Shrimp. Part 9

'At what?" I called out after her.

"You know what!" she called back.

I got up to leave, but from the corner of my eye I saw an arm signaling me in its direction. I walked to the side of the store with the supply closet to find Shrimp standing inside it, a mischievous grin on his face. He raised both his eyebrows at me playfully--he looked like a surfer Marx Brother--and he gestured for me to join him inside that same supply closet where we used to make out during breaks when we both worked at Java the Hut.

I didn't go inside. I said, "We still haven't had that official talk, pal."

Shrimp's mouth turned down into a sad clown face. A little nookie doesn't always come without strings, buddy. I left Java the Hut to catch the bus to take me home.

Next year on Frank Day I am not going as Ava Gardner. I will be a saint.

159.

Chapter 22

Bay Area drivers, beware: CC is on the loose, officially licensed by the Golden State to operate a motor vehicle. If I had realized earlier the freedom a driver's license bought me, I would have jumped on the to-h.e.l.l-with-the-environment-let's-drive-everywhere bandwagon the day I turned sixteen. After I pa.s.sed the test Sid-dad wanted to give me a new car, but I said, "No, thank you, may I just use the car Leila left behind, the tiny, ancient, electric blue Geo Metro that looks like it could be Betty Boop's car?" Nancy said, "We were going to donate that car to charity since your dad still refuses to hire another housekeeper. You don't want that car--take the Lexus." I said, "Please, it's embarra.s.sing enough being in this family without that badge of motor monstrosity distinction. Pa.s.s those Betty Boop car keys on over and I am the happiest girl in The City." beware: CC is on the loose, officially licensed by the Golden State to operate a motor vehicle. If I had realized earlier the freedom a driver's license bought me, I would have jumped on the to-h.e.l.l-with-the-environment-let's-drive-everywhere bandwagon the day I turned sixteen. After I pa.s.sed the test Sid-dad wanted to give me a new car, but I said, "No, thank you, may I just use the car Leila left behind, the tiny, ancient, electric blue Geo Metro that looks like it could be Betty Boop's car?" Nancy said, "We were going to donate that car to charity since your dad still refuses to hire another housekeeper. You don't want that car--take the Lexus." I said, "Please, it's embarra.s.sing enough being in this family without that badge of motor monstrosity distinction. Pa.s.s those Betty Boop car keys on over and I am the happiest girl in The City."

A Betty Boop car that's practically a relic qualifies as a legacy car, in my opinion. If I am going to be a proper California girl--or, more importantly, the past and future girlfriend of a certain Cali boy surfer-artist--a legacy car is a serious step in my ident.i.ty evolution. Shrimp drives his brother's old car, this Pinto from the seventies that used to be their uncle's car. The Pinto is painted the color of a lima bean and has furry dice hanging from the rearview mirror, and Wallace gets tears in his eyes sometimes when he looks at that car, remembering how he loved fixing it up and then 160.

pa.s.sing it on to his younger bro when too many girlfriends complained about it breaking down on the freeway. Shrimp's Pinto legacy car looks like a vehicle that some sixty-year-old woman who smokes Winstons and goes to the grocery store with curlers in her hair would drive completely without irony, yet the Pinto so clearly belongs with Shrimp, like a mangy dog at the pound that just jumps in your arms and that you know is meant to go home with you. Although psycho Leila was close to last on my list of idols and the memory of her frightening Celine Dion accent alone was almost enough to make me fear the karma that might not yet have dissipated from her Geo Metro legacy car, the fact is Leila made extremely good pancakes. I would like to one day make good pancakes, so taking over Leila's car is not necessarily a legacy meaning I want to be like Leila so much as an expression of my desire to acc.u.mulate cooking karma during my driving time. Hey, it makes sense to me.

I celebrated taking over Betty Boop legacy car by picking up pa.s.sengers for girlz night out. Since H&A haven't been speaking to each other in the week since their meltdown incident on Frank Day, I decided not to let them know that they were both included in girlz night out with Sugar Pie. Helen was trapped in the backseat with no leg room, so it's not like she could really physically protest when I pulled up in front of Autumn's place in The Sunset. Autumn herself appeared to hesitate when she glimpsed Helen through the car window from where she was standing on the sidewalk, waiting for the pickup. I stopped the car, hopped out of the driver's seat, lifted the lever for Autumn to get into the backseat alongside trapped Helen, sitting behind Sugar 161.

