Thursday, August 16, 2012

Friday - Fun with Fiction! White Trash in the Snow, Chapters Twenty-Four and Twenty-Five

WHITE TRASH IN THE SNOW
 By Allison



CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR



Hanging out in the garage after school, Cristol and Sparkler were sharing weed and gossiping about classmates.
“I heard Sara Luna’s pregnant.” 
“About time, she’s been tryin’ for half a year, hasn’t she?”
“Yup, at least.”
“Who’s the father?”
“She hasn’t said.”
“Think she knows?”
“Maybe."
 Sparkler took a drag, and passed the joint to Cristol. “Your Mom hasn’t noticed yet?” –
“Nah, she’s too distracted.”
"Distracted?  How can anyone be that distracted?"
Cristol just shrugged. She had always been average size but fluctuated depending on level of activity.  She was almost thin by the end of a summer of swimming and hiking, but somewhat plump after a winter of watching television.  Her sophomore year had been kind to her; she developed  nicely, and last  June she’d been thrilled when boys commented on  a MySpace bathing suit photo she posted. "Sexy bitch” and "HOT!" were exactly the kind of responses she'd been seeking. 
Mellowed and nostalgic, she remembered the heady sense of opportunity and entitlement she'd enjoyed when wearing the skimpy suit around those boys in early summer. Good feelings swept over her, partly from picturing favorite scenes from summer, partly from inhaling.  Picturing herself in a red two-piece, she unconsciously ran her hands down her tummy, directly into a bunched up center pocket of her hoodie sweatshirt where she'd stuffed tissues to try to camouflage the size of her belly.   Suddenly, June seemed like a very long time ago.  
            "What about Field? He hasn't said anything either?" Sparkler asked. 
            “Nah. He's trying to spend as much time as possible with his girlfriend before he leaves. Brianna's at college, you know.  Left last week.  So he goes up there all the time."
             "He's probably afraid she'll find a new boyfriend when he goes away."
            "Probably. She's too good for him anyway. Minister's daughter with a loser like my brother - it never made sense to me."
             They sat and thought about Field and Brianna. 
            Cristol hadn’t fully forgiven her brother for that episode last spring. Who was he to snitch on her for using drugs?   This was her turn to do the same things he'd done and she wasn’t going to miss it. Before she knew it, she’d be old, too.  Old and a teen mom. She took the joint from Sparkler and put it to her lips.
            "So, he hasn't seen you, or hasn't noticed?"
             “He hasn’t paid any attention to me since he came back from Michigan, except to make trouble. Fuck him. Now it’s all about him getting ready to go away. Army this, boot camp that…mom and dad don’t talk about anything else. Well, not any other family stuff – they always have time for mom’s work," she said with clear resentment. "Anyhow, it's keeping mom and dad preoccupied while I figure out how to tell them."
              “I’m hungry, let’s go to McDonald’s,” Sparkler suggested. “I could go for some burgers, fries and guys."
              “Sure,” Cristol agreed.”I could go for a Big Mac and fries. Giant fries. I’m eating for two.”


Though Cristol didn’t realize it, Rachael had noticed the sweatshirt phase and chalked it up to an identity statement, thinking that maybe Cristol was trying to look like the other kids.  Most families couldn’t afford to shop like the Saplins. Neiman Marcus and other high-end stores in the city were pricey, and most Azzolla shoppers were Wal-Mart clientele.  
The other possibility Rachael considered was teenaged rebellion. That thought almost made the governor happy. If it was rebellion, it was  a quiet rebellion, lots better than the stuff Field put  them through, she thought.  At least they'd never have to force Cristol into joining the Army. 
In the end, hoodies were nothing to make into a “flippin’ big deal.” She told  Tad exactly that, and warned him against getting into anything with Cristol about her attire.  That would just be a distraction, and Rachael and Tad couldn’t afford distractions.
Tad had agreed. He never had any intention of starting something over what the kids wore. It was no concern to him.  He had his priorities.  “We’ve got to stay focused on promoting your career, no silly   distractions.  Hoodies? Why would that matter to me?”
 Cristol's clothing became an unexpected gift to Rachael in one way.  It gave her mother something to talk about to boost her  image as a concerned and involved parent. At  a birthday lunch for one of the Elite Seven, Rachael brought up Cristol’s sweatshirt phase and asked for advise.  One friend suggested maybe Cristol needed to have something in her life over which she had complete control.  "If that's what it is, it's wonderfully harmless and it sure beats other choices, like becoming bulimic or anorexic.”  The Elitist then turned the direction of the conversation toward herself, and reminded the group that her niece had been hospitalized twice for anorexia. Rachael hardly pretended to listen, she was distracted with thoughts of food, now that food had been introduced into the discussion.  
She played with her Ceasar salad and wondered if she should be worried that Cristol was plumping up.  But, no. Rachael herself had been a large girl in High School. Thick thighs  helped her compete in track meets and intimidate smaller girls on the basketball court.   Even in her Miss Azzolla days she carried extra weight. Cristol probably was beginning to show a hereditary tendency toward a solid build. That was all, wasn't it? That, and the need to control something were conspiring together to put a few extra pounds on her.  It was annoying for Rachael, but nothing to lose sleep over.
After that, whenever Cristol’s intentionally sloppy attire began to irritate Rachael, she reminded herself that Cristol had found two relatively harmless  ways  to deal with her teenage issues. Some day soon she would reject baggy sweatshirts and want to get her weight under control. She just needed time.  These thoughts allowed Rachael to stop worrying and be thankful.
Tad and I are lucky. Some kids give their parents much more to worry about.

CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIVE

“… and, Cristol, don’t wear that dress you wore for the Christmas picture, that brown thing wasn’t flattering on you.  When did it get so tight?  Put on that sweater I picked up for you last week in New Orleans. The color looks great on you, and the paper might run the pictures in color."
As always, Rachael told  each family member what to wear to be photographed for publicity shots. This time a reporter was coming to the house, and Rachael wanted  the “just normal folks” look. Cristol had tried to convince her mom that one of her hoodies would be appropriate (the hooded sweatshirts with the front pockets -her everyday wear for a couple weeks now) but that hadn’t worked. She dug into the back of the closet and found the new sweater in a heap of discarded tops– right where she threw it after trying it on the afternoon her mom gave it to her.
The soft sea-foam green was her favorite color, and normally a size medium fit well. But she wasn’t her normal size any more. She tugged the V-neck sweater over her head and pushed her arms through the long sleeves. One look in the mirror confirmed her fears. Her boobs stretched it out above, while her tummy challenged the side stitching at the waist, more than hinting at her condition.  Maybe, with a t-shirt underneath, it would look layered. Layered stuff gets tight sometimes, right?
“Cristol! Get down here!”
“Coming!”
She hastened to remove the sweater, put on a white t-shirt, and get back into the sweater before her mother came up to see what was going on.  It seemed a miracle that neither her Mom nor Dad had yet  said anything about what, to her, were obvious changes in her body - clothes getting snugger and snugger.
Today could be the day.  Okay, if this is what brings it on, so be it.
“Cristol, get down here RIGHT NOW!”
Cristol stuck her tongue out; it was a natural reaction. Impudence, even unobserved, made life more bearable.
She posed one last time in front of the full-length mirror. It was no use.  There was no way to stand, pose, or position her hands  that would hide her baby bump. The best she’d come up with was to clasp her hands low in front – definitely not up high, that really accentuated the protrusion. Letting them hang down loosely at her sides wasn’t any good, either. And, besides, that felt awkward. No, she would have to lightly clasp them under the curve and pray that God would somehow make this bump invisible to the camera.
 Broadcasting her bad attitude by clumping down the stairs, Cristol resentfully joined the rest of the family gathered in the kitchen.  Tad was combing snarls out of Pride’s hair and she was whining. Rachael was re-applying lipstick. Maple was eating cold Kraft macaroni and cheese.
Cristol’s phone notified her of an incoming text.  It was from Wrangler.
 “ luv  u  &  r   secrit  2 ”  
“He’s here!” Rachael announced.  "Tad, stop doing that. Pride looks fine. Come with me, we should open the door together."
Cristol quickly  texted “U 2” and stuffed the phone into her back pocket.  Okay, she told herself. I can do this.

He was quick and professional. Twenty minutes after introductions, the shoot was almost done. The digital camera had already stored 30-40 variations on the same theme: The Saplin family is wholesome and happy.  The bucolic setting of the lake at sunset was too good to pass up and all the pictures had been taken outside, some on the lawn and some at the airplane dock.  Everyone had worn jackets, and Cristol was sending mental thank-yous to Jesus when the photographer said, “Let’s take a few more inside.”
In the kitchen, he grouped them in front of the picture windows, still using the lake as a backdrop even though it was getting dark.  Pride positioned herself front and center, but he asked her to move to her left, which put her front of Cristol. 
Thank you, Jesus.  Tense, but surviving, Cristol held her breath.
"Beautiful. Look right here. Hold it..” The camera whirred and clicked in rapid succession, indicating three shots taken.
Cristol smiled. This hadn't been so bad after all.
Then, something inspired the reporter to move Pride slightly toward Maple, leaving Cristol completely exposed.  “Okay, everyone, this is it. Look right here.”  He held a finger in the air, then snapped four more shots. 
“Thank you all. I really appreciate all the time you’ve given me. I’m sure there are some great shots here. Thank you, Governor Saplin. Thank you, Tad. This was very generous of all of you.  You have a lovely home and a lovely family.”
“Of course, our pleasure, and be sure to mention in the story that I’m getting national attention and Newsweek and Vogue are both gonna interview me –“
“Of course, Governor, I’ll work that in. Thank you again, and good night.”  It was over! Cristol made a straight line for the stairs and closed herself in her room.  She had promised Wrangler a call as soon as the photographer left, unless, of course her parents had something they wanted to talk to her about. 
“Hi Babe!” Her bright greeting told him what he needed to know. The baby was still their secret. He was relieved, and yet, he wasn't.  Deep inside, he hoped he would never have to have a formal sit down with Mr. and Mrs. S.   If they discovered it themselves,  while he wasn't over there, it would be so much better - 
"Isn't that funny?"  she asked.
"Yeah, Babe. Sure."  He had no idea what he'd missed.  Nevertheless, he got away with it, and she kept on babbling. He made himself actually listen while she told him about being able to wear a coat for some of the pictures, and how Pride stood in front of her in others.
“Only at the very end did I have to worry. That' s where my bump was probably noticeable, but he won’t want those pictures.  I made sure of that.   I didn’t smile and, you know how it is - they only like smiley pictures. And, besides,  we were all worn out. Everyone else must have looked pretty tired by then, too.  That's bad in photos.  My mom always has a fit if they print pictures that aren't flattering.  They know not to do that. They wouldn't dare. My dad would call them up and..."
Is she ever going to shut up? Wrangler wondered.
Finally, she said,  "So, anyway it’s all good. How was hockey practice?”
Wrangler bragged a bit,  and then they talked about another  couple they'd seen publicly and viciously arguing in the cafeteria at lunch time resulting in the breakup of a long-term relationship. “I can't believe they broke up after all these months.  I would never break up with you, Wrangler,” Cristol promised. “You are perfect for me. And I know you are going to be the best daddy ever. What we are going through right now – all this, umm...this stuff ?  I just know it will help us stay a strong couple forever.  You know what I mean?"
Wrangler understood exactly what she was saying. They had something good.  Even if there was a baby on the way, that was just a bonus. 
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Nothing’s ever gonna break us up.”  
Later that evening, the photographer selected the photo to accompany the story about Governor Saplin and her lovely family.  Her lovely, smiling family. Something drew him back more than once to the final picture of the group.  The oldest girl wasn't smiling, but it was a great shot in composition and lighting, and there was drama in the darkness of the sky and lake beyond the window.  He studied the  look on the teenage girl sensing something deep going on, something much more interesting than a smile could ever be. 
When he submitted his work to his editor, he made his pitch for the picture he liked best – the very last one. “Sunsets and lakes are great if you don’t have interesting subject matter, ” he said, “But look at this one. See it? The  teenager with serious eyes juxtaposed against the carefree smiles on the younger girls; the parents kind of above it all. I tell you, there’s something intriguing there.”  
The editor agreed and the article was scheduled for the Sunday magazine section.    

