Beauty (2 page)

“Mm-hmm,” I murmured. We were passing through Main Street now, the shops’ colorful awnings blurring together like a rainbow. Of course I remembered that. But that was before. Before the fair became about who you went with and what you wore and who made out with whom on the Ferris wheel. Before my hair frizzed out and my legs grew too long to listen to my brain, and a big pimple decided to take up long-term residence on my chin. Before Hayley started acting like she was ready for a friend upgrade.

Just that afternoon I’d been getting dressed for the fair, when she’d called on my cell. “Don’t wear your blue dress with your Keds,” she’d said, after rushing through a hello.

I’d looked down. That was exactly what I was wearing. “Why not? I always wear my Keds.”

“Oh, I know. Believe me.” Hayley let out a sigh, like I was missing the point. “Just don’t wear the dress, okay, Mol? If you have to wear the Keds, wear jeans or something.”

After we got off the phone, I’d changed into jeans and a white T-shirt, but the whole thing had left me feeling a little uneasy. I was used to Hayley picking out clothes for me. Even in elementary school, she’d helped me choose outfits for show-and-tell and picture day. But this felt different somehow.

“Here we are,” my mom sang out as she pulled our minivan into the fair’s parking lot. “Dad will pick you guys up at nine thirty, but he’s got a big day in court tomorrow, so try not to have
too
much fun and actually be on time, okay?”

“You don’t have to worry about Molly having too much fun,” Seth cracked from the backseat. “Not with her looking like the creature from the black lagoon.” Next to him, Matty snickered loudly.

“More like Godzilla,” Matty put in.

“Or Freddy Krueger,” Seth said.

“The jolly frizzy giant.”

“The beast from
X-Men
.”

“The beast from
Beauty and the Beast
.”

“Any beast.”

This sent them both into a fit of laughter. I tried to ignore them, but I could feel the heat rising to my face. “That’s enough, boys!” my mom snapped. But as she braked the car in the drop-off area, she reached over to smooth down a strand of my hair. “You hair is a little wild today, Molly. Have you been using that defrizzer I bought you?”

I nodded, my face burning even hotter as Seth and Matty’s laugher rose another octave in the backseat. I had, too. Half the beauty products my mom bought me ended up abandoned in my bathroom, but the defrizzer I’d actually tried. Not that it mattered; when it came to my hair, not even a whole bucket of grease could tame it.

My mom ran a hand through her own hair, as silky and shiny as ever, and I knew she was wondering how she of all people ended up with a mophead for a daughter. “Hmm, well, maybe I can find a better one. Okay, have fun tonight, hon. And keep an eye out for your brother.” She waved at me as I climbed out of the car, but I ignored her, tugging at my shirt as I headed toward the ticket booth.

It was student night, which meant only five dollars to enter with a high school ID. And that meant that everywhere I looked, I saw people from school. I kept my head down, hoping the cover-up I’d slathered onto my pimple was somehow working miracles. But even in a town named Miracle, I had a feeling that might be asking too much.

“Mol, over here!” Kemper was waving to me from next to the Whac-A-Mole game. There was a new streak of red in her otherwise short blonde hair, and she was wearing an off-the-shoulder sweater that looked cute on her tiny frame. Hayley was with her in a pink belted sweaterdress, the belt buckled so tight she looked like she might pop any second and go shooting straight into the air like a Hayley firecracker. She gave me a half-hearted smile, but her eyes were distant, like her mind was someplace else.

“Red today,” I said when I reached them, nodding toward Kemper’s hair. Kemper had first dyed that strand of hair two years ago—turning it neon green to protest Miracle’s poor recycling system—and she’d been switching up the color ever since.

“Yeah, I was feeling festive.” She waved her hand through the air. “You know, fair and all.” She reached down and picked up a white paper bag, swinging it in the air in front of me. The top was folded over but still I could smell it: the juicy, sugary scent of ground beef and doughnuts. “Plus, we get to eat
these
.”

I smiled, forgetting for a minute about everything, even my pimple. “Burgnuts?”

“Burgnuts,” Kemper confirmed.

