Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
“Girl, how do you resist the temptation? I would be the size of a house from eating corndogs all day,” Lisa says between bites.
Our short break between the lunch and dinner rush is my favorite hour of the weekend.
While the North Mall is the best place in the world for people watching, I wouldn’t understand half of what I was seeing without my roommate Lisa.
“Resisting the temptation is easy—”
“Nope,” she exclaims, putting mustard-coated fingers over my mouth. “Don’t you start with that biblical stuff. Save it for your services tomorrow morning.”
I peel away her hand while giving her a fake laugh.
She takes another huge bite of her corndog and dabs ketchup from the corners of her mouth.
“I was going to say that it’s easy to resist the temptation when you stand over the fryer all day.
Between the stinging splatters, the fumes, and the heat, I may never eat a corndog again. ”
“Same with corn chips at Chi-Chi’s. I’ll never look at a bag of chips the same way again.”
“That’s why our arrangement works.” I tap my fork of chimichanga against the stick end of her corndog in a mock toast. “I get my spicy fix, and you entertain the guys by inhaling a corndog.”
“I do not!”
“Look over there.” I point to the group of guys sitting by the mall fountain.
When Lisa turns around, they wave at her.
Yeah, she’s the one who captures their attention.
The prophet would call this a teachable moment, where I should be grateful my modesty has shielded me from their attention.
Somehow, the protection of my church’s mandates wears on my nerves more with each day I grow older.
Lisa’s uniform is a delicate white blouse that hangs off her brown shoulders, paired with a flowing, colorful skirt.
She looks like a princess visiting us from south of the border.
When I applied to work at Chi-Chi’s with her, the uniform was non-negotiable, so I had to refuse the position because of my beliefs.
I make fifty cents less per hour at the corndog stand in the food court, but the manager allows me to wear black pants instead of short shorts.
He also doesn’t care that I wear a turtleneck under my polo shirt.
The only non-negotiable part is the cone-shaped hat, which luckily, the prophet hasn’t deemed inappropriate… yet.
“Ugh, that’s Roger and his little high school friends,” Lisa grouses with an eyeroll.
“We graduated two years ago. You would think he would have made grown-up friends by now. I heard from Jessie, who heard from Molly, that Molly’s little brother’s girlfriend bumped into Roger on the second floor of the teen disco last Saturday. Can you believe it? What a dork.”
I shake my head and shove a forkful of cheesy goodness into my mouth so she will continue her story.
Because of my religion, I’ve never set foot inside a disco.
Do I regret all those years of resisting Lisa’s begging me to go?
While she would probably ditch me in the first five minutes when a guy gave her attention, I yearn to experience what the big deal is with dance clubs.
Would it look like the set of a Debbie Gibson video, or would it be more like the set of Solid Gold?
If my parents knew that I had glimpsed either of those shows on the TV sets in store windows, they would flip.
If they knew I sometimes stole a peek as Lisa watched them in our apartment, they would demand I move back home.
They can never know I secretly wish I could dance like that… there’d be an exorcism.
“Come on and walk with me,” Lisa says, pulling me with her as she abruptly stands. “These creeps stole my appetite.”
Eating a Chimichanga with rice and extra cheese in a flimsy paper boat isn’t an easy task to begin with.
I’m almost certain to be wearing the thick red sauce if I attempt to eat and walk at the same time, so I toss my lunch into a trash can with a sigh of mourning.
I only have three red, white, blue, and yellow striped uniform shirts, and I work five days a week.
Since there is always one soaking in Woolite to release the previous day’s grease stains, I only ever have two fresh shirts at a time.
And as much as I hate the stiff, smelly shirts, I love what they represent.
My freedom.
“Hello? Earth to Jenny! Are you even listening to me?” I’d missed when Lisa stopped in front of Contempo because of my tizzy about my shirts. “I think Tiffany is behind that potted plant!”
“Oh, Lisa,” I say with a groan. “There would be colored lights, music, and a stage if she were performing in our mall. Just because she’s touring malls across the USA, doesn’t mean she will be in our little town. Nothing ever happens here.”
“Which would give her the best exposure ever!” Lisa shouts, digging through the poor plant’s foliage.
“No lights. No action. No Tiffany,” I reply as I grab her shoulders to keep her from falling into the plant.
“Poo, a girl can hope. Anyway, follow me down this row. I want a second opinion on this dress before I buy it,” Lisa says, looping her arm through my elbow.
“Do you think I can pull off neon orange with my skin tone, or should I play it safe and buy the pink one? You know we get paid this Friday, and Johnny is desperate to see me in that.” She points to a pair of dresses in the front window…
at least I think they’re supposed to be dresses.
In my opinion, they need stirrup pants beneath their scandalous length. Maybe exposed legs are meant to match the exposed arms, shoulders, and midriff. “Lisa! Those dresses might give Johnny the wrong message—"
“Or they might give him the right message,” she says with a wink. “I’ve decided to become a modern woman. We already fund our existence like material girls, we might as well collect some of the perks.”
“Perks?”
“Sex,” she whispers in my ear. “We didn’t need marriage to escape our parents’ houses, so we don’t need marriage to seal the deal either.”
“I don’t think that’s what the material girl movement is all about—”
“Of course it is! Did you see Madonna rolling around on the MTV Music Awards stage? She sang ‘Like a Virgin,’ not ‘Oh My God I’m Still a Virgin.’”
