She quickly swallowed, afraid he was going to kiss her. She didn’t want him to get a mouthful of potato.
Still holding her face in his hands, he gently kissed her. She closed her eyes. She could feel the moonlight on her face as if it had heat like the sun. But she knew it didn’t. The heat must have come from some other source.
He lifted his lips off of hers and pressed them to her forehead. Then he held her close. He smelled like cinnamon and cloves. It made her think of her grandfather’s pipe tobacco. He smelled so good, she nuzzled her face in his neck. They held each other this way for a long time. When he dropped her off at home an hour later, he gave her that one sweet kiss again, and said good night.
“No, I’m sorry,” Mads said. “I’ve got to know more. Something’s weird about this guy. You’ve got to find out what he’s hiding.”
Holly had invited Mads and Lina over for lunch on Saturday afternoon. They were rehashing Holly’s last Eli date. Mads and Lina were both stuck on the mysterious parts, like why he wouldn’t let her look inside his wallet, and why he was so anxious to get away from his friends. For Holly, those things lingered in the back of her mind, but the kissing, and his smell, stayed up front.
“Why don’t we go drive by his house?” Lina said. “Just to see what it looks like. You haven’t seen it yet, have you?”
“No,” Holly said.
“Aren’t you curious?”
“I am,” Mads said. “Maybe we could get a look at his mother’s stiletto wounds. So gruesome, yet glamorous.”
“I don’t know where he lives,” Holly said.
“We’ll look him up in the phone book.” Lina took the phone book from the top of the refrigerator and started flipping through it. “His last name is Collins?”
Holly nodded. “But look, there are four other Collinses in town. And his family’s rich. They’re probably unlisted.”
Mads pointed to a listing for Collins, Eli, 620 Blue Hill Road. “Maybe that’s Eli, Sr. Is Eli a junior?”
“I don’t know,” Holly said. “I guess he could be. And Blue Hill Road isn’t far from Griffith.”
“We’ll drive by,” Lina said. “If you see his car in the driveway, you’ll know it’s the right house.”
“Come on, let’s do it,” Mads said. “You went spying with Sebastiano last week. It’s our turn now.”
“Okay, why not,” Holly said. “But if he’s outside and sees us, I’m going to duck.”
“But you’ll be driving,” Lina said.
“Spying is dangerous work,” Holly said.
“We’ll take our chances,” Mads said.
They drove downtown. Turning north and away from the bay, they found Blue Hill Road. The first houses were large old Victorians, built when the town was founded. As they drove away from the center of town the street became more modern, with split levels and ranch houses from the 1940s, ‘50s, and ‘60s, fewer trees, more lawn.
“There it is,” Mads said. “620 Blue Hill.”
It was a 50s ranch house, very ordinary-looking. A blue Honda was parked in the driveway. Also a new Buick. “That Honda is his car,” Holly said. “But that can’t be his house.”
“Why not?” Lina asked.
How to explain? It just didn’t look right to Holly. It wasn’t the way she’d pictured his house at all. It wasn’t the kind of house where maids stabbed people with diamond stilettos. Or even the kind of house where people owned diamond stilettos. Or any kind of stilettos. It was just a regular old suburban house.
“Someone’s coming out,” Mads said.
The front door opened, and two middle-aged people emerged. They walked toward the Buick. The woman looked fit, with a sensible, short haircut, brown tinged with gray. She wore a green sweatsuit and sneakers. The man had a slight paunch, was balding, and wore slacks and a windbreaker. They got into the Buick and pulled out. Holly ducked.
“Is that the painkiller addict?” Mads asked.
“She doesn’t look like the type to wear diamond-covered shoes,” Lina said. “And she wasn’t in a wheelchair.”
“And I thought his father lived on a ranch in Santa Barbara,” Mads said. “Not a ranch house.”
“Maybe that was his stepfather,” Holly said, though Eli hadn’t mentioned a stepfather.
“A stepfather named Eli Collins, Sr.?” Lina said. “That would be weird.”
