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Once More, This Time With Emotion

When Spencer appears in front of me at lunch the next day, the first thing I do is check her shirt for strange animals. Nope, today it's just a purple t-shirt that I can't believe she's wearing. It's only 50 degrees out right now. Thanksgiving is next week. Why would anyone where a T-shirt in this weather? Even Madison has forsaken her campaign to reveal as much skin as possible in order to throw on a jacket. Impressed by her tolerance for cold weather, I stare at her shirt for a moment, studying the way it fits around her body before responding to her greeting.

"Hi."

"How's life?" she asks.

"Good," I reply quickly before taking another bite of my sandwich. As I chew, I study the plastic wrap that's left on the table.

Crash!

That was the elephant in the room, and apparently Spencer's deaf because she keeps babbling away.

"Hey, Ash?" Ash? "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." I mumble.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"How was your day?"

"Fine."

She sighs loudly. "You know, I won't go out with Aiden if you don't want me to."

I jolt up to meet her eyes for the first time.

"Huh?"

"Well," she starts, flicking a piece of hair back behind her ear, "I remember how weird it was when one of my friends was dating Glen back in Ohio. If it's awkward for you, I'll cancel our date."

"It's just that—" I don't want you dating anyone. "—uh, I don't want Kyla to get hurt."

"Oh, look, I'll talk to Kyla if you want—"

"No!" I realize that I don't want anyone to know that I've been talking to Spencer about this, or maybe even at all. Talise is suspicious enough already. "You should just go— on the date, I mean. Kyla might— it might be better to keep things as clean as possible."

The collar of my shirt scratches at my neck, and I rub it against my shoulder. Once I start, I can't stop. Over and over again I push my neck and shoulder together, trying to get rid of the itch at my collar.

Spencer's giving me the Look. Everyone has there own version of the Look (Talise's is weary, Aiden's contemptuous, my mother's is irritated, etc.), but they all use it whenever I'm doing something stupid, like taking off my socks at dinner because they're driving my feet crazy or clapping my hands over my ears every time someone shuts the door.

Spencer's Look is pure concern as my movements become more violent. Stifling the urge to panic, I rein in my body as best as I can. At least it wasn't a seizure. My ridiculous amount of medication is actually good for something.

"What's wrong, princess?" a voice jeers from behind me. Whose lovely voice could that be? I wonder…could it possibly be Madison? "Got a rash?" she asked nastily.

I stiffen. Several years ago, my father dropped me off at school, and Madison heard him calling me "princess". Well, you can imagine what happened after that. Next time I saw my father, I refused to let him call me "princess" anymore. Despite my father's hurt at my sudden detachment (and the fact that Madison can't remember when the United States declared independence), she still jumps on any chance to taunt me with it.

"Hello, Spencer." Where there is Madison, of course there is Sherry. "What're you doing over here?"

"Nothing much," she replies, not looking at Sherry.

"Come sit with us," Sherry pleads, smile dripping with manufactured hospitality. Doesn't this sound familiar? Agitated, I roll my shoulder against my neck again. Something sharp pokes into my back. Whirling around, I'm greeted by the sickening titters of the rest of the vulture flock.

"Are you okay, Ashley?" Spencer's eyes bore into me, the concern in them growing.

"Yeah, something wrong?" Madison echoes. Her attempt at sincerity makes Sherry sound downright genuine.

"I—I'm fine," I stutter. In reality, I'm sweating, jumpy, and painfully embarrassed. Again, I push my shoulder up into my neck. The Vultures jostle into me, and I jerk away nervously.

"Anyways, Spencer," Madison continues, leaving the distasteful (while Spencer is watching) job of tormenting me to her minions, "I hear someone has a date with a very hot guy." She wiggles her eyebrows, and I watch Spencer flush. How does Madison find this stuff out?

My toe is stepped on in a highly conspicuous accident. Yelping, I leap almost out of my seat.

"Ashley!" Spencer is on her feet.

"I need to go." I throw my lunch into a trash can and try not to trip on the way out. Breathing hard, I stumble outside the cafeteria and lean against the wall. I can't let them get to me like this, especially in front of Spencer. My stomach turns at the thought of her questioning me about Madison's behavior.

A light tap on my shoulder sends me lunging in the opposite direction.

"Ashley!" It's just Spencer. I stare at her. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Don't lie."

"I'm not."

"Then, what was that back there?"

"It wasn't anything," I insist sullenly.

"What's your problem?" she demands, suddenly hostile. "You won't even talk to me! What did I do to you?"

Anger flares, but as always, I don't say anything. My silence holds, even as she storms away.

For what feels like the fiftieth time today, someone asks me: "are you okay, Ashley?" Talise asks from her bed in our room.

"I'm okay," I respond.

