Perfectly Ridiculous Page 8

  Never heard from Max, but here’s the really amazing part: I don’t care. I’m not even faking it. Being with J.C., who is nothing more than a friend, made me think I always felt terrible when Max left. Even if we’d had this really great time together, I always felt slightly lower when he left. Like I didn’t know what to expect the next time. I think in the future I’m going to search out more stable personalities. Like Claire. I mean, she may be perpetually crazy, but the fact is, you can always count on that.

  Maybe working for my playboy boss all those years taught me some bad habits. There’s nothing wrong with a drama-free existence. Let’s face it, Claire provides more drama than anyone needs in life, so I need more of that like I need another guy on this mission trip who looks like a telenovela star.

  I think my stomach will be in a perpetual knot until I get out of Libby’s presence. If it’s possible, I feel like she just resonates this nervous energy that makes me want to jump out of my skin. It makes me long for my toilet-paper-strewn bedroom and the strictness that I understand and—let’s face it—that makes more sense. My parents being freaked out because Claire might take us on a wild goose chase in her Mustang is reasonable. Believing every guy currently residing in Argentina is hot for me—not so much.

  Even though this is not quite a travel journal and more a place where I spill my pathetic life secrets, I’ve come to understand that flying across the world has not changed who I am. In fact, it’s only made me feel more invisible, as if I can be cast off by Libby Bramer as easily as an old winter coat.

  But that’s my choice, I figure. I’m not going to let a woman like her make me feel bad. She’s miserable by nature. I can’t fix that, and truthfully, I don’t even want to try. I just want to do what J.C. says and get out of here as soon as possible with my paperwork signed.

  I think I need to reframe my life. Maybe I only see the negative because I focus on it, and seeing that personality in an adult like Libby makes me want to never say anything remotely depressing again! How can anything look good to someone who sees everything through dark-colored glasses?

  Maybe if I had more Pollyanna attributes, the world would look prettier. It’s worth a try. Right, God? God, are you up there? Since I’m in the southern hemisphere, can you hear me better or worse? The Bible says I do not have because I do not ask. Well, I’m asking, Lord. I want to finish this mission trip well and get my full scholarship, so if you could see it in your heart to put a bug in Claire’s ear that this would mean the world to me, I’d be so grateful!

  In the late afternoon, we had taken our orders and eaten the slop I made for lunch. It was officially known as chili, but with the absence of meat and beans, it came off as more of a spicy, runny soup. Yum!

  I dry the last bowl and place it on the open shelf just as there’s a knock at the door. I’m afraid to answer it for fear it’s a guy and I’m in the house alone, which will definitely make me a harlot in Libby’s eyes. “Heaven knows the guys of Argentina can’t stand the temptation that is Daisy Crispin,” I say before chastising myself. My positive-speech promise isn’t going well.

  The person knocks again. Harder this time.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Claire! Open up!” She pounds on the door and I lift the latch.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I got your message. I’m here to work.”

  I’m about to blubber, but I don’t say a thing. I just grab her up in a bear hug and jump up and down. “I love you, I love you, I love you! God totally answers prayer!”

  “Stop. Or I’m going to leave.”

  “You left the hotel for me?”

  “Sure I did. You’d do the same for me. Besides, it’s really no fun being pampered when you’re all by yourself.”

  “I’d like to give it a try. I sure hope I’d come rescue you in the same situation.”

  “You would.” Claire has her bobbed hair pinned back with a sparkling barrette, and her makeup is perfect. “But don’t hug me like that again. It freaks me out. I like my personal space, you know?”

  “Fine. So did you get the part about sleeping in the car?”

  “I thought you were kidding.”

  “I might be, but I’m not sure. Libby is . . . well, she’s different,” I say. “That dress is cute. Where’d you get it?”

  “In town, at this little boutique.”

  “It’s cute,” I say again, wistfully.

  “I bought it when I was out with your parents last night for dinner.”

  I’ll admit, it’s hard to see how easily life comes together for Claire. I know her parents are a mess, but she always looks like she’s straight out of a teen style magazine.

