Chapter 6
After all my misadventures at school, I took a nap. I really wanted to sleep longer but piles of homework and the planning of my now infamous science project, officially titled “Project Gamma Glamma,” kept nudging me awake.
I woke up to the delicious smells of dinner, and followed them straight to the kitchen. Still groggy, I sat on the bar stool at the kitchen counter and stared at the happy colors of the mangoes and limes my mom was preparing for dinner. Tonight, we were having my favorite—fish tacos—and for dessert a mango lime pie that was absolutely to die for.
Unfortunately, I was having a hard time enjoying fully the sights and smells of my mom’s plato del dia, suffering as I was from two blisters on my big toes, punishment for my lack of gym preparation, not to mention my preoccupation with my now-overextended life. I must have had some strange look on my face or my mom’s Latina sixth sense was kicking in, because she suddenly asked with concern, “Mi hija, what’s wrong with you? Are you constipated?”
“No, Mom! I just always have this constipated look when I’m thinking.”
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Mom asked while peeling a mango.
“I have a science experiment that I have to get off the ground. I’m just trying to figure out how to do it.”
“What’s it about?” I knew this inquisition would be as irritating as my bulging blisters, so I went ahead with the full explanation. Mom just laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I just can’t imagine what you are going to do with Bridget,” she teased as she shook her head and went back to slicing and dicing. Somehow this had definitely struck her funny bone. Great.
But Mom was right. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with Bridge. I mean, by high school standards, she wore all the right things—basically. However, it was true that she was a bit overpreppy and rigid about everything she wore. Even as my best friend, I knew in my heart she was still going to be a challenge.
Bridge always thought her bootie was too big and her chest too small. She hated the fact that she was pigeoned-toed and always made sure to square her stance when she was just hanging out. She thought her eyes were too big and hated how her prescript glasses magnified her eyes even more and made her look crazy.
She always dreamed of beautiful fingernails but due to nervousness and life’s general aggravations, she chewed them off. This also caused her to have to reapply her lip gloss hundreds of times a day, especially because she believed her lips were her best feature.
I thought she was gorgeous “as is” and I wondered how I would amp her up even more fantástico than she was. Y’know, like Bridge to the second power. Then all of a sudden the pressure started to build inside me like a small cheesy volcano you see in really bad science fair.
Mason. Jabba. I could feel my stomach churning, so I decided to do the most logical thing and ask the Mominator for assistance. Mom was spinning around la cocina like a Texas Tornado and tossing spices as I picked at the bananas that were still too green to eat.
Mom’s name is Armida and she works as an art director for an advertising agency. She has impeccable taste, and as a strong-willed Latina woman, she knows exactly how to make people take notice.
The only problem I have with her is the fact that she has problems with the way I dress. She thinks I look like a punk rock ballerina looking to start a fight. This may be somewhat true, but the last thing I want to do is start a fight, especially with my best friends. So, I decided to open my inquiry.
“Hey, Mom, when you are doing art for, like, an ad, what’s the first thing you do to attract people’s attention?” Mom stopped her kitchen dance for un momento to think.
“Hmm,” she said, “I think the first thing I do is to make sure I know what their perceptions are, and their expectations.”
“Yeah?” I said, waiting for more info.
“And then I do something that will surprise them. Throw them off. Like if they are expecting black and white, I give them color. And if they are used to color, I give them black and white.”
“And this makes them do what then?” I said, feeling clueless.
“Well, first, it just gets their attention. Luz, you have to remember that most folks are so wrapped up in their heads. In order to get their attention, you have to shake them and jolt them.”
“Then what?”
“Then you have to show them how this product is going to make their life better,” she continued, taking a bite out of a juicy mango bit.
“And that’s it?”
“I wish it was. The main thing is making them believe that they can have better and then everything else follows.”
“Well, how do you get them to believe?” I asked.
“Therein lies the magic. It’s about listening to what’s most important to each individual. To your target audience.” She smiled as she cleaned off her knife before slicing into a lime.
“Okay, all this is sounding crazy. How do I use this concept to make Bridge more attractive to the rest of the student body?” All this new info had only added to my frustration level.
“I guess you’ll first want to know her audience, her peers, what things they value, and apply them to Bridge. And you’ve also got to make sure she believes she’s attractive, because she’s gotta be the one to carry it off.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then I think I’m just going to take an F in science,” I said, reaching down and daring to touch one of my blisters.
“Over my dead body, baby. Now, dame los platos. Your dad should be walking in the door any minute,” Mom ordered.
As I started pulling out our vintage Fiestaware from the cabinet, I shook my head and laughed. My mom goes from laid-back artsy mom to becoming the Mominator ready to kick my nalgas (that’s bootie to y’all) the moment I even mention any type of failure. Nothing like livin’ la vida loca in this overachiever household.
But my mom did have a point. I had to know my target audience, all the various peer groups I was selling my made-over subjects to. So, I did a quick checklist in my head. Doll up Bridge to swoon the J+L table to take her in. Pour Mase into a Dramatica mold. And Jabba, I’d have to start her off slow. Maybe I would work her up to the band table. I mean, she was one of them even if she always sat alone.