Burgnuts
was the name Kemper had coined for Doughnut Burgers, a thick slab of meat sandwiched between two glazed doughnuts. According to the sign plastered over the Doughnut Burger stand, the Ohio State Fair’s burgnut was a proud blue ribbon winner for Most Innovative Fair Food in the nationwide State Fair Food Challenge. Which apparently was like an Oscar in state fair circles. When the Doughnut Burger stand had first popped up at the fair three years ago, Kemper—who in spite of being built like a twelve-year-old can to this day out-eat a three hundred pound linebacker—had been psyched. “It’s dinner and dessert in one!” she’d exclaimed. “How do you beat that?” I, on the other hand, had been dubious. Sure, burgers and doughnuts were delicious on their own. But for what reason (other than a heart attack) would you ever want to put them together? But Kemper had talked me into taking a bite of hers, and I’d been shocked to find she was right. It was dinner and dessert in one, and it was delicious. Apparently, you didn’t win a blue ribbon at the State Fair Food Challenge for nothing.

Kemper opened the bag and I used two hands to grab a burgnut. They were that big. “Hayl?” Kemper offered the bag out for Hayley, but she waved it away.

“That’s, like, more calories than you’re supposed to eat in a
day
,” Hayley said, wrinkling up her nose in disgust.

Kemper rolled her eyes and took a big bite. “And worth every single one,” she announced through a full mouth.

“Well, I’m on a new diet,” Hayley announced, averting her eyes from the burgnut, as if the very sight of it might make her gain weight.

Kemper and I exchanged a look. Hayley had never been stick thin, but she wasn’t overweight either. Lately, though, she’d become convinced that she desperately needed to lose weight. Her last diet had called for her to subsist solely on four vegetable smoothies a day. The one I’d seen her choke down at lunch the other day was puke green and smelled like it looked. “What kind of diet?” I asked carefully.

Hayley pulled out a Ziploc bag from her purse. It was packed tight with something black and wrinkly. She dangled it in the air for me to see.

I raised my eyebrows, confused. “Raisins?”

“Raisins,” Hayley said seriously. “Four raisin-only meals a day. It’s supposed to make you drop like twenty pounds in a week. I’m still on my first day, but I swear I can already feel it working. She opened up the Ziploc, popping several raisins in her mouth. “
So
much better than a burgnut,” she said haughtily.

I took another bite of my burgnut to keep from laughing. “Whatever you say, Hayl.”

“Anyway,” Kemper said abruptly, changing the subject. She took the last bite of her burgnut, then tossed the empty wrapper in the trash. “What do you guys want to do first? The Coaster? Ferris wheel? Ooh, bumper cars?”

Hayley shrugged, looking uninterested. “This fair is
so
passé,” she muttered, scanning the crowd. Once again I got the sense that she was searching for something. Or someone. Kemper and I exchanged a look. It seemed like lately Hayley was always on the lookout for anyone who wasn’t us.

“Well,
I
vote Ferris wheel,” I said. High up in the sky, nobody could see your pimples. “Several times in a row, actua—”

“Sharp Shooter,” Hayley squealed suddenly, cutting me off. I looked over at her in surprise. She was pointing to the game, a little ways down. It was the one I used to play over and over again with my family, where you shot water at a target to make your horse race.

“Okay,” Kemper shrugged. I was about to agree, too—why not? I figured, if it would make Hayley look like she might actually want to be here—until I noticed who, exactly, was standing by Sharp Shooter. Ashley Coolidge. Of course.

Ashley was tossing her white-blonde hair over her shoulder as she said something. The usual trio of girls was clustered around her: Blair Duncan, Brittany Crawford, and Sarah Jacobs. The neon lights of the Sharp Shooter game shone down over them, making them look bright and electric. But Ashley, like always, still managed to look the best. Like you had to wonder for a second if she could even be real.

Ever since Hayley’s and Ashley’s families had vacationed at the same beach this summer, Hayley had been on a befriend-Ashley-Coolidge kick. “Come on, guys,” Hayley urged. “Just one game.” At that moment, two guys walked over to Sharp Shooter and grabbed water guns. One of them was Hudson Taylor. My heart felt like it was suddenly in a hurry to get somewhere.

