Be Strong & Curvaceous Read online

  “Thanks so much. But you should do something about that.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. A girl like you should have more self-confidence.”

  “A girl like me.” What did that mean? “I have lots of self-confidence.”

  “What you have is this uncanny ability to disappear in full view.”

  “Huh?” In spite of myself, I came back to stand in the bathroom doorway.

  “I saw it.” She got her toothpaste out of her side of the cabinet and began to brush her teeth. “One minute you were there, and the next you weren’t. So Brett and Callum spent the rest of the evening talking to me. You only came back into view when you left. And by the way, no thanks for ditching me. I was forced to walk back with Vanessa and Dani whats-her-name.”

  “You guys were having a good time.” I could hardly string the words together, I was so taken aback by what she thought of me. “Besides, Brett would have walked you back, I’m sure.”

  She finished brushing and reached for a towel. “Right. Well. He didn’t. He’s a day student, so he went rabbiting off up the hill with Callum, and somehow I wound up with The Talbot and Dani. Goodness, that cousin of hers is tiresome. I’m never buying another album again.”

  I had to smile. “I don’t think it’s the cousin who’s tiresome. I think it’s the endless repetition of stories about her that is. Poor Dani. She needs a life so bad.”

  “Well, I’m not a charity. She’ll have to find a life on her own. And we were talking about you.”

  “No, we weren’t.” I climbed into bed. “Subject closed. Maybe my friends can say things like that to me”—in fact, they probably would— “but I’m not ready to hear them from anyone else.”

  “So I’m not your friend, then.”

  I didn’t know how to answer that, so I didn’t say anything.

  She waited a second, then turned on her iPod, settling into her pillows with her earphones in. She didn’t look at me again.

  I climbed into bed and flipped open my laptop, looking for the chapter in Romans I’d been reading the night before. Looking for a little comfort. A little reassurance.

  Because something in the silence told me I’d just made a very big mistake.

  MAC DIDN’T WASTE a single word on me the next day.

  You’d think I’d have been happy about this, but to be honest, it only made the tension in our room ratchet higher. How awkward was it to be sitting at the desk on the other side of the room and hear her make a muffled growl and stab another e-mail into nonexistence, knowing that I should ask, “Everything okay?” knowing at the same time that she’d just snap at me or, worse, ignore me.

  Apparently my window of forgiveness had closed. The window between Mac and Vanessa, though, was wide open. Vanessa seemed to be listening to that guy who once said you should keep your friends close but your enemies closer, because she and Mac had become BFFs overnight. I had no idea how Mac could do this without seeing through her the way she saw through me, but there you were. The worst of it came that night.

  I was packing my overnight bag before Enrique and the limo arrived to get me at six. The door burst open and Mac and Vanessa came in on a rush of perfume and chatter.

  “I have no idea what to wear,” Mac wailed, throwing open the door of her wardrobe. “Look at this. Not one winery-friendly outfit.”

  “It’s not like you’re going to be stomping grapes yourself.” Vanessa began to pull things off their hangers. “This is good. And this. Ooh, cute capris. Those, too. And this and this in case we have a party.”

  Mac got one of the Vuittons out from under her bed and began stuffing clothes into it. Her trunk and the bigger suitcases had gone into storage downstairs. I assumed there would be someone to press her things when they got to Napa, or maybe Mac just didn’t care.

  Vanessa tossed a Hermès scarf around her shoulders and glanced into the mirror on the back of the door to see how it went with her frothy silk BCBG sundress. Then she looked over at me and saw the case on the bed. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were planning to come, too.”

  “She’s not.” Makeup rattled against the counter in the bathroom. “At least, I don’t think so.” Mac stuck her head out the bathroom door. “Are you?”

  It was the first thing she’d said directly to me since yesterday. That must have been what startled me into replying. “Of course not.”

  Vanessa raised an eyebrow at my tone. “Something better to do?”

  “My father sends a car every Friday to take me home.”

  “But Brett invited you, didn’t he?”