Something finally occurred to me. If this works, why not try this on myself for Swen? I would have to sacrifice and tone down my clothes a bit and start reading the school rags, but it would all be worth it for the sake of science and a date to Homecoming, wouldn’t it?
Just then, another thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. And I had to act quickly. Dinnertime around my house was pretty sacred, because it was supposed to be about sharing my day with my parents so they could dig around and make sure I wasn’t getting into deviant behavior like doing drugs, hanging with thugs, or getting into any other kinds of trouble.
And so when my dad, Leo, walked in, I gave him a big hug and told him that I really needed to get started on my science project immediately and I needed to duck out of dinner.
“Whatcha working on?” Dad asked.
“It’s a really long explanation. Mom can fill you in. Right, Mom?”
“Of course,” she answered, too busy flipping fish to argue.
“I’ll come and grab a plate in a minute,” I assured her. And with that I grabbed a Coke and a slightly green banana and took off.
Settling into my room, I dimmed the lights, lit a candle, started playing music, and downloaded my purse pictures of the day. Then I began my analysis.
First, I looked at the pictures of the Jocks and Locks. They were very Abercrombie, very clean—a lot of red, navy, and denim. And white. The girls wore their hair straight and long. The boys were either surfer shaggy or sports buzzed. None of these kids wore glasses, and none of them had their backpacks with them at lunch—as if to say they were too cool for school. In my digital recollection, they were all always laughing—probably because they were making fun of the rest of the poor inhabitants of Gamma High.
As I scanned through the pictures, I came across my nemesis, Venus. Her lucky genes had blessed her with long, straight, blond hair with no sign of chemical damage. Just like her cutest and latest Luis Vuitton pochette was the real deal. No fakes would do for Venus, especially since her dad was, in a word, loaded.
Her skin glowed with perfection and almost outshined her teeth. Oh, God, why did my enemy have to be so darn freaking caliente?
Just for the record, Venus Hunter had also gone to my middle school and to my summer science camp. At one time we were friends—almost best friends—until the summer when I met Bridge and I experienced my first crush with a boy named Lee Wagner as well.
I guess he was Venus’s crush, too, because she did everything she could to make me look stupid in front of him. And when he actually sat by me at dinner one time, it was over for us, and Venus and me as friends, as well, when she tossed off one doozy of a snide remark.
“Hey, don’t have too much fun, Lee. Santos has a very weak bladder.”
I was speechless. And I really did want to pee in my pants and not because I had a weak bladder, but from sheer embarrassment.
Ever since that bladder blab episode there has always been an unspoken cold war between good ole Venus and myself.
I know this is going to sound really like I’m nutters, but sometimes I think she is watching my every move just so she can destroy anything good I have going on. It’s just a theory so far, but one day, I know I’ll be able to prove it.
As I revisited the digital picture of Venus whooping it up and laughing while digesting nothing for lunch, something caught my eye. El libro! Venus had the same book that I had knocked out of Swen’s hand when I last saw him in Dr. Hamrock’s class.
I knew it was a writing book of some sort but something didn’t make sense at all. Venus hates English and despises writing. I know this because I could always tell when she had written in those forbidden slam books. She would always misspell words, and when I’d try to correct her she’d get mad at me.
Like the time I told her that there was a T in the word that describes a female dog. Yeah, she was that bad in English, but I had to admit she was pretty fantastic in science, like myself.
She must be trying to woo Swen, I thought. That had to be it. Suddenly, the stakes were getting higher by the minute and I started to get antsy. And just then the perfect formula appeared to me.
Here is what was going to have to take place. And it had to be like really systematic. First, I was going to revamp Bridge. Shorter skirt. Let her hair down. Straighten it. Take off her glasses. Yes, she would be blind as a bat at lunch, but it wasn’t necessary to see at lunch. It was just hand to mouth. Hand to mouth.
Besides, it would probably make her feel more comfortable if she couldn’t see everyone else at lunch. I couldn’t afford to get her an expensive purse like Venus or the other girls at the J+L table had, but I could borrow some of Mom’s Gucci perfume and that definitely smelled like bank.
Next, we would need to practice on her laugh. When Bridge laughed it was like a little cartoon laugh. In order to survive and thrive she would need to have a strong and wicked laugh, just like that bruja on a broom Venus’s.
The next thing I needed to do was make sure that Adam would be at the table with Bridge. I knew that if she didn’t have the guts to go through this alone, then the only way she could get through it was to at least have Adam by her side.
And Adam (I almost forgot), how would I make Venus, the queen of snobs, go out with him? Then, I got it. I decided that I would spend half of my lunch period at my regular table because I promised Jabba that she could eat with me. I also needed to have a home base in case something went wrong with Mase or anything else because of this freak of nature experiment.