  “Did you check out of the hotel?” I ask, because she’s got only a small leather satchel, no doubt also from one of Recoleta’s boutiques. She brought enough luggage to secure passage on a cruise to Europe after this trip.

  “I called your parents and told them to come and take the room while I was gone. You should see the dump they’re staying in. Your parents sure do love you, Daisy.”

  “That was so thoughtful! You try to be tough, but I know you’re all mushy inside.”

  “Cut that out! My parents are paying for the room. They’ll never know the difference.”

  I giggle at this. “Well, come on in and see your luxury accommodations. If we’re worthy of the house, that is, and not relegated to the car.”

  “Cool! It’s not that loft up there, is it? I always wanted a loft. It’s so cool.”

  “I’ll have to sleep on the floor. There’s only one cot up there, and again, that’s if we get to stay in the house. Libby’s husband Hank is pretty cool, so I doubt he’ll let us sleep in the car.”

  “Where’s the bathroom?”

  I pause at this. “It’s . . . um, it’s outside.”

  “As in an outhouse! You never said anything about that on the message.”

  “But there’s the loft—so cool, remember? You always wanted one!”

  She’s not buying it. “Is it clean?”

  “I’ll clean it for you. Actually, I’ll clean for everyone. Apparently, that’s one of my duties this week: cleaning the outhouse.”

  “Gross.”

  “But here’s the good news, and the really awesome part is that you didn’t even know this when you came. Okay, the guys working this mission week as translators? They make Max look like a troll.”

  “Really?” This grabs her interest.

  “But we can’t really talk to them in front of Libby. She thinks we’re all sex-starved teenagers.”

  “Didn’t you tell her about the purity play your parents put on, and that we’re the good girls?”

  “She’s not the type to believe anyone’s above temptation. And I gotta admit, wait until you see the vampire, Leo, and you might understand her fears.”

  “Libby sounds delightful. Wait. What? Vampire?”

  “You’ll see what I mean. I’m just warning you so you can play it cool. Trust me, it won’t be easy.”

  Claire sweeps her gaze around the room. “I like this place. It’s like we get to see Buenos Aires as it really is, not how they portray it to be downtown. I wanted to go home with a real experience like this.”

  “I guess you got your wish then.”

  “That’s why I was so bummed we never heard anything from Max. What is up with that?”

  I shrug. “I haven’t the slightest. He was supposed to come back and bring me candy for the kids, and nothing. Well, maybe he implied he’d come back, but he’s not one to promise things and not come through. And yet, not a word.”

  “You have terrible taste in guys.”

  “Thanks for the support. I’m working on that, you know. Had a bit of an epiphany about it.”

  “Glad to hear it. You needed one. Some guy calls himself a Christian and you buy it without a shred of evidence.”

  “I’m trusting.”

  “You say trusting, I say ignorant.”

  I do
my best to hide my emotions from Claire. The last thing I need is to hear another sermon about the art of being dumped internationally. We all know I could have stayed home for the privilege.

  “So what’s on the agenda here?” Claire looks around the sparse room again. “I love the way everything is so pieced together and natural. Somehow it’s more homey than a designed home where everything is perfect.”

  I nod. “My house is pieced together.”

  “But that’s more tag sale. This is more authentic.”

  We both laugh.

  “So now we wait for Libby to come back and tell us what to do next, and we try to look really busy,” I say.

  “Well, look at the cobwebs in that corner. I’ll get the broom and take to those.”

  I look up into the corner and see what Claire’s talking about, but I sure never saw it before she said something. She grabs the broom and starts swishing it back and forth on the ceiling. When she can’t reach it, she grabs a chair and climbs atop it. The door swings open and Libby stands there taking in the sight.

  “Who’s this?” Libby, who has to be the palest woman in Argentina, stands with her fists on her hips.

  “It—it’s—”

  “Hey.” Claire jumps off the chair with the broom still in her hand and reaches out to shake hands with Libby. “Claire Webster at your service.”

