To Be Continued

CHAPTER 1:

“Mich! Have you seen my mascara?”

“Which one?” I call back to my mom, hurriedly getting dressed. Today’s my first day of school, my baby sis’s first day of preschool, Mom has an audition today, and we’re all late.

“Blue! Clinique!”

I quickly rustle through the mirrored medicine cabinet while pulling on my jeans with the other hand. “Blue, Mom? Are you sure? What are you wearing?”

I locate the wand and go into the bedroom all three of us share and toss her the mascara wand, looking for my tank top and eying Mom’s outfit at the same time. She’s wearing my fitted flannel navy blue shirt and the tank I was looking for.

She checks herself in the five dollar full length mirror on our wall. “What do you think? Is the mascara too much?”

“No, not for that. Go for it. Since you’re wearing my clothes can I wear your jeans?”

“Which ones?” she asks, already getting exasperated

I grin and raise waggle my eyebrows at her. “Guess which ones.”

She sighs and tosses me her skinny jeans which I’ve been pointedly fawning over since she bought them in Soho. “What are you wearing with that?”

“No idea yet,” I tell her, pulling my wet hair into a cute messy bun quickly and grabbing Brie out of the trundle and carrying her into the kitchenette. “You want yogurt and toast?” I ask her, grabbing two bagels out of the fridge.

“’Tawberry,” she announces imperially giving me a big, dimpled, eye-crinkling smile. “And cayons.”

“No time for crayons now, babe, we’re late. Eat,” I say plunking a little spoon and yogurt container down in front of her.

I put a slice of bread for her in the toaster and grab cream cheese out of the fridge, deciding Mom and I will have to have cold bagels today.

“Hey, I found something you can wear!” Mom calls. “My wine red top with your long white camisole!”

“Thanks,” I say joining her in the bedroom again. “Ever thought it would be easier if we just wore our own clothes?”

“But its funner this way,” she says, fiddling with her long side bangs. “Bagels ready?”

“Yeah, with cream cheese, cold. On the counter.”

She half-growls but kisses my forehead as she passes me. A millisecond after I’ve pulled on my shirts she calls, “Okay, let’s go!”

I grab my vintage book bag from the corner, a sweatshirt for the subway, and my bagel. We’re running ten minutes late.

“Michael, I have to drive, this audition is important you’ll be fine on the subway right?”

“I always am.”

“I know. But be careful with Brie, okay?”

“Wait--what?!”

“Have a good day at school, love ya!” she says, disappearing inside the pearl gray Beetle Daddy bought her the last time he was in New York.

“Break a leg!” I yell after her, more out of malice than wishing her good luck.

She peels away. I sigh and look down at Brie. “Okay, kid, let’s run,” I tell her, power-walking toward the subway station. Naturally she can’t catch up and by the time we’re in the subway, I’m carrying her, her diaper bag, her backpack, my book bag, and bagel while jogging through the station. I never had time to pull the baggy sweatshirt over my less-than-baggy top and jeans. So naturally guys are staring. Especially the homeless guys, who freak Brie out to the point of tears. It’s always a disaster taking her on the subway with me.

Luckily the train ride is smooth and I drop her off without a problem. But the minute I set her down in the day care building she starts crying. “Hey, calm down, Brie. Be a big girl. I love you and Mommy loves you, I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Dooooon’t go!” she wails, giving one of those two-year-old hiccupping, choking sobs. I don’t have time to stay and comfort her and ease her into the new preschool, thanks to Mom. I blow her a kiss at Brie, smile at the provider, and quickly leave.

I’m twenty minutes late to my homeroom and I only got two bites of my bagel. Gotta love first days. Thanks to my lateness, everyone looks up as I come in and the only seat left is in the front. The seats you pick on the first day are your seats for the rest of the year. Apparently Jeremy Braden was late too because he’s sitting in the seat right behind mine. It seems like someone would save him a seat. He’s the Austin Ames of the sophomores. He’s one-fourth Arab, perpetually tanned, well-toned, soccer star, etc. And he’s nice. He’s literally popular as in most people like him, not as in a self-appointed rich, good-looking snob. Like his wannabe girlfriend Sara Haffman.

