CHAPTER ONE ~ PART ONE ~ OPERATION: COOKIE CUTTER ~ B. A. Linhares

Robert Frost, once said, “I can sum up everything I know about life in three words — ‘It goes on.’”

August 19, 1995: Saturday morning approximately 9 am my 17 birthday!

Something hits my bedroom window and my eyes fly open. My first thought is what the hell! My second is why on earth am I dreaming about Josh O'Dell? I have a boyfriend. My third is, it’s OMG it's my seventeenth birthday and there’s a pot load of stuff to do! But first, I desperately need best friend advice. Searching under the covers, I find my cell phone and punch Char’s number. Her phone rings five times and then goes to voice mail.

“Charlene MacDoogal here, sorry I missed your call I, like, have a life so, leave a message or...NOT!”

“Thanks for being there for me. Not!”

I almost click off then decide to punch in a text message.

9-1-1-BF ALERT! Call C. ASAP! P.S. Don’t forget! You promised to come over tonight for my special birthday dinner again 2NIGHT!

Cancel and die!”

I click off, fling the phone toward the foot of my sleigh bed then I lay there fighting off the green goblin. She’ll cancel. Now that Char has Billy Brennan’s fiddle I'm second fiddle. Uh! I grimace at my lame joke.

If only Saint Valentine had never been born.

Last February 14 was not only the night of Georgetown’s High’s St. Valentine’s Dance it was also the night Cupid stole my best friend. Sadly, Char was my date that night only because neither of us was asked. Char said that she could give a flip. That she was on the prowl. “I like the idea of being free to hunt for guys and lure them away from their dates.”

And she did just that.

Imagine the shock of watching Principal Bishop crown Billy Brennan (Georgetown High School’s most popular boy and star football player) and Charlene MacDougal (outsider) “King and Queen Valentine”. I didn’t even want to know how Char finagle that ruse; her name wasn’t even in the running.

Anyway, during the cheers and jeers, Char disappeared for two whole hours leaving me stranded. I took refuge in a dark corner of the gymnasium watching for any sign of my date. I think I was the only one at the dance stag.

Officially a wallflower.

I was mortified when of all people Jimmy Beal (a total geek who’s had a crush on me for forever) saw me standing all alone in the corner. He came over with a cup of punch then brought me metal folding chair. Two instamatic cameras hung around his neck on leather straps.

I forced a tight smile and mumbled “thanks”. Bending over, I open the chair and hear clicking sounds and a string of bright flashes like a strobe light almost blinded me. I swung around thinking Beal was taking pictures of my backside. He wasn’t. His lens was pointed at a couple making out in the shadows of the bleachers.

“Gotcha!"

The guy flips Beal off. “Tell your date to knock it off!”

I just stood there my mouth agape.

Beal looks me up and down. "As the school’s chief photographer," he says, acting all haughty. "I’m much too busy to hang Cookie. I’ll check back with ya.” He winks and gives me one of his big horsey grins. His teeth are huge!

I wave him away like a pesky fly. Thank you gawd.

I sat sipping red punch, watching couples slow dance wondering where the hell Char went. A few feet away, Beal took the classic shots of couples posing with a big pink Cupid made out of cardboard. Between photo shoots, he came over with another cup of punch. After the third glass, I felt the need to make a trip to the girl’s room. Low and behold, Char. She had her back to me, standing at the mirror applying fresh purple lip gloss. Her face was all a flush and her spiked out hair was suspiciously flat on the back of her head.

I cleared my throat loudly. “What happened to your hair?”

Char fanned her face dramatically with both hands and panted. “Ohmygosh-Ohmygosh Cookie, you won’t believe what just happened!”

“You disappeared on me like an hour ago!”

Char twists around and squinted at her reflection in the mirror. Frowning she fishes around in her handbag and comes out with a bottle of hair spritz. I stepped back as she squirts the perimeter around her head, running her fingers through her spiky black hair.

I make a face. “Again, where were you? Freaking Bonehead Beal is pretending I’m his date!”