Then in the second half of my lunch period I would casually stroll by the J+L table and say, “Hey” to Bridge since everyone has seen us together and figures that we are friends. But while I’m at the J+L table, I’ll also be sure to be a superflirt to Adam, who would be the pretend atom of my eye.
This way I would be able to see if Venus would take the bait. If Venus were true to her bad self (which I knew she was) then she would throw herself in front of Adam just so I couldn’t have him.
And boom! This would serve both Adam and myself. Adam would get his date with Venus and his 20-20/tabloid press opportunity. And then she’d be so totally distracted that she wouldn’t have time to dig her dirty little claws into my Swen.
But in the meantime, I’d need to do a little wooing of my own. I didn’t think dressing vanilla for Swen was going to do the trick because he’s really smart.
But maybe if I could spend quality time with him and, like, get into his mind or something, I could find out what kind of “target audience” he was.
Boy, all this plotting was time-consuming. And so was eating this unripe banana. As I looked ahead to the next two very big important weeks, something told me that I could do this.
Just then the phone rang. I didn’t bother to answer it since it was the house phone and if it were Bridge she’d either text me or call me on my cell.
Then from across the casa, I heard my mama yell, “Luz, it’s for you!”
I almost didn’t want to get it because I thought it would be someone stupid. It was anything but.
“Hello,” I said, sounding somewhat firm, ready for my first fight with a telemarketer.
“Hey, Luz, it’s Swen.”
Suddenly, I felt a lump in my throat and my hands started to get really sweaty.
“Oh, hi, Swen. I thought I gave you my cell phone number.”
“Oh, that’s okay. Hey, do you have a minute?”
“Yeah. What’s up?” (This is totally stupid, but por un poquito minuto, I was hoping he would happen to ask me to the dance. As if.)
“Well, I got to thinking about your project and it’s a great idea. And I want to be responsible so that, you know, nothing I put out there affects the outcome of your project.” He sounded very journalistic and businesslike.
I really tried to listen to him but I just kept thinking about how it would feel if one of his strong hands was sliding through my long brown hair and the other hand was gently touching my cheek. My DNA was screaming.
“Okay,” I said, pulling myself back to this universe.
“Do you normally keep some kind of journal on your projects?” Swen inquired.
“I guess so. Sort of. I mean, I just summarize my hypothesis and outline my testing protocols, then organize my observational notations to support a logical conclusion.”
The line got quiet and I suddenly realized that I sounded like a total geek.
“Well, any notes you could provide me could really help add a lot of color to our story.”
Did he just say our story? Melting. Melting.
“It’s just that I’m not much of a writer,” I confessed.
“Don’t sweat it; I’ll help you,” Swen said sweetly but in a totally professional way. Dang. My toes were curling and I wanted to scream, and as I tried to stop myself, I bit my tongue.
“That would be ... great,” I hacked out as my mouth was getting dry.
“Have you ever heard of a book called Elements of Style?”
Right at that moment, I had a flashback of knocking Swen’s book out of his hand. And I remembered Venus with that exact title in the lunchroom. Hate her. Mean it.
“Yeah, I think I have,” I said, trying not too hard to play dumb.
“I have an extra copy if you want it,” Swen continued.
“Sure. Uh, did you give Venus Hunter a book, too?” I asked, deciding to dig for more info. I know this was really a dorky thing to ask but I was dying to know. Dying.
“No,” Swen said.
“Oh, I saw her today with the book too. It must be a real page turner,” I said, in my hopeless attempt at flirting.
“No, not really. Venus left her copy in Dr. Hamrock’s class and I found it and gave it back to her. She’s working on a novel, y’know.”
“Oh, that’s cool. I was just curious,” I said as I did a silent victory dance.
“Look, I want to get started on this story. Do you have time on Monday after school so you could walk me through your experiment?”
“Sure. No problema,” I said as I wrote “Luz Swenson” over and over inside the cover of my spiral.
“Okay, cool. How about we meet in the library after school?”
How romantic, I thought, but then I had to slap myself. “Yeah, okay, sounds good.”
“Alright, see ya then.”
“Okay, bye... . Uh, Swen ... ?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s your favorite color?”
He paused a minute. “On me or in general?”
“What color do you like to wear?” I said, trying to be playful like they tell you to do in Cosmo Girl.
“Gray.”
Gray? Yikes, I thought. Good thing he’s hot.
“And what colors do you like to see on girls?” I continued.
“Skin tone.”
“What?” I squeaked.
And then Swen laughed. “No, I’m just totally kidding. I guess I don’t really notice color on other people. I just pay attention to their stories.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said somewhat relieved that he had a sense of humor and wasn’t a perv in disguise or something.
“Was that for your science experiment?” Swen asked.
Now, as an expert liar, I quickly replied, “Absolutely.”
After we exchanged our good-byes, I was on fire and wired. So, it appeared that picture-perfect Venus was one big, fat liar, too. A novel—yeah, right! And to make everything more fab was the fact that Swen was going to loan me his book. His personal libro! It was like we were almost a couple. I could almost taste Homecoming and victory. And it was yummy.