During the entire class I feel very aware of him behind me, wondering if the gaze I feel on the back of my head is imagined or not. And I really wish I was behind him so I didn’t have these thoughts and could spend my time day-dreaming or studying his hair. So this is how it’s going to be for the rest of the year.
~*~
At lunch, two things happen. One, my cell phone rings in the cafeteria line. I check it, it’s Mom. I flip it open. “Hey, Mom, how did it go, are you okay?” I ask loudly, glancing at the cafeteria monitor pointedly.

“Yes, yes, yes!” she cheers.

“Wow. You’re caffeinated.”

“No, I’m exhilarated! Man, I need a trampoline.”

I laugh. “Why?”

“Because I’m feeling overly bouncy and could stand to lose a few.”

“Wait--so does that mean…?” I ask, cradling the phone on my shoulder and grabbing a huge cookie, a mini-bag of Fritos, and an orange soda.

“Yes! I’m in!”

“Mom--don’t jinx yourself! It’s not even callback time yet!”

“I know! I didn’t get his audition but one of the judges is for another company…maybe you’ve heard of Splendor?” she says, half-squealing.

“Yes…” I say trying not to get too excited prematurely.

“I got an offer we’re meeting this afternoon for coffee, an interview, and if it goes well I’ll look over the contract. If I agree then tomorrow I have a test photo shoot!!”

“Mom, shh. Calm down, where are you? Can people hear?”

“No, Mich, I’m not stupid. Why aren’t you happy for me?”

“I am! I’m dancing around and squealing and hugging you in my head but I’m getting evil eyes right now and I--”

“Fine. We’ll celebrate later, okay?”

“Definitely. Congrats. Don’t actually break anything, kay?”

She laughs and hangs up. I smile and close my phone and slip it back into my book bag. It’s then that I realize I’m standing in the middle of the cafeteria, holding my tray, and smiling randomly, right in front of Jeremy’s table. Sara is looking at me with this pleased, amused, but disgusted smirk.

Jeremy grins. “Would you like a seat?”

I try to laugh this off and think fast like I do in the many embarrassing situations I frequently manage to get into.

“Um…ha. Right. I actually have a seat…just wanted to…grace you all with my presence. Feel free to bask in my glow,” I steal the last line from Brie’s favorite movie Madagascar, flash a smile, and walk off quickly. I’m greeted by more amused, satisfied smirks at my table.

“So what was that?” Macayla asks.

“What was what?”

“You were talking to Sara?” Andrea raises her eyebrows and watches me while cutting her veggie pita pocket into tiny, precise pieces.

“And Jeremy?” Blaine corrects.

I set my tray down, give them a brief smile, and try to ignore their group attack. “Sounds like you have it all figured it so why don’t you discuss it without me?”

They exchange looks which I also attempt to ignore. “You’re defensive…and what does that mean again?” Andrea quotes Step Up, her favorite movie.

I sigh. “If we were talking about Channing Tatum then I’d confess but we’re not so can we shut up and change the subject?”

“Ooooh, and why should we change the subject?” Macayla demands, smiling and stabbing a strawberry from her fruit salad. I feel like stabbing something too.

“So there’s something to confess,” Blaine says triumphantly.

“What you think you guys have to trap me into saying I think Jeremy’s cute?” I ask, twisting open my soda.

“Just so we’re clear,” Macayla grins, and finally the subject is dropped.

Sadly, the subject has not changed mentally. I glance back at his table. Sara happens to glance over at mine at the same time. She gives me a brief, “Ew why do so many freaks populate the earth?” look. I just look back, slightly sardonically. I look back at my friend, sigh, and break off a piece of my cookie. This year has gotten off to a very strange, rocky start.

The rest of school passes quickly and uneventfully. I actually enjoy it a little. Being around all my friends, seeing posts everywhere from the next play Once on this Island, Jr. and dance team tryouts next week, and having an hour on the Internet during class to IM my friend Andrew. He lives in Italy. And is Italian. Enough said.
~*~
Picking up Brie is not so uneventful. The provider gives me a long in-depth report on Brie’s misbehavior, seemingly enjoying herself. I nod and smile and grimace at the appropriate times, absently watching a little girl “style” her friend’s hair with Vaseline. While I’m marveling over the fact that Brie’s in trouble for refusing a snack and refusing to color, while this girl’s gonna have to have her hair washes ten times to get all the Vaseline out. I check Brie’s hair quickly. The front door open’s and the provider, Carol, pauses temporarily and looks up. I do too. It’s Jeremy.

