Bombshell to Bum - Chapter 2

What I really end up doing is falling asleep on the couch, completely out of it. It isn’t until I hear the apartment phone ring that I wake up. I stumble over to answer it.

“Hello?” I mumble sleepily.

“Jenna? Hey, sweetie, it’s Mom. I tried your cell phone four times, but there wasn’t any answer.”

I glance over at my phone laying on the floor beside my purse. I don’t even remember putting it there. “Yeah, it’s on vibrate. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” Mom answers nonchalantly, but I know her better than to think she called just to say hello. “Just wanting to check up on you. How are things?”

I have to admit, I miss talking to Mom. She only lives an hour away, but we’re both so busy that it’s hard to make plans. I made the decision to move in with Stacey this summer instead of going home from college, mostly because I would be at home alone. Besides, all of my friends are up here in San Diego while Mom is back home with her law firm. I haven’t talked to her nearly enough since her and my dad split up.

“Things are good,” I answer honestly. I proceed to tell her about my new bikini, mine and Justin’s picnic, and Alex St. Clair’s announcement. She’s thrilled for me, of course.

“How are you, Mom? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“I know!” she cries. “When are you coming down?”

I sigh inwardly. “Well, Mom, when are you coming up? You never come see me in San Diego. You came all the time during the school term last year, and I’ve been home all summer. You can come visit any time.”

“Sweetie, last year was a tough year, with the breakup and everything. Of course I was going to see you as much as I could.” She hesitates. “But since me and Daddy got divorced, it’s been tougher to handle everything. I’ve been extra busy at work, so I really can’t afford to take too many days off to go to San Diego.”

I play with a loose string on my shirt hem. I don’t know why I even asked. Of course she’s busy. Mom’s a hard-working lawyer. I shouldn’t have brought it up.

“I know, Mom. Anyway, is that all that’s up? Just work?”

She chuckles. “Well, I got an interesting call from Julie yesterday.”

This makes me perk up. “Julie? Stacey’s mom?”

“Of course. She mentioned something to me about a tango class. I was shocked. Why wouldn’t you tell me about your secret love for Latin dancing?” Mom giggles. “You don’t think I’m hip enough to know?”

I am completely lost. “Tango?”

“Well, yes! She said Stacey’s been taking a tango class with a good friend, so I assumed that was you. You aren’t learning how to tango?”

I don’t know whether to be offended, amused, or bothered. I’m a combination of all three, I think.

“No, Mom, I’m not learning tango. Plus, I’m pretty sure Stacey would have mentioned to me had she been learning any sort of Latin dancing.”

There’s an awkward silence before Mom chuckles nervously. “You’re probably right, sweetie. Of course you would know.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Oh, my! Chris is on the other line. We’re working on a very important case right now,” says Mom. “I’ve got to go, but I’ll talk to you later, Jenna! Love you!”

I can barely manage to utter, “Love you, too.”

I place the phone back on its hook and give a derisive snicker. “Tango. Please.”

But the more I find myself mulling over the idea, the more things start to make more sense - Stacey’s strange phone calls and all the distance she’s put between us.

Suddenly, I feel like Nancy Drew. Or a Bond girl. Glancing at the clock, I realize I’ve got exactly one hour before Stacey is due back to the apartment. One hour is plenty of time for a good sleuth to perform a thorough investigation.

Stacey’s room is right down the hall from mine. The two of us have always said that it wasn’t a big deal to be in each other’s rooms. What have either of us ever had to hide? Granted, it was a little awkward when Stacey came across my old Pocahontas training-bra-and-panty set from when I was eleven, but it was too cute and sentimental to merely throw out. Anyway, I don’t think Stacey has a thing to hide from me.

