of her “other interests.” She’d had a photo accepted for the school’s Winter Fair exhibit. Which was a semi-big deal.
“Ella, don’t you do photography?” I prompted.
“Hardly.” She sniffed.
“Ella takes great shots,” said her mother. “And Mimi had a photo accepted to National Wildlife magazine when she was fourteen. It’s of a tidal pool in Stone Harbor. It’s framed in the den.”
“Mom, stop,” said Mimi. “Nobody cares.”
“Both my girls have an eye.”
“I was named after Man Ray,” I said on impulse. “My mom put an e on the end to feminize it.”
“Sweet. I love Man Ray,” said Mimi.
“You never told me that.” Ella turned on me. “What, did you think I’m such a jizzbrain I wouldn’t know who Man Ray is?”
“Oh, shut up, Ella. You’d have no idea if I hadn’t hung one of his prints in my bedroom,” said Mimi.
“ You shut up,” spat Ella. “For once in your life, you pathetic retard.”
“Girls, please. Ella, your rudeness to your guest and your sister isn’t particularly impressive. And you know how I feel about the word retard .”
“What about her rudeness to me? What about Tragic U?”
Fatigue crossed Jennifer Parker’s face. “Mimi, will you apologize?”
“I’m sorry for presuming you might attend a nonaccredited college, Ella.”
“Whatever.” Her sister’s apology had only riled Ella. And now Mimi and her mother knit tighter together as they decided that they’d prefer to see fish.
The whole thing surprised me. I hadn’t envisioned Ella so out of step with the choreography of her household. Ella might rule the Group, but she was hardly the top dog in her own family. And yet all of the Parker females shared an aura of superiority that made me miss the warm democracy of the Zawadski kitchen.
Ella nudged me from my thoughts. Brightening me up with a sisterly smile that I highly doubted she ever bestowed on her real sister. “Let’s go,” she whispered. “Bring your drink, and I’ll pimp it up.”
thirteen
“Change into this.” Ella pulled out a lacy black blouse. Away from her mom and Mimi, she’d instantly reclaimed her familiar, finessed persona. She’d switched on her music and poured some Captain Morgan’s into my Coke can from a bottle she kept in the back of her closet. I faked drinking it. The last thing I needed was to think fuzzy tonight. “You can’t show up at Meri’s party with me in that pitiful Muppet fur.”
I was already casting off my Exchange sweater when Ella’s cell pulsed.
“That’s Hannah, our ride.” As she took the call and turned away from me, I checked out her room. It was decorated in cream and celery colors, with a canopy bed and a wall mural painted to look like a garden. I went to inspect her desk, the only messy part, a jungle of books and crib sheets and no fewer than three “please see me” notes, all from different teachers. Chaos.
The corkboard over the desk was thumbtacked with dozens of photos, some double and triple layered. From underneath a recent snap of the Group mugging in their bikinis, I found a curling picture of grade-school Ella standing between Natalya and Mickey Mouse. Not that I’d thought Natalya would lie about it, but the photo evidence of their friendship jarred me. It had seemed so unlikely.
Propped against the corkboard, I excavated a three-picture frame, each with a different image of Julian Kilgarry. One from somewhere informal, maybe a party, where he lounged, his feet up on a coffee table spilling over in bags of chips and tottered beer cans. The next was from a lacrosse game, Julian on the field in perfect profile. The last was a class portrait, where Julian was maybe in sixth or seventh grade, but minus all those middle school plagues: pimples, braces, zigzaggy bangs. He was just his same hot self with fat apple cheeks.
“ETA is twenty minutes.” Ella tossed her phone on the bed.
I held up the frame. “So I take it you’re madly in love with him,
“Ella, don’t you do photography?” I prompted.
“Hardly.” She sniffed.
“Ella takes great shots,” said her mother. “And Mimi had a photo accepted to National Wildlife magazine when she was fourteen. It’s of a tidal pool in Stone Harbor. It’s framed in the den.”
“Mom, stop,” said Mimi. “Nobody cares.”
“Both my girls have an eye.”
“I was named after Man Ray,” I said on impulse. “My mom put an e on the end to feminize it.”
“Sweet. I love Man Ray,” said Mimi.
“You never told me that.” Ella turned on me. “What, did you think I’m such a jizzbrain I wouldn’t know who Man Ray is?”
“Oh, shut up, Ella. You’d have no idea if I hadn’t hung one of his prints in my bedroom,” said Mimi.
“ You shut up,” spat Ella. “For once in your life, you pathetic retard.”
“Girls, please. Ella, your rudeness to your guest and your sister isn’t particularly impressive. And you know how I feel about the word retard .”
“What about her rudeness to me? What about Tragic U?”
Fatigue crossed Jennifer Parker’s face. “Mimi, will you apologize?”
“I’m sorry for presuming you might attend a nonaccredited college, Ella.”
“Whatever.” Her sister’s apology had only riled Ella. And now Mimi and her mother knit tighter together as they decided that they’d prefer to see fish.
The whole thing surprised me. I hadn’t envisioned Ella so out of step with the choreography of her household. Ella might rule the Group, but she was hardly the top dog in her own family. And yet all of the Parker females shared an aura of superiority that made me miss the warm democracy of the Zawadski kitchen.
Ella nudged me from my thoughts. Brightening me up with a sisterly smile that I highly doubted she ever bestowed on her real sister. “Let’s go,” she whispered. “Bring your drink, and I’ll pimp it up.”
thirteen
“Change into this.” Ella pulled out a lacy black blouse. Away from her mom and Mimi, she’d instantly reclaimed her familiar, finessed persona. She’d switched on her music and poured some Captain Morgan’s into my Coke can from a bottle she kept in the back of her closet. I faked drinking it. The last thing I needed was to think fuzzy tonight. “You can’t show up at Meri’s party with me in that pitiful Muppet fur.”
I was already casting off my Exchange sweater when Ella’s cell pulsed.
“That’s Hannah, our ride.” As she took the call and turned away from me, I checked out her room. It was decorated in cream and celery colors, with a canopy bed and a wall mural painted to look like a garden. I went to inspect her desk, the only messy part, a jungle of books and crib sheets and no fewer than three “please see me” notes, all from different teachers. Chaos.
The corkboard over the desk was thumbtacked with dozens of photos, some double and triple layered. From underneath a recent snap of the Group mugging in their bikinis, I found a curling picture of grade-school Ella standing between Natalya and Mickey Mouse. Not that I’d thought Natalya would lie about it, but the photo evidence of their friendship jarred me. It had seemed so unlikely.
Propped against the corkboard, I excavated a three-picture frame, each with a different image of Julian Kilgarry. One from somewhere informal, maybe a party, where he lounged, his feet up on a coffee table spilling over in bags of chips and tottered beer cans. The next was from a lacrosse game, Julian on the field in perfect profile. The last was a class portrait, where Julian was maybe in sixth or seventh grade, but minus all those middle school plagues: pimples, braces, zigzaggy bangs. He was just his same hot self with fat apple cheeks.
“ETA is twenty minutes.” Ella tossed her phone on the bed.
I held up the frame. “So I take it you’re madly in love with him,
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