Mid-squirt Char pauses and smiles. “That’s sweet.”

I fan the air in front of my face and roll my eyes at her. “Nu-uh! Beal is a total geek! He smells like cleaning fluid.”

Char sets the sprits down and pushes her ample breast up higher. “There's nothing like cleavage to keep a man coming back.”

Of which I have little.

“Billy Brennan asked me to go for a ride in his Porsche!”

“You’re so lying.”

Billy Brennan the only child of Senator Brennan from Texas. AKA, oil tycoon. The Brennan name is almost as big as ExxonMobil.

"Get real. Brennan is clearly out of our league. He acts like a big shot around school, a total jock strap just because he’s...what rich?"

“Oh damn, Cookie, I’m in completely and utterly in l-u-v for real this time.”

“Oh please. You fall in love with a new guy every week…sometimes daily.”

Char smoothes the front of her dress, which is way wrinkled. “No, that was lust. I know the dif. This time it's the “real thing”.” She hugs herself and swoons. “I can tell Billy felt it too!”

I raise my eyebrow. “Hum, I’ll bet that’s not all Billy felt.”

Char giggles putting on her southern bell act. “Cupid himself must’ve been hiding in the rafters above the stage tonight because he has shot his golden arrow through Billy and my heart.”

I roll my eye again. "Good gawd almighty."

I decide to go along with Char’s fantasy and wait to hear about what a jerk Billy is when he completely ignores her at school next Monday.

So, you can imagine how shocked I was when Char called me the day after her second date with Billy.

“Billy asked me to only date him.”

I muttered, “How sweet,” My guess Billy meant only “Do” him.

Great. Char is thrilled with her newest admirer—me not so much. The only time I see her without Billy attached to her hip is between classes. She attends every sports event Billy participates in and goes to all of the political gatherings with Billy and his parents. It’s gross. You’d think they were married. She and I never do anything together, not as we used to.

Okay, back to moi and my pressing issues. Of which there are many. Um, where do I start? Okay, here’s the thing. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I was totally psyched about turning seventeen. Hey, this year is a major turning point in my life. It’s my last year of high school. I want to get a real job so I can buy a car, earn my on way, yada-yada. All that aside, I still want Sean Palmer to be my date for the Senior Prom. I’m scared he will dump me because…uh, this is embarrassing. Because I won’t—you know—do “it” with him. Bottom line, I’m simply not ready. It's a pain hooking a hot boyfriend. Once you do, you don't want to catch and release.

Part of me wishes I was turning eight instead of seventeen. Back then, my biggest concern was the not knowing if I could count on my mom coming home for my birthdays or for that matter any special function in my life. And if she did make it home would she remember how much I wanted that Cinderella Barbie.

At least I’ll never have to worry about Mom again.

I pull the covers over my head. “Don’t go there.”

Anyway, right now I need to sort out what to do about my faltering relationship with Sean Palmer. Sean is my first real boyfriend. I say “real” because Sean is the first guy that has lasted this long. He’s the first boy Pop has ever allowed me to spend one second alone. My Irish father is beyond old fashioned when it comes to dating. He thinks that if you double with another couple you won’t lose your virginity. Ha, Char proved that theory wrong in sixth grade.

Char’s boyfriends treat sex like their next meal, they expects it. I can’t fault Billy Brennan completely. I would have never met Sean if it wasn’t for him. He feels for taking up so much of Char’s time and occasionally insists on dragging me with them on dates like a third wheel. On one such occasion, the three of us were enjoying a post movie meal at Crazy Burger our favorite hangout. Sean Palmer came to our table to talk to Billy. Char was in the restroom.

“Palmer, this is Cookie Blakely, Char’s b-f-f. Do you already know each other? Cook’s on the Georgetown High School swim team at. My boy Sean’s a kickass swimmer.”

“Nice to meet you Cookie Blakely.”

“Hi.”

I hurriedly wipe my hands then reaching over the pile of food, we awkwardly shake hands. I’d be lying if I said I barely noticed how cute Sean was with his long blond hair, blue eyes, and Irish accent.

