Fed Up - By Jessica Conant-Park & Susan Conant Page 0,81

requested, he wore a black tuxedo. Owen was another story. His neon purple tuxedo and matching top hat were, in all probability, visible from outer space.

I stomped over to the groom. “I swear that you’d better be kidding, Owen.”

The petrified-looking Owen was on the verge of tears. “I don’t know what to do, Chloe. I rented this one and a black one. This was the joke one, and I was just going to wear it for a while before the ceremony. But the rental place didn’t get me my black tux. They sent Josh’s, and when I looked in the bag yesterday, I saw the black and figured everything was in there. Ade is going to kill me!”

“We could just spray paint you,” Josh suggested flippantly.

Oh, my God! This had to happen now, at the last minute! I moved to the entrance to the tent, looked in, and saw that many of the guests had already arrived. Ade would flip out if we ran late. Since Dad wore jeans almost everywhere, the only suit he owned was the one he was wearing. Besides, he was smaller than either Josh or Owen. One of the guests? I could hardly charge up to one of the men and demand that he immediately exchange his suit for a purple tuxedo.

“You are a stupid, stupid man, Owen!” I put my hands on my hips. “Switch. You’ll have to switch. Josh, put on that horrible purple thing and give Owen your tux.”

The boys started to protest, but I held up my hand. “We have twenty-five minutes until the ceremony. There is nothing else to do.” I yanked the horrible top hat off Owen’s head. “But nobody is wearing this.”

As I stormed off to locate the flowers that Emilio had dropped when Josh punched him, I realized that Nelson had been filming the entire tuxedo fiasco. Remembering Robin’s quarrel with Nelson, I resolved to participate in the editing of this film and to get my hands on any copies that Nelson might make. Adrianna was damned well not going to be exposed to Nelson’s vision of so-called reality.

I brushed past the cameraman and was heading toward the kitchen when I caught a glimpse of my father, whom I hadn’t seen all day. He was scurrying through the living room. On his head was a baseball cap, of all things. “Dad! Dad! Where have you been?” Then his appearance registered on me. “What on earth happened to you? What is that black stuff all over your face?” I pulled off the baseball cap. “And your hair? And your hands? Dad!”

“It, um, well, it seems to be tar. Tar. In fact, that’s what it is. Tar.”

I stared helplessly at my father. Struggling to control my voice, I said, one word at a time, “Tell. Me. What. Happened.”

“Well, after everyone went to bed last night, I thought I’d take a scotch up to the second-floor deck and relax. You know, look at the stars, be one with the earth. My yoga teacher suggested we meditate outdoors. I thought it would be great. I wanted to commune with nature, so I lay down on the deck. Then when I tried to get up, I realized I was stuck.”

I shut my eyes. This supposed deck above the living room of my parents’ Spanish colonial revival house was, in fact, a roof, a large, flat area surrounded by a stucco wall. No one really used the roof, which had leaked badly and stained the living room ceiling until my parents had finally had it coated with tar.

I glared at Dad. “And it was hot yesterday, so the tar heated up and started to melt. And now you are covered in it.”

Dad nodded and suppressed a laugh. “I think I took off all the hair on my body when I finally got myself up.”

“You were naked?” I hissed.

“Yeah. That’s the best way to meditate. At first I thought I was glued to the deck, and when I managed to get loose, I crawled into bed, and now the sheets are ruined. Your mother is pissed, let me tell you. She tried pouring olive oil on me to get it out, and that helped a little bit. There was a lot of tar in my hair, but I fixed that. I took a pair of scissors and cut it out.”

“That would explain the jagged spikes jutting out of your head.” Had all the men around here gone crazy? In desperation, I slapped Owen’s purple