Chapter Two
S tacey set her backpack on the kitchen counter, beside the blinking answering machine. She palmed a handful of Corn Pops straight from the box and pressed play.
“This message is for Miss Stacey Chapman. Congratulations! You’ve been hired for the 1996 summer season. Please attend orientation at 8 am on Saturday at the facility on Seventh Street.”
Stacey dropped the box of cereal and squealed, pulling the beige phone cord across the speckled Formica. Round yellow puffs scattered across the linoleum. Her golden retriever, Murphy Brown, wagged her tail as she devoured them. Stacey dialed Gabe’s number, wrapping the twisted cord around her index finger and bouncing on the heels of her feet.
“I got the job!” she squealed when he answered.
“No way? That’s awesome!”
“I start Saturday!”
“We’ll still hit the beach at least a few times this summer, right?”
“Of course!” she said, then caught her reflection in the oven door. Her face fell and she dropped back onto flat feet, slumping forward. “Shit…I’m going to have to wear a bathing suit…like…all the time!”
“Duh…”
“The other guards are going to look like Pamela Anderson.” Stacey groaned, lifting her tank top and turning sideways to take in the full glory of her pale belly rolls. She grimaced and looked away.
“You’ve gotta be kidding. Pamela Anderson paid a plastic surgeon to look like Pamela Anderson,” Gabe said, laughing. “Don’t sweat it. You’re gonna make so much money. Way more than I do bussing tables.”
“Where can I get a red swimsuit?” Stacey pulled the empty cereal box away from Murphy’s muzzle and shoved it in the garbage.
“The mall?”
“Worth a try. Up for a road trip?”
“Can’t.” He sighed. “Algebra 2 final tomorrow.”
Stacey did her best nasally-imitation of Nelson from the Simpsons. “Ha, ha!”
“Jerk,” Gabe teased.
“I can help you study,” she offered, holding the phone close and biting her bottom lip. Please, please, please say yes.
“Jenny’s coming over.”
Disappointment washed over her. “Oh…” Jenny, the prom date. She hadn’t realized he and Jenny were still a thing. “That's cool.” Stacey threw her head back and searched the ceiling for answers.
Over the line, she could hear Gabe’s mom’s voice in the distance. “Hang on,” Gabe said to Stacey, and muffled the mouthpiece.
Stacey overheard Gabe’s mom say something about taking out the garbage. Stacey pulled the stash of Nutter Butters from the cabinet above the fridge and gnawed on one while looking out the window. A mobile home park backed up to the backyard fence, and Stacey’s gaze caught on the glint of sun reflecting off aluminum foil in a trailer’s windows.
“Hey,” Gabe huffed into the phone. “I gotta go. Call you later?”
“Mmm hmmm,” she managed through her peanut butter coated mouth, doing her best to swallow.
“Congrats again on the job, Stace. It’ll be great.”
“Thanks,” she garbled as Gabe hung up.
Murphy laid on the brown floral linoleum by Stacey’s feet. “I’ve gotta get out of Mesa Valley, Murph,” she said, sliding down the cabinets to slump onto the floor. “Ow! Shit!” She rubbed the tender spot on her butt, a reminder of her fall at school, and leaned back, letting Murphy lick the crumbs from her hand. Stacey tugged at the dried stain on her pants. “Why am I so lame? No one will ever fall in love with me like this.”
Murphy wriggled onto her lap. Stacey scratched her fingers through her dog’s mane, grateful for the brief cuddle before Murphy started licking her cheek. “Okay, okay. I know, YOU love me. That’s enough!” Stacey shielded her face and scrambled back to standing. “Let’s call Mom.”
After the salon receptionist put her on hold, Stacey’s mom answered. “This is Sharon.”
“Mom, I have good news! I got the lifeguard job.”
“That’s great, Doodle Bug! I knew you would.”
Stacey hated that nickname, a holdout from years spent coloring in her room alone. Her tone became clipped. “I need to buy a red swimsuit.”
“Okay. Maybe from Lands’ End? Or Speedo? Can we talk about it when I get home? My client’s under the dryer.”
“But Saturd—”
“Also, can you start dinner?” Her mom raised her voice over the whizz of a blow dryer. “My last appointment’s running late. It’s a full perm. I got stuff for Veggie-Roni bowls.”
“Sure,” Stacey replied. She robotically grabbed the boxed rice and canned vegetables from the cupboard and set them on the counter.
“See you after six.” The line dropped.
“Bye,” Stacey muttered. Returning the phone to its cradle, she added bitterly, “Love you, too.”
It was still early to start dinner. She wanted to figure out the swimsuit situation. But shopping in Mesa Valley was complicated. Other than thrift stores, the nearest mall was over thirty miles away, and people got stabbed and mugged there a few times a year. Without Gabe, she was too afraid to go. Especially without knowing if the trip would even be worthwhile.
Crossing to the living room Stacey grabbed her mom’s stack of catalogs and turned on MTV.
“Now up two spots from last week,” Daisy Fuentes’ voice filled the room, “our favorite band from across the Atlantic, Oasis, with ‘Don’t Look Back in Anger.’”
Stacey flopped onto the orange corduroy couch. Envying Daisy’s shaggy bangs, she contemplated cutting her own with a spare pair of her mom’s professional scissors, then thought better of it.