I’d met Hudson two years ago, when I was in eighth grade and he was in ninth. His family had just moved here, a few houses down from mine, and I’d taken Spaghetti out for a walk to see what all the commotion was about. Hudson and his mom were in their front yard, and as I walked Spaghetti slowly down the street, I watched as several moving men climbed out of a van. Hudson immediately took charge. He called out orders, answered questions, carried furniture, while all along his mom stood by and watched, small and thin and sad-looking. I didn’t know then that his dad had just died. I didn’t know that they were in Miracle to shed their old lives, to start fresh again where his mom had grown up. All I knew was that he seemed so adult, taking charge like that, with this determined look in his eyes. He seemed nothing like the rest of the boys I knew: so annoying still, and immature. He seemed different. More. And I couldn’t stop watching him.

I was so caught up in what he was doing that I didn’t see the fallen tree branch in front of me until it was too late, and before I knew it, I was sprawled out on the ground, Spaghetti nosing me anxiously. It took Hudson about ten seconds to notice; then suddenly he was running over to me, this boy I’d never met, calling out, “Are you all right?” He didn’t laugh, didn’t even smirk once. He just took my hand and helped me up, until we were both standing there face-to-face. “Are you all right?” he asked again.

“Uh, yeah,” I managed. “Thanks.” My famous first words.

We stood there for another second, so close I could smell the chocolate on his breath, and I remember thinking:
This is it, this is him, the guy I’ve been waiting for
. But then one of the movers called out a question and he just gave me a wave and said, “Cool,” before taking off toward his house. We never even exchanged names. After that, he started at the high school and I was still in middle school, and when he saw me on the street, he’d just nod and smile. Like I wasn’t even really there. In the past two years, I’d learned everything about him that I could. But I wasn’t sure he even knew my name.

“Just one game,” Hayley repeated, giving my arm a tug.

I glanced in the mirrored sign hanging next to the Whac-A-Mole booth and took a quick inventory of myself. My pimple was popping through its cover-up. The night breeze had done nothing for my frizz. There was a mysterious brown stain on my white shirt. And like usual, I was hunching over, all bones and edges and angles, too tall for my own skin. “No thanks,” I told Hayley.

“Oh, come on, Mol,” Hayley said. “You look
fine
.” But even as the words came out of her mouth, I could tell she didn’t really mean them. She looked fine. Kemper looked fine. I looked like I might or might not have just climbed to safety off the
Titanic
.

“I still vote Ferris wheel,” I said. But then Hayley gave me this smile—not the little smirk she’d been using lately because she thought it made her cheeks look thinner, but her real smile, the kind that took over her whole face, until you couldn’t help but smile too. “Pleeeease,” she begged.

I took one last glance in the mirror and sighed. “Fine,” I gave in. Hayley let out a cheer. I hurried to finish the last of my burgnut as Hayley grabbed my hand and Kemper’s hand, dragging us over to the game.

“Hey, Ashley!” she called over with a friendly wave. Ashley gave her a weak smile in return.

“Time to get this game started!” the game controller shouted as we each grabbed a water gun. “Hey, girls gossiping back there! It looks like we have room for two more players over here… . Who wants to be the lucky ones?” As he gestured toward the two empty spots on my left, I snuck a glance at Hudson. He was wearing a brown T-shirt that matched his eyes, and his blond hair looked kind of messy, like he’d just rolled out of bed. He and Brandon Miles were laughing as they practiced different shots—under the leg, eyes closed, backward. I wondered what it would be like to laugh with them. To have Hudson look me right in the eye and know exactly who I was.
You’re a sharp shooter
, I would joke, and he would sling his arm over my shoulder and laugh.

“And we’re full!” the controller announced. I pulled my eyes away from Hudson and focused on the game. “On your marks. Get set. Go!”

The horses took off, galloping woodenly along. “I suck at this,” Kemper groaned. “Whoa, go Mol,” she added, sounding impressed. I was already way ahead of the group, neck in neck with just one other horse. I felt a familiar thrill race through me, the same one I used to get every time I beat Seth at this game. Like in that one second, I was powerful.

“What can I say?” I grinned. “I’m a sharp shooter.” I glanced over to see who I was tied for the lead with—and found myself looking straight into Hudson Taylor’s dark brown eyes. His horse galloped on next to mine as he gave me this flirty half-smile and raised his eyebrows, as if to say,
Game on
. My heart twisted in my chest, and although I turned back and tried to focus my aim, it was a lost cause.

“Nice, man,” Brandon cheered as the green winner’s light went off above Hudson’s horse.

“We’ve got a winner!” the controller exclaimed. “Pick a prize, sir. Any prize.”