Something in the Way (Something in the Way 1)

“Did you not see him with his shirt off?” Mona asked. “You’re mental.”

“We’re having a family dinner tonight.” It was the truth, and it was better than the real reason I’d said no to Corbin: I’d rather spend my evening with an older construction worker.

“But you didn’t just turn him down—you totally blew him off. You could’ve said you were free tomorrow or the next night.”

Vickie rolled her eyes. “This is why you’re single, Mona. Lake’s playing hard to get.”

“She doesn’t know how to do that,” Mona said. “She doesn’t even wear makeup.”

I rose onto my elbows. At some point, everyone I knew had started wearing makeup, as if they’d all gone and taken a course on it without me. I guessed that had to do with looking sexy. Up until now, I’d had little interest and even less knowledge in attracting boys at school. They tried to get away with dumb things like looking up our skirts or chewing gum in class. Most of them cared more about video games or sports than learning anything of value. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“Just that you don’t care about these things,” Vickie said. “You’re what we call, a late bloomer.”

Mona laughed like it was some kind of inside joke. “Maybe she’s not so late if she’s catching Corbin’s eye. Or maybe she was just born with it. Like, it runs in her family.”

It was ridiculous enough that I almost went back to my book, but then again, it wasn’t entirely off base. My dad liked to brag about how he’d beaten out lots of other suitors for my mom’s attention. I didn’t doubt it. My mom was Miss Orange County when she was younger and had competed to be Miss California. I saw the way men looked at her in the supermarket, the way my male teachers paid attention when she came to parent night. Mom commanded nearly as much male attention as Tiffany did. If there were a gene for that, Tiffany definitely had it—and she’d gotten it from my mom. Maybe I had it, too—though it might be dormant.

It was late afternoon by the time I got home from the beach. I dropped my towel and bag by the base of the stairs. “Mom?” I called.

“In the kitchen.”

I found her looking in the oven. “How’s it going?”

“Right on schedule.” She stood up and eased the door shut. “I might need an extra set of hands later, though.”

She never asked Tiffany, who had no interest, for help in the kitchen. When I didn’t have schoolwork to do, I usually enjoyed cooking with my mom, and tonight would be even more special. “I just need to shower.”

“How was the beach?” she asked. “You got a tan.”

“Did I?” I inspected my arm. It looked a little red to me. “It was fun. We got milkshakes at the end of the pier after.”

She smiled. “Hope you left room for pie.”

I hadn’t forgotten. Last night, Mom had walked me through making a pie for tonight. I couldn’t wait to see Manning’s reaction. “I’ll come help when I’m ready,” I said.

I went up to the bathroom and turned on the shower. I pushed my regular products aside. Tiffany hid her expensive shampoo and conditioner on the back of the shelf, even though she warned me all the time not to use them, and I never once had . . . until today.

After carefully reading the instructions on the back, I washed my hair twice. Then, I saturated it with conditioner and shaved my legs slowly, carefully, from ankle to upper thigh. After rinsing and toweling off, I used one of Tiffany’s lotions.

I’d never felt so soft and silky. I picked a sundress to show off my smooth skin. Tiffany said having a tan made you look thinner, and she was right.

After checking the hall to make sure Tiffany wasn’t around, I went into her makeup drawer. I’d burned. Not badly, but my face and shoulders were pink. The sun had also darkened the smattering of freckles across my nose and cheeks. I didn’t trust myself with makeup, so I kept it simple with just mascara and pink lip gloss. Despite the redness, or maybe because of it, my eyes seemed bluer. My teeth whiter. And for once, I saw what others did.

I looked like Tiffany.

After washing basil and slicing tomatoes and Mozzarella, I prepared five Caprese salads. Not knowing which would go to Manning, I took extra care to drizzle the olive oil and balsamic vinegar evenly.

“Where is Tiffany?” Mom asked.

I didn’t look up. Didn’t want to lose focus. “Maybe she changed her mind about him. She does that.”

“I hope she would’ve told someone. At least him. Otherwise, we’re in for an uncomfortable dinner.”

I smiled. “Manning’s easy to get along with. It won’t be uncomfortable.”