Pie, and said loud enough for both H&A to hear, "Holding grudges like you two have been doing since the Aryan incident is a prime reason why I have not made friends with chicks in the past, so could you please just be like dudes-- buck up and get over it?"

Autumn's chopped dreaded hair was pulled back in a turban so her big eye roll was very apparent, but she did step into the backseat. Then she smushed herself against the side window, as far away as possible from Helen, who then smushed herself against the opposite side, and each of their faces wore identical pouts. Being at opposite ends of the backseat of a Geo Metro, though, meant there were like two centimeters that came between their bodies, so really all the sulking and separating their bodies away from each other was a big waste of time.

I got back into the car and Sugar Pie went to work with the next part of my plan. If there's one thing I have learned in my seventeen years on Planet Earth it's that chocolate is the great equalizer, and after Sugar Pie had pa.s.sed back the plastic pumpkin filled with chocolate treats, it only took two mini b.u.t.terfingers apiece to get H&A to both mutter "Sorry" and then one Reese's cup to get H&A past the soreness over the Aryan incident and into sugar-high chatter. Phew.

I wanted to go to the dive-through restaurant on Geary that's this great burger joint situated in a train car in this kinda seedy neighborhood, but Sugar Pie wanted fancy and also to check up on her true love's G.o.dson, Alexei, so that's how we ended up going to Lord Empress Kari's restaurant for dinner. Since my work-study will be over at the end of the semester, Her Majesty has invited me to continue 162.

working at the restaurant after Christmas, and I could even work in the kitchen if I want since that seems to be where I always end up hanging out, but I have come down with a big case of senioritis. I have decided to be a big slacker after the New Year and not have a job at all for my last semester of high school. Yeah, that'll mean more school time, but said plan should also allow for more Shrimp time.

Maybe Sugar Pie is now on my parents' payroll, too, because as soon as we were all seated at a table at the restaurant she said, "So how are those college plans coming along?" I didn't have to bother with the Don't Start with Me look, because H&A both jumped in with their plans. Autumn wants to do a double major in psychology and women's studies when she goes to college, and Helen just wants to get the h.e.l.l out of her mother's house--she doesn't care where she ends up, as long as the place has an art program and is as geographically far from Clement Street in San Fran as she can possibly go. Maybe it was the oyster appetizers, because Sugar Pie's next wave of interrogation involved this question: "Where are you girls standing on the issue of true love these days?"

Autumn said, "I'm outta that game. Love is for suckers."

I'm almost inclined to agree. My half-bro Danny had called me just this morning and told me that not only is his business, The Village Idiots, closing and he's like practically in bankruptcy, but Danny and his true love, Aaron--the true-love couple you can always count on, no matter how bleak the state of love is looking--are on the outs. The thought of Danny and Aaron not being together is just too horrible to think about, though, so I won't, because I know Danny and Aaron will work things out. They always do.

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Helen agreed with Autumn. "Yeah, fooling around is one thing, but true love is a lie. Not that fooling around doesn't count." Helen looked in my direction, acknowledging our Frank Night conversation on said topic, and I looked in Autumn's direction so she would know: case covered. Helen added, 'Anyway I have no faith in true love. Think about Tim Armstrong and Brody Dalle. I mean, if ever there were two people who seemed so obviously true-love destined to be together, but D-I-V-O-R-C-E..."

Autumn said, "Who the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

Helen said, "Dude, the Mohawked guy from Rancid who used to be married to the singer chick from The Distillers."

Sugar Pie said, "Brody's a good singer, but she'll never match Tim Armstrong for musicians.h.i.+p."

We all spun our heads in Sugar Pie's direction like, Huh? Huh? Sugar Pie said, "My next-door neighbor, his grandson listens to that punk rock music and he makes me CD burns to listen to on my audio player while I'm on the chair at dialysis." Sometimes it's beyond comprehension how much cooler Sugar Pie is than 99.9 percent of the population. "So, listen, I have a lot of time on the dialysis chair to think about these things, so here's today's old lady wisdom: True loves may come and go in your lives, but your best friends, those are the people who will be with you throughout your lives, the ones who will stay with you." Sugar Pie said, "My next-door neighbor, his grandson listens to that punk rock music and he makes me CD burns to listen to on my audio player while I'm on the chair at dialysis." Sometimes it's beyond comprehension how much cooler Sugar Pie is than 99.9 percent of the population. "So, listen, I have a lot of time on the dialysis chair to think about these things, so here's today's old lady wisdom: True loves may come and go in your lives, but your best friends, those are the people who will be with you throughout your lives, the ones who will stay with you."

