IV. That's Where the Colors Don't Go
In a white room, in a white head
in a cobweb of enterprise
where the dreams sleep and fears keep
that's where the colors don't go
that's where the colors don't show
that's where the colors don't go
in one take, no give
half live, half ignore
an endless chase in a small place
one world, one white flag
one shopping bag and restaurant
no surprise there
only lies there
that's where the colors don't go
that's where the colors don't show
that's where the colors don't go
i want your eyes to color my world
and hear my endless longing
that's where the colors don't go
that's where the colors don't show
that's where the colors don't go
That's Where the Colors Don't Go is the property of Sam Phillips.
AN: I don't remember the names of the Blendeds, Naomi's popular friends, but I named them Margery, Lana, and Rachel.
"I heard breastfeeding makes you lose weight," says Annie, twirling around in front of the full-length mirror. "I guess there are pluses to pregnancy."
"You don't need to lose any weight," assures Silver.
"Eh, I can't put up with this....thing, anyway," huffs Annie, tossing baby It onto her bedspread.
Silver rewinds some of the footage she shot at the lacrosse scrimmage that afternoon. Beyond all the bug close-ups, she had a few decent minutes of the team running across the grass. She could edit those easily. Now, she just needs a story. Some of her favorite documentaries focused on a single subject, a person where all the strands of the piece could connect to, a realistic protagonist. George was too much of a jerk. She only knew Ethan through Naomi. She didn't find the other guys particularly articulate. Freezing a frame, she smiles at an image of Dixon leading the pack as they cross the center of the field.
"You don't film me while I'm asleep, do you?" asks Annie, peering over her shoulder, and then smiling. "Oh."
"What?" says Silver, putting the camera to her chest.
"It's nothing...nothing," muses Annie, playfully. "Just...cinematic proof that you are crushing on my brother."
"This...this is for class!" insists Silver. "I was filming the team!"
"Yeah, team Dixon," teases Annie.
"You are so off-base, Wilson," sighs Silver, shifting her eyes.
"Am not," challenges Annie.
"Look, go focus on your studies and let me focus on mine," says Silver.
Annie shrugs. "I know what you're focusing on."
She holds up a picture of her family and taps Dixon's grinning face. Silver throws a lacy pillow at Annie's head.
"Owww," says Annie as she laughs and leaves the room.
So what if her camera stayed on Dixon a little longer? He was the one who said he'd have no problem with the documentary, and he's one of the star athletes, and she wouldn't mind staring at him in the editing room. Shoot. Thank goodness Annie doesn't read minds. The truth is that she likes whenever he holds her or talks to her. The truth is that she stares at him sometimes during meals when he's not looking. The truth is she was hoping he was feeling the same things. If the camera were on the other end, she'd like it if he found her just as interesting from behind the lens.
But who could blame him if he didn't? She has baggage. High school guys were into having fun, not dealing with drama they didn't cause. When she went bowling with the Wilsons on family night, that's what should be normal, not Dixon finding her sleeping in a car instead of the women's shelter or comforting her when her mom chews her out. These were supposed to be the best years of their lives, not the most troubled. She didn't want to bring him into that anymore.
Silver scoots off the bed and walks down the hallway. There was a nice desk there where she could recharge her camera. Most of Annie's outlets were being used or were in unreachable places.
"Come on, man!" yells a distant, disappointed voice.
Gripping her camera tighter, Silver goes towards the shout and views Dixon shaking his head at the television screen. A football game was on and Silver had no idea who the teams were until she checked out the bottom of the screen. The Kansas City Chiefs were playing the Detroit Lions. It took her awhile to figure out which was which, Silver's eyes scanning the team colors and jersey designs. Dixon was the only one there, the blue haze of the TV resting on his shaved head.
"Who's winning?" speaks up Silver.
"Detrioit," sighs Dixon, turning the TV off with the remote.
"It's over?" asks Silver.
"Nah, but Kansas City is beat," guesses Dixon.
"How are you going to know if you don't watch?" says Silver.