When the Buick was out of sight, Holly pulled into the driveway. A small sign hung from a lamppost on the walk leading to the house. Holly wanted to get closer so she could read it.
“ELI COLLINS, DDS,” it said, with an arrow pointing toward a side door where an office must be.
“He’s a dentist?” Holly said. “Eli’s father is a dentist?”
“I guess you could be a rancher and a dentist,” Mads said, surveying the half-acre yard.
“Something weird is going on,” Holly said. “Eli is lying to me.”
13
The News from Lake Hobegone
* * *
To: mad4u
From: your daily horoscope
HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: VIRGO: You think you’ve got problems? Try eating tainted sushi. Then you’ll really know problems.
* * *
Does Ginny actually know anything about modern dance?” Quintana asked. “I’ve taken a lot of dance classes, but never one where the teacher uses a whistle.”
Mads laughed. “I know. She’s like, ‘Tweet! Point those toes! Tweet! Be one with the floor! Tweet tweet! You are a wind-blown cloud!‘“
Gym Group 3 was in the locker room changing after class. The sophomores were divided into four gym sections, which changed every quarter. Group 3 had modern dance with Ginny the Gym Teacher. This quarter, Mads was in a different section from Holly and Lina, who were still out on the track, running hurdles and learning to high jump.
“Ginny’s always taught dance that way,” Ingrid said. “I don’t see anything weird about it.”
“You don’t?” Quintana said. “I don’t know, that whistle… it’s so… gym-teacher-esque.”
“That’s why they call it gym,” Ingrid said.
“What-evah,” Quintana said. She stretched her arms over her head, then swooped down and pressed her head to her knees, holding her ankles. Her body was lean and strong, made for a leotard. Mads, who’d taken her share of dance classes, had always envied that type: the natural dancer’s body.
“What-evah,” Ingrid sneered. “Is that how they talk in Lake Ho-begone, or wherever it is you moved here from?”
“You mean, Los Angeles?” Quintana said.
“Same thing, from what I hear,” Ingrid said. “Slutsville.”
“I knew Carlton Bay was a small town when we moved here,” Quintana said, “but I had no idea that people who live so close to San Francisco could be so provincial.”
“Shows what you know,” Ingrid said.
Mads quietly took off her sweaty leotard, listening to the conversation. Ingrid sounded silly, picking on Quintana this way. Mads couldn’t help admiring Quintana’s cool, which only infuriated Ingrid more. Was that the same quality the boys liked so much? Mads wasn’t sure. Quintana’s secret was a mystery Mads was determined to solve. And she was about to find a new clue.
Quintana peeled off her leotard like a lizard shedding its skin. Underneath she was wearing a lacy red bra and matching thong. Mads tried not to stare. But she was amazed. Her underwear was so pretty. And sexy. And grown up. Mads glanced down at her white lycra sports bra, which she barely needed, and her white cotton panties. Spanky Pants. She’d worn the same brand since she was in third grade.
All around her, the other girls were wearing white cotton like Mads, or bikinis and boy shorts and bras in cute colors and patterns. Kid stuff. No one was wearing anything lacy and silky and see-through. Except Quintana.
“You can always tell a Slutsville girl by her underwear,” Ingrid stage-whispered to Claire. Quintana ignored them. Mads tried to shut them out.
“You wear
thongs?” she asked Quintana. “And lacy pushup bras?”
“Of course,” Quintana said. “I’d die before I’d wear granny pants. They might go in and out of fashion, but who wants to feel like a grandma? Silk feels so sexy, even if no one ever sees it. And when you feel sexy, you act sexy.” She reached for her blouse, and the silk shimmered against her skin.
How did Quintana know all this? Mads had to admit that standing next to Quintana, thong to granny pants, she felt like a tomboy. Or a little kid. And Quintana looked like a woman. Or a lingerie ad.
Maybe that’s the secret, Mads thought. If I wear sexy lingerie when I’m with Stephen, I’ll feel sexy. He’ll pick up on the vibe and feel sexy, too. And then maybe we can make out for five minutes without some kind of lame interruption.
