Parallel Parking Page 3

  “But that is carrying it too far,” Ramona added. “Beyond the realm of White Bread into Stepford land. Is there a planet where they brainwash people so they can’t tell a decent outfit from wallpaper? Don’t these people know it’s the twenty-first century?”

  “Some people say the same thing about you,” Lina said. “That Goth is so over, so nineteenth century, so fake—”

  “I don’t care what ‘some people’ say,” Ramona said. “Those people are probably this very group at the table next to us. People who make sure their pants are creased and their part is straight. Why should I take their opinions seriously?”

  Lina sipped her coffee. She thought both styles were a little extreme, but she didn’t care enough to rant and rave about it. If she liked a person, she liked her, no matter how that person dressed.

  “The fashion-y type is almost as bad, though.” Ramona was watching a gaggle of popular girls, including Rebecca Hulse, Ingrid Bauman, and Claire Kessler. They leaned together, whispering and giggling. They wore the latest fashions—jeans or short skirts and boots and cute sweaters or jackets—hair long, makeup tasteful. “They’re so predictable,” Ramona said. “They let a fashion magazine be their bible. If it’s in there, you’ll see it on them within days. All variations on the same looks, same colors, same shapes.”

  “I never knew you were so knowledgeable about clothes,” Lina said. “I thought you knew Goth and Goth only.”

  “You always underestimate me, Ozu,” Ramona said. “It’s your fatal mistake. See this eye?” She pointed to her heavily eyelinered right eye, which was normally brown but that day was coated by a green contact lens. (The other eye remained brown; Lina could only assume it was on purpose.)

  “What about it?” Lina asked.

  “It sees all. It knows all. It’s the all-seeing eye. Source of my power. Nothing gets past it. If I train it on you—” She opened her eyes super-wide, nostrils flaring, and stared at Lina in a way that was meant to look threatening but really just looked weird. “If I train it on you, it absorbs all your data, and then I have you. You’re in my power. The depths of your soul are mine.”

  “Quit it,” Lina said. “You’re freaking me out.”

  “No, you’re freaking yourself out.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You tell me.”

  “No, I’m sorry, but you’re the one who’s freaking me out. Can we change the subject?”

  “Fine. I just want to point out that jocks have the absolutely worst haircuts on the planet,” Ramona said. “Especially the girls.”

  “So let’s see, you hate preppies, popular kids, and jocks,” Lina said. “You like freaks—”

  “But only the cool freaks,” Ramona said. “Not the wannabes.”

  “Okay, the cool freaks are allowed to share the planet with you. But out of all those other people, which do you disapprove of the most?”

  “Definitely the preppies,” Ramona said.

  “Why?”

  “Because they’ve elevated Normality to a higher plane. They think it’s an art form. They’ve taken Normality and twisted it until it’s almost Weird.”

  “But wouldn’t that make them freaks? Which you would then like?”

  “No, moron, because freaks are Anti-Normal.”

  “But if the Normals are so normal they’re weird—”

  “Look, you don’t get it, so let’s just drop it.” Ramona stirred her coffee, clanging her spoon loudly against her mug. “It’s about intention, see, and—”

  “I thought we were going to drop it.”

  “Yeah, okay, you’re right,” Ramona said. “One day I’m going to write a treatise about this and make you post it on your blog. Just so everyone will understand.”

  “A treatise. About Normality versus Weirdness. We’re not posting that.”

  “Oh, yes you are. You will if I want you to.” She trained her green right eye at Lina, as if it could shoot laser beams.

  “Stop it, you look crazy.”

  “That’s the price I pay for my power.” Her nostrils flared. “I pay it gladly.”

  “There are ten more ads today,” Lina said. “A lot of kids are out there looking for each other.”

  She and Holly sat in Mads’ room checking on the Dating Game. There were a few new matchmaking requests, a couple of love questions, but the most popular feature was Missed Connections. Lina scanned through the ads while Mads provided them with bowls of freshly popped popcorn. Holly peered over Lina’s shoulder.