It’s been rumored that people have seen him carrying or holding hands with his twin sisters Mallory and Vallory, who are three. Which made pretty much every girl who heard about smile except Sara who thought it was disgusting that he had to have anything to do with his younger siblings. Naturally.

He recognizes me. “Hey. Gracing Carol with your presence too?”

I shrug and smile. “Well, no one should be denied. I try.”

He laughs and walks past me to retrieve his sisters. I smile to myself as I watch to see which kids he’s here for. I have to stop myself from laughing and wonder if he’ll be the one rinsing her hair out ten times. The look on his face as he looks from her hair to her twin’s genuinely innocent face, and then his hand which had just patted the greasy hair is hilarious.

“So I gave her a twenty minute timeout and told her that her mommy would punish her at home. I think she should not be allowed a snack this afternoon so that she’ll be more willing to eat tomorrow,” Carol suggests, or more like orders, arrogantly.

“Well, sure,” I tell her, trying not to overreact and get mad. I’m about to mention the contrast of not eating to Vaseline-ing someone’s hair and how was it they were unsupervised long enough to do that in the first place, but then just decide to leave it at a slightly sarcastic “well sure.”

“Bye-bye, Brie!” Mallory or Vallory says as she follows her brother out the door, holding onto his thumb with her whole, small hand.

“Yeah, bye-bye, Brie,” the other one says.

“Bye-bye, Vee. Bye-bye, Em,” Brie says, grabbing my thumb immediately, making me smile.

Just as Carol is about to launch into a tangent about Brie’s table manners, Jeremy says, “By the way, Carol, what happened to Em’s hair?”

She stares at him for a minute, mouth open, formulating a valid excuse for her lack of supervision--or chromosomes. I take this chance to grab Brie’s things, smile my thanks at Jeremy, and leave. I put her coat on and ask her about her day.

“It was good.”

“Did you have a snack?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She frowns fiercely up at me. “I didit want to!”

I’m about to reply when I hear, “Hi, Brie!” I turn around and the twins and Jeremy are following us. “You taking the subway?” I ask him, sure the answer is no. I have no proof but I’m sure he has his own car--or driver.

“Yep. Sara was pissed with me for something today so I’m carless.”

I frown to myself. He doesn’t have a car? Sara drives him around? So are they together? But all I say is, “Well it’s your lucky day.”

He looks at me, as if I might have a car or something. “Why?”

“Duh. You and your sisters get to be seen with me.”

Mallory or Vallory frowns up at me. “So?”

Jeremy laughs and I decide not to answer her question. Sarcasm is lost on little ones.

“So how was your day?” Jeremy asks.

“Bad,” all three answer. Jeremy and I look at each other.

“Have you seen The Pursuit of Happyness?”

He laughs. “A very appropriate movie to reference at the moment. Yes, I’ve seen it.”

“We should look around for a place like that for them. Watching the Love Boat is fun and infinitely better than sitting in a corner for twenty minutes for not eating your snack or…sporting a punk ‘do without proper gel,” I say patting Em or Vee’s head.

She looks up at me with the cutest sheepish, yet reproachful look.

“So where do you live?” he asks.

“Lower East Side.”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to live there. Are you subsidized?”

I just look at him. Maybe he is a snob like Sara.

He immediately looks apologetic. “Sorry. It‘s not that you look like it or anything, I just--”

I burst out laughing. “Just shut up now while you have a chance of not utterly crushing me.”

“You? How could I crush you? I’m just…basking in your glow,” he says with a theatric basking look. And basking looks are not easy to make but he pulls it off without even looking too dorky. “Anyway the only reason I asked is because I’m subsidized and I just figured--Lower East Side--you know.”

He’s still digging the hole deeper but I don’t mind. “Well, yeah. But we’re not--at the moment. We were when I was her age,” I glance at Brie, “but we’re not now.”

“Yeah. It sucks being subsidized but not being able to say you’re from the cool poor area. LES just sounds like a fun place to be poor.”

I smile. “Yeah, that would be where I live--the cool poor area.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t start. Anyway this is where we get off. See you tomorrow.”