Helen, Autumn, and I kinda squirmed at the table, and focused intently on eating our appetizers. I think that we three are bound in some unspoken but implicit agreement to never--EVER--get into some sisterhood covenant where we like vow to be friends for eternity and bridesmaids and 164.

G.o.dmothers, and we'll never be friends who like "do lunch" and have girly spa weekends where we catch up on one another's lives. H&A and I are just gonna... be. be. Simple friends, no complications, and end of this school year we'll figure out then how/if we'll stay in touch once we go in our different directions. Shrimp and I will probably be so back in love and l.u.s.t by that time that I'll barely notice that H&A are away at college. Simple friends, no complications, and end of this school year we'll figure out then how/if we'll stay in touch once we go in our different directions. Shrimp and I will probably be so back in love and l.u.s.t by that time that I'll barely notice that H&A are away at college.

None of us had to worry about further gushy sentiments, because the rock-hard body of Alexei stood at our table, holding a complimentary bottle of overpriced sparkling water in a pretty cobalt blue bottle. "Ladies," he said, "compliments of the house." He had a napkin over the bottom part of his arm, all formal and s.h.i.+t as he poured the water into our gla.s.ses. Sugar Pie could not help but beam at her true love's G.o.dson, like, My Fernando is partially responsible for how that boy sure did turn out right! My Fernando is partially responsible for how that boy sure did turn out right!

On the down low, the thing about Alexei is, he wears suits really well. Honestly, he does. He must go to a professional tailor to get his suits altered so that they cling to his body just right. Alexei is like the boy next door who pulled your bra strap when you were kids and now you look at him and go, Good G.o.d, man, how did you get to be so hot? Good G.o.d, man, how did you get to be so hot?

Alexei focused his attention on me. "Nice you brought your friends to cla.s.s this place up. But listen, Princess. Next week, when I'm staying at your house for Christmas, please save the Little h.e.l.lion antics."

Alas, while I may acknowledge the hotness that is Alexei, that doesn't mean he's not still a Horrible in personality.

165.

Chapter 23

I served my time faithfully, but while the end of the school semester meant liberation from the work-study job at the restaurant, liberation from Alexei the Horrible was not to be mine. time faithfully, but while the end of the school semester meant liberation from the work-study job at the restaurant, liberation from Alexei the Horrible was not to be mine.

I believe it's a const.i.tutional right that the day after Christmas should be about sleeping late, lazing around the house all day without bothering to change out of your pajamas, and eating the leftover box of See's Christmas candy. The nonday is supposed to be capped off by watching It's a Wonderful Life, It's a Wonderful Life, then bawling when George Bailey's war hero little brother toasts his big brother as "the biggest man in town," even though it's really his wonderful wife, Donna Reed, who saves the day. In Alexei World, the day after Christmas meant an 8 a.m . wake-up bugle (seriously), an egg-white breakfast followed by a run up the Lyon Street stairs, followed by an afternoon of ambus.h.i.+ng the little princess with college brochures. Clearly he pegged me as the wrong kind of princess, though, because his brochures were from the likes of the University of Miami, USC, Hofstra, and Boston University. I did give half a glance to the Chico State, Loyola, and UC-Santa Cruz apps, but finding no brochures for schools I would actually consider or who would consider me (the University of Hawaii, NYU, Hamps.h.i.+re College, or any Semester at Sea boat), I gave up. My punishment was the nighttime video of a speech by then bawling when George Bailey's war hero little brother toasts his big brother as "the biggest man in town," even though it's really his wonderful wife, Donna Reed, who saves the day. In Alexei World, the day after Christmas meant an 8 a.m . wake-up bugle (seriously), an egg-white breakfast followed by a run up the Lyon Street stairs, followed by an afternoon of ambus.h.i.+ng the little princess with college brochures. Clearly he pegged me as the wrong kind of princess, though, because his brochures were from the likes of the University of Miami, USC, Hofstra, and Boston University. I did give half a glance to the Chico State, Loyola, and UC-Santa Cruz apps, but finding no brochures for schools I would actually consider or who would consider me (the University of Hawaii, NYU, Hamps.h.i.+re College, or any Semester at Sea boat), I gave up. My punishment was the nighttime video of a speech by 166.