"They'd need a miracle," says Dixon. "Do you have a beginning yet?"
"I'm still pro-Dixon interview," says Silver.
Thinking about how confessional she should be with him sparked this idea. It might be a ploy to learn more about him, but she swore to herself that her intentions were innocent. She'd respect a "no" from him, albeit after some fine-tuned ribbing.
"Me?" groans Dixon.
"I'll cut out anything embarrassing," promises Silver. "They'll be sticking cameras in your face if you make it to the pros, anyway."
"Well, I play for fun, really," says Dixon.
"Hmmm," says Silver, raising her camera and filming. "Go on."
"Swear that any stupid thing I say will end up on the cutting room floor?" says Dixon.
"Swear," replies Silver.
"I don't know," says Dixon. "It's nice to be part of a team. Like I have brothers. My dad and I don't have a lot in common, but I feel like I'm his son out there...like I don't think I'm adopted."
She can certainly understand wanting to be close to your parents, even in a small way. But she has no ambition to be a model like her mother, or an oral surgeon like her father. If she wasn't surrounded by plastic faces in her mother's profession, she'd be surrounded by false teeth. Being a documentarian would mean highlighting what's real, a real way to look at the world.
"Did you play in Kansas?" asks Silver.
"Yeah, but it wasn't as big of a deal as it is here," answers Dixon.
"And what do you think of Beverly Hills?" says Silver. "Think us Californians are crazy?"
"Well, it's not very diverse," chuckles Dixon.
"You mean the world isn't solely white, rich, and skinny?" cries Silver, sarcastically. "Color me shocked."
Dixon laughs. "I like that. A sense of humor."
"But I agree," says Silver, smiling. "I mean, having culturally aware textbooks would be a start."
He nods with amusement.
"Just saying," shrugs Silver.
"You always have an opinion, don't you?" says Dixon.
"Life would be boring without them," replies Silver. "Or...you know, quieter."
They grin at each other, the single sound the dripping faucet in the kitchen. His dark eyes were fixed on her face, her head growing dizzy from rushed thought after rushed thought. What should I say next? Is this the longest conversation they've had? Should she lean in and go for it?
"Hey, who's out there?" shouts someone, Harry's head appearing from the den.
"It's me, Dad!" replies Dixon.
"Time for bed, you two," says Harry. "Dixon....your room...now!"
Dixon shakes his head, puts a finger to his lips, and searches for the score to the game.
"I think they won," whispers Silver.
"Nah, they....," begins Dixon, before the score appears, championing the Chiefs' victory.
"Ha!" says Silver, then covering her mouth.
"Man," mutters Dixon. "Teaches me to never count out the Chiefs."
"The best athletes come from Kansas," affirms Silver.
Dixon smiles, dimples on full display, and Silver plugs in her camera. She starts towards Annie's room, noting Dixon's close by. Wait a minute. It takes less than a minute to realize he's walking her there.
"You're walking me to your sister's room," says Silver.
"There might be crazy people in the dark hallway," kids Dixon. "Robbers...serial killers...my grandmother."
They chuckle, Silver putting her body against the door.
"It's a short walk," says Silver.
"That's the bad part," offers Dixon.
"Well, thank you....and thanks for the interview," says Silver.
"I....might be willing to answer more questions, if you're in the mood," assures Dixon.
"I just might," says Silver.
She reenters Annie's room, staring at him as the door closes. Silver beams. She not only got him to talk, but he honestly thinks she's clever. Somebody appreciated her opinions without her having to use her blog. Nice. Very nice.
"Since tomorrow is Saturday, I can finally get some rest," groans Annie, slipping under her covers.
"Here, here," echoes Silver.
Silver sits on her bed and starts unfolding her nightgown. A loud cry bounds across the walls while she's doing so.
"Shut up!" whines Annie, kicking her legs restlessly as the baby silently rolls off the blanket and onto the floor. "Ugh....thank you."
II.
"Salsa must be good for your calves," says Naomi, looking appreciatively at hers.