“Right. Tomorrow. Take my glow with you, it will last ‘til then!”

He socks my arm lightly and they walk off. Would it be cliché to mention that my arm is tingling in a certain spot?
~*~
“More bubbly?” Mom asks, slyly trying to refill my wineglass with champagne. The flutes look really fancy but we got them at Target. Four for sixteen dollars. One for each of us and a backup for when we break them. When not if.

“Mom, I’m not drinking champagne.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing…”

“I’m good with sparkling cider.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Fine. Hand me the baby’s bottle then.’

“That’s it,” I grab the bottle of champagne, recap it, and put it in the fridge. “It needs to chill--”

“And so do I,” Mom says rolling her eyes.

“You pre-empted my clever correction!” I huff, smiling.

“Stop. Those are big words and I’m drunk.”

“You are not.”

She frowns at me. “I know. Party pooper. At least let me get tipsy?”

“Mom, it’s four. Later.”

“What’ll we do ‘til then?”

“Fun stuff.”

“Like?”

“I don’t know. Window-shopping at Soho…do we have money for Chinese in the Village?”

“Duh! That’s why we’re celebrating. We have money to actually shop in Soho.”

“But have you signed the contract yet? We don’t want to spend before its final, just in case--”

“Michael, come on. I’m the parent.”

Yes, but only technically, I think. She glances over at Brie. “So how was day care?”

“Annoying but she’s safe so its cool.”

“Annoying how?”

“Just…annoying. I’ll tell you later, we’re celebrating now.”

“Okay then. How was school?”

“Celebrating.”

She laughs and gets up. “Fine. You go get Brie ready and in her stroller while I change into something festive.”

I’m in the middle of packing Brie, crayons, a coloring book, a bottle, and a jacket into the stroller when Mom comes out of our room wearing my red tank top and cropped denim jacket and her own Victoria’s Secret hot pants. “Jeans. Off,” she says. At my I-don’t-believe-you look she says, “My turn to wear my clothes,” as if I’m the only one who steals clothes around here.

She is freaking unbelievable sometimes. And she’s not even drunk.
~*~
I’m pretty silent on the walk to the subway. A nice homeless guy smiles at Brie when she drops her Stellaluna Beanie Baby® and hands it her with a, “Here you are, sweetie.” Her eyes get really huge and then fill up and she bursts into tears. The guy looks like he feels really bad--and really low for making her cry.

I smile at him. “Thanks a lot. She’s just really tired. Have a great day!”

Mom grabs my arm and pulls me along as well as she can with me pushing the stroller. “Michael! Do you normally speak to homeless strangers in the New York subway?!”

“No, Mom, only when they’re unarmed,” I say patiently.

“Don’t be sarcastic.”

I give her a look. “Since when?”

“Just for the moment. This is serious? Have you forgotten all the subway etiquette? Don’t talk to strangers, look at strangers, accept candy or drugs from strangers--”

“Yes, Mom, I remember. I only get my hash from friends of the family.”

She sighs. “Shut up--seriously. You especially need to be careful when you’re with Brie. And that’s going to be happening a lot with this new job. You’ll definitely need to pick her up from preschool and will probably have to drop her off most of the time, okay?”

I bite back my own sigh. “I thanked the sad man for picking up her Beanie Baby. He was most likely harmless and if not I’d ram him with the stroller and run off, okay?”

She smiles and pats my back. “Good. Just so you remember the proper subway etiquette.”
~*~
“Hey, you like these jeans, Mich?”

I glance over at Mom. She’s holding up a pair of skinny jeans just like hers. “You know I do.”

“Want ‘em?”

“Sure,” I say, going over to check the tag.

“You better be checking the size because we don’t have to worry abut money anymore.”

“Yeah, right,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “Fine…worry about money if you want but it’s a waste of time…”

We leave with three full shopping bags. One is mine and its holding a pair of skinny jeans, a very fun, sexy little black dress, and a pair of thigh high black leather boots. Mom got a miniskirt, a long gauze skirt, a really cute tank top, and an identical pair of thigh high boots in black suede. We have tons to mix and match with.

We leave the boutique and I go one way and Mom goes the other. She quickly turns and follows me, laughing. “Where are we going?”

I look at her. “Subway?”

“No way, are you kidding? We’re not done shopping!”

