Carolyn Mackler - Tangled

Paradise sucked until I found the suicide note. And then it didnt suck at all. It was so good, in fact, that I thought maybe my entire life was finally going to change. And then, that last night, everything tanked. But somehow, over the next few months, my life did begin changing.

Thats jumping way ahead, though.

I should start at the beginning, when my mom told me we were going to Paradise in the first place.

It was a typical Wednesday evening in Topeka, New York. Spring break was coming up next week, so I had nine minutes of homework, which I did while IMing my best friends, Ellie and Leora, surfing for celebrity gossip, and sending a virtual plate of snickerdoodles to my brothers ReaLife page. Then, since I happened to be on ReaLife, I checked out Samir Basus online profile. And then, since I have no self-control, I opened every photo on his page and drooled waterfalls over his caramel cheekbones and milk-chocolate eyes. I lust after Samir and, yes, have even fantasized about how well gloriously merge cultures (me: Jewish; him: Indian) for our wedding ceremony. Never mind the trivial fact that when I pass Samir at school he rarely waves at me. Ellie, Leora, and I are still debating whether, during archery on Monday, Samir was coughing up a lugie or saying, I love you forever, Jena Gornik. My best friends, those traitors, went for the mucus. One guess where I cast my vote.

Finally, I closed my future husbands ReaLife page, grabbed the Froot Loops, and parked in front of the TV. I wasnt watching a specific show, mostly just using it as background noise as I copied quotes into my everything book. Im obsessed with quotes. You name the personAlbert Einstein (smart), Toni Morrison (very smart), Nicholas Sparks (pure genius)and Ive got one of their sayings. My everything book is a regular blank journal I bought last year. The cover is that famous black-and-white photo of the couple kissing outside Htel de Ville in Paris. I once googled the image and was crushed to learn that not only was the kiss staged using models, but the woman later sued the photographer for damages. I did my best to block those facts out.

Mostly I fill my everything book with quotes about love, life, heartbreak, and inspiration. In my sixteen years of life, Ive had yet to experience love or heartbreak (or even much inspiration), so instead I stockpile other peoples musings about those things. Sometimes I scribble strands of overheard conversations into my book. Now and then I tape in a note someone discarded in the halls of Topeka High School. Youd be surprised what you can find when youre a trash-picker. Two weeks ago, I scooped up a crumpled Post-it from the locker area outside the band room. Do calc. Practice flute. Get bikini wax for Sat. p.m. When I read that, I was like, What?!! I can guarantee that if I ever have to wax down yonder for some specific event, those other to-dos would fade into oblivion. But since Im still in the math-and-music-practice stage, I must glean from other peoples exciting lives, and it all goes into my everything book.

Around eleven thirty that Wednesday night, my mom got home. A few times a year, she has a big night out with her college roommate, Luce Wainscott. Luce lives in New York City, an hour and a quarter south of Topeka on the commuter train. Luce is insanely wealthy. When she takes my mom out, they go to an expensive restaurant and Luce orders a bottle of chardonnay and spends more on the appetizers than we probably do on an entire month of groceries. Luce even pays for my mom to take a car service back to Topeka. My mom always tries to split the tab, but Luce is so loaded (Texas oil fortune) its a joke that my mom (a first-grade teacher) would plunk down her credit card.

Is Dad sleeping? my mom asked as she flopped onto the couch next to me.

I think so, I said. My dad works at the junior high three towns away and has to wake up by five fifteen every morning. I havent heard from him in a while.

My mom kicked off her shoes and hoisted her feet onto the coffee table. So he didnt tell you?

Tell me what? I asked, vacuum-sucking a fleck of Froot Loops out of my braces.

Where were going for spring break, my mom said, smiling.

Where whos going?

My parents had next week off too. But with my brother, David, in college, we didnt have any extra money for vacations. The whopping plan so far was that I was going to take a bus to Binghamton and spend four days with Grandma Belle. Thats my moms mother. We bake kugel and watch the soaps and drive her Buick to every all-you-can-eat buffet in town. My mom is always saying were a family of big-boned women, but Grandma Belle calls me luscious. I totally dont buy it, but she says someday Ill realize shes right.

You and me, Jena, my mom said. Were going to Paradise, a five-star resort in the Caribbean.

The Cari- what ?

Before I could question the amount of chardonnay my mom had consumed, she went on to explain how, at dinner tonight, Luce mentioned that shed reserved an enormous suite at Paradise next week and had tons of extra room and we should tag along. And so my mom whipped out her cell phone and called my dad, who bought the plane tickets and kept it secret from me all evening.

I was speechless. My mom never whips out her cell phone. My dad doesnt splurge on last-minute plane tickets. I wanted to ask my mom how come were in a parallel universe where my life is exciting and my parents are cool. But something else was heavy on my mind.

Is Skye coming? I asked.

Of course, my mom said. Thats the whole point.

The whole point?

Luce and I will get time together and you and Skye can run around and have fun.

For one, I dont run. Not on a track. Not on a treadmill. And certainly not with Skye Wainscott. Luces daughter is seventeen and beautiful and lives in Manhattan and has a gorgeous boyfriend and, to top it off, she has appeared in commercials and on TV shows. Ever since we were little, weve been stuck together when our moms hang out. But what the moms dont understand is that Skye basically ignores me. And so, naturally, I cant stop babbling around her. Thats what I do when Im uncomfortable. I feel a compulsive need to fill silent space.

My mom gave me the details of the trip. Wed fly to a small island in the Caribbean this Saturday and return the following Friday. All I could think to say was that my bathing suit from last summer doesnt fit anymore. My mom handed me her credit card and told me to check out the sales on Lands End. Once shed headed upstairs, I scooped up some cereal and thought about how Paradise could go two ways:

Paradise Won:

Skye and I would bond. Shed finally decide I was worthwhile and I, in turn, would cease my verbal diarrhea. Everything I said would sound suave and sophisticated. Wed go jogging on the beach and meet guys everywhere we went (but since Skye has a boyfriend theyd all be for me), and Id get a butterscotch tan and my butt would miraculously become toned. By the time I returned to Topeka High, the world would meet a whole new Jena Gornik. Id no longer be pegged as a B-plus student in a school full of geniuses. The band director would bump me to first-chair clarinet. Samir Basu would shoot his arrow in my direction (metaphorically, of course) and wed start going out and hed ask me to the junior prom and Id no longer be the only sixteen-year-old in Westchester County whos never been groped. Well, I did kiss a greasy, zit-specked guy at my cousins bar mitzvah last year, but Id really rather not count that one.

Or, more realistically:

Paradise Lost:

Skye would blow me off. My life would remain pathetic.

This is the real world, not a Nora Roberts novel, so I had a sneaking suspicion itd be option number two. But sometimes, by the flickering glow of the TV screen, its nice to dream a little.