Inspired by a New Outlook
Inspired by a New Outlook
What could she, a tomboy of 14, have in common with her glamorous new stepmom?
Summer at my dad’s beach house in southern California. Lazy days swimming, strolling on the boardwalk, lounging on the sand with a good mystery…what could be better for a 14-year-old tomboy bookworm, right? Too bad my new stepmother, Nancy, had other ideas.
“We’re going to have a great time,” she said, ushering my younger brother and sister and me into the house. “Look at all the things I’ve planned for you.”
She showed us the calendar she’d made, the activities color-coded for each of us. There were swimming lessons for Kevin, sailing for me, horseback riding for Kerry and me. And in the red pen she’d designated for me, something looming in July: “Kelly Ann: modeling classes.”
“I can’t wait to take you shopping, Kelly Ann,” she said, glancing at my T-shirt and faded cut-off jeans. “It’ll be fun to have a girls’ day out.”
Ugh. I hated shopping. What else would she want to do? Curl my hair? Paint my nails?
Dad must have seen the look on my face because he took me aside and said, “Just give her a chance. You’re going to love Nancy once you get to know her.”
It was obvious why he adored her. Nancy acted like the world revolved around him. Not only that, she had big brown eyes, shiny blonde hair, an infectious laugh and the most glamorous outfits.
Okay, okay. I’d never love my stepmother the way I loved my mom, but for my dad’s sake, I would try to get along with her.
So I didn’t complain when she assigned us almost as many chores as activities–washing dishes, taking out the trash, cleaning our rooms, vacuuming, laundry. (So much for the lazy days of summer!)
I let her take me shopping. I even let her pick out a few dresses for me, and sandals with heels. I listened when she admonished, “Stand up straight, dear. Posture is so important.”
Still, I felt I could never do anything right in her eyes, especially in social situations. Nancy loved going out for dinner or better yet, having company over.
At every party, she was the center of attention, laughing like she was having the best time in the world, bracelets jangling, people hanging on her every word. I stood in a corner, wishing I could just stay in my bedroom with the latest Nancy Drew from the library.
“Kelly Ann, come and introduce yourself,” my stepmother would say. I’d shuffle over in my new dress and sandals and mumble, “Nice to meet you,” then stare at the ground, tongue-tied.
“Tell them about your sailing lessons,” Nancy said one evening. “You should see her out there on the bay. She’s a natural.”
Was that a compliment? I was so surprised, all I could do was murmur, “Thank you.”
Just a few days later, though, Nancy and I got into an argument. She asked me to wash my brother’s plate and silverware even though I was already done with the breakfast dishes by the time he showed up at the table. “That’s not fair,” I said. “He made the mess after I finished.”
“I know,” Nancy said. “But he has his chores and you have yours. Wash his dishes, please.”
I stormed out of the house, letting the door slam behind me, and stalked down to the library. My sneakers smacked against the sidewalk. I pushed open the heavy door.
The librarian looked up from her desk and smiled. She knew me–this was my escape from my stepmother and all her rules and plans and ideas. Lord, why does that woman keep trying to make me be something I’m not? I’m a bookworm, not the life of the party! Why can’t she understand that?
I wandered the stacks, running my fingers along the books’ spines. I found myself at a shelf I hadn’t noticed on previous visits: 395–Etiquette. A thin, worn hardback caught my eye. I pulled it down.
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