“I do!”
Fine. Let Ryan worry about caffeine addiction. She set up the coffeemaker, flicked the switch, and turned to see that Gigi had seated herself at the table and was dredging a piece of paper and a pencil stub from her pocket, all ready to take notes. “First, do you think it’s better to be smart or popular? I think popular.”
“They’re not mutually exclusive.”
“They are in Parrish.”
“Not even in Parrish.”
“You were smart,” Gigi said, “but you got crappy grades, and it made you popular.”
“I hate to disillusion you, but I got crappy grades because I had my priorities screwed up. And I would have been popular even if I got good grades.”
“How?” Gigi abandoned her notes. “That’s what I don’t understand. How did you do it? You were rich like me. Didn’t all the kids hate you for it?”
Sugar Beth was tired of letting the world watch her bleed, and she didn’t want to talk about this now. Or ever, for that matter. But Gigi deserved an answer. “I was born with a false sense of superiority,” she said slowly, “and I managed to manipulate everybody so they bought into it. It was great short-term, but you might have noticed it hasn’t done zip for me long-term.”
Gigi hadn’t gotten the answer she wanted. “How exactly did you manipulate them?”
Sugar Beth glanced longingly toward the coffeemaker, but it hadn’t finished brewing. She needed caffeine now, and she grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator. “Want one?”
“No, thanks. I prefer coffee.”
“Of course you do.” She popped the top. Gigi waited, all big eyes and eager ears. Sugar Beth tried to think of what to say that would make sense to a thirteen-year-old, or even to herself. “The goal isn’t to be popular, Gigi. The goal is to be strong.”
“I don’t feel strong,” she said miserably.
Gigi’s face lit with interest. “That’s what I want. I want to be powerful.”
“But you want to be powerful right now, which isn’t going to happen.”
“You were powerful when you were thirteen.”
Sugar Beth repressed a bitter laugh. “My power was an illusion. All the tricks I used to acquire it ended up backfiring on me as I got older. You want power that lasts. And you don’t get it by being less than you are.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“In your case it means pretending you’re poor by disappearing inside ugly clothes, then blowing off schoolwork and hanging out with the wrong kind of kids.”
Gigi looked outraged. “Just because Chelsea isn’t rich…”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with money. It has to do with brains, and from what you told me, Chelsea wasn’t blessed with a full set. You, on the other hand, have more than your fair share, but you don’t seem to be taking advantage of them.”
“I’m not hanging out with geeks like Gwen Lu and Jenny Berry, if that’s what you mean.”
Sugar Beth remembered Winnie trying to make herself invisible as she walked down the school hallways. “Because you don’t like them, or because you’re afraid the other kids will make fun of you if you do?”
Gigi waited too long to respond. “Because I don’t like them.”
“Do you want real power or not?” Even as she asked the question, Sugar Beth wondered how she could pretend to have an answer.
“Oh, yes,” Gigi said with a wistful sigh. And then her face clouded. “You’re going to tell me to study, aren’t you? And be nice to Gwen and Jenny.”
“Respecting other people and trying to understand how they feel about the world gives you power.” Sugar Beth hoped that was true. “It also makes you kinder. And people are drawn to kindness. That doesn’t mean you forget to stand up for yourself. But you don’t do it by trampling on other people, unless they need to be trampled on, in which case you do it in an up-front manner, with no snotty remarks about being fat.”
Gigi slouched into her chair and looked sullen.
Sugar Beth rolled the Coke can between her palms. She unconsciously waited for the click of her wedding ring, but she’d made herself take it off last month. Gigi gazed up at her. She was going to be a real beauty before long, but Sugar Beth hoped with all her heart it didn’t happen too soon. Beauty at too young an age got in the way of developing character.
She drew a deep, unsteady breath and tried to think of how to say what Gigi needed to hear. “Maybe it’s time you came up with a plan for your life. A really ambitious plan. Without holding back. Even if it means deciding to be president of the United States. Your plan will probably change as you get older, but that might be even better, because, while you’re preparing yourself for one goal, you’ll be learning things that help you meet another goal. That’s what real power means-not spending your time being bitchy because you’re worrying about what somebody might be saying behind your back.” She was shocked by the rush of anger that hit her. Why couldn’t Diddie have said something like this when Sugar Beth was thirteen? But her mother had been incapable of thinking beyond the boundaries of her own narrow vision.
Sugar Beth leaned back in the chair and dredged up what she hadn’t, until that moment, realized she understood. “People will always try to steal your power. When you do well, they’ll say it’s only because you’re rich and your parents are big shots. People who care about you will try to steal your power, too, but they’ll go about it differently. When you fail at something, they’ll try to make you feel better by saying that nobody’s good at everything, and you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. They might tell you not to feel bad about screwing up a math test because math’s hard for girls. Or they’ll say you shouldn’t worry so much about injustice in the world because you’re only one person. And even though they mean well, they’ll be making you less than what you can be.” Her chest felt tight, and she tried to ease it with another breath. “One way to grab your power is to learn when you need to step up to the plate and admit you’re wrong, and when you need to dig in your heels because it’s the right thing to do.”
“How do you tell the difference?”
Sugar Beth shrugged. “Figuring that out is what life’s all about.”
“Have you? Figured it out?”
Only a thirteen-year-old could ask such a question. “Not yet. But I’m working on it.”
Gigi nodded, as if she were thinking it all over, then planted her elbow on the table. “Let’s talk about sex now.”
Sugar Beth had no intention of being dragged into that discussion, but she welcomed the change of subject. “Coffee’s ready.” She hopped up from the table.
“I mean, how do you know when you’re ready to have sex?”
She thought about the rumpled sheets upstairs. “Unless this is a pressing issue, which I sincerely hope it’s not, why don’t we postpone that discussion for another time?”
“Okay.” Gigi’s satisfied smile made Sugar Beth suspect she’d been manipulated into agreeing to another visit. “Could we do makeup now?”
“Why not?”
Sugar Beth’s headache eased as they experimented with the contents of her cosmetic case. They talked about avoiding mascara smudges, obtaining power, setting goals. Sometimes Sugar Beth felt like a hypocrite, but not always, and as she contoured Gigi’s eyelids, she wondered if she’d acquired at least a smattering of wisdom to pass on to the next generation.
Gigi said her parents were due back around four, and a little before three-thirty, she reluctantly headed to the door. “You don’t have to come with me,” she said as Sugar Beth followed her outside, leaving an unhappy Gordon behind. “I’m not a baby.”
“And you’re not climbing up that railing unless I’m there to make sure you get to the top.”
“Like that’s a big challenge.”
“Sarcasm steals your personal power.”
“You’re sarcastic.”
“Which is how I know this.”
