The Golden Corset, page 7
For the second time, I wanted to giggle like a schoolgirl. I, Sarah, was so complex inside, so unique that my manners must have seemed so . . . enigmatic.
"Yes," I said mysteriously, "sometimes it is even hard for me to figure myself out." I next threw my head back, resting the back of my palm to my forehead. Hold on, was that line even attractive or seductive?
"Maybe we can try to figure you out . . . together?" His forehead creased, making sympathy lines.
Okay, now I knew what he was implying. "Mark, I want you to take me home, now!"
"But I am taking you home. However, you never did tell me where you live."
Oh crap. He was right. Fine, blame it all on me! "I live on 21 Dingdong Street."
Mark shot me a quizzical look.
"No, I'm not lying," I blurted. "I really live on Dingdong Street." The homes on the street had been surprisingly—or not so surprisingly—cheaper, so my dad had purchased the house. Mark's facial expression wasn't new to me; people always asked if they had misheard—story of my life.
Mark punched in the address in his brand-new phone and the GPS rerouted us. And, of course, the map showed that we were driving in the opposite direction of my crummy home. Well, that's fantastic, I thought bitterly. Now I would have to spend more time with this handsome stranger while he asked about my life and serenaded me with whatever. Was I the luckiest girl or what?
By the time we pulled up to my nasty, gingerbread-looking house, I was feeling narcotized. Mark's perfect phrases were putting me into a lull. He had said everything that the old Sarah would only have hoped and dreamed for. But, I was still on edge—slightly suspicious, but also practically ready to go down the aisle. Would it be possible to get my dad and brother home before the big wedding?
No, snap out of it!
Mark was looking at me now. "Should I walk you to the door?"
My breathing hitched. No! No way, phony baloney! "Um, well, I—"
Mark unbuckled his seatbelt.
"No, no, no," I waved my hands excitedly. "It's okay; I'll be fine."
"Are you sure?" he said concernedly. "I just want to see that you are all right."
Um, I'm pretty sure my lawn won't split and leave me to tumble into burning lava.
Wait—could it? Would it?
"I think I'll be okay."
"All right," he whispered, "there's just one more thing . . ."
What? Anything, lover! My heart pounded in my ears, my eyes stared intensely into his dark eyes, and his eyes penetrated my soul. Maybe he really was attracted to my soul; maybe he did see the real me! Did he want to kiss me? Would I let him? I don't know if I would be strong enough to resist such temptation!
". . . Can I have your number?"
What? My number? I felt like I had been jolted by Zeus's thunderbolt. My number? All Mark wanted was my number?!
"Yeah, here it is," I said handing him my phone. "It's under the contact name 'Sarah Johnson-my number.'"
Mark quickly entered my number and handed me back the phone. "I look forward to getting to know you better, Gwen."
Gwen? Oh right, me. He was talking about me, Sarah, Gwen. "All right," I smiled sheepishly, and he smiled back with those perfect lips, those delicious-looking candy lips. We stared at each other for a moment longer until I realized this was my cue to leave. "Right," I said, my hand fumbling for the handle. "Bye!" Hastily, I jumped out of the car and began crossing the lawn.
Behind me, I heard Mark's car make a loud revving sound—or maybe that was my imagination—and zoom off. It wasn't until now that I noticed my kid brother—my eleven-year-old brother, Ben—standing at the front door, his jaw practically on the welcome mat, his eyes bulbous. He probably thought I was an early Christmas miracle: a mega-hot blonde exiting a Lamborghini, strutting in slow motion, tossing her silky hair. Okay, so maybe I wasn't strutting or throwing my hair, but I swear I could see drool spilling out of the little stink's mouth.
"Stop looking at me like that, you little twit," I said, flicking his freckled nose and entering the house. Ben looked like he was about to have a panic attack.
"If you poop your pants, I'm not cleaning it up," I said, tossing my backpack on the floor and falling down on the couch. Ben shut the door and revolved around slowly. I stopped paying attention to him though and instead glanced at my phone. Had Mark texted me yet?
"Uh . . . uh . . . are you my babysitter?" Ben asked, a smile forming on his little, demonic face.
"Ew, yeah right, you little nasty," I scoffed. "You remember, Mom said you were old enough to fend for yourself."
Bewilderment washed over Ben's face. "What did you just say?"