 * * * * * * * 
Thank you for being here, friends.  If you've missed any previous chapters, there are links provided below.  Have a wonderful Friday.
Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. It is an original work, written by Allison, and published for the first time on the blog The Palin Place. 
All rights reserved.
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Thursday, August 9, 2012

WHITE TRASH IN THE SNOW (The pregnancy test) Chapters Twenty- Two and Twenty - Three

      WHITE TRASH IN THE SNOW


A novel by Allison published at ThePalinPlace.blogspot.com





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

 
Tuesday morning, Cristol woke up forty-five minutes before her  alarm was to go off. She had to pee.  It was yet another sign, but she clung to denial.   I’m the Governor’s daughter.  I can’t be pregnant. That can’t happen to me.

Getting back in bed, she pulled the covers over her head.  Her mind wouldn’t settle down. She tossed, she punched her pillow, she groaned.  Stop worrying, she told herself. She’d missed periods before, and every time it turned out to be her irregular cycle playing a cruel joke. Even before she’d started having sex it was always a guessing game whether or not her period would come four weeks after the previous one. She envied the girls who could count twenty-eight days between each period. Even more, she envied the girls who were on the pill because they were regular and they knew they weren’t pregnant.  

Cristol once asked her mother about using the pill to get her menstrual cycle into a normal 28 -day rhythm. She might as well have said she’d joined ranks with the world’s oldest profession. Her mother started screaming and accusing. “Fornication is a sin! Fornication is a sin!”

Of course Cristol vehemently denied being sexually active, and launched into a tirade against her mother’s hypocrisy. “Really Mom? You want to talk about saving it for marriage? No one believes being poor made you pass up a church wedding. And Field was a seven pound preemie? Gimme a break. You know, I might be flunking geometry, but I can count. Field was born seven and a half months after you and dad got married and he was no preemie.” She might have gotten away with all of that, but, she got grounded for a week with the statement “Only a retard would believe you were a virgin when you got married. I bet you weren’t even a virgin when you were my age!” It was ugly. She knew she deserved more than the  grounding she got as a punishment. Especially since her parents went out of town and she threw a weekend party while staying home “grounded.”

Those simple problems seemed like nothing now; now that she might be pregnant.  She was tired all the time, wasn’t that a symptom?  Sparkler said it might be from a  lack of vitamin D because the summer days were already getting shorter. Or, she said, maybe it was because she was having a growing spurt, as evidenced by the awesome fact that she’d grown these huge boobs. Wasn’t that evidence that she was going through a normal metamorphosis from girl to woman?

Cristol hadn’t been able to find words to exactly describe to Sparkler, or even to herself,  what she felt.  Now that she lay awake, she concentrated on doing just that. She tried to  look  inside herself and figure out what was really happening. In her head there swirled a mix of fear, denial, and doubt.  That was easy enough to identify. But what was in her heart?  She lay quietly and pondered the question. Then she knew. She knew! In her heart she felt a stirring of love for the potential life that shared a small warm spot somewhere below her belly button.   She smiled. It was confusing.

Maybe it’s time to buy an early pregnancy test.  Maybe I should wait one more day, I’d hate to waste thirty bucks and get my period tomorrow. That would be just my luck.

The price of the test kit  made the free testing given at the Birthright clinic very tempting. But, at Birthright, they make you talk to a counselor who describes fetal development.  Then they give information about  abortion - in detail, covering all the possible complications.  As a Christian, Cristol had always thought that was a good thing – making girls learn the truth about the “choice” before they decided to take a life. Yes, a human life. That was what Cristol believed and that belief was exactly why she didn’t think she should have to sit through a movie and a counseling session at Birthright.