"That's all you got out of it?" laughs Ozzie.
"Alright, alright," replies Naomi. "It was fun, too."
The dancing was more fun than she'd like, actually. She hadn't danced with another guy since Ethan, since her ill-fated birthday party. His shoulders were tense before she said anything, her soft dress clinging to her frame despite how flowy it felt in the store. Part of her still didn't want to believe the words in the anonymous text. How could Ethan do that? Why would he cheat on her? She kept her composure, though, keeping her cheeks dry under the shimmering club lights. She beckoned everyone to the floor and broke away from him. It was tough to do since they were so tight. He was the guy who saw her without make-up, without the fuss, her first love. She couldn't let that go. Tonight, she did let go on the floor. With frenetic movement, relaxed shoulders, and her eyes on her partner, she let Ozzie control where her feet went and where she should turn. It was like dancing to a heartbeat, a different heartbeat that she hadn't heard. But a heartbeat only lasts so long.
"Now, next weekend...," begins Ozzie.
"What is this next weekend business?" says Naomi. "I'm a busy girl."
"Certainly, a busy girl like you has time for Homecoming," remarks Ozzie, raising his eyebrows.
Oh, right, recalls Naomi. She'd been thinking about Homecoming earlier, but that was when she was with....
"Ethan might ask me to that," says Naomi.
Ozzie remains silent, the car going down her street. She searches for any sign of disappointment, any trace of a clear emotion. Ozzie's expression isn't giving. Whatever his response was is buried under tight lips and a forward stare.
"It's tradition that we go," continues Naomi. "If any other guy showed up at my house, they'd be bombarded with questions. Believe me. I would not put you through that."
"Is it that your family and friends expect you to go with him, or that you expect to go with him?" questions Ozzie, without looking at her.
What? It's obviously both, and he doesn't know her well enough to ask her that.
"You know....just keep driving," says Naomi, crossing her arms.
"Touched a nerve?" says Ozzie.
"My car's still at the school," moans Naomi. "I don't see why you insisted on giving me a lift to my house with my car in the parking lot."
"That wouldn't be very chivalrous," says Ozzie, smirking.
"Oh, and your nosy inquisition is?" says Naomi. "Pull up to the curb, please."
Her house has a couple lights on, the well-tended shrubbery rustling in the autumn wind. The porch light illuminates her stoop, the garage closed, with her mother's Mercedes inside. Naomi unbuckles her seatbelt and stares at the garage, pulling at a silver hoop necklace Ethan gave her. She was hoping that he'd notice it, but then Annie showed and ruined their time together. Hearing a click, Naomi rolls her eyes as Ozzie leaves his seat and stands next to her.
"Look, if I rattle your chains...it's because I like you," says Ozzie.
"You are so frustrating," sighs Naomi, releasing her necklace.
"Well, yeah," shrugs Ozzie. "So are you."
"I think not," says Naomi. "I was upfront with you before we went to the restaurant, okay?"
"How about being upfront with yourself?" says Ozzie.
"Like how?" says Naomi.
"When's the last time Ethan asked you out?" questions Ozzie.
"We're both busy....," starts Naomi.
"No definite answer," muses Ozzie aloud. "When's the last time Ethan came by your house?"
"That's...private," answers Naomi, hesitantly.
Alright, so there may be a delay on Ethan's part, yet they need that space to cool off, for Ethan to realize what he is missing. While she's weighing what to say next, Ozzie's body grows closer to hers, until he's standing directly in her line of sight. He puts his firm hands on her shoulders and lets his forehead graze hers.
"When's the last time he kissed you?" whispers Ozzie.
Naomi's lips quiver, not from sadness, but from excitement, a response she has to rope in almost immediately, as she can tell Ozzie's getting some private satisfaction from it.
"Ugh!" cries Naomi, pushing him away.
Ozzie chuckles and puts his arms to his sides. His laughter subsides as the front door to the Clark home opens. Naomi views the double latte before Margery appears herself. The other two Blendeds come out seconds later, Lana and Rachel whispering as they glance at Ozzie.