  “‘Gorgeous girl with long brown hair, new to RSAGE, wearing tight jeans, boots, a white blouse, and lots of bracelets—I saw you getting a drink from the water fountain in the courtyard Monday afternoon. Your hair kept falling into the water, and you pushed it back with one hand. Did you see me? I was the large guy in the lacrosse jersey who followed you from the courtyard into the lunchroom and then to your econ class, even though I don’t take econ. E-mail me! My dream is to go to the Happening with you! Box 3554,’” Lina read aloud.

  “Not another Quintana ad,” Holly said.

  “I keep telling you, that girl knows what’s up,” Mads said.

  Quintana Rhea had arrived at RSAGE a few weeks earlier from L.A. and instantly became the Hot Girl. So far Missed Connections had received thirteen ads that were obviously aimed at her. Lina wondered if Quintana bothered to answer any of them.

  Sean was the second most popular Missed Connections target. Three different girls wrote that they’d seen him sing at Autumn’s Sweet Sixteen and wanted to go to the dance with him. Sean must have been reading the ads, because Lina came across this entry:

  TO MY ADORING PUBLIC

  Thanks for all the invites to the Hap, to go to the movies with you, and whatever, but I’m hanging loose right now, not ready to get tied down to one girl, so you can all relax. If I need you, don’t worry, you’ll hear from me. Lots of luv, S.B.

  Lina couldn’t resist a glance at Holly to check her reaction. Holly kept cool and didn’t betray any feelings. Mads was digging into the popcorn bowl and didn’t notice Lina’s look.

  The door burst open, and Mads’ little sister, Audrey, bounced in. “What are you doing, your dumb Web site thing?” she asked, jumping onto Mads’ bed and spilling popcorn all over it.

  “Get out,” Mads said.

  “Mom told you not to say that to me anymore, remember?” Audrey said. “You’re supposed to say, ‘I need my privacy, so please leave the room for now. You may come back later when I’m not busy, and we’ll bond like sisters should.’”

  “Yeah, and you’re supposed to knock before you come in.”

  “Say it,” Audrey insisted.

  “Get out,” Mads repeated.

  “Make me.” Audrey lay back on the bed and crossed her ankles, certain of her eventual victory.

  Mads stood up, grabbed Audrey by the feet, and tugged. Audrey grabbed the bedspread. As Mads slowly pulled Audrey off the bed, the spread came with her.

  “You’re making a mess,” Mads said.

  “You’re making the mess,” Audrey said. “I’m just innocently lying here.”

  Mads dropped Audrey’s feet so they clunked to the floor. “Fine. You want to stay here? Stay. We don’t care. Right?”

  “Doesn’t bother me,” Lina said.

  “Has anyone been looking for me?” Audrey asked.

  “Why would they?” Mads said. “You don’t go to our school.”

  “Some cute boy might have seen me on campus while I was with Mom, picking you up or something.”

  “And fallen instantly in love with you?” Mads asked. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “Why not? I’m only eleven, but my style is at least fifteen.”

  “That’s debatable,” Mads said.

  Audrey hopped up and read the computer screen. “See, that one could be about me. ‘Red-haired cutie in cutoffs reading The Catcher in the Rye on the front lawn.’”

  “You haven’t read Catcher in the Rye
,” Mads said. “And you’re not a cutie.”

  “I am, too. And I wear cutoffs sometimes.”

  “But you don’t have red hair,” Holly said. Audrey was more of a strawberry blonde. “This ad says the cutie is a redhead. Personally, I think it’s Kate Bryson.”

  “Could be Abby Kurtz,” Lina said. “Her hair’s red now.”

  “I don’t think he means fire engine red,” Holly said.

  “He doesn’t specify,” Lina said.

  “Whatever, it’s not you, Audrey,” Mads said.

  Lina read the next ad, then froze.

  “Look at this,” she said, reading the ad out loud. “‘Friday afternoon at Vineland. You: Black-haired beauty in a black dress and boots, silver rings on your fingers, drinking coffee with a friend at the corner table. I really want to meet you but I’m too shy to approach. Me: Boy, eleventh grade. If you’re curious, e-mail me at Box 4435.’”