She’d been to church on two or three “Pro-Life Sundays.”  Those were days when an extra collection was taken up for the local Birthright clinic and the pastor introduced the clinic director and he and the deacons prayed over her.  The clinic director was, of course,  asked to share a few words, and the script always included phrases like “Life begins at conception” and “Abortion stops a beating heart.”  Today, those phrases held more meaning for Cristol than they had on those Sundays at church. 

If I go to the clinic, they don’t need to hassle me with that stuff, I’ve heard it a gazillion times.  Girls like me should just get to do the free pee test and get the results.

Even though her condition was uncertain, she was certain about one thing - she knew she was better than a lot of other girls who went to the clinic. Cristol Saplin was not the type of girl who would choose to have an abortion. “I’m not one of them,” she said out loud.

The other problem with the über Christian clinic was the risk of being seen by member of her own church who worked or volunteered there. If one of them called her mother, it wouldn’t matter how the test came out. Just like Field, she’d be sent away. Maybe Dr. Krebs has friends in Siberia. Gee, if I had a baby and got sent to Siberia, I’d have to keep him bundled up all the time. What fun would that be? Putting your baby in cute outfits  is one of the fun things about being a cool mom.

Allowing herself to wallow in the distraction, she imagined holding a soft, cooing bundle of joy that smelled powdery sweet. The details were blurred around the edges and everything was pastel-pretty, secure, loving and peaceful. Being pregnant would be a blessing. It would be awesome. God’s plan for my life. Mom says nothing is a coincidence, so…yup, if I’m pregnant it’s  definitely God’s doing.

The conclusion that a pregnancy was an act of God freed her from blame and responsibility.  She embraced it. If God wants me to have a baby, I will.  Every baby is  a gift from God.”  She caught a glimpse of her smiling self in her dresser mirror. Why, I think I’m glowing. I’m prettier than Maple! Being a teen mom can be God’s will. I mean, really, it’s like, what he chose for his own son.

She liked these thoughts. They felt good. If God let his own son have a teen mom, it’s good enough for my kid, too.  Besides, God will help me be the best mother ever. Well, the second best mother ever, otherwise I would have lived two thousand years ago.

She laughed softly at her own cleverness. A weight had been lifted. She was optimistic, even thrilled about prospects of settling into domestic bliss with her boyfriend and a baby. Wrangler will be a great dad. I hope I really am pregnant!  How awesome that would be!

Her cozy vision was pushed aside rudely when she remembered the way her mother looked when she carried Pride. Good grief! She’d been as big as a moose, and waddled like a penguin. Would Wrangler still love her when she got that fat?

 There have been lots of pregnant girls in school, and I haven’t seen any who  got as big as Mom was. Is that kind of thing inherited? The  thought that she could be predisposed to look like that was a frightening thought. For once, she was happy that she had Grandfather Heat’s horsey features rather than looking like her mother. Her mom and Maple looked more like Grandma Betty, and only Pride looked anything like Tad’s side of the family. Ha! Maple may be pretty now, but someday when she gets pregnant, she’ll look like a pig. I’m lucky after all.  I’m not anything like Mom.

Visions of Rachael’s pregnancy with Pride paraded before Cristol. So many times, Rachael had rubbed her big belly saying, “There’s no hiding it, like a balloon that’s been blown up before, it’s just poppin’ right out.” It was typical of Rachael, enjoying being a big presence in any room. But this particular memory took Cristol into a dark place with the recollection of her mom saying that in front of some of friends of Cristol’s and Field’s. On the day this happened, Sparkler was among those hanging out at the Saplins.

The problem began innocently when Tad said, “Girls, that right there,” pointing to his wife’s belly, “is why you don’t want to swallow watermelon seeds.”  All the kids were too old to believe that, but, being kids, they laughed.

Rachael laughed, too, and responded cleverly,“Pay no attention to him. He’s kiddin’ ya. Only seeds in me are from him.” It was a bit risqué, but either the girls were old enough to understand and laugh, or they were too young catch on. Either way, there was no harm done.

Tad followed up quickly. “Time will tell,” he said, and winked.

“What’s that mean, Tad? That makes no sense.” Rachael was no longer laughing.

“Just sayin’ it’d better look like me!” His eyes twinkled. He had missed the danger signals.

“What?  Are you…is that..” Rachael sputtered.

Her loss of words made Tad laugh all the more.“C’mon Rachael. If anyone understands what that means, it’s you.  Don’t get  mad at me, get mad at-”

“Shut up!” As soon as the words were out, her eyes cut toward the girls. She repeated the demand, adding a coating of loathing. “Shut your big mouth.”

“Oh, please. Nobody ever believed that old story, anyway.” Tad was on a roll. “With Field you got so big, you broke the springs in the car. Told everyone you were – ha - - only six months! Everyone expected you to pop out a set of triplets.”

