Picture Perfect Read online

  “Good.” Daddy cut off a bit of his steak and tossed it to Lucky. “Let’s eat.”

  After supper I called Shyla, but I got her answering machine. I left her a long message about how desperately I needed to go shopping, with the start of high school only a couple of weeks away. “Besides,” I said to her answering machine, “you haven’t met Lucky yet. He’s awesome.”

  For several days I heard nothing, but on Friday afternoon Shyla pulled into the driveway, honked the horn, and yelled, “Anybody home?”

  “Shyla!” I jumped into her arms and she whirled me around. Lucky ran out and started barking, demanding his fair share of attention.

  “So, this is Lucky!” Shyla bent down and nuzzled his face. “He’s even cuter than I imagined. What a doll! Does Mama know?”

  “What do you think?”

  Shyla laughed. “She’ll have a fit when she finds out a dog is living under her roof.”

  “Zane says to cross that bridge when I get to it.”

  Shyla unlocked the car trunk and grabbed her duffel bag.

  “That’s all you brought?” I was so relieved to see her that I was fairly dancing up the porch steps.

  “I have to go back to Austin on Sunday,” Shyla said.

  We went into the house. Lucky plopped down in the kitchen and pressed his belly to the cool floor. Shyla dropped her bag in the hallway and looked around. “Where’s Zane?”

  “Spending the night at Will’s house. The swim team is throwing him a welcome-back-to-society party tomorrow.”

  “He finished his community service, then. Good for him.”

  “Like he had a choice.”

  “You’d be surprised how many people flout the law,” Shyla said.

  “Not when their daddy is a judge.”

  Shyla grinned. “I guess not. But I’m proud of Zane for sticking it out.”

  We went upstairs to Shyla’s room. After Shyla left for college, Mama started using the closet to store her Bee Beautiful products, but otherwise the room remained a shrine to Shyla. Her bed, her dresser, and her bulletin board, crammed with photos, dried corsages, prom tickets, and theater programs, were just the way she’d left them. Shyla dropped her duffel on the bed and peered at herself in the mirror. “Gosh, I’m a mess.”

  But to me she looked perfect in a white shirt, tight jeans, and a brown leather belt that matched her sandals. She ran a comb through her hair and put on some more lipstick. “So. You want to go out to the mall?”

  “Now?”

  “Why not? The stores are open till ten. We’ll let Daddy’s office know where we are, and maybe we’ll meet him later for dinner. Sound good?”

  On the way to the mall I filled Shyla in on everything she’d missed since her last trip home at spring break. I told her about house-sitting for Beverly and about the presents she’d brought us from England: an expensive watch for Zane, leather-bound books for Daddy, the sweater for me, the bone for Lucky.

  “Sounds like Beverly has really taken to the Trask family,” Shyla said.

  “It’s weird. She barely knows us, and she’s always buying us stuff. And the way she sucks up to Daddy makes me gag. Of course, you keep saying it’s all my imagination, but it’s not.”

  “Maybe she is trying too hard, but she’s new in town, and her husband just died.”

  “He didn’t just die. It’s been two years. You’d think she’d be over it by now.”

  Shyla pulled into the turn lane for the mall. “She’s probably lonely.”

  We parked near the main entrance and went into the mall. Shyla dropped her keys into her purse and propped her sunglasses on top of her head. “Where to first?”

  “I need everything,” I said.

  We bought my gym stuff first, then headed for Dazzle, where I picked out a pair of distressed jeans and a skirt I’d seen in a magazine. “It looks pretty short, though.”

  “Let’s see it on you,” Shyla said.

  She grabbed a couple of tops off the rack, and I went to the dressing room. As I put on the skirt, she tossed a plain white knit top over the top of the door. “Try this with it.”

  I pulled the top on and checked out the outfit in the three-way mirror.

  “You’re right,” Shyla said. “Wear that skirt to school and you’ll get arrested. The top is cool, though.”

  “It’s boring.”

  “It’s ladylike.”

  “I’m fourteen. I’m too young to be a lady.”

  Shyla laughed. “We’ll spice it up with a jacket or something. Try the jeans.”