  “Is that you?” Audrey asked Lina.

  “I’m not sure,” Lina said. “I was at Vineland with Ramona on Friday afternoon. We sat at the corner table. And I was wearing a black dress and boots.” She held up her right hand, which had silver rings on two fingers. “And rings.”

  “It’s got to be you!” Mads said.

  “Maybe,” Lina said. “But think about it. What does Ramona wear almost every day?”

  “Black dress, black boots, tons of silver rings,” Holly said. “And she’s got black hair, too.”

  “By freakish coincidence, I was wearing a black knit shirtdress, and she was wearing a long black chiffon thing,” Lina said. “But all Box 4435 says is ‘black dress.’”

  “Do you think the ad could be for Ramona?” Mads said.

  “Wait,” Audrey said. “Is Ramona that Goth girl who writes creepy poetry and is always sneering at everybody?”

  “That’s her,” Holly said.

  “It can’t be her,” Audrey said. “This boy likes you, Lina. Case closed.”

  “Not necessarily,” Lina said. “Everyone has different taste.”

  “Not that different,” Audrey said.

  “No, really,” Lina said. “What if this boy is Goth, too? He could be totally into Ramona.”

  “Did you see any Goth boys there that day?” Mads asked. “Or any boys checking you out?”

  “It was really crowded,” Lina said, struggling to remember. “I don’t remember anybody in particular….”

  “Audrey’s probably right,” Holly said. “Chances are, this guy likes you, not Ramona. I mean, let’s face it, to the vast majority of guys you’re the more attractive one. You’re pretty, in great shape, you dress nicely, and you don’t wear clown makeup to school.”

  Lina didn’t know what to say. She was a modest person, but deep down she knew she was cute, that boys liked her, and that most boys would probably choose her over Ramona. But as soon as she had that thought, she felt uncomfortable and brushed it away. She didn’t want to be conceited or assume too much. It wasn’t impossible that the ad could be meant for Ramona. She kind of hoped it was.

  “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” she said. “I’ve got Walker, and I’m not looking for a new boyfriend. So even if this guy likes me, I’m not interested.”

  “And even if this guy likes Ramona, she probably won’t like him back,” Mads said. “Doesn’t she kind of hate everybody? Even her friends?”

  “I don’t think so,” Lina said. “That’s just a pose. I mean, she’s a negative person, and she’s very critical, but…”

  Lina wondered if Ramona would be interested in this guy, whoever he was. She acted as if the very thought of boys, all boys, was beneath her. But she was a human being. She must crave love of some kind, right? Maybe she was secretly pining for a boyfriend but was too proud to admit it. The more Lina thought about it, the more sure she was that it was true. Ramona protested too much—to hide her vulnerability. In theory.

  “We’ve got to find out who this boy is,” she said. “Maybe that will give us a clue about which one of us he likes. And if he likes Ramona, we’ve got a whopper of a matchmaking case on our hands.”

  “Ramona and some boy?” Holly said. “That’s too much of a challenge for me.”

  “Me, too,” Mads said.

  “Not me,” Lina said. “I’m going to do it!”

  4 Look Out, We’re All Going to Die

  * * *

  To: mad4u

  From: your daily horoscope

  HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: VIRGO: You will plumb depths of frustration you never knew existed.

  * * *

  How’s driver’s ed going?” Mads’ father asked at breakfast Sunday morning. “Learning a lot?”

  “Yep.” She forked eggs into her mouth and focused on her plate. In spite of her bravado, Mads knew her first driving lesson hadn’t exactly gone smoothly. She loved the feeling of being behind the wheel and having all those gears and knobs at her disposal, but figuring out what to do with them was so confusing. And the idea of controlling such a big machine was a little scary.

  “I heard she practically had an accident the first day,” Audrey said.

  “I did not,” Mads said. “How did you hear that?”

  “I didn’t,” Audrey said. “I just figured you’d suck. Caught you!”

  “Audrey, I told you, we don’t say ‘suck’ at the table,” Mads’ mother, M.C., said.

  “Too late, Mom, I just said it,” Audrey said. “And so did you.”

