Erin Dionne
Artificial Colors
(includes Yellow 6, Red 40)
Ashley Freeman’s legs were slung over the arm of her
TV chair. She was deep into her favorite soap opera
and didn’t hear her mother enter the room. Mick was
confessing to Cassandra, who was about to learn that
her whole life was a sham.
Cassie’s face went slack; her knees sagged. As she
slumped into Mick’s arms, a shadowy figure emerged
from the bushes behind them, holding a gun. Ashley
guessed it was Cassie’s twin, who had the most to
lose, but you could never be sure about these things.
“Why’d you have to tell her?” the figure growled,
raising the gun. “It’s over for both of you.” The
screen went black.
“Mom!” Ashley wailed. “I need to know if they get
shot.”
“I hate that crap,” Mrs. Freeman said, tossing the
remote on the couch. She smoothed her beige suit. “You
should be doing something instead of watching this
garbage, and eating that garbage. Your clothes won’t
fit.” She gestured at Ashley’s bag of Doritos and her
orange fingers. “You haven’t even taken a shower yet.”
Ashley was wearing faded pink pajama pants printed
with equally faded neon green iguanas and a Princess
Bitch concert T-shirt.
“It’s too hot to do anything,” Ashley mumbled. “And
you used to like watching soaps.” She licked the
Dorito crumbs off a cheesy orange finger. “Why are you
home, anyway?”
“I had a closing this morning and I have another at
two-thirty. I stopped by to see how you were spending
your summer vacation. You aren’t doing much to improve
your scholarship chances.” All her mother talked about
lately was college. School had never been that
important until this spring.
“Mom, I’m only a sophomore—“
“Junior.”
“I’ll be a junior in the fall. It’s not even July
yet.” She munched on another Dorito. “Besides, Ms.
Lears says that I don’t have to worry about college.
I’ll have my pick.” Ashley had achieved a perfect
score on the PSATs. Everyone wanted to know how she’d
done it. Truthfully, she’d spent the night before
watching reruns of Laverne and Shirley and eating a
pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. Even she was
surprised at the results.
Ashley wasn’t in the Blue Vale High Brainiac Brigade.
Its members were the kids who took honors classes,
studied all the time, and went to test prep programs
to get in fighting shape for high school’s slew of
standardized tests. Her friends were the ones who
doodled on their desks and lost their assignments. At
least, they used to be. Now they teased Ashley about
her scores and didn’t ask her to hang out as often.
“You’re wasting your opportunities, missy,” her
mother said. “I don’t go to work because I like it. I
go to give you the things I didn’t have, including a
college education.”
Ashley let the tirade fade into a buzz. Until the
PSATs, her mom had been happy with the low Bs and Cs
in the “regular” track classes Ashley took. Being the
single parent of a teenager, as long as Ashley stayed
out of trouble, Mrs. Freeman left her alone. Ashley,
meanwhile, was able to concentrate on her friends and
her favorite shows.
But before school let out for the summer, that
changed. Ashley sat through a conference with her
mother, Ms. Lears, and the principal, Mr. Skint. Skint
and Lears recommended that Ashley switch into the
honors block for the fall, and that she join an
extracurricular activity. Both administrators pointed
out that her test scores, especially if she did as
well on the actual SATs, would earn Ashley admission
into most of the private schools in the country. An
activity would give her “that Ivy edge,” they
explained. All three adults believed that the mediocre
grades she received during the previous ten years of
her public education experience were because she
“hadn’t been challenged enough” in her classes. Ashley
wasn’t particularly interested in being challenged,
but no one was interested in what Ashley wanted. While
the whole display bored her, it energized her mom. Her
new priority was her daughter’s academic success, and
her focus was as precise as a laser beam.
Ashley’s mom finished her lecture and picked up her
briefcase. “I have to go,” she said. “One more thing.
Ms. Lears called me. She said that she was going to
set you up with an honors mentor this summer, so you
won’t be behind in the fall.”
Does the woman ever take a vacation? Ashley wondered.
“Are you listening to me?” She rattled her briefcase
to get Ashley’s attention. “This is the rest of your
life you’re throwing away.”
Ashley nodded and yawned, causing her mom to make a
disgusted sound and leave the room. Ashley listened
for the click of the door.
Once her mother was gone, Ashley tossed the nearly
empty Doritos bag onto the coffee table and sucked the
orange powder off her fingers. Living Large was over,
so she’d learn Cassie and Mick’s fate tomorrow. She
contemplated painting her toenails, but it was too
much work to go to her room for the nail polish.
Instead, she reached for the remote.
