Boring Girls Page 8

Fern blow-dried her hair after she came out of the shower, and it definitely was closer to white than it had been before. The only problem was the roots, where the hair had been darker, had a slightly orangey hue to them. But Fern assured me that she could brush it to hide the orange parts, and that next time she bleached it, it would look more consistent. It did look really nice, and I was proud of myself. And it was my turn next.

  The hair dye smelled awful and it sort of burned my scalp. It was also really messy. We were really paranoid of getting it on the bathroom walls or the rug, but we were as neat as possible. When I looked in the mirror after Fern had finished applying the dye, my head looked like it’d been dipped in grape jam. We waited the allotted time, and then I jumped in the shower to rinse it off. I scrubbed at my head and watched dark purple water splattering in the bathtub and running down the drain. Vampy, Fern’s mother had said. I couldn’t wait.

  Fern blow-dried my hair, not letting me look in the mirror yet. “Ooooh, it looks really, really good,” she cooed, and when I finally looked in the mirror, my mouth dropped open.

  It was shiny and black. It made my skin look even paler and my blue eyes jumped right out. I could not believe the difference. My hair had always been mousy and brown, and my eyes and skin tone bland. Now I looked pretty. I couldn’t believe it. I felt beautiful.

  Mom was going to kill me.

  “Let’s do your makeup,” Fern said, excited.

  I sat down at her vanity and she hovered over me. Again, I wasn’t allowed to look in the mirror. I’d never had anyone do my makeup before, and it was awkward. When she was putting on the eyeliner and mascara I kept blinking and squeezing my eyes shut and smudging her work. My eyes started running at one point, and Fern had to dab away the smeared makeup. After a few minutes she stepped back. “You put on the lipstick,” she said. I unwrapped the dark red colour I’d chosen and stroked it onto my lips as accurately as I could without the aid of a mirror.

  “Done,” Fern said. “Check it out.”

  Once again I gasped at my reflection. I barely looked like myself. I looked like a wonderful, beautiful version of me. She’d powdered my skin, making it even paler, and used a dark grey eyeshadow and tons of black liner on my eyes. There was a hint of pink blush on my cheekbones, which prevented me from looking too washed-out pale, and my lips looked gorgeous with the lipstick. I looked amazing.

  As we’d been doing makeup, the smell of cooking from the kitchen had begun to permeate the bedroom. I knew it was time for me to head home. I hated to wash the makeup off, but there was no way I could go home done up like that. It was going to be hard enough with my new black hair. Sadly, I wiped off the lipstick and scrubbed my face with soap and water.

  I said goodbye to Fern’s mother and brother, stupidly trying to pay close attention to their interaction for traces of incest. Finding none, I kicked myself. Fern and I walked outside onto the front porch. The sun had gone down, but it was still early enough in the evening that my parents shouldn’t freak out too bad that I’d stayed out after school.

  “You look amazing,” Fern said. “I’ll call you Friday and I’ll let you know what time we’ll come by on Saturday to pick you up. And we’ll figure out what to wear too,” she grinned. “I swear that red dress will look awesome with your new hair.”

  I clutched my shopping bags and smiled. “Thanks for today, Fern.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “You know, I’m really glad we met.”

  “Me too.”

  ELEVEN

  When I got home, my parents and Melissa were eating dinner at the kitchen table. I walked in and immediately my mother’s fork clattered to her plate.

  “Rachel, what have you done?”

  “I dyed my hair,” I said, raising my chin confidently.

  Mom, Dad, and Melissa all stared at me. I fearlessly made eye contact with all of them.

  “I think it looks pretty,” Melissa said.

  “Thank you,” I said, smiling at her.

  “What was wrong with your nice brown hair?” Mom asked unhappily. “You looked so pretty before.”

  “I think I look pretty now,” I retorted.

  “Okay, all right,” my dad stumbled. “I work with kids your age. There are goth kids in some of the classes I teach —”

  “It’s not goth!” I interrupted. “You don’t get it.”