Alexei's hero, Noam Chomsky, that Alexei popped in for us to watch.

Us included a surprise leftover in the house. Since Nancy had cut the deal for me to stay home in San Francisco, I had offered to share baby-sitting ch.o.r.es with Josh's regular sitter so Sid and Nancy didn't have to cancel their trip when Josh came down with the chicken pox a week before Christmas. Josh was better by the time they left with Ash for Minnesota, but not well enough to travel and be abused by Granny A, so he had stayed home with me and Alexei, who was staying at Fernando's apartment on the side of the house while Fernando visited family in Nicaragua. The sitter took care of Josh during the days, and I had him at night. included a surprise leftover in the house. Since Nancy had cut the deal for me to stay home in San Francisco, I had offered to share baby-sitting ch.o.r.es with Josh's regular sitter so Sid and Nancy didn't have to cancel their trip when Josh came down with the chicken pox a week before Christmas. Josh was better by the time they left with Ash for Minnesota, but not well enough to travel and be abused by Granny A, so he had stayed home with me and Alexei, who was staying at Fernando's apartment on the side of the house while Fernando visited family in Nicaragua. The sitter took care of Josh during the days, and I had him at night.

The meds couldn't knock Josh out, but Noam Chomsky sure had. What does a ten-year-old boy care about a doc.u.mentary on linguistics mixed with politics (or something), with no dash of special effects thrown in? Josh is a boy so hyper that when he was a baby he used to grip the safety bar on his stroller as he jumped around in the seat so he could watch all the action pa.s.sing by, until his little body would get so exhausted he would plunge face forward onto the safety bar, dead asleep. Now Josh had exchanged the stroller safety bar for a sister's lap to pillow his head. We were on the L-shaped couch in the family room, Alexei facing the television, and Josh and I on the side part of the couch, Josh with a smile on his pretty face of fading pock-marks, probably dreaming of boy wizards. I looked up at Alexei and asked him, "Are my parents paying you extra to bore us to this extreme, Alexei?"

Shrimp has been so busy in the days leading up to 167.

Wallace's wedding that I've hardly seen him, so I'm almost grateful that Josh got sick and had to stay home--he's great company. Sometimes I love Josh so much I want to gobble him whole; at the same time I'm tempted to make him a nice little Ritalin Kool-Aid when he gets too loud and physical, climbing all over me and never letting me win at Super Mario, Super Mario, which he plays with full-body grunts and many curse words learned from Ash. But Josh is also a snuggle bear who asks me, 'Are you going away again?" when I put him to sleep, and hugs me extra hard when I tell him I'm not going away that soon but I'll always be his best girl. At least in my mind I will be, but the compet.i.tion is getting fierce. He's a princely-looking blond boy with the longest, dreamiest eyelashes you ever saw, and despite his proclamation that girls are yucky (except me, of course), he's got babes-in-training from his school calling him every night and he's been invited to more parties his fifth-grade year than I have in the whole of my life. Perhaps it was his fate to get chicken pox and be stuck recovering at home with me, because I have gotten much opportunity to give the bedridden boy many talks about using his power for the good, and I hope when he is a high-school-age popularity boy that he will be the guy who is nice to everyone, from the jock crowd down the ladder to the outcast tier, where his big sister traditionally resided until this last school year. Josh's future girlfriends may feel free to thank me for molding his boyfriend potential from an early age. which he plays with full-body grunts and many curse words learned from Ash. But Josh is also a snuggle bear who asks me, 'Are you going away again?" when I put him to sleep, and hugs me extra hard when I tell him I'm not going away that soon but I'll always be his best girl. At least in my mind I will be, but the compet.i.tion is getting fierce. He's a princely-looking blond boy with the longest, dreamiest eyelashes you ever saw, and despite his proclamation that girls are yucky (except me, of course), he's got babes-in-training from his school calling him every night and he's been invited to more parties his fifth-grade year than I have in the whole of my life. Perhaps it was his fate to get chicken pox and be stuck recovering at home with me, because I have gotten much opportunity to give the bedridden boy many talks about using his power for the good, and I hope when he is a high-school-age popularity boy that he will be the guy who is nice to everyone, from the jock crowd down the ladder to the outcast tier, where his big sister traditionally resided until this last school year. Josh's future girlfriends may feel free to thank me for molding his boyfriend potential from an early age.