  A giggle escapes from Libby and she covers her mouth. “Claire? You’re here to help?”

  She giggled!

  “Sí,” Claire answers. “Here to help you with Vacation Bible School and make sure Daisy goes home with her scholarship. She needs that, you know.” Claire says this like she’s sharing a dark family secret, but somehow it works.

  “We’re going to do everything possible to make sure Daisy goes home with her paperwork, and if she’s paying attention, she might just learn how to cook while she’s here.”

  “Her parents can’t afford to send her to Pepperdine, and that’s what she wants.”

  “Claire!” I lower my brows. “Ixnay!”

  “Well, they can’t. You know, her dad’s disabled. He has his own small business, and it’s hard in the Bay Area. Housing prices are sky-high. I mean, even my parents struggle sometimes, and they have my dad’s salary. He’s a partner in a law firm and does teaching on the side, and my mom inherited money, so they have plenty, but they spend a lot too. I think about some of the stuff she could sell just in her closet and this place could be a palace.” Claire seems beyond wordy—even for her.

  “You don’t say,” Libby says. “Come on and sit down. You girls have been working so hard, so let’s have some strong coffee. We’ve earned it. The classroom is all ready for tomorrow.”

  “She just got here!” I exclaim.

  “Daisy, I showed you how to make the coffee this morning, right? The cafetera is right there.”

  “I figured it out,” I tell her. “My parents still use a percolator, so it wasn’t that difficult.”

  “Well, start up a carafe and I’ll let the boys know we’ve earned a break. I want us to get to know one another. This is going to be so fun, like one big slumber party this week. I think I have one of the best groups I can remember in past years.”

  I hide my confusion as I head to the stove, grab the beat-up aluminum cafetera, and fill it to capacity with generous amounts of ground coffee. I put the teakettle on to boil the water and wait. The whole time Libby and Claire are talking and laughing like they’re old friends, and I’m feeling like I’m in another dimension. As if Inception has come to life and I’m left to make heads or tails of my world.

  “So, Claire, what type of help can you offer me this week? Do you like to cook?”

  “Heavens no!” She laughs.

  “Claire’s an actress. Maybe she could play one of the parts?” I offer.

  “Oh, I was going to be Queen Esther, and I wondered how I’d ever get the kids to believe in her beauty.” Libby laughs. “Do you think you could read the lines in Spanish?”

  “I can have them memorized by morning.”

  “Oh my!” Libby claps her hands. “Did you hear that, Daisy? I have my Queen Esther!”

  I try not to be offended that she never thought of me to play the heroine queen, but I take to the coffeepot with a new vengeance. I stare at the two of them, who seem to have become fast friends in a matter of minutes, and I seriously wonder if I’m cursed. Maybe there’s something hanging over the generations of my family members that I know nothing about. Maybe no matter how hard I try, I will be thwarted in everything in which I try to better myself. This does not bode well for my power-of-positive-thinking prayer.

  “I know, right?” Claire says in response to something Libby said, and they both break into laughter, while I’m the third wheel.

  There’s a knock at the door.

  “Can you get that, Daisy?” Libby asks. “We’re talking.”

  “Sure, no problem.” I open the door and the guys are all standing there in their boy-band perfection. I am totally waiting for them to break into song. I look back at Claire and see her reaction to the guys, and there it is! I want to say to her, I know, right? But I can hardly do that with Libby thinking the guys are all ready to sweep us off our feet with Latino flair.

  “Is that coffee we smell?” Leo, aka Vampire Boy, says.

  I open the door wider. “Yes, come on in.”

  “What else smells so good?” Jose asks.

  “It’s dinner. I found a recipe for the pork bones the neighbor brought over. I added some beans and rice and seasoned it with chopped onions and garlic, and you know, I think it’s going to be really filling.”

  “You did that yourself?” Claire gets up and looks into the pot. “It smells really good, Daisy.”

  “I know, huh?”

  Jose puts his chin on my shoulder and looks over into the pot. “Daisy, I think I might have to marry you.”

