Earth to Skye

7

7Mom called me a hoarder. Let’s just leave it at that. I simply wasn’t willing to part with the six-foot stack of comic books that I’d collected, or the pile of clothes from which I would pull out my Livi-style outfits.

I loved clothes that didn’t match. Like my butterfly skirt with a polka dot thrift store blouse, or my striped denim short shorts over purple tights with my favorite red T-shirt. I never ever wore the same outfit and I only bought clothes at thrift shops. Except that I was normal enough to buy band T-shirts and, of course, hoodies. I also had all sorts of hand-me-downs from my mother, like sequined sweaters and full skirts, things she was either bored with or thought she was too old to wear.

I finally found the Weetzie Bat book I was reading for the tenth time. Out of it fell a feather that had fallen from one of Skye’s necklaces. I had been using it as a bookmark, but decided it should go on my door collage along with the Smiths’ poster, the photo of me, Mom and Dad in Japan and magazine clippings of Japanese girls in their Lolita outfits. They looked like Alice in Wonderland dresses, or a short version of something Marie Antoinette might wear.

Mom once bought me a pink Lolita dress with a full skirt over crinoline slips. It was too small now, but I still had it in the back of my closet. I hid the black thongs in one of the huge pockets. In the other pocket was the little journal I kept that was almost full. It was only writing, not as colorful as Skye’s. In it, I worried about Skye. But I wrote more about my crush on Javi.

Javi had long black hair and deep chocolate eyes, even darker than my dad’s. He read a poem at the poetry slam that my club put on and I told him he was a good writer. After that we said “Hey” to each other in the school halls but that was about it. Except when I wore my Creepers for the first time and he said, “Cool shoes. Punk rock.”

“Yeah, my dad has a pair. Guess I’m not very rebellious. Hard to rebel against rebels,” I said. “Unless I became a doctor or lawyer, which probably won’t happen.”

“I’m going to be a vet,” said Javi.

“Awesome,” I answered, truly impressed. I could see him in a white uniform, with his creamy coffee-colored skin.

“It’s even harder than med school,” Javi said. “Because you have to learn the anatomy of all different animals, instead of just humans.”

I was kind of glad Skye interrupted, as I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up, except a poet, which I was told was impractical, by none other than my totally practical mom. Her documentaries won festival awards all over the world but never made a cent. Thank God Dad wrote a few songs that were covered by big bands, otherwise we would be a flat-broke artist family.

“So what are you two going to do after college?” Javi asked.

“I’m going to adopt a dozen orphans and raise them myself,” said Skye.

I couldn’t top that.