Alexei lifted Josh from my lap to carry him upstairs to his real bed. When Alexei came back down, he hit play on the CD player without checking to see what was in the stereo, so we were treated to 01' Blue Eyes singing cla.s.sic 168.

love songs. With the dim track lighting in the family room, the kid crocked asleep upstairs, and an open bottle of sparkling apple cider on the table, you'd almost think we had some romantic ambience happening. Except it was Alexei in the room, not Shrimp, and suddenly the Doritos I'd been munching caught up with me and a fart exited my body, causing the usually stone-faced Alexei to break out laughing.

If I was going to be humiliated like that, why shouldn't Alexei be also? I asked Alexei, "So did Kari dump you, or are you still going to make a fool of yourself over Mrs. Robinson from three thousands miles away when you go back to school?" College Boy is anxious to return back East to Fancy University now that his semester off is over, but he has been close-lipped (so to speak) about the status of his and Kari's relations.h.i.+p.

In response to my question, Alexei grabbed the remotes on the table. He turned the stereo off with one and turned the television and Noam Chomsky back on with the other. Then he jumped onto the couch next to me and made fanning gestures with his hands. His atrocious CK cologne was a pleasant distraction, in this instance.

Alexei was just looking at me, and we were both sort of laughing and smiling and shoving each other, as two people who mostly despise each other but who don't find the other entirely vile are naturally inclined to do, when all of a sudden the mood changed; a spark ignited. Somehow our mouths drew nearer to each other's by some inexplicable gravitational pull that was as exciting as it was repulsive, and was not purely based on lack o' Shrimp s.e.xual frustration. A mantra played in the back of my mind, reminding 169.

me that Shrimp and I were: just friends, just friends, just friends. Didn't that make side orders admissible in the court of platonic aggravation? Yet right as Alexei's lips were about to touch mine, we both pulled back at the same exact second. Alexei said, "You have Doritos breath." I responded, "You have Listerine Strip breath, which is worse." Alexei looked as relieved as I felt that our strange little moment had not materialized into an actual kiss.

Maybe that Noam Chomsky guy would say I experienced a moment of clarity, because what I realized was this: not that Alexei and I weren't into each other that way, but that maybe I am capable of having a platonic friend who's a guy. Just not Shrimp.

I said to Alexei, "So if you'll turn that d.a.m.n Noam Chomsky video off and put the music back on--I'll trade you Sinatra for cla.s.sic Aerosmith--I might listen if you want to tell me what's so great about going off to some dumb college, and, like, what you plan on doing with your life once you're finished there."

Alexei poured us fresh gla.s.ses of sparkling cider and said, "Make yourself comfortable, Princess. It's gonna be a long night."

"Good, because since you've got me trapped, you might as well tell me all about what happened with Kari, too."

170.

Chapter 24

With Josh's getting sick and getting left behind in San Francisco, the holiday season, and Sid and Nancy taking off with Ash for Minnesota to see dying Granny A, in all that chaos we forgot a very important date that falls the week between Christmas and New Year's: Josh's birthday. The whole situation, in my opinion, was very sick and getting left behind in San Francisco, the holiday season, and Sid and Nancy taking off with Ash for Minnesota to see dying Granny A, in all that chaos we forgot a very important date that falls the week between Christmas and New Year's: Josh's birthday. The whole situation, in my opinion, was very Home Alone Home Alone meets meets Sixteen Candles, Sixteen Candles, and I was and I was Clueless Clueless on how to solve it. Josh's friends were all gone on Christmas vacation with their families, so it's not like I could invite them over for an impromptu party, and I was not about to pull a Nancy and take him to tourist trap Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. at Pier 39 for a birthday celebration. There was nothing left to do in this crisis except turn to the one person who could figure it out for me: Sugar Pie. And man, did she come through big time. on how to solve it. Josh's friends were all gone on Christmas vacation with their families, so it's not like I could invite them over for an impromptu party, and I was not about to pull a Nancy and take him to tourist trap Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. at Pier 39 for a birthday celebration. There was nothing left to do in this crisis except turn to the one person who could figure it out for me: Sugar Pie. And man, did she come through big time.

If you need to stock a last-minute party with guests who can't leave The City for the holidays, and who might love Harry Potter more than Josh, what better venue than a nursing home--excuse me, a.s.sisted living facility? I love old people. Who else would have the time and heart to decorate their party room for an HP-themed party, with an endless supply of fruit punch, Jell-O, and Boston Baked Beans subbing for Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, on just a few hours' notice?

