Enthusiasm Read Free Page A

Ashleigh rooting for the football team. “This is a new fad, unfortunately. It started yesterday. It replaces the Wet Blankets.”
    “Then you’ll just have to bargain with her. Refuse to do something she wants unless she agrees to wear normal clothes. In the meantime, maybe you can find some sort of in-between outfit that would work for either era. A long black skirt or an Indian print, something like that. That way, even though she might not look crisp, at least she won’t look insane. Tell you what, if you don’t find an effective threat by the weekend, let me know and I’ll get a few of the girls on the gymnastics team to come to school in long skirts on Monday, so Ashleigh won’t be the only one.”
    A generous offer! No one, however fond of gossip, could blame a sophomore for dressing like the gymnasts, the most successful athletes at Byz High. Last year the girls’ gymnastics team placed first in twice as many meets as the football and basketball teams combined won games. They were the pride of the school and the leaders of fashion.
    “But I didn’t tell you the worst part yet,” I continued. “Ashleigh’s planning to crash a dance at the Forefield Academy, and she wants me to come with her.”
    Samantha gave a thumbs-up with her ginger-ale can. “There you go! Tell her you’ll go only if she gives up the weird wardrobe.”
    “No way, Sam! You want me to crash a dance at Snoot School? I’ll die of embarrassment.”
    “Face it, Julie, you know you’re going to end up going anyway. You can never say no to Ashleigh. You might as well get something out of it this time.”
    Much as I hated to admit it, she had a point. I finished my ginger ale, thanked her, and made my way to my father’s house.

    After we finished our dinner of grilled chicken breast marinated in pomegranate juice and spinach-walnut salad with orange vinaigrette—my stepmother is a skillful if fussy cook—Ashleigh called. She was buzzing with news of some sort.
    I told her I would discuss it tomorrow and hung up hastily. The Irresistible Accountant disapproves of teenagers talking on the telephone. She especially disapproves of Ashleigh. Having extracted my father from his messy life, she wants to simplify and straighten out the only aspect that he couldn’t entirely leave behind: me. In her view, Ashleigh belongs to the world of mess. Amy much prefers Samantha, holding her up as an example of ideal girlhood. Although the feeling isn’t mutual, Samantha always advises me to keep the peace with my stepmother. Ash, in contrast, speaks her mind and encourages me to speak mine.
    “Was that Ashleigh on the phone, sweetie?” asked Amy. “I wish you would ask that girl not to call during family time. Your father and I only get to see you for a few precious hours a week. I think it’s very inconsiderate of her not to respect that.”
    Yeah, you wouldn’t want to waste a precious minute that you could be spending picking at me and criticizing my friends. This is what I did not say to Amy. If I had a dollar for every sharp remark I keep to myself, I would be able to fund the Stepfamily Peace Prize, my dream version of the Nobel, to be awarded annually to the person who displays the greatest familial restraint. I considered it especially unfair that, having voluntarily given up the pleasure of talking to Ashleigh, I should still have to listen to my stepmother’s complaints, just as if Ash and I had yapped away on the phone for hours.
    “Don’t you agree, Steve?” said my stepmother.
    “Hmm? Yes, of course,” said my father, getting up and heading to his study. He stopped on the way to kiss his wife on the top of her head. “I love to see my two favorite girls together. You two sit here, relax, and catch up.”
    I waited until the door had swung shut behind him, then took my bag and headed upstairs to “my” room, which I share with the I.A.’s sewing machine. The knowledge that she has an excuse to enter at any moment makes the