Chapter 3, Part 1 - Dawn

Dawn finds Asia and Andrew's relationship to be getting in the way of her hunt for a job.

           Asia and Andrew became an item overnight. Apparently, watching movies about giant man-eating snakes is an ingredient for instant romance, because that’s what happened. Saturday night found both of them dressed to impress, on their best behavior and (in Asia’s case) actually eating the popcorn instead of chucking it at unsuspecting teenage movie goers. By Monday, they were linking pinkies and giggling at each other in the halls.

I expected about as much from Asia, who fell in “love” easily and without care, who had dated more guys since eighth grade than I had spoken to in my lifetime. But Andrew Renard seemed more mature than that. He had been in my history class last fall and although we never spoke, I always got the impression that he was smarter than the rest of the class, just too reserved and peaceful to show it. I could understand easily enough what they saw in each other. Asia had always had a thing for smart and sensitive guys, the ones who listened to her instead of looked at her, the only problem with that being that Andrew was one of the very few of them she had found. And Asia’s bubbly and pleasant demeanor that was becoming more and more common as she spent more time with Andrew was probably appealing and refreshing to a quiet guy like himself. But how they could have a serious conversation with each other was beyond me. I figured Andrew would want to talk about schoolwork and future plans, while Asia focused no further than what color to paint her nails for the next week.

But they were both happy. Asia was my best friend and Andrew was a nice guy, so that was enough for me.

Until they got annoying about it.

Asia promised to take me job hunting after school on Friday, the idea being that I would apply to every fashion outlet in town while she shopped, supposedly for me because my style was at least three years behind everyone else’s. We had to leave right after the bell rang in order to hit every store and still have a little wiggle time for Asia’s shopping if I was going to make it home in time. The longer I went without a job, the sooner I had to be home each day. Not that I was ever staying out all night, but it did limit activities such as these. I explained this all to Asia, the timing and the punishment of no job, and she promised that there would be no problems.

“No problemo,” she said in an Italian accent.

“That’s Spanish,” I said in passing. She was Colombian so she had to have known, even though she was hardly proficient in the language.

Asia blinked at me. “Que?”

“It’s Spanish...no problemo is Spanish, not Italian.”

She blinked again, tossed her hair back. “I know.”

“Then why the Italian accent?”

“Dawn. Stop making things up.” And she glided away to class.

If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve attributed her spacey-ness to multiple personality disorder. Saying things and switching personalities and forgetting what her other personality had just said. But the truth was that, when she was in a good mood and up for joking around, Asia would just deny anything she couldn’t explain. Catch her serious and she’ll answer you honestly, but any other day and she’ll just pull at your strings. That was another thing she did more and more since she’d been with Andrew.

It was five minutes to the bell on Friday and I was dying in Chemistry. We’d been taking notes all day, an activity I usually appreciate, but in all truthfulness, ionic bonds and chemical compounds don’t do much for me. The fact that it was nearly the weekend and I was finally going to apply for a job was heavy on my mind, and for one of the few times in my life, I refused to concentrate in class. Why was I taking Chemistry anyway? Transcript, transcript. Have to get that impressive diploma for the colleges, have to get in there and get out of here.

The bell finally rang and I was gone. Down the hall, down the stairs, up another hall, and around a corner to the senior hallway where Asia’s locker was. She didn’t use it, but we always met there.

“Ready?” I asked, feeling in my purse for my keys.

“Hold on, I have to say goodbye to Andrew,” She glanced up and down the hall, tapping her fingers against her folded arms.

“Where is he?” I followed her gaze. “Hurry, we’re on a schedule, remember?”

“I know, I know. Just wait a second, he’ll be here and then we’ll go.”

Not how it happened. I knew that right away, because with boyfriends, things never happened the way you said they would. Andrew showed up all right, looking like he had run all the way from the band room to get there in time, which I thought spoke well of him. But then Asia got her arms around him and they cuddled up against the lockers, among the bustling crowd and all, leaving me to wait on an already broken promise.

Oh God, I hate that.

Yet, like I said, they were happy, so I tolerated it for a little awhile. I checked my phone for missed calls even though I knew there wouldn’t be any, I dug around in my backpack to make sure I had all my books, I made sure I had a pen in my purse to fill out applications with. Stalling, waiting, thinking “just another minute; they can have just one more minute” while my own time ran out.

            Minutes passed. I checked my watch and nearly screamed when I saw how many minutes I had missed.

