet flushes and she emerges from the bathroom, red-faced and watery-eyed. “Didn't I ask you to get your stuff ready yesterday?”

“Are you sick?” I take a step back and pull the collar of my emerald-green shirt over my mouth. “I can't get sick the first week of school.”

She clears her throat. “I'm sure it's just something I ate. I feel better already.”

“Do you have a fever?” I reach up to touch her forehead, but she swats me away.

“I'm fine,” she says in a clipped voice. “Let's get you to school.”

“Angela's coming to get me in, like, five minutes. You really don't know where my backpack is?”

“She's old enough to drive? I thought you said she was in tenth grade.”

“She turned sixteen in July.”

“Well, isn't that comforting?” Ma's face somehow falls even more. “I always take you to school the first day.”

“Oh. Well, Angela offered to bring me there early and show me around, so I said yes. You wanted me to make friends here, right?” I don't wait for her to answer. “I'll need you to pick me up, though, since she has volleyball practice after school. I get out at 2:35.” I offer a concerned smile in an attempt to smooth things over. “Maybe you should drink some orange juice and go back to bed.”

“You're awfully sweet to worry about me, but there's too much to do. Wallpaper that needs to come down, carpet to order, paint to buy. This place is a mess.” She sighs and disappears into her closet.

I refrain from asking, “Whose fault is that?” She already knows how I feel about our situation.

Land
, my parents said before we moved.
We're going to have land!

Land shmand. Land has bugs. Namely, mosquitoes. And everything's bigger in Texas, they say. Except our house. Well, it's smaller than our old house. And it's a foreclosure so it was cheap. Translation: a wreck. Ma's little project to keep her busy. Whatever. I got to pick out my room and that door is closed to her color samples and fabric swatches. I have my own vision for it that involves a fresh coat of paint,
twinkle lights, and every classic movie poster I can get my hands on.

“Well, just don't go climbing ladders or anything when nobody else is home,” I call to her before turning for the hallway.

“How did you get so paranoid?”

Ignoring her, I rush to my bathroom and add the finishing touches to my makeup, which include drawing a beauty mark on the top corner of my cheek near my left eye. A tiny star, just like the one Jean Hagen wore in
Singin' in the Rain
for the silent film parts. I've been practicing all weekend to get the look just right. You only get one chance to make a first impression.

Spraying my loose curls—I battled with the styling wand for nearly an hour—and scanning my wardrobe one more time, I approve my combo of casual and dressy. I grab my purse and a thick six-subject spiral notebook from my room and shout a good-bye to Ma, snatch my lunch box, and run out the door before she can stop me and get all sentimental. I slip into Angela's Beetle and resist the urge to change my outfit. She's wearing jeans the same yellow as her car, red flats, and a bright blue top with flowy sleeves, and her raven hair is half up, half down. Giant sunglasses cover half her face, so her deep red lips are the focal point. She'll definitely turn some heads today.

“I'm not sure if I should be going to school with you,” I say as she expertly backs out of my driveway. “Your paparazzi might run me over.”

“Please,” she says with a laugh. “You're the hot one with all those curls. Just so you know, I almost shut the door on you
Friday night as soon as I looked at you.” She peeks at me as she shifts into drive. “Did you join a gang since the last time I saw you?”

“What?” I ask, clicking my seat belt and smiling at the blood-red rose stuck in the bud vase near the steering wheel. Matches her lips and shoes.

She taps her cheek. “Star-face.”

I laugh and check in the visor mirror to make sure it hasn't gotten smeared. “Have you seen
Singin' in the Rain
?”

“Oh, you like the really old movies.” She throws her head back and snores. “My mom's going to want to adopt you.”