The Moon and More(4)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“I don’t care what time it is, I needed that delivery today! It’s what I arranged and therefore what I expected and I won’t accept anything else!” At first, the source of this was just a blur. A beat later, though, it slowed enough for me to make out a woman wearing black jeans, a short-sleeved black sweater, and ballet flats. She had hair so blonde it was almost white, and a cell phone was clamped to her ear. “I ordered four tables, I want four tables. They should be here in the next hour and my account is to be adjusted accordingly for their lateness. I am spending too much money to put up with this bullshit!”

I looked at the guy in the Oyster jeans, still busy with the bins across the room, who appeared to not even be fazed by this. I, however, was transfixed, the way you are whenever you see crazy people up close. You just can’t look away, even when you know you should.

“No, that’s not going to work for me. No. No. Today, or forget the entire thing.” Now that she was standing still, I noted the set of her jaw, as well as the angular way her cheek and collar bones protruded. She was downright prickly, like one of those predator plants you see in deserts. “Fine. I’ll expect my deposit to be refunded on my card by tomorrow morning or you’ll be hearing from my attorney. Goodbye.”

She jabbed at the phone, turning it off. Then, as I watched, she threw it across the room, where it crashed against the wall that just had just been painted on Memorial Day weekend, leaving a black mark. Holy shit.

“Idiots,” she announced, her voice loud even in this big room. “Prestige Party Rental my ass. I knew the minute we crossed the Mason-Dixon Line it would be like working in the third world.”

Now, the guy looked at her, then at me, which of course made her finally notice me as well. “Who is this?” she snapped.

“From the realty place,” he told her. “VIP something or other.”

She looked mystified, so I pointed at the wine and cheese. “A welcome gift,” I said. “From Colby Realty.”

“It would have been better if you’d brought tables,” she grumbled, walking over to the platter and lifting the wrap. After peering down at it, she ate a grape, then shook her head. “Honestly, Theo, I’m already wondering if this was a mistake. What was I thinking?”

“We’ll find another place to rent tables,” he told her, in a voice that made it clear he was used to these kinds of tirades. He’d already picked up her phone, which he was now checking for damage. The wall, like me, was ignored.

“Where? This place is backwoods. There’s probably not another one for a hundred miles. God, I need a drink.” She picked up the wine I had brought, squinting at the bottle. “Cheap and Australian. Of course.”

I watched her as she started pulling open drawers, obviously looking for a corkscrew. I let her look in all the wrong places, just out of spite, before I finally moved over to the wet bar by the pantry to get it.

“Here.” I handed it to her, then grabbed the pen and paper we always left with the housekeeping card. “Prestige has a habit of screwing up orders. You should call Everything Island. They’re open until eight.”

I wrote down the number, then pushed it towards her. She just looked at it, then at me. She didn’t pick it up.

As I started towards the stairs, where Rick and Trent were banging up with another load, neither of the renters said anything. I was used to that. As far as they were concerned, this was their place now, with me as much scenery as the water. But when I spotted a price tag still on a little wicker basket by the door, I stopped and pulled it off anyway.

2

MY BEDROOM DOOR was open. Again.

“So I’m like,” I heard my sister Amber saying as I got closer, already feeling my blood pressure rising, “‘I understand you want to look like a model. I want to win the lottery so I don’t have to do this job. Let’s just both lower our expectations, okay?’”

“I hope you didn’t really say that,” my mother murmured. I swore I heard pages turning. If she was reading that issue of Hollyworld I hadn’t even cracked yet, my head was going to explode.

“I wanted to. But instead I gave her the bangs she insisted on, even though they made her look about thirty-five years old.”

“Watch it.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

I slapped my hand on the half-open door, pushing it wide into the room. Sure enough, they were on my bed. My mom was, in fact, reading my Hollyworld, while Amber—sporting yet another new hair color, this time a carrot orange—was in the process of taking a sip off a huge fountain Diet Coke from the Gas/Gro. Between them was an open can of cocktail nuts. “Get out,” I said, my voice low. “Now.”

“Oh, Emaline,” Amber began.

My mom, knowing better, had already put the magazine back in my drawer, and was digging around in my duvet—which I had just washed—for the top to the nuts. When she couldn’t find it, she gave up, getting to her feet with a guilty look on her face.

“You know what it’s like upstairs right now.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” I replied, walking over to my TV, which was showing some rerun of a modeling reality show, and turning it off. “This is my room. My room. You are not allowed to just come down here and trash it.”

“We weren’t trashing it,” my mom said, as she stepped behind me on her way to the door. “Just sitting here having a conversation.”

I ignored this, instead going over to my bed, where my sister was for some reason still sitting. I dug under my pillow until I found the top to the nuts. I held it up, evidence.

My mom sighed. “I was hungry.”

“Then eat in the kitchen.”

“We have no kitchen!” Amber protested. Now she was finally moving, although, as usual, she took her sweet time. “Have you been up there lately, Miss Private Entrance? It’s like a war zone.”

“It’s not a private entrance,” I replied. “It’s the garage.”

“Whatever! Daddy’s torn out everything. There’s no place to sit, no place for the TV . . .”

As if in support of her point, I heard the pop of a compressor from upstairs, making us all jump. My dad had been doing carpentry for so long big noises no longer affected him. The rest of us, though, were still nervous as cats once he started up with the nail gun.

“What about your room?” I asked Amber, as my mom passed behind me, stopping briefly to tuck in the tag of my shirt, which apparently had been sticking out all afternoon. Great.