The Other Me Part 14

Gabriel

MARLIZE IS IS only too delighted to paint my nails. She offers to give me a complete manicure, and while I'm curious why all women seem to like someone fussing over their cuticles, I'd rather not spend the whole afternoon entertaining Dirk's little sister. only too delighted to paint my nails. She offers to give me a complete manicure, and while I'm curious why all women seem to like someone fussing over their cuticles, I'd rather not spend the whole afternoon entertaining Dirk's little sister.

"Can I at least file them?" She wields an emery board like it's a sword.

"If you have to." I squirm in my chair, fingers splayed on the kitchen table as Marlize continues her ministrations. Dirk's wiping down the outside furniture in preparation for the party. Sanding complete, Marlize dips the brush into black polish and starts painting.

"So...." She draws out the word. "Dirk says you have a girlfriend?"

"Dirk's telling fibs."

Marlize looks at me with her huge brown eyes and grins. She has blue-and-pink elastics around her braces, giving her a kaleidoscopic smile. Treasa has braces too, but hers are barely noticeable, with transparent elastics.

"So who's this girl that's coming today, then?" She uses the corner of a tissue to wipe away varnish on my skin. My father would kill me if he caught me wearing nail varnish-more proof of apparent h.o.m.os.e.xuality. I guess that makes all rock stars gay too.

"Just a friend."

"Lize, when can I schedule a pedicure?" Dirk's dad walks in, totally unfazed by the nail polish party happening at the kitchen table.

"I'll have to check my schedule." She flicks blond fringe from her eyes.

"Watch out she doesn't put pink glitter hearts on your fingers too," Dirk's dad says.

"You liked those pink glitter hearts." Marlize pouts.

"On you, sweetie, not on me." He kisses her forehead and heads out onto the patio to give Dirk the latest cricket score.

Being at Dirk's house always feels like I'm in some parallel dimension, one where a dad can have his daughter paint his nails pink while he watches a rugby match on TV. Maybe it's just par for the course when you're married to a drama teacher. But then, Dirk's dad is a bit left field himself, being a fulminologist. What my music teacher mom saw in my business administrator father, I'll never know.

MARLIZE'S PRISTINE PRISTINE paint job lasts precisely four minutes, until I pop open a can of c.o.ke and chip my right index finger. I'm saved from her admonishment by the gate bell. Tank and Bullet are already barking at the new arrival that could be Treasa, and my stomach lurches. It's not. It's Karla dressed like a s.l.u.tty vampire, with a crimson smile plastered across her face. I can only imagine what she's got stashed in her paint job lasts precisely four minutes, until I pop open a can of c.o.ke and chip my right index finger. I'm saved from her admonishment by the gate bell. Tank and Bullet are already barking at the new arrival that could be Treasa, and my stomach lurches. It's not. It's Karla dressed like a s.l.u.tty vampire, with a crimson smile plastered across her face. I can only imagine what she's got stashed in her Nightmare Before Christmas Nightmare Before Christmas backpack. backpack.

"Sorry I'm early." She brushes past me, smelling of cherry tobacco, and breezes up the driveway as Dirk emerges from the house. If this was his idea, I'm going to kill him.

"Karla." Dirk looks as sh.e.l.l-shocked as I feel. "What are you doing here?"

"Nandi said you were having a braai."

Dirk catches my eye and gives me an apologetic look. He should've known-invite Nandi, invite Karla. The two have been joined at the hip since they were thirteen.

"Where is Nandi?" I ask.

"She'll be late. She was at some great-aunt's funeral." Her gaze rakes up and down my body, and she smirks, the way I imagine a female praying mantis might look at her mate before biting off his head. "I brought hubbly," she says and sashays into the house with a flutter of black lace.

"Bru, I didn't invite her. I swear, man." Dirk fumbles with a box of cigarettes and lights up.

"Well, she's here now."

"Just play it cool. It's not like Treasa even needs to know."

Now I'm p.i.s.sed, firstly that Karla has the audacity to show up uninvited and turn what should've been a pleasant evening into something awkward. Secondly, that Dirk presumes my s.e.xual history is something Treasa would even care about. We are not dating. Karla being here shouldn't matter-in fact, maybe it's a good thing. Maybe it'll get Treasa to take a step back from... from what? I invited her to this party. If anyone should be backpedaling, it's me.