That was when Cristol learned a family secret. Mom was pregnant before they got married! That night, and for many days and nights thereafter, Cristol pieced together the tell-tale signs she’d missed. It became clear; so clear she chastised herself for having missed it. Her mom loved attention, loved to tell stories about herself, and loved to glamorized and embellish, while pretending to be humble. Cristol, Field and Maple had grown up hearing bedtime stories about Rachael.  The one where their mother was co-captain of the high school basketball team and lead them to the State Championship had been Field’s favorite. Cristol and Maple were inspired by the beauty pageant tales and spent afternoons play acting with their mom’s Miss Azzolla crown and her ribbons from statewide competition. Even Field liked that story when his mom got to the part where “Mommy loses to an Affirmative Action contestant.” That was the cue for the children to boo and hiss, and throw pillows at each other. Cristol didn’t know what Affirmative Action meant, but she understood was something bad.

Rachael had favorite stories, too. The ones she liked best went back into Junior High years when she began courting popularity. With six other girls, she formed a club, the CAMPs – Cutest And Most Popular.  Buck Heat liked the team spirit and camaraderie he saw in his daughter and her group of friends.  He told them they should have uniforms, and he bought them matching t-shirts in bright pink. They spent a Saturday afternoon decorating the shirts, but they didn’t say CAMP, they said “WBTY.”  On the following Monday, they all wore their uniforms, and it didn’t take long for other girls to begin asking what it the four letters meant.

“We’re better than you!” The trap snapped shut on the prey. So satisfying. What Buck had meant to serve as uniforms had become gang member attire. Girls can cut their perceived enemies as deeply with words as any gang member using a switchblade, and the scars remain long after the initial pain subsides.

Even as an adult, Rachael was a regular member of a women’s group who called themselves “The Elite Seven.” They met for birthdays and told each other they were special. It was a pathological need.

Add it all up, and there was no doubt Field was a bun in the oven when Rachael and Tad  “eloped to save her parents the cost of a wedding.”  Most of the time, Tad went along with any history changing story his wife concocted. He’d been interviewed a few months ago for a story about the country’s five first guys – husbands of governors – and he used the old story, the same old spin.  "We didn’t have any money because it had been a bad fishing year. It only cost thirty five bucks to get hitched at the courthouse, so that’s what we did. "

The lie was saccharin-sweet. Fake sugar. Couldn’t anyone else see that her parent’s elopement was not based on frugality? Frugality doesn’t explain the story. Frugality isn’t a reason for not having your sister stand up with you at your nuptials. Frugality was the replacement for the real reason Rachael Heat and Tad Saplin eloped. A baby on the way was the real sweetener in that pot. 

Cristol thought her parents should have simply gotten married after high school. It would have made sense.  She and Wrangler were going to do that.. When you are in love, even two years seems like forever. Summer, 2009, right after graduation, she would be Mrs. Wrangler Strauss, Cristol Strauss, or maybe Cristol Saplin-Strauss.  She could make that decision later.

Happy thoughts were obliterated by the  alarm emiting annoying electronic beeps.  Rudely, reality returned.  Cristol threw off the covers and headed for the bathroom again.




 
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The calculations Cristol worked on in math class had no relationship to the test being given. The only test the governor’s daughter cared about that day was one that she’d be taking that afternoon; one with a very specific pre-requisite – she needed to be seated on a commode.

While her classmates fiercely worked algebra problems, Cristol counted on her finger. “June 14 -  Aug 25 = 9 weeks.” Yup, nine weeks since her last period.  This was a record, even for her. Sometimes late, sometimes early, sometimes skipping a month all together, Cristol had to face the fact that it had never been nine weeks without unwrapping a tampon. Nope, not nine weeks.

The night before, when she should have been studying for the test, she trolled internet sites reading about menstruation, irregular cycles, ovulation, and pregnancy. She learned that a woman could be pregnant and still have “a light discharge” which could be mistaken for menstruation. Her last period had been very light.  At the time, she had thought herself lucky that she wasn’t pregnant from the Memorial Day weekend when she and Wrangler had the house to themselves for almost three days, and lucky that she didn’t have cramps,  and lucky not to have three, four or even five days of being one of the twenty-five percent of post-puberty / pre-menopause females that on any given day, any day of any week, are seeking out a bathroom every few hours. 

 But now… lucky? Maybe not.

At least it would be Wrangler’s baby, almost for certain. She wanted to have kids with Wrangler some day, so if the countdown to someday had already started, so be it. She was mature. She’d done lots of babysitting for her sister and young cousins. She would be a great mom. And Wrangler would make a good dad.

“Tonight’s assignment is –“ the teacher was talking to the class, but not reaching Cristol, who  looked around the classroom, picturing what the rest of this school year would be like for her if …

She wouldn’t be the first in this year’s junior class to have a baby bump, other girls were already wearing sweatshirts and big tops and being excused in the middle of the day to go to their prenatal checkups. Already, Cristol was wearing loose clothing, trying to hide her water weight waist. If it were true, she would only tell her closest friends and swear them to secrecy.  But, this was all conjecture. She needed to do some more research, and she needed to get an early pregnancy test asap.

The bell rang and she grabbed her things from the  floor by her chair. She checked her purse for the fifth time that morning, confirming the money was there. Wrangler had given her twenty of it.  Sparkler would be waiting by the door to the next class, the only one they shared.  The plan formulated on the way to school that morning was that Sparkler would say she didn’t feel well and skip class, leave the building, and go buy the home pregnancy test. kit.