"There's a Sins & Secrets on that we can watch after dinner if you want. Just make sure you finish your homework," she tells me, barely glancing up from her own homework. "Sometimes I wonder if some of these people are sincere at all. The family is definitely hurt, but I think some of the friends aren't really as broken up as they claim to be. Once someone…"

Talise and I get along for several reasons. First of all, Talise is nearly as awkward as me when it comes to talking with someone. Fortunately, she loves to talk about anything. Whether it's capital punishment or something stupid on a TV commercial, she manages to keep us from sinking into complete, painful silences.

"…and who has a name like 'Aphrodite'? What were her parents thinking? Did they want their daughter to become the symbol of love and sex? And then she's got a last name like 'Jones'. Were they that desperate to give their daughter a unique name that they go for 'Aphrodite'? Then, it turns out that she's like the most serious person ever." She pauses for breath.

"Whatever happens, Ashley, be thankful that your father wasn't high enough when you were born to name you 'Aphrodite'. Any bad situation can be exacerbated when your name is 'Aphrodite'," she informs me sagely. Then, an uncontainable grin creeps up his face.

"I'll keep that in mind, Talise." I remind her of her own, less-than-common, name pointedly.

"Yeah, having a name like Talise can exacerbate most situations too. At least no one will ever mispronounce your name at your impending execution."

"Such comfort." I roll my eyes.

That's the second reason we work well together. We don't crowd each other for information. We let things go. We don't need to know everything. We have an understanding that we'll have each others' support and trust that the other won't do anything rash. Talise hasn't even mentioned Spencer since yesterday and probably never will again.

Suddenly, Aiden's head pokes up through the attic floor. "Hey guys!" he shouts. "It's time to eat."

"Thank you for blowing my ears out. Greatly appreciated," Talise drawls.

Reason four: Talise is almost as finicky as me when it comes to noises and lights. Everything bothers us. We hate loud music, heating pipes, glare at Joe when he has the TV on all night, and replaced our blinds with thick black curtains.

"Whatever. You better get down there. Mom has some guests over, and she's dying to introduce them to you. They have a son in medical school."

"Of course they do. Maybe I'll fall madly in love with him, marry him, have two perfect kids, and become a neurologist." The sarcasm in her voice grows as she gets up.

"Can't hurt to hope," Aiden smirks. "Besides, you always wanted to be one before."

"Yeah, and then I went to a hospital and found out doctors spend half their time dealing with idiots and the other half being idiots." Her foot hovers over the trapdoor. "Now, get your head out of the way before I step on it."

"Whatever," he repeats, shimmying down.

Three strangers stand in the dining room, making "oh-thank-you-for-inviting-us-to-dinner" and "oh-what-a-lovely-home-you-have-here" faces. The couple is gray-haired and wrinkly. Their son is dark-haired, slightly on the big-nosed side, and obscenely cheerful.

"Oh there you are, Tali. Come, you must meet Mr. and Mrs. Plum, and their son, David."

"Oh hi dear," the woman smiles.

"Hello," Talise says with bland politeness.

"And this is David," my mother exclaims, basically shoves him up in Talise's face.

"Hello, I'm David," he chirps, pumping her hand up and down. It would be going a lot faster if Talise wasn't deliberately stiffening her arm to slow him down.

"So I've heard,"she remarks impassively. I can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not. Knowing Talise, I'm willing to bet she is. "Talise."

"So I've heard," he replies brightly, seemingly unfazed by Talise's possible mocking. "Nice to meet you, Tali."

"You too. It's Talise, by the way."

"I'm sure we'll have a great time, Tali," he responds. Snickering, I watch a vein on Talise's forehead practically throb while she smiles placidly. If my mother isn't already in love with him, she'll be head over heels now.

The next moment, I find myself under inspection and my hand vigorously jerked up and down.

"Hello, I'm David." Over his head, I meet Talise's eyes, but her eyes betray nothing. Still, I have no doubts that this guy will be the subject of a rant in the near future.

"I'm Ashley," I say quietly. Then, I jump when my mother pats my shoulder. The fifth reason Talise and I are so compatible is that Talise is not a touchy-feely. Even when I was little, and super-sensitive to a lot of stuff, I could trust her not to randomly hug me.

By the time David is done with my hand, my entire arm is numb. Immediately, it is seized by a plushy Mrs. Plum, and then a grimly serious Mr. Plum who shakes hands even more ponderously than Talise. With many compliments, expressions of rapture, and exasperated sighs, we make our way to the dining room.

Our arrangement at dinner wedges Talise between David and my mother, with me across from her. Thus I have a perfect view of the little drama unfolding before me.

David will ask, "what's your major, Tali?"

"English," is her short reply.

