The Crazy Things Girls Do for Love

But, of course, they aren’t.

They’re barely through the door when Maya Baraberra emerges from the blur of students like a shark from a shoal of minnows. Maya now dresses exclusively in clothes that have been previously worn by someone else and has added a new and fairly extensive range of buttons to her book bag.

“Cody! Sicilee!” Any passing stranger would think they were her two best friends.

“Hey,” says Cody. He doesn’t recognize Maya either.

Sicilee merely maintains her usual smile.

“Whoowhee … get a look at you! Talk about being in touch with the Earth!” Maya, for a change, is not looking at Cody. Her eyes move from Sicilee’s boots to the coat and finally stop as they meet Sicilee’s eyes. “That’s not real leather you’re wearing, is it?” she asks doubtfully.

Trust the Barbarian not to be able to tell the difference between real leather and some cheap imitation. “Of course it is,” purrs Sicilee. “It’s Italian.”

“Oh, wow. Really?” Maya scrunches up her face so tightly that her nose ring seems to be looking at Sicilee, too. “It’s just that … you know … I thought you said you were vegan – or at least a vegetarian.”

As smoothly as she can, and still smiling, Sicilee attempts to climb out of the trap Maya laid for her. “I’m not eating them, you know. I’m just wearing them.”

“But still… You’ve got all that wasted land and water … and the carbon emissions during production … and the environmental degradation … and all the toxins of the dyes. I mean, it’s good that they didn’t come from China with all the pollution and slave labour and everything, but Italy is still pretty far away…”

Whereas Maya’s clothes obviously came from a thrift store.

Sicilee smiles on. “I only just became a vegan. I can’t throw out my entire wardrobe overnight.”

“Oh, of course you can’t…” agrees Maya. “What are you supposed to do if you don’t have any shoes or coats that aren’t leather?”

“And what about you?” Sicilee glares down at the frayed and dirty shoes on Maya’s feet. “Those aren’t bedroom slippers you’re wearing.”

“No, they’re not.” There are few things that make a smile sweeter than triumph. “They’re actually totally vegan. Like me.” Maya swings one foot in the air so Sicilee can get a good look. “That’d be hemp and reclaimed tyres, not dead cow.”

Merciful Mother! Wearing somebody’s old tyres – it’s like admitting you eat from the garbage.

“They look like you made them yourself,” sneers Sicilee. And can only hope that she sounds as disgusted and unkind as she feels.

“Oy! Wait a minute. Pull back on the rope there.”

They are so intent on insulting each other that Sicilee and Maya’s attention misplaced Cody for a few seconds, but now they turn to find him grinning at them. Or at least grinning at Sicilee.

“I have that exact same pair of shoes.”

Sicilee forces herself to laugh, too. “Well, I’m sure they look much better on you.”

The day never improves after that. For once, Sicilee runs into Cody everywhere she goes. Now actively trying to avoid him, she has only to turn a corner or glance down a hallway to make him appear. And every time she sees him, she knows that he sees her leather boots, as conspicuous as a pair of alligators. The other person she sees constantly, of course, is Maya Baraberra. Maya, who normally tries to avoid Sicilee with the same thoroughness with which Sicilee tries to avoid her, gives her a big cheesy grin and calls out, “Hey, Sicilee, I really love your boots!”

No wonder Sicilee couldn’t wait to go home.

And home is where she is now, standing on a stool to reach the top shelves.

Several blocks away, Kristin sits on her bed painting her toenails while she talks to Sicilee on the phone. “Where are you?” asks Kristin. “You sound like you’re in a cave or something.”

“I’m in my closet.”

Kristin dips the brush in the tiny bottle, carefully wiping off the excess on the rim. “Doing what, exactly?”

“I’m trying to find something to wear on my feet that isn’t responsible for the horrible death of some stupid cow, what do you think?”

“Didn’t I tell you it was going to be trickier than you thought?”

“Sweet Mary!” Sicilee wails. “What am I supposed to do? Go barefoot in the middle of winter?” She doesn’t even want to think about handbags.

“You could always wear hightops or something like that,” suggests Kristin.

No, she couldn’t.

“And look like the Barbarian? I’d rather wear paper bags on my feet.”

“Well, what about that fake leather stuff vegetarians and vegans wear then?” tries Kristin.

Sicilee feels a new panic engulf her. “Vegetarians and vegans?” she repeats.

“Yeah, sure. They have lots of fake stuff. Cheese … mayonnaise … meat … milk. And leather. Jackets … shoes … boots … trainers … bags. Whatever.”

“That’s not what I meant,” says Sicilee. “I meant, how come you said vegetarians and vegans? You mean there’s a difference?”

“Um, duh… Yes.” Kristin turns on the hairdryer and plays it across her toes. “Why? What did you say you are?”

“Vegan.” Sicilee hears Maya Baraberra’s ultra-irritating super-cool voice saying, I bet you don’t even know what a vegan is… “I thought they were the same thing.”

“Oh boy, have you got on the wrong bus!” This is the first time Sicilee ever noticed how witch-like Kristin’s laugh can be. “Vegans are, like, really fanatical. Vegetarians are just a pain in the butt. You know, all vegans are vegetarians, but all vegetarians aren’t vegans.”

Now she tells her.

“Merciful Mother!” Sicilee steps off the stool and sits down on the floor with a thud. “Fanatical like how?”

“Well … they won’t touch anything that’s ever been near an animal. And I mean nothing. No milk, no eggs, no butter, no cheese—”

“No cheese? You mean they don’t eat pizza?”

“Not with cheese.” Kristin wiggles her toes. “And no honey, either.”

“Honey?” What does honey have to do with chopping up cows and putting them in a bun with ketchup? “Are you making this up?” demands Sicilee.

“Who could make this up?” asks Kristin.

“I don’t believe it.” She refuses to. “You have to be wrong. No one could live like that. It’s like punishing yourself just for being alive.”

“It gets worse,” Kristin assures her. “You know that sweater you were wearing today? And the blouse? They’re out, too. No wool and no silk.”

No wool and no silk? Is she supposed to go naked as well as barefoot?

“And your silver parka’s out because it’s filled with duck down.”

“What am I supposed to do? Wrap myself in a blanket?”

“Not a wool one,” says Kristin.

Sweet Mary! Is there no end to this?

“Which means that you should ditch all your mittens and gloves and scarves.”

Kristin has never shown any sadistic tendencies before, but she has to be winding Sicilee up. She has to be. “How do you know all this stuff?” demands Sicilee.

“Don’t you remember when my brother went through that post-punk, pissed-off-about-everything phase during his first year in college?”

“Vaguely,” says Sicilee. “Didn’t he have a pin through his eyebrow?”

“Yeah, but besides the pins and the tattoos and stuff he went vegan. You wouldn’t believe how torturous it was. You’d think he just got off the space ship from Mars. He wouldn’t touch anything until he’d read the label. And