Treasa

THE MOISTURE MOISTURE clinging to the mirror obscures my reflection. I open the bathroom window and release the steam from my shower. Slowly, the mirror clears, revealing a voluptuous redhead I'm still not convinced is me. Maybe if I dyed my hair brown like Resa's-like Gabriel's-I'd feel less conspicuous, although hair color isn't the only thing making me stand out. clinging to the mirror obscures my reflection. I open the bathroom window and release the steam from my shower. Slowly, the mirror clears, revealing a voluptuous redhead I'm still not convinced is me. Maybe if I dyed my hair brown like Resa's-like Gabriel's-I'd feel less conspicuous, although hair color isn't the only thing making me stand out.

Jordan says I should be grateful for having the b.o.o.bs so many women pay a fortune for. I squish my C-cups flat and stand sideways, trying to imagine what I'd look like flat chested, breastless, even. My b.o.o.bs are too big and bulge out beneath my hands like grotesque tumors. If I squish them just right and look at myself straight on, I can kind of create a guy's chest, a gym-bunny guy's chest with sculpted pecs, but male nonetheless. Now if only I had a kilometer of bandage to wrap around my body and keep these udders in place.

"You enjoying yourself in there?" Jordan knocks on the door.

"Just a minute." I release my b.r.e.a.s.t.s with a sigh, mentally cursing my hormones.

Jordan, still in her yoga pants, has laid out several possible outfits for me. Only one involves a dress-she knows better than to force me into frills.

"It's just a braai." I flick aside the dress I've never worn in favor of acid-wash jeans and a T-s.h.i.+rt.

"I don't get you, Ree. You've got this killer bod, and you just wanna be a bag lady."

"Bag ladies don't wear Sissy Boy jeans." I wriggle into a G-string and pull on my only pair of brand-name jeans, which I got for Christmas from an aunt who thought I liked clothes that had the labels on the outside. Despite the label, the jeans are super comfy and are this perfect shade of washed-out blue without looking secondhand. I can't wear boxers, though. They'd only bunch and make my b.u.m look even bigger.

"I'm just saying you've got a.s.sets and shouldn't be afraid to show them off." Jordan's gaze drops to the towel I've got wrapped around my bare chest.

"I'm thinking about getting a reduction."

Jordan spins me around, hands on my shoulders, and gazes into my eyes. "Are you serious?"

"Seriously." I fold my arms self-consciously.

"Can I get your offcuts?"

"That's gross." I chuckle and reach for the T-s.h.i.+rt. Jordan s.n.a.t.c.hes it away and hands me a purple halter neck that's somewhere between being s.e.xy and casual.

"It would save on having to buy all these extra-padded Wonder bras." Jordan touches her elbows together to create some cleavage as I lay the halter top on the bed, not quite convinced I should wear it. There's no way I'll get a sports bra under that, which means wearing the underwire lacy thing Mom bought me.

Jordan tightens the straps for me, making sure my "a.s.sets" don't bounce free. I'm sure there'll be a pool, and I'm sure others will swim. There's no way I'm getting almost naked in front of Gabriel and his friends.

"I wish we could just swap bodies," I say.

"I'm not sure I could pull off all those freckles."

I snap my wet towel at her legs. She dodges and arms herself with my hairbrush.

"Are you ready?" Dad knocks on the door. He's got to get me there and back between innings.

"Almost." Reluctantly, I pull on the purple top and study myself in the mirror. I look far too girly, far too curvy. "Gabriel will like this look?" I ask.

"For sure. You look hot." Jordan's gaze runs up and down my body, and she gives a satisfied nod.

We spend another five minutes trying to tame my hair, looking permed after a wash. Nothing works, so I push it all back with an Alice band and hope it behaves. Mom scrutinizes me when we walk into the kitchen. She hands me the cooler bag with a packet of chicken sosaties and two c.o.kes in it.

"You going to swim?"

"No."

"Probably for the best," she says, eyeing my cleavage.

"See you later." I give her a quick hug and follow Jordan out to the garage, leaving Mom and Dad to have a quick confab about me.

Ten minutes later, we're in the car, with me up front holding the map book open to where Dad's marked the address. The cricket commentator's going on about Hansie's captaincy and Boucher's catches and Kallis's batting, and I'm bored as h.e.l.l.

"You seeing Bryce tonight?" I turn in my seat to ask Jordan.

"Nope, but we're doing dinner tomorrow," she says. "He still owes me a Valentine's date."

"Oh." That stupid rose-giving, chocolate-munching, make-all-the-lonely-girls-feel-like-c.r.a.p day lingers on.