I was livid. No, I was beyond that. I was every word for “irate” in the thesaurus. The kind of anger where you see spots and try to blow things up with your eyes. My skin itched and felt hot under my jean jacket, which reminded me that practically nobody wore jean jackets anymore, which made me even angrier that I was the one still wearing them.

I try very hard to keep to my word and leave nothing undone. In return, I expect the same of my friends. There are exceptions, of course, because I’m not a tyrant like the men who terrorized most of my foreign ancestors. Still, I generally hold people responsible for their end of the deal. And the deal was, Asia promised me a whole afternoon of job hunting and playing my shopping consultant. She knew perfectly well that we only had until seven o’clock, at which time my paranoid mother would chase us down in her van if I wasn’t home. (Or called the cops, whichever came first.) But according to my watch, which admittedly is five minutes fast, it was half an hour past the last bell, and we were still in the senior hallway.

And there was Asia, still passionately hugging Andrew, her boyfriend of nearly a week, blowing me off while I was standing right there. I looked away while they snuggled against the lockers and rubbed noses. Unfortunately, it was harder to ignore their puppy voices, giving each other detailed descriptions of their day, promising time and again that they would call later. After the first five minutes, I had started to get impatient, but being that Asia was my boy-rabid best friend, I allowed her a little more time. At ten minutes, I was starting to get uncomfortable. Twenty, and I was debating whether or not to grab the back of Asia’s top and drag her away. When I noticed that it was over thirty minutes, I was bordering on insanity. I despised PDA, the way I despised romance on a whole.

When I heard “Just one more kiss,” for the umpteenth time, I lost it.

“For the love of God, just stop!” I swung my purse and knocked it against Asia’s back. She immediately broke away from Andrew to smooth her hands over her shirt, tugging at the bottom to eliminate any wrinkles. From there, she ran a hand over her hair, feeling for any fly-aways or knots, of which, of course, there were none. Asia would swear up and down that she wasn’t superficial, but I think actions speak louder than words.

“Sorry, Dawn.” Andrew looked sheepish, with his hands digging holes in his pockets and his head bowed. Had he even realized I was still there? I liked Andrew well enough, but sometimes his vacant manner…well, he and Asia were made for each other.

Asia looked less forgiving. She narrowed her eyes at me, displaying warning slices of green that meant I was in trouble. As if she didn’t see any problem with making me wait for her to finish canoodling with her boyfriend. Applesauce. She knew darn well that I didn’t like to see that sort of thing. I wasn’t that comfortable talking to guys, let alone watching her make out with them.

“Can we just go? You know my mom’s not going to let me stay out that late.” I folded my arms tightly. People always thought I was being defensive when I did that, but really I was just comfortable in that position. Although, I guess I’m comfortable being on the defense sometimes.

“Okay, okay,” Asia turned back to Andrew and gave him a quick kiss. “See ya, sugarpie.” She gave a little wave as he walked away, then pulled me down the hall.

“Geez, Dawn. Heartless much? I only get to see him during lunch, and I see you…”

“All the frickin’ time, I’m well aware. That’s not the point. You were late.” I stabbed my finger into her shoulder. She angled away from me and gaped.

“Late? You were standing right with me!”

“No, Asia, I was standing right with a mass of tangled lips.”

“That’s kind of gross.”

“Try watching it! I felt like I was going to throw up! Throw up and gag and attack the first person to walk by, it was that much like torture.”

“Oh, not with the torture threats again. Dawn, if people knew what you were really like, you’d probably end up in a mental institute,” Asia shook her head, giving me a meaningful side glance.

I fought a smile. If people knew the real me…that was a funny thought. As if people would bother to find out. “Isn’t it a scary thought that one day, I really will be in a mental institute? As the professional help?” I had known for years that I was going to be a psychologist. All I needed was the college degree, and I was good to go. After a little anger management, anyway.

“It’s twisted, all right,” Asia agreed, and then laughed. It was hard to stay angry when she laughed, because it was so infectious. Like caffeine. It just made you laugh with her. I was an expert at resisting just that, but I let myself relax.

We stepped outside, onto a sidewalk that led straight into town. Dried and wrinkled leaves blew across the cement, swirling red and yellows lining a path to what was possibly a well-paying and more fashion-savvy existence.

Not that I would ever be fashion-savvy, being that I loathed most fashion trends and usually avoided them just for the purpose of not looking like half the girls in school. But Asia was certainly an experienced shopper, and through her I could at least look socially decent.