  M.C. looked indignantly at Russell, who shook his head. Mads knew they wouldn’t punish Audrey for her smart mouth. Pathetic, Mads thought. Her parents were such pushovers. They let Audrey get away with everything.

  “Well, listen,” Russell said to Mads. “You might not know this about me, but I am the greatest driving teacher in the state of California. I can teach anybody to drive.”

  “Except me,” M.C. said. “We nearly got divorced when he tried to teach me how to drive a stick.”

  “The thing is, I’m already taking lessons,” Mads said. “So I don’t really need—“

  “How about a little practice session today?” Russell offered. “It can’t hurt.”

  “Well…” He was right: An extra lesson might be just what she needed. By her next class she’d be sure of herself, comfortable. Maybe she’d even be the best driver in her car. If only Mitchell’s mustache wasn’t so distracting…

  “I’ve got a couple of hours free this afternoon,” Russell said. “We could stop for ice cream afterward.”

  “And pick up something nice for dinner tonight,” M.C. said. “I’m working on my new play today, and it would be a big help if I didn’t have to cook.”

  “All right,” Russell said. “We’ll stop off for a roast chicken or something. What do you say, Mads?”

  “Okay, Dad. Thanks.”

  “I want to go, too,” Audrey said.

  “No,” Mads said. “You’ll get in the way.”

  “But you’re getting ice cream!”

  “We’ll bring some back to you,” Russell said.

  “Russell, it would be great if you could take her,” M.C. said. “I could really make some progress if you were all out of my hair for a couple of hours.”

  “Mom, no!” Mads cried. She was looking forward to some rare time alone with her father. Besides that, Audrey always ruined everything.

  “Please, honey,” M.C. said. “It would mean so much to me. She’ll just sit quietly in the backseat and not bother anyone, won’t you, Audrey?”

  “Quiet as a mouse,” Audrey said.

  “She’s never quiet as a mouse,” Mads said.

  “I’ll be quiet as a mouse,” Audrey repeated.

  “It’s all right, Mads,” Russell said. “We’ll be fine. And I’ll have a nice outing with my girls.”

  “Great,” Mads muttered.

  “Okay, turn the ignition,” Russell said. The Volvo sat in the school parking lot, Mads in the driver’s seat, Russell riding shotgun, and Audrey in the back. Mads turned the ignition key
toward her. Nothing happened. “No, turn it this way,” Russell said, guiding her hand. “That’s it.”

  The car hummed to life. Mads sat up straighter.

  “Now, put your foot on the brake—that’s right,” Russell said. “And put the car into drive.”

  Mads moved the gear lever. Okay, the car was in drive. So far, so good.

  “Good. Now slowly let your foot off the brake and very lightly touch the gas pedal.”

  Mads lifted her foot off the brake. Her sandal got caught under the gas pedal. She yanked it out, landing on the brake again. The car lurched slightly.

  “Look out, we’re all going to die!” Audrey yelled.

  Russell turned to the backseat. “Audrey, remember, you promised to be quiet.”

  “I can’t help it,” Audrey said. “I’ve got to say something when my life is at stake.”

  Mads tried to ignore her, but it was hard, so very hard.

  “Come on, Mads,” Russell said. “Lightly step on the gas.”

  Mads lightly stepped on the gas. The car rolled slowly forward.

  “Good, good.”

  “You’re driving over all the parking lines,” Audrey said. “This is totally illegal.”

  “That’s all right, Audrey,” Russell said. “This is just practice.”

  The Volvo purred along. “Go a little faster,” Russell said. Mads pressed harder on the gas, and the car zoomed forward. “Not that fast,” Russell said. Mads slammed on the brake. The car stopped short. She felt Audrey bounce against the back of her seat.

  “Ow! I think I wrenched my neck!” Audrey wailed.

  “Are you wearing your seat belt?” Russell asked.

  “Yes.”

  Mads turned around to look. Audrey was sitting there completely unbelted. “You’re lying!” Mads cried.

  Audrey rubbed her neck. “I didn’t think I’d need one for driving around a parking lot at five miles an hour,” she said.