"Naomi, apologies for stopping by so late," says Margery, lowering her latte.
"Oh, no," says Naomi. "Um, you guys know you can stop by anytime."
She throws Ozzie a slightly remorseful frown. Whenever the Blendeds came around, she felt pressure to drop anything she was doing and give them her full attention. After all, they were cool upperclassmen who saw fit to include her, a lowly sophomore, in their ranks. That kind of opportunity only came by once in a blue moon.
"Who's the eye candy?" says Margery, looking Ozzie up and down.
Ozzie clears his throat and rubs his neck. Naomi's not sure what to say. He wasn't a date, and only sort of a friend. Currently, he's someone who is bothering her and invigorating her simultaneously.
"Um," says Naomi.
"Oooh, speechless," teases Lana.
"Is he a caliente construction worker?" speaks up Rachel. "Or a gardener? He can trim my hedge anyday."
"Enough with the Desperate Housewives fantasy," says Margery, holding up her hand and silencing Rachel. "And I do mean desperate."
"He goes to our school, Rachel," says Naomi strongly.
"Shhh, Naomi," instructs Margery.
Naomi lets her eyes fall to the paved sidewalk.
"Where do you live?" asks Margery, walking to Ozzie. "Wilshire? Olympic? Sunset?"
"Van Nuys," supplies Ozzie.
"Oh, with the politicians and the Library," remarks Margery. "That's...quaint."
"Come on!" remarks Naomi.
She knows what's behind Margery's "quaint" label. It meant that she wouldn't be caught dead there, and it was her "sweet" way of being dismissive. Certain parts of Van Nuys are perfectly fine, and some of the nicest Latino kids at West Bev live there. Margery gives Naomi a sharp look, Naomi biting her lip.
"Well, I stay with my cousins in Van Nuys, but my parents have a small place in Hancock Park," continues Ozzie.
"Okay, now that's promising," says Margery with an affirmative nod.
Lana and Rachel mumur their appreciation right after their fearless leader. Naomi frowns.
Ozzie's brow furrows and he shakes his head.
"I gotta go," says Ozzie, going to the front seat of his car.
"Wait," says Naomi, following him.
"We'll be inside, discussing Homecoming dresses," informs Margery.
Margery takes Lana by the arm, and they're in the house quicker than Naomi can blink. Naomi stoops by Ozzie's window and halts him from putting the key into the ignition. Ozzie sighs and grips the steering wheel.
"They've got impossible standards," says Naomi, raising her eyes skyward.
"And it was impossible for you to disagree?" remarks Ozzie.
"Of course I don't agree!" insists Naomi. "Look, they chat up your dad's restaurant so they're not totally evil. And I don't know you well enough to tell them you're my friend yet."
"Are you afraid to get to know me?" asks Ozzie, his eyes shining.
Naomi sighs deeply and taps her fingers against the leather interior at the bottom of his window. No, that's not what she's afraid of, and she can't tell him what she is afraid of, or things might get more complicated. She's afraid to be around him, for there to come a day when she isn't pushing him away. She's downright terrified. Still, she won't tell him. No, she'd maintain a brave face, like she did with Ethan.
"No," replies Naomi.
Ozzie grins. "Good."
"I'm going to the Beverly Center tomorrow afternoon," offers Naomi. "You can meet me at Steve Madden."
The choice for their meeting is calculated, yes. Margery, Lana, and Rachel would be done shopping with her by morning, and Steve Madden is one shop they never seemed to visit.
"Three o' clock, okay?" says Ozzie.
"Sure," says Naomi.
"Sounds kind of like a date," teases Ozzie.
"It's not," clarifies Naomi. "It's two people getting to know each other. Besides, I don't do mall dates."
"I do," returns Ozzie, starting up his engine.
Naomi puts her hands on her hips, watching Ozzie's car disappear down the road, and then smiles when all she can see are his lights.
III.