“So where first? I was thinking Chico’s, or Shop 65, something that will really make you look hip and sexy,” Asia suggested, her eyes bright with the idea of un-drabbing me. 

“I was thinking more like Gap. Or Marshall’s. Something that I’ll be able to afford. And let’s not forget the applications, okay? I really really need to get those in,” I countered. As always, the one with the increasingly low budget.

“You know I can help you pay for stuff. I owe you tons already.”

“For what, putting up with you?”

“No. You are the reason I passed the ninth grade. I would not be in high school, about to graduate, if you hadn’t tutored me relentlessly.” Asia held her head high and proud, despite having admitted that the only reason for her success was because of me.

I laughed shortly and stared at my friend. “Tutored you! I basically ended up doing your homework for you!” I sighed. “It’s a good thing you straightened up after that, because we could’ve gotten in really big trouble for cheating.”

Asia tossed her head the way horses do. Arrogant, uncaring. Nothing touched her if she didn’t want it to. “Oh, little Dawn. What cheating?” That was her signal, the end of the discussion.

 

Sometimes Asia called me “Little Dawn”, usually when she was trying to be condescending, or if she wanted to sound older and more mature than we both knew she really was. Other times, she called me “Chili”, a play on my last name, which wasn’t as easy to predict and mostly seemed to happen when she was particularly hyper. She had nicknames for everyone. Sweetheart, Darling, Cookie-breath…okay, Cookie-breath was only once and for someone she didn’t really like, but it was still a nickname. It was only if she really knew you that she called you something more personal, like calling me Chili.

However, Asia is the only one who called me that. Everyone else calls me Dawn. If they’re taking attendance in class or calling my name during an assembly, they call me Dawn Chilingarian. People who are slightly closer to me, or just want to poke fun at my name, call me Sunny or Sunset. Latin class nerds call me Aurora…although again, that only happened once. I’ve been called a lot of names by a lot of people, both good and bad, and I’ve liked some of them. But the name I refer to myself as is just Dawn.

 

I figured we’d walk to the closest stores, then run back to the school for my car and drive to those that were further out. That way I’d save on gas and owe less to my parents. The plan required us to walk for about ten minutes in either direction. We probably looked a little funny walking down the street together. I always thought we have, anyway, just because we looked like typical stereotypes who got confused when separated from the rest of their groups.

I never had a “group”, truth be told. Asia did, though. Sometimes she still does, if she’s in the mood.

Asia is the epitome of a popular person. She just looks the part. Heck, she is the part. She is moderately tall, getting her height from her legs and not high heels, which she actually tends to avoid. I’d say, on a guess, she’s about 5’8’’. Tall compared to me, at a definite 5’3’’. She has pink-tinted skin, blemish free, and immensely dark hair. It’s naturally wavy, but she usually keeps it poker straight. Her eyes are bright green, elegantly tilted in towards her nose. I think she looks like the perfect mix of Italian and Colombian, which may sound a little strange, but Asia makes it look right. She walks like a model, full of lionesque confidence and just a hint of superiority, gliding everywhere, never bouncing or faltering. I used to despise Asia for just those qualities.

Then there’s me, typical Dawn, in typical clothes and a typical body, about as invisible to the rest of the world as gravity is. But with ambitions as big. That’s what sets me apart when I’m walking next to Asia; people don’t see me at first, but eventually they can’t ignore the plain girl who actually knows what she’s talking about.

Sometimes when I’m lamenting my cliché appearance, Asia will try to comfort me by saying “Cheer up, Dawn! You have blond hair and blue eyes! Statistics show that guys prefer girls like you!”

To which I usually reply, “Oh yes, Hitler would be quite a fan of my Aryan traits.”

She then will ask me what “Aryan” means and whine about how she can never remember that word. I think it’s just her changing the subject because she has no comeback.

Or maybe not. Sometimes with Asia, it’s hard to tell.

 

We spent somewhere around four hours wandering in and out of stores. Asia lured me into her expensive shops, where I begrudgingly tried on most of what she picked out but bought none of it. (She made sure to take pictures of what I tried on, she said so that she could get me birthday and Christmas presents, but I think it was really just for blackmail.) I didn’t bother with applications there; you had to be at least 18 and have experience in retail, neither requirement fitting me. I also tried on whatever she threw at me in the Gap, but only ended up with a shirt that looked identical to every other plain top I own. I filled out the paper application on the spot and turned it in, but doubted I’d get the job when Asia crowed over the 20% employee discount that she could take advantage of. The girl at the counter smiled sweetly at this, but I was sure she’d discard my application. I spent ten minutes lecturing about application etiquette and common sense as we hiked back to the Juniper parking lot.

