The thing I hated about glitter is that it went wherever it pleased, defying any rules you set out for it – it was untamable, unpredictable. Sure, after sprinkling some onto something to give it some life, the whole creation looked way more beautiful than it had before, but what was the point of something being beautiful if it was different than what everyone had been expecting?
Cleary, Carlee’s thoughts were opposite of mine, as she dumped a large container of purple sparkles all over the poster, apparently not even caring that it totally clashed with the yellow neon paper.
“There!” she exclaimed proudly, holding the poster upright and shaking the remainder of the lose glitter off of it, not minding that the scraps fell to her carpeted floor, specks of shimmer peeking through the white of her carpet.
Although her carpet was white – if you could even call it that anymore – it was stained with various things – some she couldn’t even remember. Nail polish, cherry coke, chocolate, blood – basically anything that comes to mind when you think of the word “mess.” And that’s what Carlee was – she was one big, giant mess. She knew it, too, and took no offense to it whatsoever. My complete polar opposite, she was, though we managed to fit perfectly, like two missing puzzle pieces.
“Don’t you think that’s going a little . . . overboard?” I asked, my eyebrows raised.
Carlee sighed impatiently, as if I just wasn’t getting it.
“People don’t want ‘safe’, Cali,” she explained, waving her hands around frantically, “They want fun and eye-catching and unique! And this is so fun and eye-catching and unique!”
“It sure is,” I said, “Maybe a little too much.”
“Oh, Cali – you can never be too fun!”
To prove this, maybe, she bounced on her bed, it squeaking under her weight, “But you can be too boring,” she said, her eyes looking at me with a knowing expression.
“I’m not boring,” I insisted, “But unlike you, I actually think before I act.”
“Exactly!” she exclaimed, nodding, “That screams ‘boring!’”
“Boring or not,” I said, choosing to get back on topic, “People want facts and statements, not glitter.”
“We’re not writing a contract, Cali,” Carlee laughed, “All we want is names.”
She was right and so far, we hadn’t got very far. This was our last chance to save Freeze Berry from closing, and if we didn’t have fifty names by Friday, it was gone like the freaking wind.
“Speaking of,” I said, motioning to the poster, “Where’s the petition sheet?”
Carlee’s mouth screwed to one side, and she scrunched up her nose.
“I’m not sure,” she said slowly, frowning. Abruptly, she jumped off of her bed, scurrying toward where her book bag lay in a heap on the floor.
“Maybe it’s in here,” she said, pulling out her Doodle Notebook and flipping through the pages. After several more minutes of attempted searching, and failed finding, she looked up at me hopelessly.
“I told you not the let me keep it!” she whined, standing up and skipping back to where I was sitting on the bed with my legs tucked underneath me, her Doodle Notebook in hand.
“Oh well,” she said, shrugging, “Guess we’ll just make a new one.”
She flipped to an empty page, which took about a year, and then plopped down next to me, letting out a sigh.
She scribbled down something rapidly, and I leaned over her shoulder, trying to get a peek at what she was writing.
“Okay,” she announced, clearing her throat dramatically, “How does this sound?”
“Dear fellow members of the township of Folly Beach: you’re favorite frozen yogurt shop is being teared down, being replaced by a freaking PLANT STORE! Don’t sit there and watch – do something,” she finished, her deep announcer guy voice perfected.
I sat silently for a moment, my eyebrows bunched together.
“Teared is not a word.”
“Cali!” Carlee exclaimed, shooting me a look, “Can we not talk about grammar please? So besides the spell check and all, do you like it?”
“I think it sounds a little too casual, you know?” I asked, shrugging, “Since the posters all . . . happy and fun and Carleeish, maybe the petition should be more serious and Cali-like.”
Carlee shrugged, “Eh,” she said, “I guess you’re right.”
As I watched her rip out the page, crumbling it up and tossing it on the floor next to her, I envied how she could just tear out the past, and start over, forgetting about everything that was already over, never giving what was gone a second thought.