DYLAN’S BEDROOM
Thursday, October 8th
8:35 P.M.
Ding.
Dylan rubbed her bare feet together with glee. Derrick was ready for their nightly post-homework text session. If only she’d done her math problems instead of lying on the chaise, stewing over her Massie problems, life would be perfect.
Sucking in the little belly bulge that muffin-topped over her turquoise Cosabella boy shorts, Dylan checked the message.
Derrick: Math Blows.
Dylan: Ah-greed!
She kicked her unopened textbook to show she meant it.
The air hung heavy while she waited for another ding. Was her reply too boring? Should she have tried to sound more upbeat? Did he think she was a triple B?
Derrick: Mr. Morgan looks like a big toe.
Dylan laughed out loud and then told him so.
Derrick: He’s a square root.
Dylan: An odd number.
Derrick: A player eight-er.
Dylan: The ew-y decimal system.
Derrick: LOL!
Dylan felt drained but completely satisfied, like she had just won a grueling tennis match or finished an entire cold-cut combo from Subway. Who was it who’d said, “Every rose has its thorn?” Shakespeare? Oprah? Reebok? As far as she could tell, Derrick’s only thorn was an ex-crush named Massie Block. And it was very prickly.
Derrick: Cheesy Friday tomorrow @ Slice of Heaven. All u can eay mozrela stix! Wanna hit it after skl??
Dylan’s thumping heartbeat practically drowned out Tyra Banks’s muffled voice on her sister’s flat screen next door. This was their first official nondetention date!!!
A swarm of outfits, hairstyles, and conversation topics buzzed through her brain. Jeans or a dress? Updo or down? Big bones or little ones? And then the queen bee swooped in, waving a flag that said, FRIDAY NIGHTS ARE FOR SLEEPOVERS AT MY HOUSE, and chasing them all away.
It was so unfair. Massie owned Derrick and Friday nights.
Derrick: U still there?
Dylan’s thumb hovered over the y, longing to answer yes to both his questions. But where would that leave her and Massie? Not that she should concern herself with someone who had called her a triple B . . . but she did.
Dylan: Hold on. Mom just walked in. Text u back in 5.
She needed to run this problem by someone, but her someone was the problem. So she opted for the next best thing.
“Mommmmmm.” Dylan padded down the rose petal–-covered carpet.
“In here, Dyl Pickles,” Merri-Lee called from her bathroom.
Dylan slid the frosted glass door open and stepped into what felt like a gardenia-scented disco ball. Every wall, cabinet, and appliance was made of mirror, right down to the custom toilet. It reflected Dylan, from every angle, along with her mother, who, unfortunately, was naked and slipping into a bubble-filled tub. Out of pure desperation, Dylan perched herself on the edge, next to the flickering pink candle.
“Mmmmmmmm.” Merri-Lee closed her eyes and sank into the white froth. “What’s up?” she mumbled like she was talking in her sleep.
“Um.” Dylan suddenly realized she had no idea how to explain her situation. Only a member of the PC could possibly understand. “You know how you took Jennifer Aniston’s side during her split with Brad?”
Merri-Lee’s green eyes shot open. “Why? Is Angie’s publicist here again?”
“No.” Dylan gestured for her mother to lie back down. “I was just wondering if you would have taken her side if she’d told you she was over Brad before Brad hooked up with Angie.”
“That shameless PR team! They’re using you to get to me, aren’t they?”
“No, Mom, I swear.” Dylan rolled her eyes, her frustration reflected across the bathroom from every angle. “It’s one of those moral-type questions some friends were playing at school, and I wanted to see what you’d say.”
“Oh, okay. Start over.” Merri-Lee inhaled deeply, ready to concentrate.
“Let’s say Jennifer and Angie were best friends, and then Jennifer broke up with Brad, and then Angie started liking him. Would that be bad?”
Merri-Lee rubbed sea salt on her arm while considering this. “Not as bad, I suppose. Why? What do you know? Do you have a source?”
“No!” Dylan snapped. “I just want to know if sometimes it’s okay to choose a boy over your friends.” She paused. “You know, if that boy’s available.”
Merri-Lee turned off the water. “I don’t think so.”
Dylan’s heart nosedived. “So you should choose your friend?”
“No.”
“The boy?”
“Neither.” Merri-Lee shrugged as if it were all so simple.
“Huh?”
“You shouldn’t have to choose. A good friend wouldn’t intimidate you and a good guy wouldn’t pressure you.”
Merri-Lee lifted her wet hand and placed it on Dylan’s knee. “You deserve both.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Dylan kissed her mother’s dark roots.
Now she knew exactly what to text Derrick. It wasn’t going to be easy. But it would be right.