We took my Oldsmobile Alero to the other end of town, eyeing the department stores like Bon Ton and Annie Sez, but we only went into Marshall’s because I knew it would be cheap, and because there was a huge “NOW HIRING” banner strung under the store’s sign.

“The clothes here are nasty, Dawn.” Asia called through the fitting room door. “They’re hand-me-downs from designer stores, they get tossed around by customers who don’t understand them, and then nobody washes away the stain of the unworthy. You have one shirt already, so let’s leave well-enough alone.”

“You are unbelievable!” I smacked the door, lucky that it was locked, wondering if I could scare her away. “An hour ago, you were saying that I was lagging and needed someone to go buy clothes for me. Now one shirt is good enough?”

Asia was not fazed by my random acts of violence. “You know, that’s not even the point. Gap is somewhat credible. This place…it makes my skin itch.”

“So the store is giving you a rash.”

“That, or your face.”

“My face what?”

“Or your face is.”

“My face is what?”

“Your face is giving me a RASH!” Asia shouted, and then broke down in giggles. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Asia, my psychotic best friend.

I opened the door to show her the pants and sweater I had tried on, and nearly went blind when she snapped her camera in my face.

“Geez, will you give me a warning next time? Now I can’t see anything!” I complained, blinking with squinted eyes. Everything was yellow and black.

“It’s just as well, darling, because you look really hideous in that. Please change out of it.” She said, her voice full of sugar. Pretending to be nice. I reached out, trying to feel my way back into the fitting room stall, and stubbed my finger against the splintered plaster walls. I could’ve slapped her, but it would’ve taken me too long to actually find her first, since she had “saved” me from seeing myself by giving me a handicap.

“You’re such a witch.” I grumbled, retreating back into the stall and slamming the door. “I despise you!”

“I love you, Dawn! That’s why I say mean things to you!” She fell against the wall of my fitting room and laughed. Sometimes Asia reminded me of the middle school girls who congregated in town when school was dismissed early, all hyper and smiley, just excited to be let out.

“I guess it makes sense. Hurt the ones you love. Do you do this to Andrew, too?” I yanked the shirt over my head, not caring that it was inside-out when I hung it on the hanger.

“Hmm. Do I love Andrew?” Asia asked skeptically.

“Well, you’ve been infatuated with him since last Tuesday. And being that you’re a teenage girl and prone to loving without truly understanding the concept of love, I would assume that you do. In your own way, of course.” I explained.

“Yes, but if loving Andrew means that I attack him, then I guess I don’t. I’m a perfect angel to him.” She said proudly.

“Angel, huh?” I shook my head, gathering the wrinkled clothes and leaving the fitting room. “Okay. I’ll pretend to believe you. But only because it’s the nice thing to do.”

Asia followed me back into the store and scoffed. “Since when do you make it your business to do the nice thing? If it comes down to it, you usually just don’t do anything.”

I tossed the pants back onto the rack and spun to face her. “Excuse me! Am I generally polite to the public or not?”

“Well, define polite.”

“I smile and nod and don’t say anything rude.”

“Sure, you do that. But sometimes not saying anything is considered rude too. People have just been assuming that you’re stuck up since elementary school; lots of kids have said so. And it’s not because you put anyone down, it’s just that you ignore everyone.”

I was well aware of the assumptions that had been made about me. If I couldn’t guess on my own, Asia had long since gathered my history from people who had been in classes with me since kindergarten. As if they knew.

“Maybe I really am just stuck up.” I snapped. “The only reason I don’t talk to them is because they aren’t worth the effort. Is that not stuck up?”

Asia shrugged. “I don’t think you are, but I know you. How many other people can say the same?”

I was briefly inclined to list all the people I had working acquaintances with, people I bothered to say “hello” to if I saw them and people who bothered to say it to me first. But it would’ve been juvenile, and I was tired of the topic anyway.

“Well. It’s almost eight. My mom is going to call soon to make sure I haven’t been killed or something, so let’s just go.”

Author's Note

This chapter is going to change a lot eventually, but there are some things in it that I really like, and do help the story (I think, or hope) so I put it up. Commenting makes you awesome.