  I went to my room and slammed the door. I threw my shopping bags on my ugly bed and sat down at my desk. Stupid bedroom. I looked at myself in my mirror. My hair looked awesome. And here I was, in my stupid room, with my stupid family who didn’t understand. I thought of Fern, with her nice mother and her cool bedroom, and felt tears of jealousy prickle my eyes. I lay down on my bed next to the shopping bags and pressed my face into the stupid flowered pillowcase.

  Shortly after, there was a knock on my door. I didn’t want anyone to see me crying, so I didn’t respond, but my mother let herself in anyway. I sniffled and glared at her, but she came and sat down beside me.

  “I didn’t say you could come in.”

  She ignored me. “Rachel, we have to talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk. I have nothing to say,” I said, muffled through the pillow.

  “Well then, just listen to me. You have to be able to understand that your dad and I are very confused when you come home with your hair dyed black and when you listen to that music.”

  “Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

  “You’re right. And I realize that you are trying to express yourself, and you’re growing up. You have to be able to make some of your own decisions. Your father and I have to trust in you to do that.” She paused, reached out, and stroked my leg. “We have to try to understand where you’re coming from, and you have to try to understand where we’re coming from. You were right the other night. Your father and I raised you with good values. You’re fifteen, and you’re going to start making your own decisions.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “The last thing I want to do here is make you feel as though you can’t come to us, because you’re afraid we’re going to judge you.”

  “It’s just some stupid hair dye.”

  Mom was quiet for a minute. “It just seems to us like things are happening very quickly. You’re going to parties, making new friends, going to a concert, and now dying your hair. Can you see that these things are going to take some getting used to for your father and me?”

  “I guess.”

  “And can you also understand that you’re a part of this family, and that you have to communicate with us? Be home when you say you’re going to, play by the rules?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We just want you to be careful, Rachel. That’s all. And as long as you’re doing that, and keeping up your end of the bargain and not getting into any trouble or slipping at school, we’re going to try to understand where you’re coming from when you dye your hair and make new friends and get involved with things that we don’t necessarily understand.”

  “Do you think maybe I could paint my bedroom a different colour?”

  “Paint? I don’t know about that. Do you want to change your room?”

  “Yeah, kinda.” I gestured to the duck lamp. “It feels babyish in here.”

  My mom frowned. “But you’ve always loved that lamp! Your grandma gave that to you when you were one.”

  “Exactly.”

  Mom thought for a second. “Let’s talk about it with your dad. Maybe we can give you some extra chores around here and come up with a compromise about getting you some new things. A trade.”

  “That’d be great,” I said, brightening up. “I’d do whatever.”

  “We’ll see.” Mom smiled and patted my leg. “Just remember, Rachel, we love you. We aren’t monsters. We just have to work together, all of us, and communicate.”

  �
�I understand,” I said, nodding.

  She gazed at me fondly. “I never thought my little Rachel would dye her hair black,” she said, smiling sadly. “You’re growing up.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

  xXx

  Josephine asked me if I wanted to go shopping on Saturday. Saturday was the concert. Fern had said that she and her friend Craig would be by to pick me up in the late afternoon, and I was looking forward to taking my time getting ready, so I didn’t see how I’d be able to go with Josephine and make it back in time.

  Besides, I didn’t really want to go shopping with her. I much preferred going with Fern. And I also couldn’t tell Josephine about the concert, because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings at not being invited.

  “I have plans with my parents that day,” I lied.

  “What plans?”

  “We’re going out for dinner and stuff,” I said. I wasn’t even fooling myself.

  Josephine studied me for a few moments. “Is everything okay?”

  Angry at myself, both for lying and for not being able to do it convincingly, I snapped, “Everything’s fine!”

  She shrugged and didn’t speak to me for the rest of the class. I was so pissed. If only Josephine fit in better with Fern, if only she liked something, anything, cool. I didn’t like lying, but at the same time Josephine did suck in a lot of ways. I mean, perpetuating those rumours about Fern and the devil worshipping? About having sex with her brother? Josephine had alienated herself by buying into that stuff and trying to make me dislike Fern. It was shitty of her to have done that, and all because she was jealous!