"Oh don't give me that puzzled expression; obviously my vocabulary far exceeds your own. Fend means to look after, provide, defend yourself against rabid animals." I rolled my eyes. His brain was so substandard.
"You just said 'Mom'," he said, his face contorting.
Crap, he's right. I remembered too late that Mom had said not to tell Ben anything yet. Why was I carelessly blowing my cover to this little zit?
"Oh," I said, bolting up at once. "Your mother never told you?" I said innocently. Ben shook his head rapidly. "My name is Gwen," I said in a fairy-like voice. "I am your cousin from Norway, and I'll be visiting for a while. And because we are cousins, it means you can't be attracted to me stinky-sock boy!" I finished darkly, flopping back down on the couch. I shoved my phone back in front of my face. There had to be a hidden text somewhere.
"Uh, how long are you living here?" Ben squeaked like a trodden mouse.
I let out a breathy exhale and rolled my eyes. Who was this kid? Ben never asked me questions about myself. Ever.
"I don't know, depends," I shrugged.
"Where will you sleep?"
"Sarah's room, obviously!"
"And . . . where will Sarah sleep?"
"Sarah is gone," I said with finality. "Who knows."
"Is she coming back?" Ben's tone sounded kind of glum. Gag, the boy better not be getting choked up, because if he got choked up, then I was going to start bawling.
"She's visiting my family—she'll be back soon," I assured Ben, flicking through my phone.
"So . . . she's going to be gone for a while?"
I shrugged.
"Well, that's a relief," he snickered. The little snot! Here I thought he was getting choked up, but no, and he probably just sounded glum because a hot girl was being so short with him.
"Okay, Benjamin," I said severely, "actually your mom gave me instructions. She said to tell Ben to do his homework right away. But, if you stop being a little rat, I'll let you play videogames on the computer and won't tell her when she gets back. Deal?" Before I had even finished saying "deal," Ben had rocketed into his room and slammed the door.
Adolescent boys, I thought, shaking my head. They are so simple: just want girls and video games—and, of course, games always trump girls.
All of a sudden, my phone vibrated. Oh my gosh, did I get a text from Mark?! My eyes widened as I read the message,
Message: "It was good seeing you today."
Oh, blessed be! Latin prince Mark just texted me! It must mean he cares; he truly cares! But hold up—this wasn't from Mark. It was from Brent!
Oh the torture, oh the torturous pain! The inferno burning inside of me, consuming my soul, melting my flesh! How wilt I survive?
I laid down ridden with guilt, torment, disgust at myself for falling for another. When would it stop? When would I have mastery of my own emotions? When would I fall out of these childish games, this fickle attitude? But wait—what was I going to say? How would I text back? Boys were such complex creatures! Their brains were like never-ending labyrinths. Was I the beastly minotaur? No! NO! I was beautiful now, the fair nymph they sought to catch. I needed to pull myself together and wield my mind to create a clever, flirty, but elusive sentence.
Me: "Yeah, it was good seeing you too ;)."
No! Why did I put a winky face? That had been too suggestive, too obvious! I had responded too quickly. I needed to grab hold of the reigns and stop foolish Sarah from sprinting on all fours, lapping like a foolish dog who had just spotted a bone.
Calm yourself, I commanded. No, better yet, don't even feel. That's right—be a zombie, devoid of happiness and life. He's never going to text back. He saw you in a car with another man, and now he will never want you. Traitor! Betrayer!
Suddenly, my phone buzzed.
Brent: "It was REALLY great seeing you :0 :)"
Jubilation! Perhaps I should host a jubilee. A fifty-second anniversary party! It had only taken him fifty seconds to respond. If that wasn't a sign of love, I didn't know what was. It was a sign of true genuine commitment! Why hadn't I stayed with him all along? Why hadn't I picked him from the very beginning?
But Clyde, oh Clyde!
The insects inside of me weren't butterflies or fireflies—they were bees! Bumblebees stinging my heart, bombinating around inside of me. I'm sorry, butterflies—I know my heart used to be your home, Clyde's cocoon, but now my heart might be Brent's beehive. No! Now I was so confused, so distressed. How could I go on with life?!
Well, I was actually pretty hungry. It was almost 4:00 PM. My mom would be home soon. I figured I'd better start looking for something in the cupboard before she came home and told me not to spoil my appetite.