Dad gives me a sideways glance but doesn't comment. He seems to understand me a lot better than Mom does.

AFTER DROPPING DROPPING off Jordan, we drive for several minutes up a long dirt road before finding number ten. The house is a large double story nestled at the top of a sprawling plot. A few other cars are parked in the driveway, and two Rottweilers the size of small horses come bounding up to the gate, barking and snarling. What the h.e.l.l am I doing here? off Jordan, we drive for several minutes up a long dirt road before finding number ten. The house is a large double story nestled at the top of a sprawling plot. A few other cars are parked in the driveway, and two Rottweilers the size of small horses come bounding up to the gate, barking and snarling. What the h.e.l.l am I doing here?

"Tank, Bullet, voertsek. voertsek." A man in cargo pants and a Meatloaf T-s.h.i.+rt claps his hands, and the dogs start wagging their docked tails as he opens the gate.

Dad gets out of the car with me and introduces himself as David Prescott. He only ever uses his full name when he's trying to make an impression. The dogs sniff at us and bash my hands for attention. I ball my hands into fists in case they decide my fingers look tasty.

"Hey, you want to grab a beer? Got the cricket on."

I give Dad a "you-are-going-home-right-this-minute" look, and he declines the offer.

"So you'll be here all evening?" Dad asks.

"Ja, for sure, man. We'll get the Weber going just now," Hannes Joubert a.s.sures my dad. "They're all out by the pool." Hannes ushers me up the driveway, and Dad waits for my nod, giving me one last chance to back out. If I want the dream of being with Gabriel to ever become more than fantasy, I'll have to get to know his friends at some point.

Dad drives off, and Hannes takes my cooler bag, then guides me through the cluttered house toward the patio and swimming pool. I feel more like an alien standing on that patio, searching for Gabriel in a sea of unfamiliar faces, than I ever have before.

"Are you Treasa?" asks a younger girl in Afrikaans. She's in a blue bikini with a tie-dyed sarong wrapped around her waist. The family resemblance is unmistakable.

"Yes, I'm Gabriel's friend," I answer in English. "Are you Dirk's sister?"

"Ja. He's in the kitchen." She jerks her head back toward the house before slip-slopping toward a pool chair. I wait, unsure whether to navigate my way to the kitchen or find somewhere to sit outside.

"Treasa." He's standing so close, I feel his breath on the back of my shoulder. I whirl around, and Gabriel grins. He's transformed. His usually floppy hair is combed up into a mohawk and there's a big silver ring in his ear. He's wearing a Marilyn Manson T-s.h.i.+rt with the sleeves cut out over black board shorts. He's got a spike-studded armband around his left wrist, and his nails sport chipped black polish.

"Wow."

His grin widens, and he hands me a can of Creme Soda. "Is that a good wow?"

"Yes... um... no, I mean...." My gaze strays from his face to his bare biceps. "You look great."

And nothing like a rugby-playing jock or a cla.s.sical pianist, for that matter.

"You look pretty." He turns away and clenches his jaw as if he hadn't meant to say it. Maybe he just doesn't want to be caught using the word "pretty" by his friends. It doesn't matter, because something inside me melts.

We stroll out into the garden, where maybe a dozen guys and girls are hanging out on pool chairs and picnic blankets spread out in the shade on the gra.s.s. Dirk hops out of the pool and comes over to us, not caring who he drips on. He has a tiger tattoo clawing its way up his ribs.

"Don't think you've officially met Dirk." Gabriel mock-punches his friend on the shoulder.

"Nice to meet you."

"Do you know Hannah McKenzie?" Dirk asks.

"Yeah, she's in my grade."

"Nice girl." The smile on his face makes me shudder. "Huge nipples."

"I wouldn't know." And wow, has Dirk just let slip the Cullinan Diamond of gossip.

"Don't you girls compare t.i.ts in the bathroom or something?" Dirk's gaze drops to my cleavage.

"Only in p.u.b.escent male fantasies." I don't usually manage such brilliant ripostes, but this guy deserves it.

"Nice one." Gabriel smiles at me.

Dirk chuckles and whips his hair back and forth, showering all of us with pool water. "Want a drink?" he asks.

"Got, thanks." I hold up my can.

"I mean a real drink." He saunters over to a cooler box some other s.h.i.+rtless guy is using for a footstool. He shoves the feet aside amidst a chorus of four-letter words and pulls out a beer.