I laughed. "Why is this so important to you?"
"I don't know," she paused, considering the answer. "These past two days, I've seen a fire in your eyes that I never have before. Granted, it's mostly anger and frustration, but it's still emotion. You keep everything locked up so tight - I'm afraid someday you're going to explode.
"This guy's found a way to get to you unlike anyone else. You're different, and I like it. I don't like seeing you upset, but I like seeing you feeling something. I know you put your guard down a little with me, but you refuse to show me the hard stuff. You never get angry or scared, or let me know when you're hurt. You don't want me to see you that way, but I know you have to feel it, especially with everything Abby puts you through.
"In the past two days, you've been angry, frustrated and humiliated. I was actually relieved that it didn't turn you into dust or a mass murderer. So if it takes this guy to annoy you to let some of it out, then I want you to keep talking to him. Sound crazy?"
"It does actually," I said. She scowled, not pleased with my honesty. "But I understand what you're saying."
After we pulled into her driveway, she shut off the car and turned toward me.
"What if I like him – that would be horrible. You're the only one who knows my secrets and I can't risk letting anyone else in right now. Not while I'm still living with them. It's too complicated." I took a deep breath before continuing, "But I'll try to talk to him." This caused a smile to spread on Lola's face.
"Besides, he'll probably continue to frustrate me, and I'll end up strangling him. If I murder him, you're my accomplice for encouraging it."
"Do you promise to tell me everything?" Lola asked, glowing.
"Of course!" I replied with a grin as I rolled my eyes. "If I don't tell you, then it's like it never happened. And besides, who's going to help me bury his body when I bludgeon him for patronizing me?"
She laughed and hugged me again. Feeling my body tense, she pulled back. "Sorry."
I followed Lola into her enormous house. Her family lived in a newer home compared to the historic Baton Rouge in the center of town. The development used to be farmland at one point, and was now broken up into expansive lots to showcase huge homes.
I could never get used to Lola's set up as we neared the top of the stairs. Lola was an only child, so she had a lot of room to herself in the three story house - actually, she had the entire third floor. The bathroom was larger than my entire bedroom, with its granite double sinks, Jacuzzi tub and separate shower. To the right of the landing, it opened into a game room with white walls leading up to the cathedral ceilings, accented by a hot pink racing stripe around the perimeter, and black electric guitars mounted on the walls.
There was a plush white couch with a matching recliner and love seat in front of a home theatre system that included a giant flat-screen mounted to the wall on the far side of the room. It was hooked up to several gaming systems that were set on a console beneath it.
Behind the couch was a reading area with built-in bookshelves that extended to the ceiling, with a sliding ladder attached to reach the higher shelves. Oversized pillows lined the floor beneath the bookcases, creating the perfect place to get lost in the pages. In the corner, opposite of the library, were air hockey and foosball tables.
Lola touched the screen of the built in music dock on one of the walls, releasing an Indie artist declaring what she expected from a guy. The rhythmic guitar strums filled the entire floor through the inset speakers in the ceiling. I followed Lola into her bedroom on the other side of the stairs.
"Are you ready to be pampered?" Lola asked, jumping onto one of her two queen-sized beds adorned with pink and orange pillows.
"Sure," I answered, hesitantly walking past the door that opened into her office with its walls covered with pictures of friends, record covers and celebrities torn from magazines with a clean glass desktop displaying Lola's Mac and printer, furnished with a bright pink chair. The room was small, but still large enough to squeeze in a full-sized, black vinyl couch. I sat down on the identical bed next to Lola's.
"I have the perfect sweater for you to wear with the best pair of jeans," she declared, bouncing off the other side of the bed and entering her walk-in closet.
This room - and I say room, not closet - was as large as my bedroom with two long walls lined with shelves and bars storing folded and hung clothes. At the end of the closet were racks of shoes in every color and style. Visiting Lola was like taking a break from reality – everyone's reality.
"Lola, you're five ten – there's no way I'm going to fit into your jeans," I argued.
"You're not that much shorter than me," she retorted.
"You have a good three inches on me. Besides, I brought a pair of jeans."
She paused, trying to decide if my jeans were acceptable.
"Okay. You can take a shower up here, and I'll use my parents' bathroom," she instructed handing me a scooped neck white shirt, paired with a light pink cashmere sweater with a square neckline.
"Two shirts?" I inquired.
"Well, it's supposed to be cold tonight and you can't wear a jacket that will hide the sweater, so… layers," she explained simply.