“The key is, everything has to fit right,” Quintana said to Mads. “Especially bras. Actually, I need some new stuff. Want to go to Victoria’s Secret with me this afternoon?”
“Sure!” Mads said. This was an opportunity Mads wouldn’t miss for anything. Lingerie shopping with the sleek Quintana. Who knew what tips she’d pick up?
“That will be a sight,” Ingrid said. “Little Mads all dolled up in a lacy bra. She doesn’t even have enough to fill an A cup.”
“I’d rather be too small on top than too big on the bottom,” Quintana said with a glance at Ingrid’s too-tiny panties.
“Bite me,” Ingrid snapped.
“And risk salmonella poisoning?” Quintana said. “No thanks.”
“Try this camisole,” Quintana said, holding up a sheer top made of fine, pale-pink netting. It was simple but pretty. “The good thing about being an A-cup is you can wear things like this and you don’t need a bra.” She stretched the fabric over her hand. Her tawny skin glowed through it.
Mads tried on the camisole, and it looked beautiful on her. On her paler skin, the pink made her look rosy. It was comfortable, too. She added it to the pile of things she’d decided to buy: a lacy bra in hot purple (“This will look great under a tank with your straps showing,” Quintana told her), a pair of sheer black panties, and a tiny striped thong, practically a string. It was the one item Mads wasn’t too sure about, comfort-wise. But she felt she should have one. And Quintana said it looked evil on her, which was a good thing.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Quintana said as they paid for their things. She had bought a pair of satin tap pants with a matching cami. “It really helps to have a friend with you when you’re buying lingerie.”
“I know,” Mads said. “I could never have done this alone.” Which was way beyond true. If Quintana hadn’t urged her on, she would have run screaming back to the granny pants section.
“You’re so cute,” Quintana said. “You just need to believe it.” She stood next to a giant poster showing a line of Victoria’s Secret models, and Mads was struck by how much Quintana fit in with them. Quintana was not as voluptuous as the models, but they shared a kind of ripe look. And an uninhibited quality. That was what the boys liked, for sure. The question was, did you have to be born with it? Or could you manufacture it somehow? Mads was hoping it would rub off of Quintana and onto her, because she wasn’t born with it, that was for sure.
QUIZ: WHAT IS YOUR UNDERWEAR PERSONALITY?
What does your underwear say about you? Probably more than you
realize. Take this quiz and find out your lingerie type.
Your favorite kind of panties are: & granny pants
# boy shorts
*,# bikinis
% thong
*,% none
You’d wear a thong even though it’s uncomfortable: $,% True
*,& False
Your favorite bra type is: # sports bra
& heavy duty cotton holster in plain white
$ lacy, flimsy
% pushup bra
* none
Extras: Choose your favorite: $ thigh-high stockings
% corset
& lacy camisole
% garter belt
& tummy-control body shaper
& day-of-the-week panties
* panties with a sexy message on them
# plain white tank undershirt
$ teddy
& tap pants
The most important quality your underwear should have is: # comfort
% sex appeal
$ style, fashionability
* color
& good, flattering fit
The movie heroine you most identify with is: *,$ Julia Roberts in Erin Brockovich
& Nicole Kidman in Bewitched
# Lindsay Lohan in Herbie: Fully Loaded
$,* Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girts
& Julia Stiles in Mona Lisa Smile
% Jessica Simpson in The Dukes of Hazard
# Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby
$ Angelina Jolie in Lara Croft Tomb Raider
*,# Hilary Duff in The Lizzie McGuire Movie
& Rente Zellweger in Bridget Jones’s Diary
Add up how many times you checked each symbol. Whichever symbol has the most checks, thafs your Underwear Personality. *— & — %— #— $—
* Free Spirit: You like to look natural, be comfortable, and be yourself. You like to have fun without worrying about how you look—and that makes you extra fun to be around. You’re effortlessly sexy.