Her door is closed. She has a sign on it that reads: “Rock Star Crossing”. Stacey is oddly unlike me. We’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember, but she’s always had more of an edge. I’m the ultimate girly girl. I like to tan, get my hair done, and shop. Stacey’s always there shopping with me, but after looking at cardigan sweaters, she always drags me into one of her stores to buy more “unique” gear. She’s got short, pixie brown hair and five piercings in each ear. While she may not enjoy your typical feminine activities (or Alex St. Clair), she does get a good laugh out of seeing my bright orange tint after a spray-tanning session. So things work out.

I am instantly greeted by rock and roll posters and frames with some of her artwork on the walls. Her room is very kempt and tidy, and her closet actually shuts. I don’t exactly know where to start investigating first. There aren’t any immediate hints of Latino leaping out at me.

“Aha!” I exclaim as I leap over the bed and to her desk. I yank open a drawer, hoping to find an Enrique Iglesias album hidden under some concert tickets or something. Or maybe a piece of paper acknowledging Stacey’s membership to a dance studio. Or maybe a Shakira or Ricky Martin poster. Something.

Then my Spiderman-like sense just somehow enters my body again, and I am compelled to open Stacey’s closet. I don’t know exactly what I hope to find in there, but I feel a strange tingling sensation maneuver through my fingers as I reach for the handle.

I gasp in disbelief as the closet door slides completely open.

I am standing in front of several organized hangers, mostly holding strangely-patterned shirts, rock band hoodies, and patchwork jeans. But there is one hanger wedged between two black suits Stacey owns that catches my attention. Bright red leaps out at my eye.

I pull the hanger out from its place and hold it out at arm’s length. I’m staring at the most elegant, sexy, sophisticated red dress I’ve ever seen. It is a one-strapped, calf-length gown with an asymmetrical bottom hem and ruffles. The top is covered heavily in silver sequins that fade out to the bottom, and I feel an urge to touch the sparkly things, although I resist.

“No way,” I mutter. There is just absolutely no way Stacey would ever wear anything like this. Maybe I could pull it off on a Venice vacation or something, but Stacey and a red, frilly dress don’t exactly go together an-

Unless. . .suddenly, I recall an episode of Dancing With The Stars I caught on TV last week. This dress closely resembles the one that. . .one of the girl contestants wore during her . . .tango routine!

I swear a light bulb just appeared over my head. It all makes sense. I should’ve known that a normal, non-dancing dress would never contain so much elastic. Stacey has got to be living a secret life of some sorts. Maybe she dances at Club Rico some nights but doesn’t want to tell me. Or maybe she has a crush on a super-hot transfer student and wanted to impress him by wearing a Latin America-inspired dress to the their first date, which just happened to be a tango class.

Oh, Jesus.

I can’t help but become worried. Why hasn’t she told me anything? Are we not as close of friends as we used to be? Oh Lord, our friendship is slowly becoming ruins.

“Jenna? Are you home?”

I feel a clutch of panic as Stacey’s voice filters in from the living room. I quickly stumble out of her room, just as Stacey rounds the corner.

She gives me a strange look. “Jenna, what are you doing?”

I smile casually. “What are you doing?” Suddenly, I realize that makes absolutely no sense.

“I’m. . .going to go spray my hair before we go out,” she answers slowly. “We are still up for Chinese, right?”

I nod eagerly. Maybe Stacey’s not any different. See? She’s excited to go out to eat with me. “Yeah, definitely. Let me change shoes. The mall killed my ankles.”

I hobble to my room as Stacey goes into the bathroom to do her hair. “Oh, yeah!” she calls to me. “Did you buy that bikini?”

“Oh my gosh, yes! Thanks so much for spotting it! It’s definitely going to blow Justin out of the water!”

We reappear in the hall at the same time. I smile and link my arm through hers, like best friends do.

“Shall we?”

She giggles. “You’re such a dork.”

I pretend to look offended. “My dear, this isn’t some joke. I’m asking you a serious question, and if you feel uncomfortable in my presence, then just -”

“Stop!” she cries. “Ok, ok. Yes, we shall.”