During the car ride over, Josh couldn't figure out why I 171.

was wearing a McGonagall black tower hat, or why Alexei had bulked up his clothing so he'd look even closer to Hagrid size, until we led him into the party room, where an a.s.sortment of old-timers were milling around with Sugar Pie, Shrimp, and Helen and Autumn.

Not having the best collective vision, the party group didn't notice the guest of honor's arrival until about a minute after he'd knocked over a bowl of M&Ms in his sprint to retrieve the hastily created Nimbus2000 broomstick in the corner, but the smile on Josh's face when the group finally got around to saying "SURPRISE" in unison was big. His would not be a party with a pinata, and no one in that crowd was up for a game of Twister, but a party full of HP peeps, along with many treats and grown-up dancing to a collection of popular tunes (if you're 70-plus), could more than subst.i.tute.

Hmm, future career idea to DO something: create party-planning business organizing last-minute celebrations for forgotten birthdays.

Helen, who made for an interesting almost-bald-headed Hermione with square black geek gla.s.sless gla.s.s frames on her eyes, grabbed Josh's hand for the first dance under the paper lantern hanging from the ceiling. I doubt Josh knew who Benny Goodman was, but he had no trouble pulling off a postmodern robot dance with Helen to the WWII swing beat. Alexei took Cho Chang--that is, Autumn--off for a dance, while the tiniest Dumbledore ever, Shrimp, took my hand. I've always suspected there is some magic brew between Dumbledore and McGonagall, and our slow dance to the fast number, holding each other tight, my head on his shoulder, soulful silence between us, only proved that.

172.

Shrimp and I danced through several songs, oblivious to the dance partner changes happening around us, until You-Know-Who--Sugar Pie--cut into our dance. Shrimp took her hand, thinking she was exchanging Alexei for him as her dance partner, but she shot him her best Voldemort death glance and took my hand instead. The two dudes left partnerless by Sugar Pie's cut-in, Shrimp and Alexei, exchanged awkward looks but did not move forward to dance with each other. They gave each other the soul brother handshake followed by the obligatory shoulder b.u.t.t, then they both hot trotted their separate ways.

Sugar Pie said, "That was an awful slow, tight dance you and Shrimp just had to 'Mack the Knife.' Since you didn't notice, I'll inform you for future dances: It's an uptempo number. So is it safe to say you two are back together?"

"We're not there yet, my friend, not quite there."

"When do you think you will be?"

"Did you bring your tarot cards down for the party? Cuz I would like to figure out the same thing. It's just so... nice... nice... between us, so it's like neither of us wants to ruin that. We are disgraces to our teenage libidos. I guess we are supposed to have some Official Talk if we ever decide to officially get back together, but we've both either been too busy or we're just dodging the topic entirely. Sugar Pie, is true love a fallacy?" between us, so it's like neither of us wants to ruin that. We are disgraces to our teenage libidos. I guess we are supposed to have some Official Talk if we ever decide to officially get back together, but we've both either been too busy or we're just dodging the topic entirely. Sugar Pie, is true love a fallacy?"

The song ended and Sugar Pie and I took seats next to the Hogwarts-decorated dining hall table heaped with cake and candy and--someone was really forward-thinking-- bottles of Turns. Sugar Pie took a sip from her Dixie cup of grape Kool-Aid and answered my question. "Maybe you ought to stop worrying so much about some idea called true 173.

love, and think harder about the simple, plain reality of what love you have in you to give, and receive in turn. Love that's about the person--the real person, that lost soul boy whose future plans are vaguer than yours, the one too scared to admit how much he needs you because maybe he's afraid of losing you again--and not about some romanticized notion of who you thought that person was. Think about whether you have gotten to know this person well enough this time around to have earned the right to call it love."

"Do you love Fernando?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Is it true love?"

"It's better--it's real, which makes it harder, too, sometimes. Fights and handicaps and him taking off to Nicaragua for Christmas and not inviting this old lady along and all."

Ouch. I asked her, 'Are you mad?" Sugar Pie nodded. 'Are you going to break up with him?" She shook her head no. I wanted to know, "You're not dying, right? Because you said maybe you weren't planning on living here forever."

Sugar Pie laughed. "Not that my doctor has told me, baby. I may be getting on in years, but this lady isn't planning on going anywhere. Not just yet."