  “I think he invited Mac. I hope you have a great time.”

  “I’m sure I shall.” Mac came out of the bathroom with her toiletries case and tucked it into the bag, then zipped it shut. “All ready.”

  But Vanessa didn’t seem to be in any hurry. “I’m just about positive Brett wanted little Carly here to come. How could you want to go home—wherever that is—instead of spending the weekend with all your friends?”

  “She’s made it clear who her friends are, Van.” Mac picked up the bag. “Ready?”

  “Has she?” Vanessa hadn’t taken her eyes off me. Back away from the claws and teeth. Slowly. Problem was, there was nowhere to go except out the window, and we were three floors up. Then she answered her own question. “Oh, I remember now. You hang out with those so-called Christian people, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said quietly. Come on, Enrique. Please don’t be late, today of all days.

  “They’re too good for the likes of us,” I thought Mac said, but I couldn’t be sure because she was out in the corridor. What had happened to the girl who tried to encourage me about my looks? And what was this about being too good for her because we were Christians? I’d never once said or done anything to make her feel that way.

  Right?

  You snubbed her, dummy. Now it’s payback time.

  Vanessa looked into my overnight case. “How old is this?” She held up my silk polka-dot dress, which I’d packed in case Papa took us out to dinner. “This is from, what, the spring before last?”

  “It’s an old favorite.” I resisted the urge to tear it out of her hand and fling it back into the bag. “It’s comfortable, so I keep it around.”

  “Really.” Again that heavy-lidded, penetrating stare. “I’ll bet you got it on sale somewhere recently. For an old favorite, it’s hardly been worn.”

  “I take care of my stuff.”

  “Sure you do. I wonder why you bother, though, when you probably got it for half-price.” She shuddered. “I’m glad you’re not going. If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s a poser.”

  I drew myself up to my full five feet two inches. No matter how much I wanted to zing her with something withering, I couldn’t do it. For one thing, zinging her would put me on her level, and that was the last thing I wanted. And for another, I needed my place on the committee. Only an idiot would risk that just for one second’s satisfaction.

  But before I could say a word, my phone rang and I snatched it up. “Enrique? Great. I’ll be right down.” I grabbed my bag. “My limo’s here. It’s been nice chatting with you. Have a good weekend.”

  As I practically ran down the corridor, I heard them behind me, giggling and talking in that just-below-audible tone that meant they probably had a few choice things to say about me, my clothes, my family, and my friends.

  I didn’t care. I didn’t. They could say what they wanted, as long as they let me stay on the committee. But Vanessa’s spooky ability to put her immaculate nail on those soft, defenseless places where I was most vulnerable had me worried. I needed to toughen up . . . and to become more indispensable. And while I was at it, I needed to get started on my dress. To do that, I had to stop surfing Craigslist and actually get out there and look for a part-time job.

  “Hey, chica,” Enrique said as I opened the rear passenger door. “How’s it hanging?”

  “Fine.” I tossed my bag in and follow
ed it. “Did you see Papa today?”

  “Oh, man, that’s the problem,” he said. “He says to say he’s real sorry, but he had to go to Guadalajara. Emergency of some kind. He’ll be back Tuesday, but he says you and Antony are to stay with Tía Donna in Saratoga.”

  He put the car into gear.

  “Enrique, wait.” He looked over the seat at me. Tía Donna wasn’t really my aunt. She was a friend of my mom’s, and we stayed there sometimes when Papa had to fly off unexpectedly on our weekends at home. She had three boys, all under fourteen, and while this was great for Antony, there are places I’d rather be than struggling to keep my sanity in the midst of a Halo smackdown.

  “If Papa isn’t going to be there, I think I’ll stay at school this weekend.”

  “Are you sure, mi alma? Because you know Donna. She loves having you guys.”

  “I know. But it’ll be like a holiday for Antony if I’m not there yelling at them all the time, you know? I’ve got a lot of things to do, and this would be the perfect time to do them.”