Sparkler returned with the EPT most popular among the girls at AHS.   Everyone knew how to read the results, thanks to two lines some poetic vandal scratched onto the back door  of every restroom stall – or at least every stall in the girl’s restrooms. “If it’s an  O then it’s a no, If it’s an X, get excited."

Sparkler was anxious.  “Right now. Come on! I really want to know if my BFF is having a baby!”

But Cristol had no intention of dealing with the news, one way or the other, in school.  School was a place where she might run into Grandpa Heat!

Sparkler walked home with Cristol , but she couldn’t convince her BFF to let her come in.   Cristol watched out the sidelights of the front door until her friend was out of sight, then she went to the upstairs bathroom. The one she shared with Maple.
Counting the seconds helped her stay composed while she stared at the wet stick; …eleven, twelve, thirteen…something was happening…twenty one, twenty two…she stared at the blue X.  It was definitely a blue X. 

Her mind went numb. No thoughts. The silence in her head was like that deep quiet of a frozen lake at midnight – cold, dim, silent, and peaceful. Underneath the frozen surface of her consciousness, lethargic thoughts of unseen life existed without attention.

Cristol shook her head, snapping herself back from mental and emotional suspension.  She took a deep breath, exhaled, and looked into the mirror.  The eyes of the girl looking back were brown, soft, non-judgmental, scared, and sympathetic.  She watched as those eyes went through a series of rapid changes.  First, the furrowing of eyebrows accompanied panic, dismay, bewilderment.  Then becoming wide, her eyes popped above deepening crimson cheeks and pursed lips.  That face stared back at Cristol for two minutes, then, suddenly, tears spilled out over her dark lashes and ran down her face.  She looked away and sat down  on the edge of the Jacuzzi tub.  She didn’t fight the tears, or even wipe them away, but instead, allowed herself the rare occasion of an unrestricted emotional reaction. No one was home, no one would hear her sobs.

She was glad she was alone.  Alone was normal, and  she needed something to be normal while she dealt with the stick that said life as she knew it was over. 


********
Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. It is an original work, written by Allison, and published for the first time on the blog The Palin Place. 

All rights reserved.
PREVIOUSLY PUBLISHED CHAPTERS:


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Friday, August 3, 2012

Chapters Nineteen and Twenty WHITE TRASH IN THE SNOW

Even though this chapter includes one of Bristol Palin's go-to words,  "puke,"  readers should not confuse the character Cristol Saplin for the Palin family princess. This is fiction. Any similarity is coincidence.  But you already knew that, so read, enjoy, have a great weekend.