Josh arrived with a THUD on my lap, and banged his head against my chest. The sugar, dancing, and an engaged audience of people who knew the Hogwarts universe better than he had temporarily spent him. He whispered in my ear, "Your other family isn't taking you away, are they?" I looked down at his worried face and suspected this was the question he'd wanted to ask me since I got back from New York 174.

months ago, but maybe it was his special day and Sid and Nancy being gone that had allowed him to finally voice it.

I flicked his head, our usual custom. "No, silly," I told him.

For a love child who spent the better part of her life dreaming about her other family, I've barely given them a second thought since returning to San Francisco, except for Danny, of course, who is going to be the cause of my future carpal tunnel syndrome from all the cell phone text messaging I do with him to keep in touch. I did get a Christmas present from bio-dad Frank: a blue Tiffany box containing a chain necklace with a diamond heart-shaped pendant attached, like I am a girl who wears horridly precious trinkets like that. The card inside read, for a sweet sixteen of a girl . Trust me, there is nothing about me that Frank finds sweet. I think the word he used to describe me was s.p.u.n.ky. s.p.u.n.ky. (Insert puking sound here.) Last year I might have been thrilled to get such a present from him, even such a sucky one, but this year--and by the way, Frank-dude, I'm seventeen, not sixteen--the necklace only confirmed how little he knew me. I set the Tiffany box aside to donate to charity. (Insert puking sound here.) Last year I might have been thrilled to get such a present from him, even such a sucky one, but this year--and by the way, Frank-dude, I'm seventeen, not sixteen--the necklace only confirmed how little he knew me. I set the Tiffany box aside to donate to charity.

Autumn and Shrimp approached our seats, carrying the birthday cake I'd made Josh, as everyone in the room sang "Happy Birthday." If anyone had told me last summer that my lifetime would witness an Autumn-Shrimp b-day duo celebrating my brother, at my request, I would have either collapsed in hysterics on the spot or possibly gone postal. To quote a great lady, Sugar Pie: "Life is funny, baby, and that's no joke."

After Josh had cut the cake, Autumn came over to sit with me while Helen snapped photos of the party and got 175.

the digits for at least three senior gentlemen, her latest flirt pals. She's promised me she's past Aryan, over it, done, finito, done, finito, but natural Helen flirting, no matter the age of her conquest, could never be off-limits. Autumn said, "This cake is delicious. You made this whole thing by yourself?" but natural Helen flirting, no matter the age of her conquest, could never be off-limits. Autumn said, "This cake is delicious. You made this whole thing by yourself?"

"Guess so," I said. "Not a big deal."

"I think a banana cake with chocolate ganache filling and the best b.u.t.tercream frosting I've ever had in my life is a big deal. Thank your brother in New York for pa.s.sing on the recipe, from my taste buds. So in all those colleges Alexei told me he's been going through with you, did you find any with a cake-baking major?"

All the college brochures and discussions have only confirmed for me what I already knew.- College is not a place for me. I hate hate school, simple as that. I tolerate it because I have to, but when I'm there all I think about is when the school day will end, the weekend come, vacation start, my life begin again. I would rather study European history by going to Europe, or Far Eastern religions by traveling to China and India. I'd prefer to learn the great works of literature by watching Shakespeare in the park, and understand geometry and algebra by jumping off a triangular precipice and determining the distance to the bottom by whether the resulting injury requires an Ace bandage or a trip to the hospital for X rays. Making it through my senior year of high school--the actual school part, not the hanging with friends part--feels like I am a runner standing at my mark for the big race, waiting for the starting gun to signal graduation so I can sprint off to my future and some place that is not not not school. school, simple as that. I tolerate it because I have to, but when I'm there all I think about is when the school day will end, the weekend come, vacation start, my life begin again. I would rather study European history by going to Europe, or Far Eastern religions by traveling to China and India. I'd prefer to learn the great works of literature by watching Shakespeare in the park, and understand geometry and algebra by jumping off a triangular precipice and determining the distance to the bottom by whether the resulting injury requires an Ace bandage or a trip to the hospital for X rays. Making it through my senior year of high school--the actual school part, not the hanging with friends part--feels like I am a runner standing at my mark for the big race, waiting for the starting gun to signal graduation so I can sprint off to my future and some place that is not not not school.

176.

"Nan," I said. "What about you? Did you finish your apps over the break?"

Autumn said, "Yeah. And I might even have snuck in a few dark-horse contenders."

"Where?"

Autumn's index finger and thumb did the zip lip gesture around her mouth. "I'm not jinxing it."

177.