Ever since I first made friends with Ricky back in elementary school, she has let me call her Donna, and she is always doing cool things for me, like buying Bobby Big Boy food and letting him crash in her home when I am at school, even after he ripped up her leather couch, because he gets separation anxiety when I’m not around.
Plus, I used to steal her makeup, when I first went through puberty and started feeling the need to look pretty, and Donna wears—like—only the most expensive department store hooey too. I’m not proud of stealing her stuff, but one day when I was—like—fourteen, I went into her bathroom looking to score some makeup, and when I opened the medicine cabinet, there was a little sign that read “Amber’s Shelf,” and on it were all the top makeup brands that she wears. Brand-new gear everywhere. I felt so guilty, I started sobbing in the bathroom, and when Donna heard me, she actually came in and hugged me. I held on to her for at least ten minutes, I felt so shameful. When I stopped crying, she looked me in the eyes and said, “If you ever need something, just ask. Okay?”
That was it.
No reprimand.
No threats to tell my mother.
No guilt trip.
I’ve never stolen anything since—not even a piece of paper from school—and never will ever again, no matter how bad things get. Word.
As I finish cooking the last omelet, Donna scans through the business section of the paper and mumbles stuff about all her stocks shitting the bed.
I marvel at her—a woman with stocks and business suits and her own house. And then, I’m secretly wishing that she were my mother, which I realize is a terrible thing to wish, but I can’t help it.
“Amber Appleton uses hot sauce in her omelet. Yes. She likes to cook omelets on Tuesday mornings. Yes. Amber Appleton is very pretty and I would like to kiss her under the apple tree because she is Amber Apple-TON! Yes.”
“Good morning, Ricky,” I say to my friend, who is wearing his Tuesday Chase Utley home jersey—number 26.
“Amber Appleton is going to take Ricky Roberts out of Ricky Roberts’ house tonight but he doesn’t know where and Mommy Roberts will not tell him. Mommy Roberts will not tell him where. Yes!”
“We’re going to do a mission tonight. Remember?” I say to the now-seated Ricky while placing an omelet in front of him. “And when the Franks Freak Force Federation does a mission, how does Ricky Roberts receive information?”
“Ricky Roberts receives information on a need-to-know basis. Need to know. Yes,” Ricky says, and then begins eating his omelet. “Need-to-know basis.”
We can’t tell Ricky secret hooey, because he says whatever he thinks, and therefore can’t keep a secret to save his life.
I remove a plate from the oven and place it in front of Donna. “Can you still make it tonight?” I ask her.
From behind the business section, she says, “As your attorney, I advise you to videotape the proceedings.”
“But we don’t have a—”
“As your attorney, I have taken the liberty of securing a video camera and will be personally documenting everything that takes place tonight.” She drops the paper and looks into my eyes. “Just make sure your boys know their lines. I’m counting on you to make this mission successful, because you’re the leader of The Five, right?”
Donna winks at me and I almost crap my pants as she samples my omelet.
“Does this have tequila in it?” Donna asks.
I nod once and swallow.
“Nice. Coffee?”
I all but run to the coffeemaker and pour Donna a large cup. She drinks it black.
“Thanks,” she says. “Are you not eating?”
“Can I use your bathroom first?”
Donna nods once and disappears behind the business section again.
Upstairs, in the bathroom, I strip down quickly, brush my teeth with the toothbrush stored permanently on Amber’s Shelf, floss, use mouthwash, and then I’m in the shower washing my hair, using Donna’s expensive conditioner, trying to keep my long black hair shiny. I do this all super quickly, so I don’t use too much of Donna’s hot water, because hot water costs money. I towel off, use the deodorant and perfume and makeup that Donna buys for me, redress, and then return to the kitchen, where BBB has fallen asleep on the little braided mat in front of the sink.