The Queen of Everything Read Online Free PDF Page B

and Mrs. Kramer and he was just leaving to go to the
office. He turned and went down the hall with his friends. I was left with this
hat in my hands. I could see a dirty ring where his forehead had touched the
elastic. I felt odd, as if I was suddenly left holding a bedroom slipper or a
cantaloupe or some other strange thing in the middle of school. I didn't know
what I was supposed to do with it. Besides, I'm not fond of
marigolds.
    Afterward that stupid hat was all Melissa
wanted to talk about. Lucky me, we had plenty of time for it too, as it was
Friday and our day off at True You. "What does this mean? He gave you his hat! Why'd he give you his hat? You don't even like
him."
    "He's got a hundred girls all following him
around with their tongues hanging out. Maybe I'll auction the thing off and make
a few bucks."
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    "You've got to come over," Melissa said. "We've
got to talk about this. My God."
    "Okay, but I can't stay long," I
said.
    "You want to get back for the call," she
said. She sounded both mad and interested at the same time, the way she sounded
when my mom tried to make peace by taking me to a Jimmie Dix concert in Seattle
last summer. Jimmie Dix was one thing Melissa and I were in one hundred percent
agreement about. Even though most people we knew listened to those groups with
names like Snoop Doggy Doo on Shoe, we both said you had to be made of ice, or
dead, if you didn't get the shivers watching Jimmie Dix sing "Battleground of
Love" in that video where he's with the woman on the beach.
    I was not anxious to get home for Kale Kramer's
call. I was anxious to get home to see where things stood between my dad and me,
but I wasn't about to tell Melissa that. I'd realized by then that confiding in
Melissa about the big things was about as helpful as if I bared my soul to her
dog, Boog. Maybe he would even get my point, who could tell? Besides
that, I felt it was my duty to act at least a little interested in Kale Kramer.
Since Kale had thrown me his hat, my stock price had split. Wendy Williams had
even said hi to me in the hall. I've known her since the seventh grade, and the
only thing she'd ever said to me was "Je-sus!" one time when I
    40
    bumped into her going around a corner. All
afternoon Melissa had been clinging to me like we were trying to escape from a
burning building and I was the fireman.
    Melissa worked the key into the lock of her
front door. It was one of my mother's complaints that before all the people like
the Beenes moved onto the island, no one locked their doors. In fact people
would just leave their keys in the ignition of their cars in case a neighbor
needed to borrow it. But no more.
    We took our shoes off before we went inside
Melissa's house, as was expected. Diane said it was important to integrate the
traditions of other cultures into our own lives, but I suspected she just wanted
to keep her carpets clean.
    "Mother, have you lost your mind?" Melissa
said. The Beene couch sat in the middle of the living room. Diane stood on a
chair, wrestling with the end of a long, mossy tree branch.
    "Oh, good," she said. "Girls, would you each
hold up an end of this? I want to get an idea of how it'll look." Diane hopped
down and handed her end of the branch to Melissa. She brushed her hands clean.
"I saw this on the Home Decorating Channel. Natural curtain rods. Here, Jordan."
She handed me my end. Diane tended to get carried away. The whole house was
stenciled: the kitchen with a rim of baskets overflowing with grapes, the
laundry room with a smeary line of
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    lemon-colored ducks. Melissa's room was done
almost entirely in men's red-and-blue handkerchiefs--curtains and pillows and
even the bedspread. If you had to blow your nose in there you'd have it
made.
    "Higher girls," Diane said.
    "My arm's about to fall off," Melissa said.
"Mom, you got crap all in your hair."
    Diane absentmindedly brushed at the bits of
moss and leaves that had