She loves how big this place is, the strap of her purple bag tensing around her shoulder. It resembles some tucked away palace, right in the center of Los Angeles, with its columnades, shaped shrubbery, and immense size. She'd only seen houses like this in films, only gaining entrance via the director's camera. It was like a dreamworld. But she came here and was welcome by Navid and his family. The sun shines on the lengthy windows of the North side. Adrianna grins when she knocks on the humongous double doors.
A small tan hand parts the door for her entrance. Dressed in a neon pink T-shirt, and designer denim jeans, Navid's younger sister Parisa squeals. It was easy to remember her name, because Adrianna had always wanted to go to Paris. Plus, Parisa seems to like her the most.
"Adrianna!" cries Parisa.
"Hey, Parisa!" greets Adrianna. "I like your outfit."
"My mommy bought it for me before she went on her trip," shares Parisa. "Your outfit is cute, too."
Adrianna glances at her clothing. Though she was helping Navid babysit, she still enjoyed the idea of dressing up for him. She wore a white blouse over a black camisole, black pants, and dressy black flats. Her mother said she looked very artsy, but didn't bother asking where she was going. It was so the norm for them that she didn't give her mother's words a second thought.
"Thanks," says Adrianna. "Where's your brother?"
"In the kitchen," answers Parisa. "Iman is being especially bad today."
What havoc could a fourteen-month old create?
"Oh?" says Adrianna, going towards the kitchen.
She reaches the living room, taking in the elegantly carved statues, beautiful paintings, and Persian earthenware, all of which were in dark shades. The items darkened the room a bit, yet the sun flowing through the windows makes the mood of the room far cheerier. That's why Adrianna loves this room the most. Of course, she might like Navid's room best, if she were ever in there.
"Ade?" calls Navid from the kitchen.
"Coming," says Adrianna.
Entering the kitchen, she smiles as she views Navid bouncing Iman on his knee, a bottle sitting on the table. The kitchen is more modern than the other parts of the house. All the necessities, like the oven and refrigerator, were done in black metallic and the cupboards and drawers were white and clean.
"Thank God," whispers Navid, standing and cradling Iman in the same instance.
"Adrianna Tate-Duncan reporting for duty," says Adrianna cheerfully.
"Where's Parisa?" asks Navid.
"In the living room," says Adrianna.
"Parisa, you better not be touching anything in there!" yells Navid.
"What's this thing do?" says Parisa in response.
Navid hands Iman off to Adrianna, the baby fidgeting in her grasp. Iman was wearing what looks to be a pricey green onesie, with Princess on the front. She grins at the baby who grins back. Then, a wad of drool falls from Iman's lips and lands on Adrianna's right shoe. Adrianna grimaces.
"Aaah!" cries Iman with glee.
"Yeah, hi to you, too," murmurs Adrianna. "Let me get a tissue..."
She locates a tissue and dots Iman's mouth. Navid returns, Parisa struggling in his hold, an urn underneath his other arm. Hmmm, maybe she should suggest moving upstairs, where there's sure to be a distinct lack of antiques and pottery. She thinks. She's never been up there. Navid sets the urn on the table.
"Anything breakable on the second level?" asks Adrianna.
"Good idea," says Navid, nodding. "Okay, girls, upstairs."
"Yay!" shouts Parisa.
Instead of saying any words, Iman beats on Adrianna's breasts like drums. Well, it's better than drool. The baby continues as they start up the stairs. Navid glances back at Adrianna.
"In case I don't say it later, I love you for doing this," says Navid.
"No problem," says Adrianna.
"Navid loves Adrianna! Navid loves Adrianna!" sings Parisa with delight.
"Hey, keep talking like that and you won't get to see the Cheetah Girls One World movie," assures Navid.
"Good. I don't like the Cheetah Girls," says Parisa, skipping ahead of him.
They reach a room that resembles a den, Adrianna scanning the area. There were lots of stuffed animals on wooden shelves, a large floor with pink carpeting, a medium-sized TV with what seems like millions of DVDs in an adjoining drawer, and two soft Barbie beds with plush pillows.
"What were you planning to do?" asks Adrianna.
