Beauty (19 page)

“That was incredible, Molly,” Jamar said.

“Nice work, everyone!” Mrs. Brown said. She stepped up on the stage, walking over to me. “Quite a performance, Molly.” Several cast members murmured in agreement. “You’re a natural. Why haven’t you ever tried out for a role before?”

I thought of all the sign-up sheets I’d walked right past over the years, never thinking for a single second that those roles could be mine. “I don’t know,” I said at last. “I really don’t know.”

I stood up taller, looking around the room. My eyes were fully adjusted to the light now, and I could see just how many people were watching me. But it didn’t make me feel nervous anymore. It made me feel good, buoyed. Like maybe I’d had this in me all along. My mom was always saying how pageants used to give her this rush—there was nothing like standing in front of a crowd and knowing that, for a few minutes, you’d transformed them, taking them out of the room, out of the state, even out of reality. For the first time in my life, I understood what she meant. I smiled at Mrs. Brown. “Should we run through it again?”

“Yes.” She gave my shoulder a brisk squeeze, then clapped her hands together. “From the top, everyone!”

It’s Not Lying If It’s Acting

MY PHONE WAS buzzing as I grabbed my bag after rehearsal, still on a high from performing. I had two new texts, both from my mom.

Dear Molly,
the first one said.
Dad and I want to have a family dinner tonight, before we leave for the weekend tomorrow. Be home by six? Love you, Mom

The second one had come just a few minutes ago.

Dear Molly, Hurry home! There’s something here I think you should see… .
Love always, Mom

Something I should see? What did she mean by that? But the question was quickly pushed out of my head by a far more pressing one. How was I going to get through a whole dinner without my parents seeing my face? I could just imagine the havoc it would wreak if they caught a glimpse of the newly rearranged me right before they left. They’d cancel their trip for sure. Then they’d probably spend the weekend dragging me to a whole slew of doctors, trying to figure out what mysterious disease could have possibly done this to me. And how, if it was up to my mom, we could be sure it was permanent. There was no way I wanted to go through that, not when Hudson had hinted just that day that he wanted to hang out this weekend.

I was spiraling fast into full-on freak-out mode when Judith, our head costume designer, approached me with an armful of clothes. “Do you maybe have a minute, Molly?” she asked, her voice squeaking a little on my name. I didn’t know much about Judith, just that she was a freshman, and it was a huge upset when she beat out senior Lana Bleau for the job of head designer. “I would love to fit you for Cinderella costumes, since Margot was a little bigger than you.”

I looked back down at my cell phone. My mom’s words stared back at me.
Hurry home!

I tossed my phone back into my bag. “Sure,” I told Judith. “Take your time.”

“You were amazing today,” Judith said shyly as she took my measurements. “You were so believable, I almost forgot it was you up there and not Cinderella!”

I laughed. “I don’t know about that, but thanks. It was kind of fun.”

“I can’t imagine performing in front of hundreds of people. All those eyes on you …” She cringed. “I could never do it.”

“I used to think that too.” She lifted my arms up, measuring around my chest. “But then today, it didn’t feel like that at all. It felt kind of … amazing.”

Judith nodded, putting away her measuring tape. “I guess if I looked like you, I’d want to be up there too.” She cleared her throat and grabbed a costume from the pile at her feet. It was the maid uniform Cindy wore before meeting Prince Rella, a rich New York banker, at a masquerade charity ball. “I’ll take this one in for you at the waist, but are there any other changes you’d like me to make? Margot liked to weigh in on her costumes.”

I reached out, fingering the costume. It was a cool twist on a French maid uniform, but it was its skirt that really stood out. It was short and filmy, made of layer after layer of different-colored chiffon. It was something I could picture Ashley or Blair wearing to school and getting a thousand compliments on.

“Did you make this?” I asked.

Judith nodded, blushing a little. “I made them all.”

“Wow.” I crouched down, flipping through the pile of costumes on the floor. They were incredible. I understood now why Mrs. Brown had cast her and not Lana as head designer. “You’re really talented, Judith.”

