Page 1 of My (Not So) Perfect Plan

ONE

CLAIRE

In an iconic scene in Gone with the Wind, Scarlett O’Hara says, “As God is my witness, I will never be hungry again.” That’s like me, only with poverty and chaos. Order is the most important aspect of any society. An ordered society is clean, is structured, is wholesome. My family is the furthest thing from an ordered society. My house is the anti-thesis of order. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. My parents work their fingers to the bone to make sure the seven of us are cared for, but I can’t wait to leave the chaos behind.

My dad works at the metal works plant like he has for the past twenty-five years, grit embedded in the wrinkles of his hands that will never come out no matter how hard or how long they are scrubbed. Mama stays home and takes care of the house and their bajillion kids.

So I’m exaggerating and there’s no such thing as a bajillion, it’s only seven, but the way my siblings go nuts, you’d think there were a bajillion of them. My poor mother got married at sixteen to her childhood sweetheart in Podunk Arkansas (I think that might actually be a place), and then they moved south and have been here ever since.

Sure, she loves my dad, but she has her regrets, the chief of which is getting married so young. My father never had the chance to get his degree and “make something of himself.” Me, being the oldest and of relatively quality brainmatter, she was determined that I was going to take advantage of all the opportunities public school affords, like signing up for scholarships and getting into an Ivy League school.

As it turns out, I’m no genius. Realistically, I might not be able to get into an Ivy League school with a scholarship. The grades, especially my math, just aren’t impressive enough even though I’ve been working my tail off since I was twelve to make it happen. But they are good enough for University of Dallas, assuming I can pass trigonometry. I’m disappointed in myself that Ivy League is out of the question, but at the same time, it’s kind of a relief, because do I really want to be mingling with people who have no other frame of reference than rich and richer?

Getting a full ride scholarship has been a lot of hard work and late nights sitting in the room I share with my three sisters, the door locked to keep them out and attempt some sort of peace and quiet so I can think while I struggle with trigonometry. It’s why I’m currently rubbing my eyes beneath my no frills reading glasses and wishing I had Evan Carmichael’s life.

Gah! It’s completely infantile for me to still have a childhood crush on Evan Carmichael. Those sorts of things were supposed to go away in seventh grade, or maybe stop when I had a couple of boyfriends. But I never had time for boyfriends or parties. Or a life outside of spending carefully planned time with Rachel, Raven, and Tamara.

Being on the student council, volunteering hours at the physical therapy clinic, attending football games (again, as a member of student council), take up most of my extra time – well, that and occasionally babysitting my siblings so my mom can go grocery shopping.

I shut my math book with a bang. I hate math. I don’t know how I am going to do well in college if I can’t handleadvanced math courses. Disgusted with myself, I pull out a new weakness: planning for the fall gala fundraiser. When I first volunteered to head up the committee for the gala benefitting Children’s Mercy Hospital, I figured it would be some basic party planning, but no, it was so much more than that. And I LOVED it. I got with Tamara (always Tamara or better Jean, never Tammy) and Rachel to come up with some themes. I researched it and set up a few digital lookbooks. So. Much. Fun. Now I just needed to present them to the committee and have everyone would vote on the theme. Regardless, it was going to be a sit down black tie affair with a live band, dancing, and catered food.

I spent another hour working on the remaining theme lookbook before my sisters pounding on the door to let them in forced me to turn away from the computer. I pack up my stuff quickly, knowing that if I leave it out, every page of my math book will be doodled on within five minutes, my laptop will end up with a crack down its screen, and I won’t be able to find half of my homework assignments the next day. Like I said, chaos. It tends to happen when you have four girls in one room. There’ve been more than a few times that I wished my parents would consider letting me build a shed in the back yard. I figure it would be totally fine with a small electric heater for the winters and a window for hot summer nights.

The important thing is that it would be mine. My space. And no one else’s. Dreams of my own space take me through the night and into the following morning. When Rachel stops by to pick me up, I am ready to go in my standard uniform of skirt and student council polo. I figured if they gave us free shirts, the least I could do is save the wear and tear on my own clothes by using them as frequently as possible.

I throw my backpack onto the floor of the front passenger seat and wave to my siblings who are all lining up outside for the bus, which will be picking them up in approximately six minutes.

“TGIF!” Rachel whoops as she pulls back onto the main road. She isn’t much a whooper, but ever since she started dating Jaxon Lewis, our local basketball star, she’s been a lot less mousy. It’s encouraging to see someone come out of their shell and shine the way God meant them to. “Let’s do something wild and crazy. Like skip school and tag the water tower.”

I curl my lip at her in disgust. “Jaxon is a bad influence on you.”

“Come on, what would you write?” she asks. I know she would never actually do anything like graffiti the town water tower, so I indulge her little fantasy. I sigh and think to myself because it’s a big decision. Pithy quote, clever quote, mysterious quote, dumb quote. What would be the most impactful quote if I were going to tag up the water tower?

“I know what I would write: Jaxon Lewis is the schiznit,” she says with a huge moony grin on her face.

“For schizzle my nizzle?” I ask her, deadpan.

She eyeballs me like I’m nuts. “No. Just no. Don’t ever do that again.”

I sigh. I have no cool factor. Even the nerds have more personality and interest than I do. Whatever happened to ennui being popular? If ennui was popular, I’d be all the rage. I think back to my collection of sweet Regency romance novels I have stocked on my kindle. Just between you, me, Tamara, and Rachel, I can safely tell you, there are well over a hundred. Life was simpler then. Back then, only fast girls wore make up. Touching was left to hands and dancing didn’t involve gyratingone’s body in a way that I could never manage to do without looking like a complete imbecile.

“You look grouchy this morning,” Rachel said.

“Brilliant deduction, Watson!” I wasn’t usually the queen of snark, but today I felt like it.

“Ouch! Hey, what did I say? I’m just giving you a ride to school,” she said, pulling into the parking lot. Which made me feel like a jerkwad.

“Sorry! It’s just… everything,” I say as we head for the doors. “I feel like everything is starting to fall apart. Senior year is here and I’m wondering what it was all for…. No, that’s not true. I’m struggling with Trig. I hate math.”

“Can you get a tutor?”

I wince. Getting a tutor is like admitting defeat. It means that my brains and hard work were officially not good enough on their own. It’s humiliating and given my family’s poverty and chaos level, I already have enough humiliation in my life.

“I know what you need,” Rachel says, cutting a glance in my direction. I groan, but that doesn’t stop her. She shimmies up to me and bops me with her hip. It all but body checks me into the lockers. “Girl’s night!”

“No, no. Come on, you have Jaxon to entertain you, what do you need girl’s night for?” I argue.

“I hang out with him all the time.”

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