I stop the stroller and turn to look at Mom. She stops too. “Uh-oh, you look serious.”

“I am,” I tell her firmly. “Is is final? Do you really have the job with Splendor?”

“Please. It’s as good as mine. Quit worrying, kid.”

I ignore the kid even though it really ticks me off. She can start calling me “kid” when she starts letting me act like one. “It’s not yours then.”

“Not yet. Relax, Grandma.”

“Quit that. I just don’t want to spend money we don’t have.”

She sighs. “I saw your dad.”

“What?”

“He was at the modeling thing.”

Figures. He was the one who got her in the business. He got successful and left her….a pregnant woman from the poor part of NYC. Gorgeous, a perfect Drew Sidora look-alike but then again he’s the successful guy and a James Marsden look alike. The industry picked him up immediately. Naturally he comes to NYC a lot, the fashion capital of America. When he does he and Mom usually hook up. He usually leaves her with money or something nice…last time it was the car. He sends her child support every month which the government didn’t require him to do since they were never married. She shares it with me. He visits me sometimes. He’s either ready to be my dad and take me out to meet all his fancy friends and buy me tons of stuff, or ready to act like I’m mom…just a fun peer to hang out with.

“Oh.”

“I didn’t want to tell you about it cause you’re always weird about him.”

“What? I am?” I didn’t know it showed.

“Yeah,” she says, taking the stroller from me, turning it around and starting to walk. I follow her. “What’s that about anyway?”

“I don’t know. I never feel like I really know him or where he’s coming from and I don’t trust him.”

“Well he’s a pretty good dad for--”

“Yeah.” I cut her off knowing she doesn’t want to go there and I don’t really want to either.

“So whereto next? Let’s get accessories.”

“Great. I want some anklets and hoop earrings and bangles.”

“You got it.”

We shop for hours, blowing Dad’s money until Brie gets tired and whimper-y. We catch a train to the Village and she falls asleep in the Chinese restaurant.

We’re walking back, me pushing the stroller, Mom holding the shopping bags, with leftover Chinese stowed away under Brie’s stroller, when I see a couple walking along in front of us, swing their linked hands and chatting happily.

Apparently Sara isn’t so pissed with Jeremy anymore. So they are a couple. And even though I see them standing right in front of me, proof that he’s taken, my arm starts tinging in the exact same place he touched it earlier. Unbelievable.

Sara notices me first. She raises an eyebrow in a bored but slightly interested way. “Look it’s Michael Michele. I still don’t get why you’re named after her you look like a darker Alexis Bledel.”

Mom is watching her, clearly not liking her tone or the fact that she’s dissing Mom’s choice of name for me.

“And I had no idea you had a kid,” she tells me. “You hid the pregnancy really well. Did I know you when you were pregnant?”

Now I’m pissed. I am not at all fat. I have slight curves and that’s about it. “Sara, Jeremy, this is my mom, Adrienne Michele, and my little sister Brie.”

Jeremy smiles and shakes me Mom’s hand and then smiles at me. “Long time no.”

“Yeah,” I say vaguely, still looking at Sara.

She looks back at me. “Sorry,” she tosses out there, giving a slight shrug to show she doesn’t care at all. She sticks her hands in the back pocket of her denim miniskirt and looks Mom over. “So this is your Mom. I know you from somewhere.”

“Really?” Mom says, tossing her one of her own bored, don’t-know-you-don’t-care-to looks.

Sara smiles slightly, catching Mom’s look. “Yeah.”

“Probably the Viva la Vive ad,” I say, ready to leave.

“Oh, right,” Sara says. “I tried out for that. I guess they were going for a different look.”

Mom blinks. “Was that racist?”

“Anyway, nice to see you again--I guess.” I tell Sara. “Tomorrow.”

She raises her eyebrows and watches us go, looking a little surprised but not like she minds in the least. Then she turns back to Jeremy and takes his hand again. I glanced over my shoulder to see. He glanced over his too and I quickly look back.

“Ugh,” Mom shudders. “The ‘popular’ kids?”

I nod. “Something like that.”

“I do not miss high school,” she informs me.

“And I do not blame you,” I tell her.

“Cute guy though,” she says looking at me out of the corner of her hey. “He seems nice.”

“He’s okay.”