  While I got into the jeans, Shyla found a wide belt and a ruby-colored velvet jacket. Which I would never have thought of, but somehow it all worked.

  “See?” Shyla said. “You look hip as all get-out. It’s perfect.”

  Shyla handed over her credit card, and we left Dazzle and walked down a few doors to Ritzy Girls. Shyla led me past racks of stretchy tops, funky hats, and sequined skirts to a section of the store displaying more ordinary-looking stuff. She picked out pants, a sweater, and a khaki skirt that came all the way to my knees. She said it was a classic. To me it just looked boring.

  “I look like a candidate for the rest home,” I said when I came out to model the skirt and sweater. “Nobody at Eden High would be caught dead wearing this stuff.”

  “The confident girls will,” Shyla said.

  “But I’m not confident! I’m just praying I can find my locker and survive first-year algebra.”

  “Girls who dress like pop tarts are the ones who feel the least sure of themselves on the inside,” Shyla said. “Besides, that skirt shows off your curves beautifully.”

  “What curves?” I muttered. But secretly I was pleased to get a compliment from Shyla the Magnificent. I changed back into my own clothes and came out of the dressing room with the new stuff draped over my arm. “I’ll take the sweater and the pants. But ix-nay on the skirt.”

  Shyla put her arm around my shoulder and peered into my face. “Look at me, Phoebe. I know you’re feeling pressure to get everything right, but freshman year is not as all-important as people think. Everybody in your class will be in the same boat. Insecure, afraid, and trying desperately not to show it. In the long run it won’t matter whether you wear a red sweater or a blue one, or whether your jeans came from the right store. Be friendly with everyone, study hard, try something new, and you’ll be fine.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “It is easy, I promise. Now, let’s relax, have a good time, and max out the old credit card. Okay?”

  By the time I bought shoes from Happy Feet, and two more pairs of jeans from the department store opposite the food court, we were starving and tired of dragging our shopping bags around, so we found a table and bought colas and soft pretzels to tide us over until dinnertime.

  Shyla leaned back in her chair and sighed. “Man, this brings back so many memories of shopping with Mama. I still miss her like crazy.”

  “You’re never home anyway.”

  “That’s true. I guess I just felt safe knowing she was there if I needed her.”

  I ate a bite of pretzel. “All she cares about now is her Bee Beautiful stuff.”

  “I don’t think that’s entirely true,” Shyla said. “But she’s addicted to all the attention she’s getting. It’s hard for somebody like Mama to walk away when everybody is telling her how smart and wonderful she is.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “When she was young, Mama never got to stay in one place for very long. All through school she was the new kid, trying to fit in. But every time she made a friend, the army sent her dad someplace else and she had to start over.” Shyla sipped her cola and rattled the ice in her cup. “Now she’s the center of attention at Bee Beautiful, and it’s hard to give it up.”

  I smeared mustard on the last bit of my pretzel and wondered why Shyla knew so much of our mother’s history, while I didn’t have a clue. I wanted to hear more. If I understood why Mama had chosen Bee Beautif
ul over me, maybe I could figure out how to deal. But before I could say anything else, a familiar voice said, “Phoebe? Is that you, darlin’?”

  Beverly was standing beside our table, beaming down at us like we were the lost treasure of Atlantis.

  “Hi, Beverly,” I said.

  My sister stood up. “You must be Beverly Grace. I’m Shyla Trask, Phoebe’s sister.”

  “Oh, honey, don’t get up!” Beverly waved Shyla back into her chair. “I recognize you from that charming portrait in your dining room, although I must say you’re even prettier in person.”

  “Thank you.”

  I chewed my pretzel. Shyla said, “Would you care to join us?”

  “I’d love to, but I’ve got to get home and finish some work. My trip put me behind schedule again, but I couldn’t bear the thought of not being there when the university honored my husband. Marshall would have been pleased to see how many people showed up.”

  Shyla said, “You were married to Marshall Grace?”

  “For nearly twelve years. We coauthored a couple of books on the Tudor age.”