"I was going to teach Parisa how to play Wii," says Navid, innocently.
"Hello?" laughs Adrianna. "That's a teen boy thing."
"And uh....Rock Band?" says Navid.
"Teen boy thing," repeats Adrianna. "Ever follow your X chromosome?"
"Hey, I've already done two tea parties today," defends Navid.
"Iman tried to eat the saucer," shares Parisa.
"She's teething," explains Navid.
"Awww, now I know why you're so drool-y today, huh?" coos Adrianna to Iman.
"Mom said it's late to be teething," offers Navid. "But I think the constant crying is done. This week, Iman just bites everything she can."
Parisa pats around the pockets of her jeans and removes a piece of paper. Adrianna stares at Navid, who's obviously annoyed with whatever is on the sheet. Parisa shows the paper to Adrianna.
"I'm making a list of all the bad stuff Iman has done," informs Parisa. "One, trying to eat the sofa cushions. Two, throwing her diaper on the floor. Three, tearing up Navid's science homwork...."
"What?" interrupts Navid.
"Go check," encourages Parisa.
Groaning, Navid leads Adrianna to the side, his eyes looking tired and hectic. Poor guy. She was a fan of his big family, yet she wouldn't blame him for being run down because of it. Iman indicates she wants on the floor, Adrianna tenderly lowering her to the carpet. The baby walks dizzily to her sister.
"I understand if this is too much," whispers Navid. "You can leave at any point."
"Are you kidding?" says Adrianna. "I'm not ditching you because of a little drool and a pint-sized police officer."
He smiles, making her smile and hang her head a bit. Navid raises it to kiss her.
"Oooooh," teases Parisa.
Navid's lips separate from her and he points to her bag.
"What've you got in that Purple People Eater bag?" kids Navid.
"A reference to one of the worst movies known to man?" returns Adrianna. "I'd leave my bag alone if I were you. No, I have everything that could possibly entertain a seven-year old and a baby for twelve hours. A rattle and a wheel that does animal sounds for Iman, Candyland and coloring books for Parisa..."
"What about me?" interjects Navid.
"I would think the person carrying the bag would be enough," says Adrianna.
"She is," whispers Navid, pecking her on the lips.
"A bag!" cries Parisa. "I want to see."
Adrianna takes out the items and gives the girls instructions, telling Parisa how to keep the board game in order and telling Iman not to put the wheel into her mouth. Both girls were following directions so she went to Navid, who was wordlessly staring out of a window. She elbows him and looks out of the window too. The scene is of the Shirazi courtyard, a white marble fountain spilling water into the big basin underneath. Navid sighs.
"Can't wait til I'm older," says Navid. "I'll be far away, scouting scenery for my films."
"Instead of lovingly caring for your underage siblings?" guesses Adrianna.
"My dad says I should be grateful," says Navid.
"Then, be grateful," insists Adrianna, softly. "Being a lonely only child is not as freeing as it sounds."
Navid gives her a puzzled look, Adrianna smoothing out her shirt. She didn't want to get into it. There was the absentee dad, the mother who used her as a meal ticket, the quiet house....eh, this isn't the place for pity parties. This place has always made her happy.
"Adrianna, Iman drew you a picture," says Parisa.
That forces them to turn around, Adrianna staring at the coloring book. There isn't a trace of crayon on the two open pages. Then, her gaze went up and so did her pulse. There were green and blue lines on the white wall, Iman going to fetch a peach crayon. Navid slams a fist against his forehead as Adrianna's jaw drops.
"Why?" groans Navid loudly.
Paris smiles at Adrianna.
"I told you she was bad," says Parisa. "I'm the good one."
IV.
Attack, middies, defense, and goalie. Good, there's four. That's definitely not a big number, and she could keep those four in her memory. Dixon is playing middie on this particular day, but he told her he was usually an attacksman, or a scorer. The middies were called "the heart of the team", according to Harry's empowering team speech. He also scolded them for not playing that way, particularly Ethan who'd gotten to showboating lately. Silver filmed all of this in stride. Getting a good night's sleep, plus an extra hour, made her a lot more willing to catch everything on her camera. She focuses on one player who isn't Dixon.