"Talise has always been such a fantastic writer. She won the California Coastal Art and Poetry Contest two years ago," My mother elaborates earnestly. "Right, Tali?"

"Yep."

A few seconds later, David tries again to engage Talise's attention. "What are you thinking about doing after college?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, I know that you're hoping to write more, Tali. As parents, though, we hope that she'll find something stable. We were really hoping that she would go for medical school." She turns to Talise as though imparting a particularly juicy piece of gossip. "David is in medical school."

"Oh no. Not yet. I'm starting next year." He smiles goofily. Talise suppresses a sigh. My mother brushes off his correction and pushes Talise further towards David.

"I need to use the bathroom." Talise gets up and strides out of the dining room.

Which sets a tone for the rest of the evening. No matter how obnoxiously David pries and how industriously my mother promotes, Talise keeps an aloof civility, barely looking at him. True to her nature, she stays so calm that no one can tell whether she's faking it.

It wasn't until after dinner that things start heating up. Christine begins her usual parade of accomplished children while we are gathered in the living room.

"Aiden is in USC's pre-law program. He's going to become a lawyer like his father. We're so proud of him." Hearing this latest declaration, Talise rolls her eyes as she "talks" with David in the corner.

"He's certainly a very handsome young man," Mrs. Plum comments with an ingratiating smile. Aiden thanks her smoothly. Ben, who has always been unsatisfied with his meager height, puffs out his chest in the hopes of getting some recognition for his good-looks. I say "good looks" in the loosest possible way. His posturing goes ignored and Mrs. Plum continues, "I'll bet he gets all the girls." She finishes with a wink.

"No kidding," Kyla mutters. Christine shoots her a warning glance.

"I hope you're a good guy, Aiden. If you turn out to be one of two-timing bastards, I'll have to come after you." I'm wondering if I'm the only person who thought that was a really weird thing to say. Out of the corner of her mouth, Talise mouths, too much wine, at me from across the room.

"Too, bad," Kyla says loudly. "He's definitely a two-timing bastard." This time Talise shrugs.

"Kyla," Christine reprimands urgently.

"He's a two-timing bastard who can't keep it in his pants! He has no respect for me or any of the girls he dates. When has he ever dated one for more than a month?"

"We have guests, Kyla!" Christine is indignant.

"Don't you dare defend him. Not after what he did!" Kyla shouts, red in the face.

"You can't help who you love, Kyla," Aiden appeals.

"Don't give me that bullshit," she snarls.

"Yeah, what did you have to butt in for?" Ben adds, forgetting his own interference.

"Look, I wasn't trying—"

"Then, you shouldn't have—"

I wonder where this is going.

In spite of all the ruckus his news created, Aiden goes on with his date as planned, cheerfully ignoring the glares of utter detestation that follow him out the door.

Kyla was grounded after last night. "How dare you make a scene while we have guests?" and whatnot.

I slump in the kitchen with my arms crossed on the counter in front of me and my head perched on top of them. Staring at the wall, I imagine all the possible impossibly convenient accidents that Aiden could meet with on his way to Spencer's house, not the least realistic of which involves a hairdresser, a monkey, and several pounds of shredded parmesan cheese.

"Um, Ashley," a voice calls out hesitantly. When I glance up, I'm startled to see Kyla sliding into the seat next to me. I don't think I've ever had a real conversation with Kyla.

It's not that we hate each other or something, but when I first met Kyla she was seven and really into her Barbies. I was nine and wanted to hate everything about this new family I was being stuffed into. Then, well, the seizure that took me years to recover from happened. After that I sort of became the crazy relative that everyone takes care of but don't pay much attention too. You know that relative who your friends notice shuffling around in the background with a string of cans, and you say something like: "Oh, that's just Uncle Bobby. He was always a little off, poor bugger, but don't worry. He's perfectly nice. Now what were you saying about those window drapes?"

So, I'm surprised that Kyla is sitting here now about to have what looks like is going to be a deep and heartfelt conversation with me. I maintain my usual silence but turn to make eye contact. Pausing to make sure that I'm listening, she haltingly gets out her next words.

"I— I wanted you to— just—," she takes a deep breath. "Thanks." My face crinkles in confusion. "When Spencer's mother was here, you stood up for me," she clarifies. "I wanted to tell you that it meant a lot to me. It was brave." At some point, I realize, I'm going to have to say something back.

"It wasn't a huge deal." My voice sounds dry and papery, even to me.

"It was to me," insists Kyla. Chances are I'm blushing by now. Hoping that I'll magically come up with something smart, interesting or, at the very least, appropriate to say, I shift awkwardly. Luckily, Kyla opens her mouth to continue. "It's good to know that there's someone in this house who isn't crushing on Spencer."

"Yeah," I croak.