“Thanks. I would love to be a fashion designer one day.”

The last costume in the pile was the ball gown for the masquerade ball scene. On top of it lay a beautiful feathered mask. Suddenly I had an idea. An idea so crazy and ridiculous and over-the-top, it might actually work. I pulled the dress and mask out of the pile. “Can I borrow these for the night, Judith?” I asked hurriedly. “I promise I’ll bring them back tomorrow.”

Judith gave me a strange look. “You want to borrow the ball gown?”

“It’s for a, uh, school project,” I improvised.

Judith brightened visibly at that. “You want to use
my
dress in your school project? Of course! Keep it as long as you need.” She looked so excited that I felt a glimmer of guilt at lying. But I
was
using it for a project, I rationalized. It just wasn’t of the school variety.

“Thanks, Judith.” I scooped the dress and mask into my arms, and slung my backpack over my shoulder, starting toward the door. “See you tomorrow!”

“Wait!” Judith called after me. “Don’t you have input on the other costumes? Tweaks you want me to make? Details that do and don’t look good on you? Like sleeves versus sleeveless or ankle length versus calf length?”

Wow. Apparently Margot had been some kind of diva. I paused in the doorway, shifting the dress in my arms. “Nope,” I said. “I trust you!” Then I tore out of the auditorium and toward the bathroom. I had a costume to change into.

When I walked into my house in full masquerade ball regalia, my whole family fell silent, their jaws gaping open as they stared at me. “Uh,” my mom said, clearing her throat. “What exactly are you wearing, Molly?”

I smoothed down the skirt of my dress. It was a gorgeous dress: sapphire blue with a full princess skirt and tiny silver beads along the bodice. “I got the lead in the play,” I announced. “Our lead and her understudy are out with mono and, well”—I lifted my arms in the air in a
ta-da!
motion—“they chose me as the new Cinderella!”

“You?” my mom burst out. She couldn’t have looked more surprised if I’d told her I’d just won an Oscar.
And
a Grammy. “I mean, not that you won’t make a wonderful Cinderella,” she quickly backpedaled. “But I just didn’t know you liked to act, honey.”

I shrugged, trying to ignore her disbelief at me being chosen as Cinderella. “I do now.”

“And the dress?” my dad asked. “Do you have a performance tonight or something?”

I shook my head. “It’s called method acting,” I told them. “I’m getting into character. I’m
becoming
Cinderella.”

“Interesting,” my mom said.

“Should we call you Cinderella?” my dad asked, looking confused.

“Probably,” I agreed, as solemnly as I could. “Cindy, actually.”

Next to my parents, Seth made a small choking noise. He’d managed to stay quiet this whole time, but when I looked over at him, I saw that his lips were clamped tightly together and his face had turned so red he looked like a brown-haired tomato.

“Seth!” our mom exclaimed. “Are you okay? You’re bright red!”

“He’s fine,” I interrupted. I tried to glare at him, but the mask made it hard. “Right Seth? Wouldn’t all your
friends
at school say you’re fine?”

Seth nodded furiously, backing out of the room. “I’m fine,” he gasped, his face reddening even more. “I-I’ll be right back!” He spun around and raced up the stairs, slamming the door to his bedroom, where I was sure he was exploding in a fit of laughter.

“Did you say there’s something I should see?” I asked my mom quickly, before she could follow him upstairs.

“Oh, yes!” My mom blinked a few times, like she couldn’t quite get used to the sight of me in full Cinderella attire. “Honey,” she said to my dad. “Can you go set the table for dinner while I show Molly—erm, I mean, Cindy—what arrived for her today?” My dad nodded, staring at me for another second before heading into the kitchen. My mom beckoned for me to follow her. “You won’t believe it, Molly, but I came home to find
all
of this on our front stoop today.” She stopped short in the living room, gesturing toward our couch.