Two-thirds of the way through Road Rules, the Doritos
bag was empty and the doorbell rang. Ashley wanted to
ignore it, but sometimes UPS delivered real estate
paperwork to her mom. Saying she’d been in the shower
when it arrived wouldn’t cut it. She swiped her
slightly greasy blond hair into a ponytail and tugged
at her t-shirt as she walked from the den to the front
hall. The bell rang again. “Jeez, I’m coming,” she
muttered. Ashley jerked the door open.
She wished she had peeked out the window first.
Instead of seeing the brown UPS uniform, Ashley found
herself facing Steven Milk, charter member of the
Brainiac Brigade. Steven and Ashley had been in school
together since kindergarten, although Ashley couldn’t
remember talking to him after second or third grade.
Called Stinky Steven through elementary school because
his mom put Limburger cheese in his sandwiches, he
wasn’t a high climber on the social ladder. Since they
started high school, Ashley had barely been aware of
him. Whenever she did see him, her view was of the back
of his head, the front stuck in a book. She’d been
missing out.
The thick glasses he’d worn since grade school were
gone—contacts?—and he had grown several inches. He had
nice green eyes, and as they glanced at her, Ashley
took a step back. She wished she had taken a shower.
Or brushed her hair. Or had pulled on another, looser,
T-shirt. Or a bra.
“Ashley?” Steven’s voice rumbled, low and deep. His
hair flopped into is eyes.
“Uh, yeah, hi,” she said. She crossed her arms over
her chest.
“Um, I’m supposed to be your, uh, honors mentor this
summer.” His voice cracked at the end of ‘summer,’ and
he blushed as bright as a sunburn. As he flushed, he
smiled and looked down. Ashley noticed dimples and
braces-straight teeth. When had he gotten so good
looking? Why hadn’t she noticed?
When he looked up, she looked down. He held out a pile
of papers. Ashley had been so busy staring at his
eyes, she hadn’t noticed the papers were there. Steven
cleared his throat. “So, anyway, I have the summer
reading lists and stuff for you, and I included a
paper I wrote in English class so you could see the
style and stuff, and, well, here’s a piece of paper
with my phone number on it if you need to ask me any
questions or anything. So, you know, that’s it.” He
was still holding the papers. The stickie with his
phone number was on top.
“Thanks.” Ashley took the pile, noticing the
yellow-orange Dorito cheese marks her fingers left on
the papers. She stuck them behind her back, then
realized this left her unable to cross her arms. After
an awkward flurry of hands and limbs, she successfully
folded her arms with the papers tucked into her
chest, hopefully hiding the cheesy fingerprints.
Steven turned, then turned back, indecisive. “I can,
uh, help you any time,” he said, “although you
probably won’t need it. I heard about your scores.” As
he finished, the mailman came up the sidewalk. Steven
watched him trudge up the steps. Ashley untangled her
arms, holding the papers with one hand, and quickly
swiped at her mouth, hoping there were no orange
flakes sticking to her face. Oh God, did she have
Dorito-breath?
“Here you go,” the mailman said, shaking the stack of mail to
get Ashley’s attention. He added envelopes to her
stack of papers.
“Thanks.” She refolded her arms in a hurry.
The mailman walked next door, while Ashley and Steven
remained on the steps.
Steven waited another moment, green eyes looking
across the front lawn, and finally back to Ashley.
“Okay, then. Bye.”
“Bye,” she said. Steven walked to his bike and peeked
up at her before he hopped on. Ashley, caught staring,
slipped back inside and went to the kitchen. Her
summer was looking better already. She plopped the
pile of papers and mail on the kitchen table. On top
was an envelope with the Educational Testing Service’s
return address. Scholarship information from the PSAT
company, Ashley thought, heart still knocking. Maybe
she could ask Steven to help her with the application.
This time they had sent a plain white business
envelope, with her name and address printed on the
front. She unfolded a single sheet. Her heart,
pounding a moment ago, seemed to lock up in her chest
as she read. Phrases such as “processing error” and
“complementary retest” indicated that she wouldn’t
need Steven’s honors block homework after all. Or his
help with scholarship applications.
She sat at the table with a thump, letter in front of
her. Glancing at the pile of assignments, she
remembered Steven’s green eyes and bright blush. Her
heart picked up its pace again. Honors classes
couldn’t be that hard, right? And if they were, well,
she had a new tutor. By the time anyone found out
about the letter, it’d be too late to drop her back
into ‘regular’ classes.
With deliberation, Ashley tore the letter and envelope
into pieces. The pile of paper made a small mound on
the kitchen table. They couldn’t go in the garbage.
Ashley sat, memorizing Steven’s phone number; orange
fingerprints dotting the pile of summer homework. She
retrieved the empty Doritos bag from the den. One at a
time, she dredged the pieces of paper in the powdery
cheese residue at the bottom of the bag, and began to chew.
©2005 by Erin Dionne