  My cousin shrugged. “Okay, mi’ja, if that’s what you want. Just call your dad and let him know. I don’t want him thinking I ditched you.”

  “He knows you’d never do that.” I leaned over the seat and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry you drove all this way for nothing.”

  “It wasn’t nothing, mi’ja, trust me.”

  I slid out of the long black limo with my bag and slammed the door shut. It purred off down the drive and I slipped inside the big double doors. In less than a minute I’d dashed up two flights of stairs and banged on Lissa and Gillian’s door.

  “What are you doing here?” Gillian stepped aside as I slipped past her.

  “Can I hang here with you for half an hour? Just until the coast is clear?”

  “Of course.”

  “What coast?” Lissa considered a pile of dresses in the middle of her bed. “Since when do you care whether it’s clear?”

  “I’m avoiding someone. Everyone.” The overnight bag was getting heavy. I let it drop to the floor and sank into Gillian’s desk chair. “Going somewhere?”

  “We’re going to try out a new restaurant behind Ghirardelli Square and then catch a movie,” Gillian said. “Which means you have to build two hours into the schedule for Lissa to get dressed.”

  “Not fair,” Lissa protested. She grabbed a deceptively simple Chloe linen sundress in a scrumptious raspberry. “I can make up my mind in less than that.”

  “Only barely.” Gillian, looking cool and comfortable in her favorite cropped cargo pants and a piecework camisole, lounged on her bed. “So, Carly, are we going to talk about Lissa’s clothes habit, or are you going to tell us why you aren’t on your way down to San Jose?”

  “Not to mention who you’re avoiding.” Lissa put in big gold hoop earrings, her blue gaze on me.

  “My dad had to go to Guadalajara on some emergency for work, so we’re supposed to go to this friend of ours. Except with her kids and my brother, that would be like locking myself in a cage with four orangutans on crack, so I just told the driver I’d stay here.” Should I tell them about my plans to find a job? After a second, I decided against it. The fewer people who knew about my financial status, the better. “I have stuff to do in the city anyway.”

  “So you’re not hiding from your family or your driver,” Gillian said. “And you’re not hiding from us. Who does that leave?”

  “I need to stay out of my room until I know Mac and Vanessa and all their crowd are on the highway to Napa,” I said on a rush of breath.

  “Did you have a fight?” Count on Lissa to ask. I could probably pick up a few pointers from a pro on fighting with Vanessa.

  “Kind of. Mac isn’t speaking to me at the moment.”

  “Why?” Lissa asked.

  “I think I hurt her feelings.”

  “She has feelings?” Gillian looked amazed.

  “How could you manage to hurt anyone?” Lissa shook her head. “You’re the kindest person I know.”

  “You must not know very many people, then.” My shoulders slumped. “Mac said something about us being friends and I didn’t give her an answer. She hasn’t spoken to me since. Well, except just now when she and Vanessa came in to pack and we sort of got into it.”

  “Tell all.” Lissa settled in for the show. All that was missing was the popcorn and soda.

  I sketched it out for them, and when I was finished, Gillian shook her head. “We might have known she’d gravitate to that crowd. I mean, it was really only a matter of time. I don’t think you’ve lost anything.”

  “You don’t belong with them, Carly.” Lissa came to sit beside me and gave me a hug. “You’re too nice. Too real. You need to get off that stupid committee before you turn into a pod person.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, those things from Night of the Living Dead.”

  She really needs to stop watching the SciFi channel. “Uh, no.”

  “Never mind.” She shook her hair back. “The point is, we’re way more fun than they are, and we don’t give a rip what they think. You’re coming to dinner with us, right?”

  I nodded. I knew who my real friends were. The thing that nagged at me was, I’d just read in my online study that it was better to hang a rock around your neck and throw yourself into the sea than to offend somebody. I’d offended Mac, and the knowledge was just like that rock, weighing me down.

  But it would be easier to be chucked into the Pacific to drown than to ask Vanessa Talbot’s new BFF to forgive me.