  Libby laughs at this, and if I didn’t know better I’d think Claire was serving as some kind of magical pixie dust in the room. I watch as she continues to stare at the guys and takes in Leo’s eyes.

  “Claire,” Libby says, “this is our team for the next week. Oscar is the tall one there, Jose is the one with the curly hair, and Leo is the one Daisy calls a vampire because of his blue eyes. J.C., the only blond, isn’t here right now. He is the one who will be going to Pepperdine with Daisy. He’s from Arizona. Gentlemen, this is Claire.”

  “Hey, guys.” Claire goes right back to talking with Libby as if the guys don’t exist, and I’m wondering if her acting skills have gotten better or if she’s just not into the whole Latino thing.

  “Where’s J.C.?” I ask the guys. “Claire, J.C. received the same scholarship I did, so he’s doing the same mission trip. Isn’t that cool? I’ll have a friend at Pepperdine before I get there.”

  “We haven’t seen J.C.,” Oscar says as he looks at the others.

  “He wasn’t in the classroom with you?”

  “I haven’t seen him since lunch,” Oscar answers. “Did you see him, Jose?”

  Jose shakes his head. “He was going to walk that toddler home who came with the bottle. That was the last time I saw him.”

  Something in the pit of my stomach feels off, and I decide I’d better look for J.C. “Claire, can you take over the coffee? I’m going to go see if he’s in one of the outbuildings.”

  Claire looks at me like I’ve grown another head. “I don’t know how to make coffee. I just order what I want at Starbucks.”

  “Leo, you go look for J.C.,” Libby orders.

  “I’ll go!” I grab my shoes before Libby has a chance to protest. I turn the heat off the soup and cover it.

  “I’ll go too,” Leo says. “It’s getting late.”

  “Did you see which way he went? Didn’t you think to ask where he was going?”

  “Because he is a . . . how you say—big boy?”

  “J.C.!” I yell once we get outside. I cup my hands around my mouth. “J.C., are you out here?” Li
ttle kids scatter at my voice, and I look at the cracked earth and wonder how these kids make it in this environment. The rains have just come, but the earth is already dry and parched and it’s the middle of winter. “It’s a harsh life down here.”

  “You have no idea. But the kids are so excited. They’ve been hanging around all day. The one J.C. took home couldn’t have been more than two, and he came in just a diaper with a bottle in his hand.”

  “J.C.!” I yell again, and a little boy comes out from behind one of the scrappy buildings. He has wide brown eyes and his head is shaved, no doubt to ward off the lice that can find him in the outskirts of the city. I scratch my head unwittingly. “Tú veo amigo?”

  “Your Spanish is terrible,” Leo says.

  “Hence the reason for an interpreter. You ask him.”

  Leo rambles something off that sounds like gibberish, and the boy answers him in just as quick a manner. I realize why I don’t speak another language.

  “Gracias,” Leo says. He begins to run and I follow. He takes out his cell phone and hands it to me. “Dial 107! Tell them to come to the mission. Tell them the canal!” With that, Leo runs ahead of me, and I’m left grappling with the cell phone. I follow after him while I dial.

  “Emergencia,” the voice answers.

  I try with English, and she answers me back. “Oh, praise God, you speak English.” I tell her about the mission and the canals.

  “Sistema de Canales?” she asks, and I realize with horror that she wasn’t speaking English.

  “Sí,” I answer, praying I’ve told her correctly while my legs carry me farther without thought. “Yes!”

  “Emergencia?” The woman is rambling faster than I can understand, but I know she’s asking me if there’s an emergency.

  “Yo no se,” I tell her honestly. “I don’t know. Just come.” What was the word for come? I couldn’t remember to save my life. Or someone else’s, for that matter.

  “Hay alguien en el canal?”

  “Is someone in the canal?” I repeat with joy at my understanding.

  “Sí.”

  “Yo no se.” I’m working in the kitchen! La cocina! If we had a food emergency, I’d be fine. I think with annoyance at how little the phrases of high school Spanish are helping me.