  Still, I felt bad, and tried to be as nice as possible to her. I could tell she didn’t like my new hair, but she didn’t say anything about it. I felt as though Josephine and I were growing apart. Whatever. She had her stupid friends, and I had Fern. At this point, I wouldn’t have cared if I had to eat lunch alone. Aside from maintaining good grades, school was completely irrelevant to me.

  xXx

  Saturday arrived, and I did my best to doll up appropriately. I put on the red dress, black tights, and the high-heeled witchy boots. I put my hair up in pigtails and tried to emulate what Fern had done with my makeup the other day. In the end, I guess I probably caked on a little too much, but when I looked in the mirror, I liked it. I thought I looked good.

  I watched Mom literally bite her lip to keep from saying something when I walked into the kitchen. “Those are nice boots,” she finally said.

  Dad did his best to nod enthusiastically. “It’s nice to see you wearing some colour,” he said, glancing at Mom.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Fern should be here soon.”

  “So you don’t know what time the concert is over?”

  “No.”

  “But you’re to come straight back,” Dad said. “I don’t like the idea of you being out on the highway late at night. It’s a long way.”

  “We’ll come right home,” I said. “You don’t have to wait up.”

  “We probably will anyhow,” Mom said. “I want you to promise us to be very careful.”

  “No alcohol,” Dad insisted.

  “Don’t worry. None of us are old enough to buy drinks anyway,” I said.

  “I know all about false ID cards,” Dad said. “I know how easily obtained they are. And I’m sure you know how dangerous drinking and driving is.”

  “Oh, Dad! No one’s drinking and driving. We just want to watch the band!”

  I felt nervous and excited. I couldn’t wait for Fern to get here and to meet her friends. Mom had made some soup and sandwiches, but I was too fidgety to eat anything. Besides, I didn’t want to ruin my makeup. Finally I had some soup at her insistence.

  “You know,” Mom said, watching me eat, “I was always taught that if you’re going to do dramatic eye makeup, you should do a subdued lip, and vice versa. If you do heavy eyeliner and dark lipstick, it’s a bit . . . overwhelming.”

  “Maybe I like overwhelming.”

  “The band is called Surgical Carnage,” Dad joked. “That sounds a bit overwhelming. She’ll fit right in.”

  We heard a car pull up outside. Mom peered out the kitchen window. “I guess your friends are here.”

  I jumped up from the table. “I’ll see you guys later!”

  “Rachel,” my father said, “be careful. St. Charles is a big city. Stay together and keep your eyes open. Don’t get into any trouble.”

  “Oh, Ken — you should see the boy who is driving,” Mom croaked, peering out the window.

  “And remember — straight home afterwards.”

  “Yes, I know. I’ll be careful. See you later.” I pulled open the kitchen door.

  I tried not to skip as I walked down the driveway. The car was parked at the curb, and I saw Fern waving frantically at me from the backseat. I waved back, recognizing Yvonne from the party sitting in the passenger side. She smiled at me through the window.

  Fern opened the back door for me. “Squeeze on back here with us,” she said, sliding into the middle. Her friend Edgar was on the other side, and he gave me a friendly wave. “You remember Yvonne and Edgar from the other night,” she said. “And this is my friend Craig.”

  Craig looked back from the driver’s seat, and my heart sank as I recognized the long hair and blue eyes. It was the Guy.

  He recognized me in the same instant, and I watched his eyes narrow. “Hi,” he said coldly. “All right, let’s get going.”

  He pulled away from the curb and turned up the music. As we drove off, Fern leaned in close to me so I could hear her over the music. “You look great,” she said.

  “So do you.” Fern was wearing a silver slip dress. She’d brushed her hair over to hide the orangey roots. “What band is this?”

  “Surgical Carnage,” Fern replied. “To get us in the mood.”