I raised my eyebrows and slowly nodded my head. It was obvious that she was loving this, and my lack of fashion savvy was not going to keep her from treating me like a life-sized Barbie doll. I couldn't imagine what else she had in store, or maybe I didn't want to.
"Listen," she said, trying to put me at ease. "I know you never make a big deal over clothes or any of that, but it's because you can't, not because you don't want to. I know they don't let you shop, so let me do this for one night, okay?"
Of course she knew that I appreciated the latest trends, as we often flipped through the fashion magazines together during lunch. But I was only allowed to go shopping twice a year – at the beginning of the school year and again in the spring. I had to get the most out of my bi-annual clothing stipends and buy items that could easily mix and match, so it wasn't obvious when I rotated them every few weeks. This practicality didn't allow me to shop in the trendy stores in the mall or the boutiques in the city like most of my classmates. It meant going to the discount chains in the plazas. I never let it mean that much to me - it wasn't worth it.
However, to have access to Lola Martinez's wardrobe for one night would be any girl's dream, so I wasn't about to refuse it. I knew she had clothes in that closet that still had tags on them. I took the tops, grabbed my tote and headed to the bathroom. Lola ran out of her room before I closed the door.
"Oh, I have this lotion I bought last week that I think you'd like. I was going to save it for a Christmas gift, but you should use it tonight," she offered, handing me a bottle of lotion with pink flowers drawn on the label.
"Thanks," I said, taking the bottle before I closed the door. It was great to take a long, hot shower without fear of the knock on the door, signaling the end of my allotted five minutes. It gave me time to think about the past couple of days and how different today felt. I was actually looking forward to the game, despite how awkward it was going to be. If I could get through the game, then I should be able to get through the party. I shut off the water with a new conviction – how long it would last was another story.
I flipped the top of the bottle and took in the soft floral scent. After dressing, I opened the door to find Lola on the stairs, with a towel wrapped around her head. She wore a flattering light blue angora sweater. Lola had no problem with tops that hugged her modelesque body. Lola looked amazing, even with the towel on her head. Conversely, I tugged and pulled at the pink sweater that felt like a second layer of skin, despite the layer beneath.
"Oh. That sweater looks great. You should wear more clothes that fit you like that instead of hiding your figure." I dismissed her with a shrug. She smiled before asking, "Are you ready for the next step?"
We were interrupted when her mom called up that the pizza was here.
"We'll eat and then finish getting ready," Lola decided, and turned to descend the stairs.
"I heard you scored three goals yesterday," Lidia said from the refrigerator where she was pouring us glasses of diet soda. "Lola also told me about the scouts. You must be so excited, Zoey."
"I am," I replied with a small smile. I was horrible at carrying on a conversation with my peers, forget about trying to say something worthwhile to an adult. The only adults I spoke to on a regular basis were my teachers, my coach, and my aunt and uncle. I only discussed my assignments with my teachers; coach was all about soccer - so that was easy. George hardly said a word, or maybe he couldn't get a word in over Abbys's rambling about how difficult it was to be her. Then of course the interactions I had with Abby were one-sided, usually reprimands about how useless and pathetic I was. So I didn't have a lot of practice. Lidia recognized my conversational ineptitude, so she didn't push.
"Congratulations," she added walking towards the stairs. She paused to tell Lola, "I'm going upstairs to change for dinner. Your dad and I are going out to eat with the Resse's and we've invited the Mathews to come along since they're new in town."
"Okay, mom," Lola said only half listening. My heart stopped when she said their name.
"Your parents are going to dinner with Chase's parents?" I whispered in disbelief.
Lola shrugged, "My parents have to know everyone in town. You know, they're like Lafayette's unofficial welcoming committee. My father is the ultimate politician."
Then she added with a grin, "Do you want me to get some dirt on Chase and his family for you?"
"Lola!" I exclaimed in shock. "Of course not. I'm really not that interested in him. I'm just going to talk to him so he'll leave me alone."
"Sure," she said with a knowing smile. I tried to ignore her and took a bite of the pizza slice.
"What's next?" I asked, needing to not talk about Chase any more.
"I was hoping you'd let me cut your hair," she said with a cautious smile. My hair was all one length, hanging past the middle of my back. There was no way I could get it cut every eight weeks or whatever was needed to maintain a style, so I kept it simple and trimmed it myself a few times a year. I usually wore it up out of my face in a clip or ponytail – again, simple.
"What do you want to do?"
"Nothing crazy," she reassured me. "Just Layer it a little bit."
"Whatever you want to do is fine with me."
"Really?! This is going to be so great!" she exclaimed, practically jumping off the stool and dragging me back up the stairs.