I decided to make dinner for a change. For some unknown reason, I was feeling extra feminine today. I desired to cook and sew and let baby birds flutter into my little cottage and chirp while I did all the work.
Sarah, that is not femininity, I rebuked. Females are strong creatures demanding of respect!
You are right, me. I smiled inwardly. I'll make the birds do all the work!
But for real—I just felt like cooking. Like a master chef, I flicked on two burners, professionally pulled out two pots, and filled the larger one with water. With fluidity, I ripped open the cupboards and examined my assortment of ingredients. Today I was feeling like making something exotic, ethnic, savory—but all I was staring at was noodles. Spaghetti it is. Ripping open the plastic, I pulled out a handful of yellow sticks, thinking the amount looked good.
Not so fast, world-renowned chef, I caught myself. Wait 'til the water boils first so the pasta will taste less rubbery.
Of course! How could I have been so foolish?
Suddenly, the front door opened. Oh, no—who is that? A ghost? A robber? Some serial killer with a fetish for blonde girls? Should I scream? Call 9-1-1? Say that I have a dog—a stinky dog named Ben?
"Oh Sarah, I mean Gwen," my mom whispered, appearing in the kitchen. "Well, look—you're starting dinner early. That was nice of you. It's nice to see that you are growing to become a fine young adult."
I am an adult! I wanted to correct. Instead, I just smiled and imagined I was wearing a halo around my innocent head as gold light radiated down upon me.
"Yes, Mother—I mean, Aunt Pam. I am quite mature," I said. Just then, my phone buzzed again. It was a text from Prince Mark!
Mark: "Hey, this is Mark's number."
He'd sent me a message! Oh, happy day! Happy day! But no—the text was too nonchalant. I would have to think of an equally nonchalant reply; this could take me hours. "Hey Mom—er, Pam—guess what? The kitchen is all yours now. Have fun cooking!" I said with hyper speed and with the speed of light, I practically teleported to my room.
For hours I wrestled with my brain, flung myself across the room, and squeezed my phone in hopes that the right words would appear on the screen. Nope, nothing came. I couldn't even think of a single emoji to send. The phone triumphed in the end.
Defeated, I laid on the floor in my room. It was 9:00 PM, and I was rewriting my homework. I figured, as Gwen, I could turn in both Gwen's and Sarah's homework together. I would tell my teachers that Sarah was sick but healthy enough to do her homework. The tricky part was making our handwriting look different and our answers sound different. There was no sense in letting Sarah's grades suffer just because I was currently Gwen. And, for all I knew, I could be Sarah the next day—or even a three-headed monkey; I didn't know what the future would hold, so it was best to be prepared.
I let out an exhale. I was exhausted, not necessarily physically or mentally, but emotionally. Today had been an up and down roller coaster, scary and sometimes sickening, but the most exciting thrill of my life! If I died today, I would leave with peace, filled with gratitude for everything I had experienced, even if some of it seemed trivial.
Carefully, I got up from the carpet and walked over to my standing mirror. I didn't know how many times I had checked my reflection. In my defense, I feared that I would change back into a pumpkin any second, be boring Sarah again. I didn't look like Sarah, though—I was still desirous Gwen, still perfect in every way. But wait, had I gotten a little fatter? Was my nose a little bigger? Did my hair look less shiny?
Get a grip. I shook a reproving finger at the reflection. You look like a goddess; stop obsessing or second-guessing. I then turned away from the mirror, stomped away—wearing my mom's bunny slippers again—and belly-flopped onto my bed.
Just then, my door opened. "Hey, Sarah," my mom whispered.
"No, Mom, I haven't seen your slow cooker," I mumbled into the bed.
I heard the sound of my door closing. "Sarah, Sarah," she whispered again.
"What?"
"You didn't tell your brother, did you?"
"Did it look like I had told him?" I said, removing my mouth from my comforter. "All throughout dinner he stared at me like he thought I'd be tastier than the spaghetti on his plate."
My mom sighed and shook her head. "Well, good; I don't want to have to take him to therapy or something if all of a sudden you turn back into Sarah again.
"Mother," I groaned, "don't say that. I don't want to be Sarah anymore."
"Sarah," she said disparagingly. "It's better to be you. You don't have to be this . . . facade."
"But I want to be," I said, grabbing my pillow and hugging it. "I like this new me."