  Yvonne turned around in the passenger seat. “Rachel,” she said, “I really like your hair.”

  “Thanks.”

  “My mom won’t let me dye mine,” she said.

  “Your mom’s a bitch, that’s why,” Fern said, and Yvonne reached back to playfully slap her.

  “So you’re friends with Josephine?” Edgar asked me.

  “Yeah, kinda,” I replied.

  “Good ol’ Josephine,” he said, and laughed.

  “It’s a shame, really,” Yvonne agreed, and laughed with him.

  “Shut up, guys,” Fern ordered.

  I had no idea what they were talking about. “What?”

  Yvonne looked at me. “Didn’t Josephine tell you why she transferred to Glen Park?” She chewed on her lower lip.

  “No.”

  Fern slapped Yvonne’s arm. “Shut up, seriously.”

  “Hey!” Yvonne smacked her back. “I’m just asking a question.”

  “Why did she transfer?”

  Yvonne’s eyes widened. “Her mother had this boyfriend. Her parents are divorced, right? So her mom’s dating this young guy. And Josephine’s sleeping with him. And one day the mom comes home and catches them. So she tries to kick the guy out, but it’s his place, right? So the mom has to move out, across the city. It was a total scandal last year.”

  “It’s all just gossip,” Fern said.

  “Maybe,” Edgar said. “But everyone knew about it.”

  I had been to Josephine’s apartment a few times. Her mom had always been at work, so I’d never met her. And there had never been mention of her mother having a boyfriend. Josephine had only mentioned that her parents divorced when she’d been really young.

  “How old was the mom’s boyfriend?” I said. “I mean, she was fourteen last year; wouldn’t that make him a child molester?”

  “Yeah, you’d think so,” said Yvonne.

  “Not if the chick wanted it,” Craig said from the front seat.


  Fern and I shrieked angrily at the same time. “Shut the fuck up, Craig. That’s fucking horrible,” Fern said. I wanted to back her up, but I didn’t know these people very well, so I felt uncomfortable with the idea of yelling at the guy driving. Instead I raised my chin. Surprise! Craig was an asshole. It wasn’t news to me.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” Yvonne said. “Like the show. Remember those guys from last time?”

  Edgar scoffed. “Yeah. I really, really hope they show up tonight.”

  “I’d like to see them try something,” Craig said.

  “See, last time we went to a show in St. Charles, these skinhead guys were there,” Yvonne said to me. “You know, really racist dudes.”

  “Oh,” I said, nodding. I didn’t know anything about skinheads.

  Edgar laughed bitterly. “I guess they have a problem with black guys who are into metal.”

  Yvonne nodded. “They tried to start some shit with Edgar.”

  “That’s stupid. The guitar player in Goreceps is black,” I said.

  “No shit. Some people are just fucking assholes,” Edgar said.

  “Anyway, they got all up in his face,” Yvonne continued. “Talking some real shit. Like they were going to kick his ass.”

  “I’d like to see them try,” Craig said. “If they show up tonight, we’ll see.”

  We flew up the highway, music blasting. We chatted about bands. Every time Craig added something to the conversation, I ignored it. But I was having a great time. It felt amazing, sitting next to Fern, talking and laughing. We cruised past other cars, and sometimes Yvonne would make stupid faces at the passengers in them. We passed a car full of baseball cap–wearing jock guys, and Yvonne rolled down the window, shoved her upper body outside, and gave them the finger with both hands. We all howled with laughter and sped past them. It felt good. I felt like we were unstoppable.

  I’d been to St. Charles a few times with my family on day trips over the years, and driving into the city always filled me with excitement. The skyscrapers and high-rises, the video billboards, and of course the Bay Tower looming over it all. Even the slow-moving traffic. It was that feeling of driving into the big city, with the sun glistening on Charles Bay, sailboats gliding over its surface. I’d looked out the window of my family’s car when I was a little kid, loving the feeling of being here, knowing the day would be full of crowded streets, musicians performing for change, street vendors and, when the sun went down, neon lights and glowing fountains.