“Sorry about your mother.”

“Thanks.”

When Sean sat down next to me, I didn’t really think much of it. I went back to munching on my platter of cheese fries. He was Billy’s friend and we all know what that means: He only dates the upper echelon girls. I don’t think I said more than a few words to him or anybody for that matter. I just sat there thinking how not to lose my mind if one more person asked me about my mom’s death.

I did notice when Sean joined the boy’s swim team the next day. His body was to die for. But what chance did I stand? He probably already had a girlfriend or surrounded by girls bidding for his attention.

A few weeks later, I was beyond shocked to learn from Char (and a few other friends who were calling to find out why I wasn’t showing up for summer swim practice) that Sean Palmer wanted to ask me out.

When Sean called me for a date, I said “sure” I didn’t put much stock in our future, guys like Sean usually dangle three or four girls at one time. As usual, I prejudged. We’ve been going out ever since. I cringe when I think back on the night we met. Sean said he asked me out because the glob of orange cheese on my chin turned him on. How sick is that?

Problem is lately our make-out sessions have been getting a little too heated. I stare at the dust fairies floating in the sunbeams shooting across my bedroom ceiling and count how many times Sean has put his hand(s) under my shirt, on my butt or in the forbidden southern region. To be honest—I totally let him. He is so cute and my willpower is weak. I’m afraid if we keep kissing as if our lips have become super-glued—sooner or later—“ITS” bound to happen. I think Sean is hoping for sooner. I’ve talked to other girls about sex and have heard varied stories. I ask them shouldn’t Sean and I at least talk it over first? Most say get real, guys just go for it. Sean’s you-know-what looms before my eyes.

I’d cried myself to sleep last night because I don’t think I am in love with Sean. Or am I just hormonal? Lately, I find my self avoiding his affections. Public groping has never been my thing. Half the time, Sean expects me to be at his beck and call. I’m starting to think that he’s a control freak. I’ve thought seriously about breaking up with him. Mainly because I never get any me time. I want to post in my journal, maybe even write a novel someday. I hold up my hand and inspect my nails. Or just time to give myself a manicure. I miss that. These are things I miss, me time, my Mom, and talking to my best friend. Not that I take Char’s advice, but she is a good listener. At least she used to be.

“Uh!”

I pull the covers over my head, close my eyes and push all negative thoughts out of my mind. It’s my seventeenth birthday, damn it, time to stop moping and get the hell out of bed.

I throw the covers aside, sit up and stretch my arms over my head. I sniff the air and smile wide. Pop’s making cinnamon buns. And Pop and I are going to Florida over Labor Day weekend. I finally get to learn how to surf.

“Yippee!” I jump up and do a happy dance.

I wiggle out of my pjs, wad in a ball then toss them in the general direction of my cloths hamper. I put on my old Hello Kitty tee shirt and slip into the first pair of sweats I find lying on the floor. On my way to the bathroom, I come to a screeching stop in the hallway. The muffled ringtone Better Days by the Goo-Goo Dolls sings out on my cell phone.

I dash over to my bed and flip open my cell. It’s Char.

“Hell-lo,” I sing, heading to the bathroom and close door.

I prop my cell in the crook of my neck and tug down my pants while Char sings the happy birthday song off tune.

“And you smell like one toooooo!”

I raise my voice to hide the flushing sounds. “Thanks Char. Can you believe it?” I squeal, “I’m finally seventeen!”

“And not a virgin?” Char asks. “That is what your b-f alert message was about, right?”

“Er, no.” Now I’m not so sure I even want to discuss it with Char. She’ll laugh and tell me to grow up.

“Why? Seriously Cook, nobody “saves it” anymore.”

“Um, hello,” I say, finding my voice. “Did you sleep through health class? What about STDs, unwanted pregnancies and the like.” Great, I sound like our Middle School Health teacher.

“Pi-sha, just use a rubber,” Char tells me as if it’s just that simple.

“Nothing really happened. I was able to handle the situation.”