White Trash in the Snow
by Allison

CHAPTER TWENTY
Pulling away from the porcelain, Cristol thought about staying home from school. She washed her face while she imagined the consequences of her options. It was mid-August and school started only two days ago; most teachers were still reviewing old material to see how much had been retained over the summer. She wouldn’t miss anything important in the classroom, but -
Another wave of nausea rose and fell. Shit! She couldn’t think about school. It was a day to puke and go back to bed until she had to puke again. If she felt better by noon, she would get up, and add some more music to her iPod, then watch TV and eat ice cream. (Lately she’d been seeing more of Ben and Jerry than Wrangler.) Maybe she would do the homework she didn’t do last night. And maybe not.
Shit! The reality of staying home came on as suddenly as the nausea.. If she skipped school today, Sparkler’s cousin, Jennilee Jones would be free to upsize her daily flirtations with Wrangler. It was no secret that the tall blonde cheerleader was competition for Cristol and would stop at nothing to win the attention of the boy she called “the dark haired hunk.” Wrangler couldn’t be trusted, either. If Cristol were not in school today, what would stop Wrangler from going home with Jennilee?.
Jennilee was Porsche’s best friend and spent a good deal of time at the Strauss house where Wrangler’s mom pretty much let the kids be kids. They went there if they skipped school. They had no curfew, and anyone was welcome to spend the night. Cristol had even stayed overnight. Porsche’s MySpace was littered with pictures of good times with her best friends. Dozens of pictures posted this summer showed Porsche with Jennilee, an assortment of friends and an assortment of booze. Cristol didn’t let Porsche take pictures of her for that very reason. They would end up on MySpace.
Wrangler didn’t do MySpace, and like Cristol, he didn’t like his picture taken. But once in a while he relented, or his sister caught him in the background.  It totally pissed off Cristol whenever Porsche posted photos of herself and her friends drinking with Wrangler.  It always made Cristol suspicious that Wrangler wasn’t being faithful. Everyone – Wrangler, Porsche, Sparkler, and all their friends – knew Cristol’s reactions, yet Porsche flatly refused to remove any of them, and added to the online collection as often as she could. Sparkler suspected Porsche and Jennilee wanted to bait Cristol into a fight with Wrangler over the pictures, and warned Cristol not to take the bait. They both knew that when it came down to it, Wrangler would defend Porsche’s right to have pictures on her MySpace, and a fight would work out to be an advantage for Jennilee.  It wasn’t rocket science. Everybody knew that.
Only yesterday, Sparkler had offered a solution. “I’ll pick a fight with Jennilee. I’ll beat her up for you. I’ll break her pretty little nose. Wrangler won’t look at her after that.” 
The idea sent Cristol into a gale of giggles, but she couldn’t agree.  “You can’t do it,” she said.  “It would backfire somehow.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“I know I’m right.  Wrangler would end up giving her sympathy.”
“Strauss style sympathy – the kind where underwear is optional.”
Cr istol giggled. Sparkler was right. That would be just like Wrangler.
The memory of that line of Sparkler’s pushed Cristol to get moving. She washed her face again, brushed her teeth, picked up yesterday’s jeans from the floor, and dragged herself to the closet to pick out a comfy hoody.  Thirty minutes later she was outside Azzolla High, the scanning crowd of mingling students.
Where is Wrangler? He better not have skipped today. If I got here, he better have….  She spotted him over by the edge of the parking lot with Dan and Carver.   They were laughing and hadn’t yet spotted her, but she overheard part of their conversation. “…and she’s really toned,”  Wrangler was saying.
“Who’s really toned? Jennilee? Oh, wait, you’re talking about Lannie!”
“Oh, uh, hi Cristol,” Wrangler stuttered. He didn’t look her in the eye.
It didn’t matter what he said. It wasn’t a question as much as it was an accusation. Texts and calls had come in on Saturday night telling her that Wrangler had been flirting with Lannie Rias Saturday afternoon in Walmart.  He’d told Cristol he couldn’t help babysit Pride because his mom wanted to pick out some school clothes for him and his sister. It had sounded like something Wrangler’s mom would want to do, so Cristol hadn’t made a big deal out of it. Not until the first text came in while she was home eating ice cream and watching some lame rented movie  her dad had forgotten to return.
Lannie and Cristol used to be best friends and it was Lannie who, late in seventh grade, had first noticed how cute Wrangler had become. Lannie and Wrangler had dated, things had gotten serious, and Lannie had openly shared with Cristol and Sparkler the intimate details.Though Lannie had been his most steady relationship, Wrangler “went with” several girls at one time in eighth and ninth grades. He liked to say he was just “a good ‘ole boy and couldn’t be tied down.” 
Maybe it was jealous rivalry, maybe it was hormone-driven attraction, but whatever it was, girls had been vying for Wrangler’s heart and parts for a long time now. It was stiff competition. Cristol hadn’t even been a runner up through those Middle School years. It wasn’t until late May, when she returned home for the summer, that Cristol began to triumph. Finally, she was on top and now, she was scared to death of losing him.
The two of them had lost some friends over their hook up.  People took sides when she broke up with JJ after she’d been with Wrangler behind his back, and of course they both lost JJ’s friendship.It embarrassed her to remember how possessive she had been of her former boyfriend. Paranoid that he would cheat on her while she was far away, she had behaved like a controlling bitch, sending at least thirty text messages a day to interrupt any wayward thoughts or actions, stalking MySpace for postings or pictures to suggest that he’d been with other girls, and freaking out if he didn’t call every night. The kid put up with a lot, only to have his girl make it with one of his friends as soon as she returned for the summer.
Lannie had still, technically, been Wrangler’s girlfriend when Cristol first had sex with him. It made Cristol fearful that karma was going to get her. If he left Lannie – “toned Lannie” - for her, then what would keep him faithful to Cristol now?  Nothing except keeping an eye on him, which was why Cristol fought the battle to stay in Azzolla for the school year. Her mother had been right. It really was about Wrangler Strauss.
All the  thoughts that flashed through her head reinforced the strong suspicion that it was Lannie’s toned structure making these guys almost giddy on a Monday morning. I hate Lannie. She and her obsession with dance. I’d be thin, too, if I had dance lessons twice a week. Real dancing has to be a lot harder than basketball. She’s in great shape.
Gradually, over the summer, Cristol had gotten  chubby. Last week Maple said loudly, while they were with a group of cousins, “Hey sis, you’re getting’ to be a real  porker!” Cristol tried to give her a punch in the arm, but Maple was expecting it and stepped back. The fist whiffed through the air along with Cristol’s words. “Shut up! It’s just water weight.”
Since then, Maple had been calling her “Water-Weight.” Maple was good at being rude.