"Well, Sarah, beauty is not the most important thing in life. Material wealth doesn't buy happiness. Being you and working hard and accomplishing your goals is what affords you true felicity."
Says you.
"Anyway, I'm glad we could chat before bedtime. I'll see you tomorrow morning, hopefully as my little Sarah. Good night," she said with a smile and closed the door.
Was she for real? That was our little talk? Don't be vain Sarah, be poor Sarah, that's what brings true bliss. She didn't even ask me about my day! Did she not even care how it was? Not even remotely excited? Most moms would say, "Tell me everything!" There was obviously a glitch in my mother's brain. But, I wouldn't let her unsatisfactory advice put a damper on my day tomorrow. Tomorrow was going to be pure ecstasy!
7. AM I CRAZY OR IN A CRAZY SITUATION?
I woke up early with a start. Was I Sarah or Gwen? Frantically, like a flustered maiden rushing to her window to see if her lover had returned home, I wrapped my comforter around myself and raced to the mirror. Thank goodness—I was still Gwen. Yes! Yes! A smile stretched across my pretty, dainty face. I was eagerly excited at the prospect that the day would hold.
Like a clumsy lunatic, I scrambled to my closet. Today, I was determined to be cute, as cute as possible! Bingo! Tight summer dress—I would have to pin it tighter. Jackpot! Painful but cute high heels. Lucky Marshmallows! Good idea—that's what I would eat for breakfast. I wished I had a real bra. Mom's was holding up decently, and it looked good on the outside, but it required a lot of safety pins. With the clothes taken care of, all I needed was a touch of makeup and a curling iron.
Roughly two hours later, I entered the kitchen—pinning the dress and bra had taken the majority of the time. Greeting me were wide, staring eyes and the clanking of a dropped spoon.
"You spilled milk on your shirt, muskrat," I said, pointing at Ben. "Oh, and you might want to pick up your spoon. But, don't use it—three-second rule, and your three seconds are already up."
"Sar—uh, Gwen, dear," said my mom clearing her throat, "don't you look a little too dressed up today?"
"I don't think so," I said, examining my outfit. "I just threw this together." Okay, so the dress was a little above the knees—but it wasn't my fault. I was taller now. Other than the length, though, the dress didn't look too flashy; I had even added a cute, stretchy cardigan. I was high-school-dress-code appropriate, and I looked totally stunning. Surprisingly, the high heels even fit.
"Well, uh, don't you think the shoes are a little much? Don't you think you will want some comfortable shoes instead?"
"Nah—these feel comfortable, and I put some regular shoes in my backpack for PE."
"Well, er, did you put on some makeup?"
"A little eyeliner, some blush, not too much." Ha, there was nothing she could refute, especially while Ben was in the kitchen. The weasel still hadn't retrieved his spoon. He was still staring and looked like he had gotten socked in the face. Maybe I should be nicer to the poor boy. Maybe my brazen remarks would forever destroy his self-esteem with pretty girls. I couldn't let that happen!
"Your outfit choice looks really nice today, Benjamin," I said, giving him one of my killer smiles and a wink. Ben's expression didn't change. Okay, I was done with charity work for the day. "Well, Aunt Pam, it was great talking, but I've gotta get going to school," I said, just about ready to zip out the kitchen.
"Wait," my mom held up a hand. "Let me drop you off before I go to work."
"Can I have a ride to school?" Ben finally spoke.
"Um, well, sweetie . . . maybe some other time—but call me if an emergency happens. And keep up the excellent biking!" she said, shaking her fist in the air like shouting huzzah.
The car ride to school was uneventful. Surprisingly, my mother didn't give me one of her tedious speeches as she drove, but I knew she was thinking about it the whole time. While we sat in silence, my mind began to contemplate, reflecting on everything that happened yesterday. Admittedly, I was mostly thinking about boys: Clyde, Brent, and Mark. My stomach felt twisted in knots. I had never replied back to Brent or Mark. Had I ruined everything? Would they ignore me now? And ultimately, who would I choose? I felt trapped in a love diamond, except I didn't know whether the lines were solid. Did the boys even like me? Maybe I wasn't cornered in a shape at all; perhaps I was all alone as a shapeless point! Then I started thinking about how I hadn't eaten my bowl full of Lucky Marshmallows.