It was piled high with gifts: bouquets of flowers and boxes of chocolates and a whole pile of stuffed animals. I walked over, flipping open a card taped to an elaborate box of chocolates.
Will you go to the prom with me, Molly?
it read. It was signed by Tyler Merryweather, a guy in my grade. I opened another card. This one was from Steven Zang, also inviting me to the prom.

I read another card. And another. And another. Chris Blumenthal, Seth Riggens, Tom Lincoln, Jamar Stevens, Teddy Louis. All inviting me to prom, every single one of them. My face was starting to get hot under the mask, but I kept on opening cards. They were all invites, most of them from guys who had never looked twice at me until this week. There was only one name I wanted to see, though. I tore through card after card, my heart sinking a little more with each one. Soon I’d gone through all of them—and Hudson’s name hadn’t shown up once.

My mom reached for an especially large bouquet of roses from Adam Bloom, bending down to sniff them. As she did, something caught my eye on the couch, peeking out from beneath where the roses had been lying. I pushed aside several boxes of chocolate. Underneath was a stuffed animal I’d missed. A big monkey wearing a top hat and glasses. My heart skipped a beat as I looked at it. It was the monkey from the fair, the one I’d thought Hudson was giving me. In its hands was a small card.
I’m bananas about you!
it said on the front.

“That one’s cute,” my mom remarked. I nodded silently. My hand shook a little as I reached for the card.

Molly,
it read.
Wanted you to have this.

I scanned the rest of the card, but that was it. There was no signature, just a little smiley face drawn at the bottom. It was messier than the message above it, like it had been scrawled on at the last minute.

I stared at the card for several long seconds. Who could have sent me this? I didn’t recognize the handwriting, so it couldn’t be Kemper or Hayley. I could pick out the slant of Kemper’s
m
’s and the fat circles above Hayley’s
i
’s in a line-up. But who else knew how much I wanted that monkey from Hudson? Ashley, maybe? I shook my head. No, I had a feeling that if Ashley was going to send me her monkey, she’d want me to know it was from her. Besides, all the rest of the gifts were from guys. Did that mean this one was too? Could I have some sort of secret admirer? Could it maybe, possibly … be
Hudson
? The thought sent a shiver through me, goose bumps rising on my arms.

“Hey, Mol?” my mom touched my arm gently, pulling me out of my thoughts. Her forehead was wrinkled up in concern as her eyes darted from the monkey to the rest of the gifts on the couch. “Can I ask you something?”

I nodded.

“Is there … well, is there something you’re not telling me? About some boys you’re seeing maybe? Or something you might be … how do I say this—
doing
, to get attention?”

“Something I might be
doing
?” I repeated incredulously. “What exactly do you mean by that, Mom?”

My mom cleared her throat loudly. “I’m just saying that you never need to do
anything
with boys in order to be asked to a dance, sweetheart. They should like you just the way you are. With … well … with all your clothes on.” The last part came out in a fast jumble. “Even if your clothes happen to be a ball gown,” she added with a half-hearted laugh.

With all my clothes on?

Oh my God.

This couldn’t be happening. My own mom thought I was being promiscuous in order to get asked to prom.

“I’m not
doing
anything, Mom,” I snapped. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, these guys all just
like
me?”

“Of course, Molly!” But I knew the truth: it hadn’t. Because what guys would like the old Molly, with her frizzy hair and pimply skin and too-long limbs?

“Can we just eat dinner?” I asked angrily. I glared at the gifts on the couch. I could feel my anger building inside me, growing and growing until it took on a mind of its own. “And you can throw all this stuff out after,” I went on, my voice raising an octave. “Since who knows what I
did
to get it all, right?”

“Molly, wait.” My mom grabbed my arm. She pulled me to her in an awkward hug, the monkey smashed between us, the edges of my mask digging into my face. “I’m sorry. It’s just … you’re growing up so fast. I’m not used to coming home to stacks of gifts from admiring boys.” She let out a soft laugh. “Or you coming home in costume, for that matter. I got worried, that’s all. But if you say everything is fine, then I believe you.”