The sun was high over the park at noon on Tuesday, but Baby couldn’t stop shivering. She pulled her baggy red Nantucket High sweatshirt closer around her skinny frame and leaned against the stone wall of Engineers Gate, the official entrance to the Central Park Reservoir. She’d been following Ophelia’s regimen of essential oil application and juice fasting, which meant she could only drink premade green smoothies of juiced lettuce, cucumbers, and apples. But instead of feeling energized and in control, she felt greasy, hungry, and tired.
And crazier than ever?
Mustering up her energy, Baby shuffled up the steps leading to the reservoir and stepped onto the pebble-covered surface of the running trail. Ugh. She felt dizzy.
“Babs! Hold on a sec!” Coach Mann, the unfortunately named female gym teacher, sprinted up the steps after her. She grabbed Baby’s long, tangled brown hair in an attempt to stop her from taking off.
“Ow!” Baby rubbed her head.
“I didn’t hurt you, Babs,” Coach countered calmly. “You aren’t running today. Come with me,” she said, marching Baby back down the steps while twirling her pink, smiley face sticker–covered whistle in a figure-eight pattern.
“Yes, sir!” Baby whispered under her breath. Ever since school had started, Coach Mann had insisted on calling her Babs, which made her feel like some fifty-nine-year-old gum-smacking waitress from Oklahoma. She obediently followed Coach to a shady spot under an elm tree.
“I heard that Baby has, like, this really weird commun icable disease. That’s why she’s only been drinking green juice. It’s because she’s not allowed to touch anything in the cafeteria,” Baby overheard Jiffy Bennett whisper to Chelsy Chapin, a small, pug-nosed sophomore.
Baby glowered. It was so unfair! There was so much psychological warfare going on amongst all these bitchy girls, and she was the one Mrs. McLean recommended for therapy.
“Babs, I’m worried about you,” Coach barked, as if expressly for the listening pleasure of the gaggle of tenth graders huddled by the water fountain, not even pretending to stretch. “You haven’t looked so good recently. Are you in some sort of trouble? You can talk to me,” Coach added generously, as if Baby would really spill her deepest darkest secrets to Coach Mann. She had a salt-and-pepper mullet, and sort of looked like Mel Gibson, except for her humongous boobs.
“Is it drugs?” Coach Mann asked, narrowing her eyes into even smaller slits, obviously enjoying the interrogation process. “I want to help you, Babs.”
“Thanks,” Baby hedged. Everything suddenly seemed far too complicated to explain, and Baby was too tired. “I think I need to go to the nurse,” she lied, running out of the park. She glanced behind her, half expecting to see Coach Mann chasing after her. Instead, there were just a few nannies pushing strollers, a guy running his golden Lab, and squirrels jumping in and out of the bushes. Baby sighed. Maybe she really should go to the nurse, she realized as she stood on the corner, waiting for the WALK sign on the other side of Eighty-sixth Street. She felt weird, like her brain wasn’t completely connected to her body.
“Baby!”
She squinted to see Sydney on the other side of the crosswalk. She wore knee-high boots and a red peace sign T-shirt under her Constance blazer, and she carried oversize stereo headphones attached to her silver iPod nano. She looked like she was on her way to DJ at an underground Williamsburg club.
“Double photog?” Baby called, glancing at the digital camera swinging from Sydney’s wrist.
Sydney crossed her eyes. “That’s what Mr. Beckham would like to think. I actually went to hang out with Webber uptown,” Sydney answered. Her boyfriend was a sophomore at Columbia. Baby had hung out with him and his friends when she and Sydney were working on Rancor last month.
“I love how we only see each other when we’re ditching school. Great minds think alike!” Sydney yelled. She didn’t seem to care that pedestrians could hear every word she was calling across the crosswalk. Baby smiled, feeling more energized than she had all day. She loved hanging out with Sydney, who simply didn’t give a fuck.
The sign changed to WALK, and Baby followed the hordes of tourists across the street.
“Picture!” Sydney called as they met in the middle, holding out the camera and snapping a picture of Baby. Sydney pulled it back and frowned at the small screen. “God, you look like hell,” she remarked.
“Get out of the way!” A cab beeped and Baby realized they were still standing in the middle of the crosswalk.
“Fuck you!” Sydney yelled as she took the crook of Baby’s elbow and ran her across the street.
“What’s wrong?” Sydney’s heavily lined eyes narrowed sharply, as if she’d just noticed something was seriously amiss with Baby. “Are you using some of your sister’s beauty products? Because they totally don’t work on you. Your face is really oily,” Sydney remarked matter-of-factly. She stuck her index finger on Baby’s cheek, then held it in front of Baby’s face triumphantly. Even Baby was a little grossed out at the shininess of Sydney’s finger.
“Thanks,” Baby replied sarcastically. She was so not in the mood for this.
“Dude, what’s up with the bitch vibe?” Sydney remarked calmly. “Are you okay? And why aren’t you in class? You’re a bad influence.” She smirked.
“No, I just ran out,” Baby explained. She giggled. It was sort of funny, when she thought about it.