With the catalogs stacked in her lap, she started flipping through them, talking to herself. “Spiegel? No. JC Penney? No. Sears? Definitely not.” Piling at least a dozen rejected home and linen catalogs next to her, she began losing faith.
“Victoria’s Secret? That’s promising…” Stacey flipped past Wonderbras and thong underwear, and found three pages of swimsuits. Lean, tan models stared seductively in barely-there bikinis. White sand clung to the smooth curve of their hips. A suit like that would get Gabe’s attention. Or Jessie’s.
Then her heart sank. Each piece cost $65! Her mom would freak. Plus, the only red suit was plaid, which wouldn’t work. It had to be solid red. So much for that.
She slapped Victoria’s Secret onto her discard pile, promising herself she’d buy one to wear to the beach after her first paycheck.
The final catalog was the Land’s End swimsuit sale edition. Boring, solid, one-piece swimsuits filled every page. The same thin model appeared in every suit in the same pose, even the ones with “tummy control panels,” whatever that meant. All for the “Season’s Lowest Price: $39.99!”
Stacey called the 800 number. The woman on the other end of the line assured her the expedited shipping fee would get her the cardinal red “waist shaping” suit before Saturday. Using the emergency credit card her mom kept in her underwear drawer, Stacey ordered the suit, feeling proud she’d solved the problem on her own.
The stench of manure from the chicken ranch at the end of their street wafted through the screen door. Stacey held her breath and pulled the sliding door closed. Her mom had rules about using the air conditioner when it was under 85 in the house. But 83 was close enough. Stacey hated the way their neighborhood reeked, and she worried people could smell it on her clothes. Outside, it was a boiling 95 degrees with no breeze.
“This is borderline abusive, Murphy,” she muttered, and flipped on the AC.
Stacey measured the butter and set it to melt on the stove, then started opening cans: black beans, stewed tomatoes, mixed vegetables. After making this meal at least once a week the past three years, she could have prepared it blindfolded. Stacey stirred the Rice-a-Roni into the saucepan, then added the stewed tomatoes. Her mom loved this dish because it made four servings for less than $5 total and it had all the food groups. Once the ingredients were combined it was a salty, colorful sludge Stacey regretted ever saying she liked.
“Why can’t we have TV dinners like normal people?” she asked Murphy, and switched off the stove. She filled her bowl and plopped on the couch, eating mindlessly while watching a rerun of Real World San Francisco.
At 6:30, her mother barreled through the front door, swatting at a cloud of flies swarming in around her.
“Hey, Mom…” Stacey said, turning off the TV and peeling herself from the couch. “Your food’s on the stove.” She set her empty bowl in the sink and sat on a barstool.
“Thanks, Bug.” Her mom set her purse down and took a bottle of cheap wine from a paper bag.
“Stopped at the liquor store?” Stacey’s voice was heavy with criticism.
“Long day. Don’t judge me,” her mom said, grabbing a mug. “How are you?” She took a sip of wine, then took a fork from the drawer.
Stacey shrugged. “I ordered the Lands’ End suit.”
“What? Why didn’t you wait?”
“I need it by Saturday. You always forget.”
Mom clenched her teeth. “How much?”
“Fifty bucks, including tax and shipping.”
“You can’t spend $50 without talking to me first.”
“You told me you want me to take more responsibility. I dealt with it.”
Her mother took a large gulp, her eyes on Stacey over the rim of her mug. “Maybe we can get your dad to pay for it.”
“Yeah…right. Good luck with that.”
“Stacey, I’m doing the best I can. I hope you never have to find out what it’s like to raise a kid on your own.”
“Dad bought my car. He’s paying my insurance. There’s no way I’m calling to ask for a swimsuit, too.”
“You’re going to need more than one suit to lifeguard the whole summer. The card you used is almost maxed out. Call your step-mother. She’ll give you the money.” Her mom set her fork in the sink, put the leftovers in the fridge and refilled her mug.
Stacey snorted. “No way am I asking Jackie. I’ll buy it myself.”
“Don’t go spending your money before you earn it. You need to pay for gas, too.”
“Whatever,” Stacey said, picking up her backpack. “I need to study. More finals tomorrow.”
“Open your window,” her mom called after her. “I’m turning the AC off.”
Stacey waved a thumbs-up over her shoulder without turning back around. Murphy trotted after her, and once they’d both slipped into her bedroom, Stacey slammed the door. The full-length mirror hanging on the back rattled. She turned on her stereo, letting Jewel’s “Pieces of You” saturate the room, and fell onto the bed. Stacey dialed Gabe’s number, biting the inside of her cheek. Busy. She let the handset roll onto her pillow.
“Nothing’s ever good enough, Murph.” She buried her face in the dog’s neck. “I made dinner, found the swimsuit. I’m a straight-A student, and never get into trouble! But that’s not enough, is it? I’m too fat. Too ugly. A total dork. I’m so sick of it!”
Tacked to the wall above her dresser was an ad for Eternity perfume. A beautiful couple rolled in the sand, so clearly in love. That’s what she wanted: for Gabe to take her in his arms and confess he was crazy about her. Or Jessie to even acknowledge her existence. Anyone to ask her out. Kiss her. They’d fall madly in love. Get away from Mesa Valley. Together. Forever.
Then she could stop feeling so alone.
For that, Stacey would do almost anything.