name. It had been published when I was three. "It was a long time ago."
I watched everyone's eyes move across the table as Sasha Swerdlow started talking. "It's called Big Girls Don't Cry, " Sasha said. "You guys have all totally seen it. It's got, like, gigantic boobs on the cover." She held her hands out way in front of her own not inconsiderable chest. "And a hot-fudge sundae, and the cherry from the sundae's sliding down the cleavage, and anyway, it's about this girl who's in love with a guy, but he dumps her, and they have all this sex, and she's got this terrible father who's, like, incredibly mean to her, and then she finds out her mom is gay..."
Duncan looked impressed. "Hot stuff." I winced and looked away. Woman with enormous bosom and a gay mom. That certainly sounded familiar.
Sasha kept talking so loudly that I heard every word. "And then," she continued, "she goes on, like, this quest to Los Angeles, and she meets a duchess in a casino and finds out she's pregnant--"
"The duchess?" asked Duncan.
Duchess? I thought. The cramp of panic inside my chest eased a bit. My mom didn't know any duchesses, and as far as I knew she had never been to Los Angeles. Maybe the book was nothing for me to worry about.
Sasha giggled. "No, silly. Allie. The heroine. And she's totally insecure about her weight and how she looks and everything, because the baby's father dumped her when she was pregnant, but then she falls in love with this guy back in Philadelphia..."
I stuffed the rest of my lunch into my plastic bag, forcing myself to smile, trying, even though it was hopeless, to look like the rest of the girls. Dumped her when she was pregnant. That sounded familiar, too. The truth was, I'd never read any of my mother's books--not the StarGirl ones that were published under the name J. N. Locksley, and definitely not Big Girls Don't Cry. I'd seen it, of course. There were different versions of it lined up on the top shelf of my mom's study, hardcovers and paperbacks and versions in foreign languages. It's for adults, my mom had told me once, a long time ago, and I'd never been curious enough to read it. Maybe because Bruce, my biological father, had given me a copy of his book, which was published by an academic press and was all about post-apocalyptic imagery in Doctor Who. It was full of big words like "semiotics" and "synecdoche," with some pages that were one-third filled by footnotes. I'd always figured my mother's book was just as bad.
"Do you see Maxi a lot?" Amber asked.
Part of me wanted to pick up my bag, get up from the table, and go. Tamsin was right. They were using me, and they weren't even being subtle about it.
But another part of me kind of liked sitting there, at the center of the table that might as well have been at the center of the world, with Duncan Brodkey, who had his eyebrows raised, like he was saying, Do go on.
I shook out my hair and turned to Amber. "My mom and I were out in L.A. in December," I said.
Amber grinned at me. There was a piece of olive caught in her braces. "I saw pictures of her house in InStyle. Does she really have eight hundred pairs of shoes?"
I nodded, and when I talked, I concentrated on making my voice sound high and light, just like theirs. "At least. But she keeps most of them in storage."
Tara Carnahan leaned toward me, her eyes sparkling. "Did she really date Brad Pitt?" she asked. "And what about that stunt man?"
Cadence Tallafiero got up from her seat and wedged herself next to Tara. "I heard she had his name tattooed on her arm."
"On her butt ." Amber giggled in my ear.
"She's got a tattoo, but it's half lasered off. On her ankle. It used to say Scott, but she changed it to a heart with wings." I sat back, feeling pleased and slightly nauseated as Tara and Sasha and Amber clamored for more details.
When the lunch bell trilled, I realized there wasn't time for me to go back to Todd and Tamsin, the way I'd promised. I swung one leg over the bench, wishing I
I watched everyone's eyes move across the table as Sasha Swerdlow started talking. "It's called Big Girls Don't Cry, " Sasha said. "You guys have all totally seen it. It's got, like, gigantic boobs on the cover." She held her hands out way in front of her own not inconsiderable chest. "And a hot-fudge sundae, and the cherry from the sundae's sliding down the cleavage, and anyway, it's about this girl who's in love with a guy, but he dumps her, and they have all this sex, and she's got this terrible father who's, like, incredibly mean to her, and then she finds out her mom is gay..."
Duncan looked impressed. "Hot stuff." I winced and looked away. Woman with enormous bosom and a gay mom. That certainly sounded familiar.
Sasha kept talking so loudly that I heard every word. "And then," she continued, "she goes on, like, this quest to Los Angeles, and she meets a duchess in a casino and finds out she's pregnant--"
"The duchess?" asked Duncan.
Duchess? I thought. The cramp of panic inside my chest eased a bit. My mom didn't know any duchesses, and as far as I knew she had never been to Los Angeles. Maybe the book was nothing for me to worry about.
Sasha giggled. "No, silly. Allie. The heroine. And she's totally insecure about her weight and how she looks and everything, because the baby's father dumped her when she was pregnant, but then she falls in love with this guy back in Philadelphia..."
I stuffed the rest of my lunch into my plastic bag, forcing myself to smile, trying, even though it was hopeless, to look like the rest of the girls. Dumped her when she was pregnant. That sounded familiar, too. The truth was, I'd never read any of my mother's books--not the StarGirl ones that were published under the name J. N. Locksley, and definitely not Big Girls Don't Cry. I'd seen it, of course. There were different versions of it lined up on the top shelf of my mom's study, hardcovers and paperbacks and versions in foreign languages. It's for adults, my mom had told me once, a long time ago, and I'd never been curious enough to read it. Maybe because Bruce, my biological father, had given me a copy of his book, which was published by an academic press and was all about post-apocalyptic imagery in Doctor Who. It was full of big words like "semiotics" and "synecdoche," with some pages that were one-third filled by footnotes. I'd always figured my mother's book was just as bad.
"Do you see Maxi a lot?" Amber asked.
Part of me wanted to pick up my bag, get up from the table, and go. Tamsin was right. They were using me, and they weren't even being subtle about it.
But another part of me kind of liked sitting there, at the center of the table that might as well have been at the center of the world, with Duncan Brodkey, who had his eyebrows raised, like he was saying, Do go on.
I shook out my hair and turned to Amber. "My mom and I were out in L.A. in December," I said.
Amber grinned at me. There was a piece of olive caught in her braces. "I saw pictures of her house in InStyle. Does she really have eight hundred pairs of shoes?"
I nodded, and when I talked, I concentrated on making my voice sound high and light, just like theirs. "At least. But she keeps most of them in storage."
Tara Carnahan leaned toward me, her eyes sparkling. "Did she really date Brad Pitt?" she asked. "And what about that stunt man?"
Cadence Tallafiero got up from her seat and wedged herself next to Tara. "I heard she had his name tattooed on her arm."
"On her butt ." Amber giggled in my ear.
"She's got a tattoo, but it's half lasered off. On her ankle. It used to say Scott, but she changed it to a heart with wings." I sat back, feeling pleased and slightly nauseated as Tara and Sasha and Amber clamored for more details.
When the lunch bell trilled, I realized there wasn't time for me to go back to Todd and Tamsin, the way I'd promised. I swung one leg over the bench, wishing I
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