  Chapter 7

  SATURDAY MORNING, I came up with a plan. By nine I’d made it to the dining room for breakfast and back out again with no one seeing me, and by ten I was on the bus. I needed to find a job far enough away from the school so I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew, but close enough that it would be easy to get to. The bus was the solution. It stopped just across from the Spencer playing fields and went all the way to Chinatown.

  I started there, at Tori Wu’s loft, where I’d made an appointment for eleven.

  “Carly,” she said, shaking hands. “You’re Gillian Chang’s friend.”

  “It’s nice to see you again,” I replied, relieved that she remembered me from when we’d been there in September, buying a Benefactors’ Day Ball dress for Gillian. “Thank you for making time for me.”

  “What can I do for you? A special dress?” She pulled the measuring tape from around her neck and sat, tossing it onto a drafting table behind her. There was no tea and fashion show this time—I was not, after all, Gillian’s aunt Isabel, with all the money of the Formosa-Pacific banking family behind me.

  “No.” I gulped. “I need to find a job to pay for some of my school expenses, and I was wondering if you had an opening.” Her lashes flickered with surprise, and I hurried on. “I’m willing to do anything—sweep up scraps, answer the phone, place orders. I’ve been sewing all my life and I’m taking design classes. See?” I reached into my bag and pulled out a sheaf of spot drawings: a cuff detail, a neckline, a ruffled hem insert.

  She riffled through them. “These are yours? Very nice.” She looked up. “But I’m afraid I don’t have anything open right now. I could use someone this summer, though. My cutter’s assistant is going out on maternity leave, if you’re interested in applying. You wouldn’t get minimum wage. You’d get what the other assistants get.”

  In spite of my disappointment in the short term, I could hardly believe my luck. “Wow. I—I’d be honored to interview. And I’m hoping to enter a dress in the Design Your Dreams show, if you want to see a sample of my work. Have you heard about it?”

  “Oh, yes. They called me last week. I’ll look forward to seeing your sample.” Her keen glance ran down the front of my jacket with its notched hem that, I realized, had begun with the very drawing she held. “Speaking of samples, you made that jacket.”

  “Yes. During winter break.”

  She reached over and held it open with one h
and, taking in the collar, the lining, and especially the hem. She could probably tell how hard I’d worked to make the notching lie smooth and flat in both lining and fabric, while the contrast piping stood out the way it should, without bumps or puckers. “Very nice. Be sure to come back when you’re out of school, okay? I don’t see many students with skill like this. I could teach you a few things that would make these tailoring details easier.”

  “Thank you! Thanks so much.”

  I was still reeling from her compliments, even though a summer job was far from a sure thing, as I floated out the door and got back on the bus.

  At noon I was still a little delirious as I got off near a taquería and got myself a burrito for lunch, liberally laced with hot chilés de arbol. By two, my optimism had begun to fade, after half a dozen personal rejections and one proposition by the nasty guy stocking shampoo at the drugstore, and by three, I was trudging up the hot sidewalk, wondering what on earth I was doing this for.

  Sure, I wanted to show the people who mattered in the fashion world what I could do. But did I really need imported fabric at a hundred and change a yard? If Tori Wu would interview me on the basis of a few sketches and a jacket, did I need to create a dress and enter the show at all?

  Or was it more than the show? Come on, Carly, have the guts to at least be honest. I wanted what the show could do for me—over and above an internship. I wanted to walk up to Brett Loyola in a dress that had been photographed for everything from the Chronicle to whowhatweardaily.com. I wanted him to see me as a success . . . on my own . . . not just as Mac’s roommate. Once he saw me that way, maybe it wouldn’t matter to him that I didn’t come with a pedigree. I couldn’t help it that something about him could make me forget to breathe every time I saw him. Call it chemistry. Call it craziness. But there was no telling my body or my heart to forget about him. I wanted him to see me, and I wanted it to be on my terms.

  So. Onward.

  I’d come halfway back to school and was waiting for the next bus when something caught my eye in the window of the photography shop behind me.