  “I read them!” Shyla said, looking way more impressed than I wanted her to be. “Last year in my world history class.”

  “I hope they were helpful.”

  Beverly patted my shoulder. “I spoke with your daddy this morning. I invited you all to dinner tonight, and I’m disappointed you can’t make it. But I do understand how pressed for time he must feel with that big trial coming up.”

  “Yeah, we’re all pretty busy,” I said. “We’ll probably be busy for a really long time.”

  Shyla said, “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Grace.”

  Beverly waved and headed for the escalator.

  “Wow,” Shyla said. “She’s gorgeous.”

  “Now do you see why I’m worried?”

  “Listen, Phoebe, you’ve got to stop obsessing about her and Dad. So they were in a car together one day. It doesn’t mean anything. There could be all sorts of perfectly harmless reasons for it.”

  “Then, why wouldn’t Dad admit he’d been out with her? Besides, it’s way more than just that one day. It’s the presents, and the way she says ciao and presto instead of speaking English, and the way she touches his arm every chance she gets, and the wayshe calls him ‘Sum-nuh’ in that slow-molasses Southern-belle voice, like it’s 1860 and she’s just stepped off her daddy’s plantation.”

  Shyla chewed thoughtfully. “If you’re worried about it, you should stay close with her. It’ll be easier to keep track of what’s going on until Mama gets home.”

  “Excuse me,” I said. “Have you looked outside lately? Hell hasn’t frozen over yet.”

  “Gosh, Phoebe,” Shyla said. “When did you develop such a fresh mouth?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was when I practically became an orphan.” I was about to cry, and I didn’t want to have a major meltdown in the mall. I grabbed my shopping bags. “Can we go now?”

  “Sure.” Shyla glanced at her watch and opened her cell phone. “Let’s call the judge and see where he wants to meet us lor dinner. I’m still famished.”

  The following night Zane left for his big to-do at the lake, and Daddy took Shyla and me to Gus’s for burgers and fries. All they could talk about was the big trial coming up, which bored me to tears. When we got home, I switched on the TV in the den and curled up with Lucky to watch a movie, but with the start of freshman year just a day away, I was too keyed up to concentrate. Around ten I gave up and went to bed, but I was still awake, tossing and turning in the dark, when Zane came home an hour later. I heard him say good night to Daddy and Shyla. Then he came upstairs, tapped our code on my door, and stuck his head in. “Are you awake?”

  Lucky opened one eye, saw that it was Zane, and resumed his doggy dreams.

  “I’m awake.”

  He came in and sprawled on my bcanbag chair. “Butterflies in your stomach thinking about school?” That was one of the best things about my big brother. He could always tell what I was feeling without my having to say anything.

  “Shyla says it’s no big deal.”

  “School was always a breeze for her.”

  “How was the party? Did you have a good time?”

  “It was kind of a bust after Dad nixed the overnight thing. A couple of the guys never showed. Mostly it was just Ryan, Will, and me scarfing down pizza and talking. It sure feels good to have my car back, though.”

  “No kidding. I do not want to ride the bus to school. At least not at first.”

  “Don’t worry, princess,” Zane said. “Your chariot awaits.”

  “Some chariot. When are you going to get that bumper fixed?”

  “As soon as I get ahold of some more cash. All my savings went to pay for those stupid mailboxes.” Zane glanced at my shopping bags piled in the corner. “Looks like you don’t have any cash flow problems, though. Did you get some neat stuff?”

  “Yeah, but Beverly showed up at the food court. I nearly gagged on my pretzel.”

  “Man,” Zane said. “That woman is on us like white on rice.”

  “Shyla thinks it’s because Beverly is lonely.”

  “So is Dad. That’s why they’re a dangerous combination.” Zane yawned and got to his feet. “I’m beat. I’m going to grab some z’s.”

  At my door he stopped and turned around. “Don’t worry about school, okay? You’ll be fine.”

  The next morning, after Daddy’s traditional Sunday pancake feast, Shyla gave me a manicure using Mama’s newest Bee Beautiful polish, a shimmering color called Pink Diamonds. While we waited for the polish to dry, she went through my closet, organizing my new clothes to make it easier for me to put myself together.