“I dunno, it doesn’t sound like nothing happened.”

I roll my eyes and say nothing. The image of Sean’s you-know-what looms before my eyes again and I fumble with the faucet, almost dropping my cell in the toilet. When Sean and I started dating, Char gave me a gift wrapped box of glow in the dark Trojans as sort of a gag gift and a serious donation. The cellophane wrapped box in the back of my closet, unopened.

“I’m warning you—if you don’t take care of Palmer soon—trust me Cook—he’ll find somebody who will. He’s a hottie and I know a couple of girls who would do him in a sec.”

I think fine they can have him. I’m tired of fighting him off.

Char keeps talking. “Besides...you two have been dating all summer. I can tell Sean totally loves you. So what’s the latest with you and Palmer? You and I haven’t talked for like, a week.”

“Nothing,” I mumble drying my hands on a hand towel. I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and feel a ping of unease in the pit of my stomach. Char thinks I’m old fashioned. If I tell her about what happened between Sean and me last night—or more to the point—what didn’t happen—I know what she’ll say what she always says, “Cookie, you should just go for it.”...not what I want to hear. Sure he’s totally hot and mega popular and any girl would love to have him as a boyfriend, but—

“Hello Cook, you still there?”

I cross the hall and go back in my bedroom. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Cook, you do love Palmer, right?”

I sing, “What’s love got to do, got to do with it?”

“Uh-oh,” Char says.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that I have to get. Billy’s mom just pulled up in a limo to take me shopping for a new dress. I’ll call you later and explain.”

“Explain what?”

“Um, Cook, don’t get mad but...”Char’s voice trails off.

Here it comes. “What?” I say again, flopping down on my bed, bracing myself.

Char mumbles in a little voice, “I’ve got some not-so-good news.”

“What?”

“Uh, I have to cancel on you tonight.”

I open my mouth to protest.

“Before you blow a fuse...let me explain.”

I hear her take a deep breath.

“Okay...it’s like this...Billy’s father put out like a thousand bucks a plate for some big hoity-toity fund-raiser and Billy needs me to go with him...it’s tonight.”

“Just tell him you—”

Char cuts me off. “I swear I totally tried to get out of it, but Billy’s father is, like, totally forcing him to go. Billy has to be there, his father is thinking about running for President next election. His father wants to have his whole family at his side you know, for the press photos and all. The Brennans consider me family, isn’t that totally cool?”

“I guess.” I used to ‘consider’ you my best friend before you started blowing me off to be with Billy.

“And get this...the function tonight is at the White House, like, where the President lives.”

“Duh, I know that the President lives in the White House." I stand up and stomp around my bedroom while pleading my case. "Hey, what about our plans…did you forget about Madam Suzi (our local physic). We already paid her. The sign on her wall said strictly no refunds.”

“It's all good. I already took care of it,” Char says perkily. “I called Madam Suzi and told her about the fund-riser and she said we could re-schedule us anytime no problem. I promised to get her a couple of autographs. Hey, if it will make you feel any better all the money raised tonight is going to your favorite cause.”

“Really...what’s that?” I mutter sounding like a three year old.

“Environmental education,” Char says proudly. “You know—Ecology, Mother Earth, all that crap you love to preach about.”

“It's not crap. Man is killing our planet! Stop changing the subject. This is so not fair!” I wail and swipe at hot tears of anger running down my cheeks. "First Sean, now you bail?”

“I’m so sorry Cookie,” Char moans in my ear trying to sound sincere. “Look, I really-really gotta go. Ta-ta-for-now.”

I’m so mad at Char I throw my phone across the room. Luckily, it lands in a pile of dirty clothes. I stand there scowling. I can’t believe it. The only two people in my messed up life (not counting my adoring father downstairs), cancel on me.

“My birthday is ruined!”

Then it suddenly it occurs to me...Char didn’t even bother to ask why Sean cancelled—easy, she doesn’t give a rip. I pull tissues from the box beside my bed and blow my nose. My stomach growls noisily.

It’s time to drown my sorrows with cinnamon buns!