metal bands on her teeth.
She really was an ugly freak.
And stupid too, as Mother kept reminding her with the disappointed looks and sideways glances. Ever since Zoe was diagnosed with triple X syndrome, Mother had gone out of her way to patronize Zoe—little pats on the head as if she were some kind of pet, and that high-pitched voice she put on when she pretended to give a flip about someone’s baby…
Zoe closed her eyes, shook her head, and sucked it up. Someday, she’d prove Mother and the doctors wrong.
After putting on the “My Momma Dresses Me Funny” clothes, she gathered up the discarded jeans and flannel and left the bathroom, tossing her preferred outfit into the dirty pile on the floor near the suitcase. Frowning, she wriggled into her winter coat. “I’m ready to go.”
Candace swept a hand over her hair again and stole a glance into the mirror beside the door. Finding something out of place, she paused and faced the glass full on. Brilliant and vain. What a combo. Sliding a finger under her eye to smooth her perfect makeup, she said, “Thank you, darling. I’ll ask Dr. Simons about the boat over dinner tonight.”
Zoe slipped her portable CD player and headphones into her backpack, wound her arms through the straps, and followed Candace out of the room. At least she had her whale songs to keep her company. This trip would have totally sucked without them.
She left the warm comfort of the hotel and stepped into a crisp winter breeze. It was August—summertime to her, but the 23.4-degree tilt of the earth forced the southern hemisphere to disagree. The seasonal difference fascinated Zoe. Everything about Australia did. Accents, money, electrical outlets…
She normally spent summers at home in Santa Cruz, roaming the Biological Sciences library at the University of California while Mother taught undergrad courses, so this trip was a refreshing diversion. Not that being surrounded by walls of books was a bad thing. It was the reading part she hated. Pictures were fine. Words…not so much.
At least while she was here, she could learn about the culture in her own way—through sights and sounds and interactions with people. So much better to live the learning than to try to figure it out through a bunch of stupid backwards letters that made no sense.
She wished Mother understood.
Candace turned without pausing her clippity-cloppity steps down the Sydney sidewalk. “Really, Zoe, could you please hurry? It’s freezing out here.” Her breath billowed out in a puffy cloud, as if to accentuate her point. The condensed air reminded Zoe of a whale blow.
She kicked up her pace and caught up to Mother, who thundered onward, arms folded tightly over her chest, gloved fists balled under her armpits. The traffic light at the corner warned them to stop.
“ Hello, blondie girl,” a thin, aged voice said.
Zoe started to turn to the sound, but Mother yanked her elbow. “Don’t talk to him,” she said under her breath.
Suppressing an “oww,” Zoe cut her gaze right. An old man stood on the corner, skinny as a pogo stick, and as dark-skinned as a coffee bean. Wild, white hair, like wisps of cotton, framed his face. Warm brown eyes smiled, and a wide, flat nose perched atop the half-moon of his mouth. The sparkling teeth against that richly colored skin were enough to blind her in the midday sun. Wow.
His grin stretched even further when he noticed her looking at him, and he nodded. “Yeah, you, blondie girl. Got something for ya.” He held up an object, smaller than the palm of his hand, and waved her over.
A loud huff barreled from Mother’s throat. Since they were in public, on a crowded street, Zoe had no concerns about the man chopping off her head or dragging her into an alley for evil purposes. Hell, she was taller than he was. Despite her gangly physique, she doubted he could even lift her off the ground.
“ Zoe—” Tension clipped Mother’s voice.
That hint of strain gave Zoe’s
She really was an ugly freak.
And stupid too, as Mother kept reminding her with the disappointed looks and sideways glances. Ever since Zoe was diagnosed with triple X syndrome, Mother had gone out of her way to patronize Zoe—little pats on the head as if she were some kind of pet, and that high-pitched voice she put on when she pretended to give a flip about someone’s baby…
Zoe closed her eyes, shook her head, and sucked it up. Someday, she’d prove Mother and the doctors wrong.
After putting on the “My Momma Dresses Me Funny” clothes, she gathered up the discarded jeans and flannel and left the bathroom, tossing her preferred outfit into the dirty pile on the floor near the suitcase. Frowning, she wriggled into her winter coat. “I’m ready to go.”
Candace swept a hand over her hair again and stole a glance into the mirror beside the door. Finding something out of place, she paused and faced the glass full on. Brilliant and vain. What a combo. Sliding a finger under her eye to smooth her perfect makeup, she said, “Thank you, darling. I’ll ask Dr. Simons about the boat over dinner tonight.”
Zoe slipped her portable CD player and headphones into her backpack, wound her arms through the straps, and followed Candace out of the room. At least she had her whale songs to keep her company. This trip would have totally sucked without them.
She left the warm comfort of the hotel and stepped into a crisp winter breeze. It was August—summertime to her, but the 23.4-degree tilt of the earth forced the southern hemisphere to disagree. The seasonal difference fascinated Zoe. Everything about Australia did. Accents, money, electrical outlets…
She normally spent summers at home in Santa Cruz, roaming the Biological Sciences library at the University of California while Mother taught undergrad courses, so this trip was a refreshing diversion. Not that being surrounded by walls of books was a bad thing. It was the reading part she hated. Pictures were fine. Words…not so much.
At least while she was here, she could learn about the culture in her own way—through sights and sounds and interactions with people. So much better to live the learning than to try to figure it out through a bunch of stupid backwards letters that made no sense.
She wished Mother understood.
Candace turned without pausing her clippity-cloppity steps down the Sydney sidewalk. “Really, Zoe, could you please hurry? It’s freezing out here.” Her breath billowed out in a puffy cloud, as if to accentuate her point. The condensed air reminded Zoe of a whale blow.
She kicked up her pace and caught up to Mother, who thundered onward, arms folded tightly over her chest, gloved fists balled under her armpits. The traffic light at the corner warned them to stop.
“ Hello, blondie girl,” a thin, aged voice said.
Zoe started to turn to the sound, but Mother yanked her elbow. “Don’t talk to him,” she said under her breath.
Suppressing an “oww,” Zoe cut her gaze right. An old man stood on the corner, skinny as a pogo stick, and as dark-skinned as a coffee bean. Wild, white hair, like wisps of cotton, framed his face. Warm brown eyes smiled, and a wide, flat nose perched atop the half-moon of his mouth. The sparkling teeth against that richly colored skin were enough to blind her in the midday sun. Wow.
His grin stretched even further when he noticed her looking at him, and he nodded. “Yeah, you, blondie girl. Got something for ya.” He held up an object, smaller than the palm of his hand, and waved her over.
A loud huff barreled from Mother’s throat. Since they were in public, on a crowded street, Zoe had no concerns about the man chopping off her head or dragging her into an alley for evil purposes. Hell, she was taller than he was. Despite her gangly physique, she doubted he could even lift her off the ground.
“ Zoe—” Tension clipped Mother’s voice.
That hint of strain gave Zoe’s
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