& Prim and Proper: You are modest and don’t like to have too much showing. You have an intellectual bent and would prefer to be admired for your mind and personality rather than your figure, no matter how smashing. You believe that keeping it under wraps only makes things hotter later, when the wrappings come off.
% Bombshell: You’ve got it and you like to flaunt it. You also may be curvy and can use the extra support that good lingerie gives. You’re sexy and flirtatious and always up for a good time.
# Sporty Girl: You’re athletic and like your underwear to be practical, functional, and comfortable because you are on the go. You believe a body in motion is sexier than one trussed up in a lot of frills.
$ Adventuress: You like high-style, edgy fashion, and the underwear that goes with it. You’re bold and daring and only interested in people with the energy to keep up with you.
14
Never Fear, Ramona’s Here
* * *
To: linaonme
From: your daily horoscope
HERE IS TODAY’S HOROSCOPE: CANCER: If your conscience is bothering you, just bonk yourself on the head. That should take care of it.
* * *
Nuclear Autumn: Keeping You Informed of the
Latest Developments in the Lives of Autumn
Nelson, Peter, and Tess
Forget about me for the moment (I never thought I’d say that!)—my life is a complete bore compared with the passion that is Pete and Tess. To the casual observer, Tess seems calm, even sensible. Little do you all know! Yesterday I caught her under the bleachers at the lacrosse field. The boys’ lacrosse team was practicing, but Tess wasn’t watching them. She was facing the other way, watching the gym parking lot through binoculars—and swigging vodka out of a bottle! “Tess,” I said. “What are you doing? If someone catches you drinking on campus, you could get expelled!”
“I don’t give a —” she said. (I won’t print what she said, because I don’t condone vulgarity on my blog.) “Peter is cheating on me. Look!”
She passed the binoculars to me. She looked terrible and reeked of vodka. I peered through the binocs and saw Pete in a car with a blonde. “Oh, my god,” I said, “is that—?”
“—my best friend,” Tess said. “Or rather, one of my two best friends. The blonde, slutty one. Not the dark-haired, pudgy one. The one who doesn’t have a boyfriend in spite of the fact that she’s so fast. Which only goes to show boys don’t really like sluts, in the end.”
I looked again. Pete was definitely playing doctor with Tess’s best friend, Polly (not her real name). No wonder Tess was hitting the bottle. She started to cry. I put my arm around her,
trying to comfort her in spite of her terrible smell. “Poor Tess,” I said. “It must be awful knowing you can’t keep a boy interested in you for more than a few weeks.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m such a loser.” But then her tears suddenly turned to rage. “I won’t stand for this,” she seethed.“I’m going to get my revenge on Polly. She won’t know what hit her. I’ll pretend I don’t know what’s going on behind my back. But when she least expects it—wham!”
Polly, if you’re reading this—and you know who you are—this is a warning to you: Watch your back. I’d hate to see anyone get hurt. (I think Tess might know tae bo.)
“Okay, I know this is ridiculous, but I just want to make 100 percent sure you know I’m not fooling around with Walker,” Holly said. She sat next to Lina and Mads at their usual lunch table.
“I know,” Lina said. “You’re not the problem. It’s everyone else in school. Nobody even calls me Lina anymore. They call me Tess and snicker behind my back.”
“What about me?” Holly said. “Polly—that’s not even an attempt to hide my identity. And she totally defamed me. She called me a slut who’s fooling around with her best friend’s boyfriend. And I would never do that.”
“It’s crazy. How can anyone possibly believe Autumn’s stories?” Lina said.
“The line between truth and fiction has been blurred,” Holly said.
“I heard Rebecca say that if the first Pete and Tess stories were true, why not these?” Mads said.
“The major difference is, I wrote the first stories and Autumn is writing the new ones.” Lina was paralyzed with frustration and anger. “I mean, smell me. Smell me! Have I ever, as long as you’ve known me, reeked of vodka? I’ve never drunk vodka, not once in my whole life.”