“You made a run for it during gym? I love it! You’re such a rebel. Remind me why you haven’t been kicked out yet?” Sydney smiled, clearly teasing.
Baby looked into Sydney’s large, expressive eyes and suddenly wanted to explain everything to her. “I’m going to get kicked out if I don’t finish my therapy sessions,” she said, close to tears. “I just don’t know what to do!” she added in a rush of words.
“Oh my God. You need to come with me. You need to take a shower, you need to eat, and you need to just chill the fuck out,” Sydney said kindly. She stuck out her hand and expertly hailed a cab sailing down Fifth Avenue.
“Ninety-third and West End,” Sydney announced without taking an eye off Baby. Then, Sydney stuck her nose up in the air and inhaled deeply. “Do you have air freshener?” She stuck her head through the Plexiglas partition of the cab. The cabbie nodded wordlessly and passed an aerosol spray can back to her.
“No offense,” Sydney remarked. Baby shook her head. Honestly, now that they were in a closed space, she could sort of smell the essential oils on herself.
“Give me that!” Baby wrestled the aerosol container away from Sydney and sprayed it liberally on herself.
“Here’s where I live. Welcome to the Upper West Side,” Sydney said as the cab stopped in front of a crumbling but distinguished-looking redbrick building. “My mom’s a therapist and my dad writes a column on manners for the Style section of the New York Times, but he lives in DC. It’s the only way their marriage works.” Sydney smirked and escorted Baby into the old-fashioned cage elevator and pressed five.
“This is nice,” Baby exclaimed as Sydney flung open the door to a bright and airy apartment. Unlike the apartments she’d seen on the Upper East Side, which reminded her of museum exhibits with their Louis XIV–style furniture, Sydney’s apartment looked lived-in and comfortable. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves flanked the hallways, holding first editions and galleys of books, and the walls were covered with art.
“You. Shower.” Sydney pointed inside the large old-fashioned bathroom. A claw-footed tub stood in the center of the room. Sydney marched onto the black and white tiled floor and turned on the water. Quickly, steam filled up the room. “Promise you won’t faint?” Sydney commanded. Baby shook her head and closed the door.
Finally, Baby emerged from the bathroom. Sydney had thoughtfully left clothes folded on a wicker hamper, so Baby wore a ripped Lollapalooza ’93 T-shirt and a loose black American Apparel skirt. She felt more like herself than she had the past few days.
“So much better,” Sydney cried in relief once Baby wandered into the cheerful blue-and-white kitchen. “I definitely earned my gold star with you for today. You were a mess.”
“That’s what happens when I don’t eat. Food?” Baby asked hopefully, glancing at the pine cabinets. The kitchen reminded Baby of their Nantucket home. Instead of feeling a pang of homesickness, though, she felt relaxed.
“Here you go.” Sydney nodded matter-of-factly at a goat cheese and arugula salad sitting on the counter
“You made that?” Baby asked in disbelief. Sydney was full of surprises.
Besides her inappropriate piercings?
“Yeah, I just put on my wifey apron and whipped up lunch. No, you dumbass, I ordered!” Sydney rolled her large brown eyes as she plucked a cherry tomato from the top of Baby’s salad, popped it in her mouth, and sat down. She chewed thoughtfully. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just got a whole lot of crap.” Sydney shrugged and motioned toward two more takeout containers. “Do you feel better? And why the fuck were you on a starvation diet? Was it because Mrs. McLean’s on vacation this week and you were pining for her?”
“No,” Baby shot back. “I was doing this detox thing. My new therapist recommended it.”
“That’s lame,” Sydney said, pushing one of the takeout containers over to Baby. She took the lid off. “Grilled cheese?”
Baby nodded gratefully. “What’s this?” She eyed a book on the counter called Your Life Isn’t That Complicated. She raised an eyebrow. Really? Because it certainly seemed that way. She picked it up and thumbed through the earmarked pages.
“Oh, my mom’s book.” Sydney rolled her eyes. “Basically, her whole philosophy is that people need to clean their closets, throw shit out, and they’ll be happier. She charges five hundred dollars an hour to tell people this. Not like it does much good. Whenever she gets in a fight with my dad, she gets over it by hauling crap down to the Goodwill on the corner. I’ve had to buy so much of my stuff back from there,” Sydney added darkly.
“Can I borrow it?” Baby asked hopefully. On the back was a picture of Sydney’s mom. She looked a few years older than Baby’s own mom, had dark brown hair cut into a neat bob around her smiling, angular face. She looked nice and no-nonsense.
“Sure. I guess you can’t get any more fucked up than you already are,” Sydney hedged suspiciously.
“Are you sure about that?” Baby asked, teasingly. Maybe it was just the promise of food, but she suddenly felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Baby grabbed a sandwich out of one of the takeout boxes and took a bite, loving the taste of the gooey cheese as it hit the roof of her mouth.
“Nah, you’re pretty fucked up,” Sydney said, laughing. “Here’s to adolescent rebellion. Highly underrated.” Sydney arched her eyebrow.
Hear, hear!