  “There,” she said when my skirts, tops, jackets, and jeans were arranged to her satisfaction. “Now you won’t have to dig around looking for stuff in the morning.” She inspected my new manicure. “Looks good. Have you shaved your pits?”

  “Shyla!”

  She grinned. “Well, it’s gonna be hotter than tamales tomorrow. You might want to wear something sleeveless, in which case you don’t want to look like King Kong.”

  “I can’t decide what to wear.”

  “All your stuff is cute. Just close your eyes and pick something.” She got up. “I have to go. It’s a long drive to Austin, and I’m working tonight. Jimmie Vaughan is playing. The place will be packed.”

  I went outside to see her off. She hugged Daddy, cracked a joke with Zane, and kissed Lucky. Then she held out her arms to me. I latched on to her, breathing in the smells of perfume and shampoo until she practically had to pry my hands away.

  “Thanks for taking me shopping,” I said.

  “It was fun,” Shyla said. “Good luck at school tomorrow.”

  “I’ll need it.”

  “Just remember what I told you and you’ll do great.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow night after my shift is over, and you can give me all the details.”

  Daddy said, “Remember that we’re screening our calls now, Shyla.”

  “I’m telling you, Dad,” Shyla said, “you should just call the phone company and get caller ID.”

  “Maybe I will.” He kissed her cheek. “Drive carefully. Keep your cell phone on.”

  Shyla put her sunglasses on and tossed her duffel bag in the trunk. She punched Zane on the arm. “Keep your nose, clean, ace.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  She backed to the street, tooted the horn, and drove away. We went inside. Daddy spread his papers on the desk in the den and turned on his laptop. I helped Zane clear away the breakfast mess, then spent the afternoon in my room e-mailing Lauren and deciding what to wear for my first day at Eden High. Shyla had left a fashion magazine open to an article called “What’s Your Style?” which showed different ways of putting yourself together based on the message you wanted to convey.

  “What’s your style?” the article began. “Fun and flirty? Sex
y but serious? Cool and classy? Follow these hints to put together a look that will make you unforgettable, no matter which look you choose.”

  Cool and classy was the style Shyla had recommended for me, and I have to admit it looked really great in the magazine. I had the clothes to copy the look, but inside I felt more awkward and afraid than cool and classy.

  The next morning I forced down a bowl of cereal and some OJ for breakfast and got dressed. By then Daddy had left for an early meeting at the courthouse, and Zane was waiting in the car, the radio cranked loud enough to wake the dead. When I slid into the front seat, he gave me a thumbs-up sign. “Say what you will about old Shyla, but she does have good taste. You look great, Phoebe.”

  “Thanks.” It was way too hot to wear a jacket like in the magazine, and I’d had a hard time making up my mind. After changing clothes half a dozen times, I’d settled on a black skirt, a cotton top, and the silver and turquoise bracelets Mama had given me for Christmas last year.

  Zane backed down the driveway, and we started the twenty-minute drive to Eden High. The school was fairly new, having opened when Shyla was a freshman. It was made of red brick, with plenty of long windows running across the front. A covered walkway connected the main buildings to the gym and the auditorium, where the freshmen had been told to report.

  Zane pulled around a couple of buses idling in the driveway, wheeled into a parking space reserved for upperclassmen, and killed the engine. The lot was filling up fast; everybody was talking and laughing, full of first-day nerves. He grabbed his backpack off the backseat and opened his door. “Welcome to high school, kiddo,” he said. “Knock ‘em dead.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  He grinned. “I’ll meet you here after school, okay?”

  At the front entrance he pointed me toward the auditorium and jogged across the grass to hang with the swim team. Will and Ryan waved to me as I went inside. I looked around for a familiar face and spotted Katie Phelps and Gillian Palmer, who had both been in my homeroom last year. I didn’t know them very well, but Katie had been on the eighth-grade cheerleading squad with Lauren. I waved to them, and Gillian waved back but went on talking to Katie. The seats in their row were taken anyway, so I moved on.