“You know I’m not allowed to watch MTV. I only get to listen to her music because you play it in our place. Maybe consider what Jesus would do. You know WWJD? I think—”
“This isn’t a WWJD, but a WWMD moment. What would Madonna do? She would get the dress and shop for some fingerless gloves in the same color. Pink or orange?”
“Before you spend your future paycheck, how about this?” I drag her from the Contempo window to the display in front of The Limited.
“This is what Jenny would do. See those pantsuits with the shoulder pads? I’d buy one of those with a pair of high-tops and take on Wall Street.
I think the material girl movement is about money.
When you work for your own money, nobody can put you in a cage. ”
“Vomit-trocious,” Lisa says, crinkling her nose.
“Your short frame would look like a football player’s little brother in one of those.
And what would Jimmy say if you started dressing like Annie Lennox?
He’s in that same crazy cult as your parents.
He’s not going to allow his wife to work outside of the home or rock an androgenous look. ”
Yeah, Jimmy. While Lisa and I have been friends since I fell off my bike in front of her house in the third grade, I’ve known Jimmy since kindergarten.
It was always assumed that we would marry eventually, because we fought like cats when we were little.
So when the prophet announced we were a match for temple marriage, suggested to him by God, my parents didn’t bat an eyelash.
Mom thought it was God listening to her prayers.
I don’t hate the guy, so I went along with it.
Jimmy’s okay. We try our best to socialize at the temple dances and family events, but our camaraderie is forced.
Could escaping from the marriage really be as easy as buying a navy blue pantsuit?
It’s not that I want to infuriate Jimmy by dressing more modern than his mother or the other women in our church.
The pantsuit represents my dream of working on Wall Street as the right-hand to some overstressed investment banker.
Lisa may blow her paycheck on fingerless gloves, but I’m saving up to move into a high-rise apartment…
but would Jimmy move with me? We’ve mentioned our dreams to one another, but we’re never alone long enough for me to share my vision.
What if he rejects the idea? Do I have the guts to move to the city alone? Can I afford it?
“I want to buy new clothes when I feel like it—not just on payday. If Jimmy and I could have a two-income household, we wouldn’t live paycheck to paycheck. He will never see it my way…Lisa, what if I’m a terrible wife?”
“Look, Jenny, I know you secretly wish your godly match was someone else. You don’t have to say anything, a bestie knows,” she says, palm out so I won’t protest. My shoulders slump as I stare at the zigzag carpet.
She’s right. Her arm loops us together again and tugs me toward the food court.
“Just know I don’t want you to worry about me or our lease.
I won’t blame you if you suddenly disappear. ”
“We’ve talked about this a thousand times,” I whine. “There’s nowhere on Earth the prophet can’t see. He talks to God and my parents. I can’t just change my hair and bicycle to a new town to start over. That stuff only works in the movies.”
“Yeah, your parents would print your face on a milk carton on day one.”
“As they should,” I say with less conviction than usual. “They love me and want what’s best for me—including what will get me into heaven.”
“Well, I’d rather believe that heaven is a place on earth! Love comes first!” Lisa stops the conversation by singing the newest Belinda Carlisle song. Heaven is a place on earth if you believe the song that plays in every television commercial, mall store, and boombox.
“Your life does seem like heaven sometimes,” I murmur.
“You know you are always welcome at my church. You can still believe in heaven, God, and being a good person. We even read Bible passages between hymns.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say over my shoulder, stealing one last glimpse at the pantsuit.
Why do I want a life that’s beneath what’s chosen for me?
Maybe Lisa’s right, and I could have it all by worshiping in her church while I save up for my dream.
My parents wouldn’t see it as rejecting salvation if I stayed in the Christian faith…
right? Who am I kidding? It would break their hearts to know I’ll burn for eternity when their rapture comes.
Blasphemy. Or is it? If hell is beneath the zigzag carpet, why does my fate on earth feel like a prison sentence for some unknown transgression?
Why can’t heaven be a place on earth for me?
For all Lisa’s minor sins, she’s carefree and happy.
She’s not locked into a temple marriage or berated for taking typing classes at the local community college.
“Hey, don’t look so sad. Perk up, or you won’t sell out of corndog sticks, and I’m counting on you to close up early.
Once Hot Dog on a Stick runs out of sticks and closes, the other stalls will close early too.
Johnny is taking me to see The Princess Bride tonight after his shift at Sbarro.
I think tonight might be my big night to ask him to sleep over, so sell, sell, sell! ”
“I’ll have my greasy shirt soaking before you get home, so you don’t have your romance spoiled by hotdog stench.”
“And sell those dogs!”
“Always,” I say, checking the rim of my hat for flyaways. I don’t hug her for fear of staining her blouse or sparkly happiness. “Because we’re just girls living in a material world.”
At least one of us is living in it. I can’t help the feeling that my life hasn’t begun, and won’t unless something changes.
As I squeeze behind the corndog counter, my eyelids drift closed, and my fingers clasp the silver cross around my neck.
I should pray, but for what? Please change my destiny?
Please reconsider your plan because a meager, simple human doesn’t like it?
I was taught sacrilegious statements like those would land me in hell. But what if I’m already there?