"Goalie Bryan Jenner, junior and general apathetic athlete, wonders if this will be the season where they'll go for the gold," narrates Silver. "Meanwhile, he has no idea that his fly's undone."
Silver hears a clink against the bleachers and aims her lens at the source of it.
"You should add a grrrr or zippy background music," suggests Kelly, approaching her with cautious steps. "Harry told me you were here. Ooof!"
"Do you even know what I'm filming?" returns Silver.
"No," answers Kelly, honestly. "West Bev's Wacky World of Sports?"
Kelly reaches her with a pleased sigh and sits next to her.
"It's a serious documentary, my dear," says Silver with a British accent. "Tish, tosh. Let me carry on."
"You're using tish, tosh wrong," informs Kelly. "I've been to Europe a couple times."
"Oh, for tea and crumpets, love?" continues Silver in her accent.
"Silver, turn it off, please," instructs Kelly. "I have to talk to you about something."
Sighing, Silver pauses the camera and lays it on her lap. She finally notices how firm her sister's face is, and is starting to regret accepting Dixon's invitation to capture their Saturday practice on film. It was said casually, but she knew he was helping her out again. If only there were other people she could help, that both she and Kelly could help.
"Mom called me," says Kelly, patting Silver's knee.
"Kelly, I had to check on her," defends Silver immediately. "I know you don't like it, but I've been living there for over ten years...."
"Silver, I thought we had an understanding," says Kelly.
"I'm not living there, am I?" counters Silver. "That's what we agreed on, nothing else."
"She said you barged in on her and a guest....," begins Kelly.
"No!" cries Silver. "I mean, she was expecting somebody, but..."
"Who?" asks Kelly.
"Some random guy that's satisfying her needs, I guess," says Silver, turning from Kelly.
Kelly gently guides Silver to look at her instead of the field.
"I'm trying to spare you from certain things," says Kelly.
"From what?" sighs Silver. "You never tell me. You just allude to stuff, without any concrete info."
"Just....," says Kelly, and then her eyes become more wet.
"Kel?" whispers Silver.
"When I was around your age, Jackie showed up to my high school's fashion show," shares Kelly. "She was high, snorting up in the girls' bathroom. She came out onto the stage and it just got worse. God, I was so embarrassed."
The fallen tears on Kelly's cheeks say everything else. Why would her mother do something like that? Well, addiction does do strange things to people. A lot of the things their mother did, were things Silver didn't want to believe were really her.
"I don't want that version of Mom for you," whispers Kelly.
"The modelling world has a lot of temptation," offers Silver.
"The modelling world does have drugs, and there is temptation, but we shouldn't make that her excuse," says Kelly. "She's been to rehab, was sober for a number of years, and then it fell apart. That's why I think...a little tough love might do the trick. Like staying away from her."
Tough love? How can you help someone when you aren't around them? Yes, she's upset with her mother, especially after this latest visit, but tough love is only resulting in her getting drunk and clamoring around the house.
"How come you get to decide everything!" exclaims Silver.
"You shouldn't have to deal with this at fifteen," insists Kelly, calmly. "You should be dating and going to things like Homecoming...."
"Since when was I into things like Homecoming?" interrupts Silver.
"Okay, then whatever you want to do," says Kelly.
"I want to help Mom," says Silver.
She stands and starts to pack up her camera, slinging her backpack onto her back speedily. Kelly stands too.
"Silver, where are you going?" sighs Kelly.
"Don't worry," says Silver, brushing past her. "It's nowhere near Mom. I swear."
"Silver!" cries Kelly in frustration.
Silver walks hurriedly down the bleachers, stalling when a familiar voice calls her name. She stares sadly at him.
"Silver?" yells Dixon, waving at her with his racket.
She shakes her head and jogs across the grass, her backpack bumping against her back, her camera shaking in her hold.