This morning, what Cristol assumed was water weight was bulging around her middle. Her new jeans were already too tight. Why can’t I get regular periods? Why do I have to be one of those girls the doctor talked about. One with an irregular period.. She said it takes some girls four or five years before it straightens out. What if I’m one of those that doesn’t get regular until I have a baby. I need to have a baby so my periods will become regular Ha! Like mom would buy that story! She was momentarily amused. But her next thoughts weren’t funny at all.
Maybe it wasn’t water weight. She had to admit, she’d been eating a lot of junk food.  If she could just fight her craving for “Moose Tracks” she was sure she could be in shape for the school’s Fall Formal. It was one of the big events of the year. It wasn’t the dancing she looked forward to, no, not at all. (Even with music playing, she moved like a refrigerator). She was looking forward to shopping for a sexy dress and going to the parties afterward. It would be a drink-till-you-pass-out night when parents didn’t expect you to come home until morning. There was no way she’d miss it. Damn, I’ve got to start a diet today.
Wrangler had turned back to his friends, which annoyed Cristol all the more. She was wasn’t done making him pay for his flirtations. Touching Wrangler’s arm, she gave him a snide smile “Toned - is that what they call it now?”  Carver and Dan snickered. Wrangler reddened. Cristol pulled Wrangler by the hand and he broke from the group. Side by side, they walked into school.  
“So, who’s toned?”
“What?”
“You were saying, ‘she’s toned’.  Who?”
“Yeah, ummm,  I was just…” he stammered.
“Just what?” she demanded, coming to a standstill in the center of a hall and forcing other kids to flow around them.
“Just saying that Lannie is toned.  So what?”
“So, why? ”
“Why what?”
She raised her voice. “Why were you talking about Lannie? What’s going on Wrangler? You’ve been  hanging out with that bitch again, haven’t you? ”  He saw that familiar look - eyes narrow and jaw clenched. He hated when she did that, it was so like Mrs. S.Oh, God, he thought, Dad warned me.
“What are you getting all pissed off about?” he said. “Sheeesh, Cristol, loosen up the leash!”
Wrangler turned and walked angrily back outside.
Cristol felt tears welling up in her eyes. She hurried to her locker, opened it and squatted down, letting her long hair hide her face while she pretended to sort through books and papers. If he wants to go back to Lannie, why should I care? She deserves him. I deserve better.
The tears came faster. What’s the matter with me? I’ve never been the crying type.
It was true. In public, she could remain stoic through anything, a skill she’d developed young and used often.
Stop it! Cristol. Stop being such a baby!  She scolded herself. She stood up, straightened her shoulders, and slammed her locker. Turning around, she saw Lannie and Jennilee walking in with Dan, Carver, and Wrangler.
She slipped into the girl’s room, locked herself in a stall, and threw up.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Because her Mom was  a political figure and the whole Saplin family lived in the spotlight, Cristol could deal with strangers calling out to her by name, people wanting to take pictures of her  and reporters asking inane questions, all without a trace of emotion; she simply didn’t invest in trying to respond. She might give a polite smile, but that was as good as it got. Even last year on election night, she hadn’t been happy. In fact, Cristol hated that night.  She tried to act happy, but she was a terrible actress, so she fell back on her standard, blank stare..
A picture of Cristol, Maple,  Pride, and their father had been snapped by a reporter a few minutes after  the announcement was made that Rachael Saplin would be the next governor.  Amidst Saplin supporters in a crowed auditorium, Pride is perched on her dad’s shoulders, the older girls next to them. Everyone in the crowd is exuberant - cheering and waving flags. Everyone, that is, except the Governor-elect’s just-turned- sixteen-year old daughter.  The camera captured her gut reaction - shock and pain. When she sees the photo – framed in her mother’s office – she remembers how the shock made her ears buzz, the pain felt like a punch in the stomach. Every time she is in her mother’s office, Cristol moves the picture so that it is out of sight behind a large one of her mother’s swearing in ceremony. Someone – maybe her mother – always restores it to its place afterward.
What mystifies Cristol is the fact that no one has ever asked her about it. Her mom and dad both think it’s a cute picture of Pride. Her grandparents Heat said the same and put a copy on their wall of family pictures. Maple liked the picture because she thought it made her look older than her age.  Cristol expected to be asked about her clear discomfort, but no one ever has. She’s thought about that and come to an understanding: Either no one noticed or no one cared. Aren’t they really the same thing?
Rachael Saplin had decided to run for governor without consulting her children. She’d learned that lesson when Field refused to move to Washington, DC.  Nothing was going to stop her ever again.
Rachael knew what they would have said, anyway. She knew the three oldest ones didn’t want her to run the state. They didn’t care what she did, they just cared what it did to them. And they didn’t want to be at public appearances all over the state.
And so, not quite two years ago, Rachael had invited twenty friends and supporters over to the house on Cristol’s fifteenth birthday and made the official announcement that she was running. After the cheering and toasting, Rachael said “Let’s all sing “Happy Birthday to Cristol and have some cake.”  If she thought that would make Cristol feel better about the whole thing, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
Crying into her pillow that night, Cristol resented being used (again) and disrespected  (again) by her mother. Messing with her birthday was a new low. During the following twelve months, campaigning strategies and events got more attention than any subsequent family birthday, anniversary, or family tradition. The family suffered from emotional neglect, and the symptoms cropped up in all seasons. Cristol’s school work suffered, Maple had her first cigarette and beer and Field found new ways to abuse his parent’s trust and his own body.
Then, last year, when Cristol turned sixteen, she was glad the year of campaign obligation was almost over. Expecting, hoping, and praying that her mom would lose the upcoming election, she looked forward to the best year in her whole life. “Happy birthday, Cristol” said Grandma Heat as she carried in the cake. Tad and Rachael were late coming home from last minute campaigning, and the Heats had come over with cake and ice cream so that Cristol’s day wouldn’t pass without at least a small party. “Make a wish and blow out the candles,” Betty urged.
Cristol, closed her eyes and made her one official wish: that her mom would take time off from politics and stay home for at least a year. She blew them all out. Yes! I get my wish, she told herself, grasping at silly superstition because it felt good.
“Wait! Look! What’s happening?” asked Pride. The candles were re-igniting.
“Trick candles!” said Maple. She’d seen them before and guessed right away who was behind it. “Grandpa!”.
 Grandpa Heat thought he’d played a great joke. “But Grandpa,” said Pride, “now Cristol’s wish won’t come true.”
 A week later, the dried out remains of birthday cake sat forgotten in the Saplin’s kitchen in Azzolla, while the beaming new governor was shown around one of her satellite offices two hundred miles away.
***************************************************************



Previous  chapters of this work of fiction can be accessed through the links below.  Any similarity to actual persons or places is coincidental. All rights reserved.


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