The Pretty One (15 page)

sixteen

physical theater (noun): a genre of performance that relies on the body (as opposed to the spoken word) as the primary means of communication.

Tuesday. Normally, I don't consider a meal complete unless it contains some hydrogenated oil, but as of 7:25 this morning when my expensive jeans that Lucy said were ultracool and looked great on me crossed the line from so-tight-they're-uncomfortable to can't-zip-them-up, I've been on a diet. I'm optimistic that I will be fitting back into my jeans in no time, as the diet I have chosen is pretty strict. I call it the Lucy diet. The premise is simple: I eat whatever my sister eats and nothing else. If Lucy chooses to have a half piece of her whole grain, no butter on it at all toast, that's what I have, too. Whatever bits of lean protein she packs in her lunch, that's what I pack, too. Whatever few morsels she eats for dinner, that's my limit. Needless to say, I've only been on the diet for four hours and I'm so famished I can barely stand up without feeling dizzy.

I told Simon I would wait for him (he was having problems with his contacts), so at lunch I take a seat by myself, facing the door. I grab my steno pad and pen and begin drawing my hundredth Batman of the day. It manages to distract me for a while at least, until my stomach growls so loudly it attracts the attention of the freshman techie sitting next to me, who begins to giggle.

I glance at my watch as I gnaw my thumb. (I have tossed in the towel and removed all the No More Nail Biting stuff since I was pretty sure that all the chemicals I was consuming were going to make me grow another head or something.) What in the world is taking Simon so long? I gather up my things and head toward the door to go find him.

“Hey, Megan,” Jane Hitchens says as I grab the door. Jane is one of my sister's best friends. Like Lucy, she's a drama major and, like Lucy, is one of the most popular girls in school. “Are you done with lunch already?” she asks.

“No. I haven't even started yet. Simon got tied up.”

“Have lunch with us,” she says, nodding toward the table where my sister is sitting. None of Lucy's friends have ever invited me to sit with them before, and Jane's offer gives me a special thrill. I follow Jane to the table and plop down next to Marybeth, across from Lucy.

“Hi, guys,” I say.

“What's up?” Lucy asks, obviously not happy to see me.

“Simon didn't show so I told her she should sit with us,” Jane says.

“Where is he?” Lucy asks me.

I pull out my turkey rollup and apple and set them neatly on my napkin. “Contact problems,” I reply.

“I almost didn't recognize him the other day,” Marybeth says. “He has really pretty eyes.”

We all look at her, startled by her confession. Does Simon have pretty eyes? They're brown, I know that.

“Hey,” Marybeth says, pointing from my lunch to my sister's.

“You guys have the same lunch. Cute.”

Lucy looks from my rollup to hers. I can tell from the expression on her face she doesn't think it's so cute. “I have to go,” she says.

“You just sat down a minute ago,” Marybeth says.

“I have some things I need to take care of,” Lucy says. “See you guys later.”

“Adios!” I say, like
good riddance
. I feel like throwing my apple at the back of her dainty little head.

“What was that about?” Jane asks the rest of us as Lucy walks away.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Marybeth give a discreet nod in my direction. Lucy's departure has obviously thrown a wet blanket on the atmosphere. Even though Lucy's friends aren't exactly known for being quiet or pensive, the table is totally silent, the only sound coming from Marybeth munching on her carrots.

“So, Megan,” Jane says finally. “How's everything been going for you lately?”

“Um, good.”

More silence.

“You must be totally psyched,” Jane says.

“Because of?”

She gives me a blank look. I can see we're about to play twenty questions so I begin with: “Because of Drew's play?”

Maria giggles. “No, silly. Because of your new face. Plus you got all skinny.”

“It's got to be weird,” Annie says to Maria before I can answer. “I mean, to go to sleep one day looking totally”—she makes a nasty face—“and to wake up all beautiful, it's got to be totally awesome.”

“It wasn't quite like that—” I begin.

“I saw this movie once,” Maria says, interrupting me. “It was about this girl who was all sweet and nice but so ugly she only has one friend, a guy who tries to protect her from this group of bullies who are always teasing her and making fun of her. One day she gets in an accident and becomes like, totally beautiful, and the gang of bullies all want to date her but she kills them all off one by one by chopping them up into little pieces and her friend has to kill her to stop her.”

Gee. What a cute story. And so apropos.

Over Maria's shoulder, I see Simon sitting by himself, two tables away. I'm not surprised to see that he's wearing his glasses again. His contacts have been nothing but trouble. Our eyes lock and he shoots me a pissed-off look before grabbing his tray and heading toward the cafeteria's industrial-sized garbage can.

What the hell?

“That's so funny,” Marybeth says. “Because I was watching TV the other night and I saw this show…”

“I'll see you guys later.” Angry or not, anything is better than this. I grab the rest of my lunch and hurry to catch up with him.

“Simon!” I call out. “When did you get here? I was waiting for you.”

“Oh yeah,” he says sarcastically. “I noticed.”

“Hey, beeeeeautiful,” I hear George say from behind me.

Simon looks over my shoulder at George and then at me again me, giving me a dirty look like (a) I just invited George over and (b) I did it just to make him even madder.

“I'll call you tonight,” I say to Simon as he dumps the remainder of his lunch in the trash. He jams his hands in his pockets and walks away.

“I've been looking all over for you,” George is saying. “You're harder to find than a needle in a haystack.”

I really, really want to make a beeline out of there, and it takes every ounce of turkey-fortified energy to keep my feet planted exactly where they are. Lucy's right. I have no choice but to tell him the truth. And now's as good a time as any. The entire lunch period has stunk anyway. I might as well top it off with a bang.

“What are you doing next Tuesday night?” George asks.

On second thought, maybe I should stick to my original plan. “I'm…I'm busy.”

“How about Thursday then? After practice.”

I think about the line I have been practicing:
You're a really nice guy but I just don't see this working between us.

“You're a…a great guy,” I say stiffly. “It's just that, well, I can't see you anymore.”

“Oh.” George sounds surprised. “Are you, ah, seeing someone else?”

“No.”

“I'm not asking you to be exclusive,” he says. “I just want to spend some time with you. Get to know you.”

It sounds reasonable enough. So how do I explain that I don't
want
to get to know him? “I'm sorry George. But I just…I can't handle this right now, okay?”

“Handle what?”

“Um…us…you and me…spending time together.”

“Not now?”

“Not for a long, long, long time. Maybe never.”

George's eyes drift down to his red tennis shoes. “I see.”

“I'm really sorry,” I sputter, as I turn and run toward the exit like the inexperienced coward I am. On the bright side, I haven't taken a hatchet to anyone. Yet, at least.

         

After school I head to the auditorium to meet Drew. This is our first practice onstage and I couldn't be more nervous if I was supposed to sing a capella on
American Idol
. I make my way through the backstage door out of habit since it's what we use when we're working on sets. But the minute I step inside I hear a cry so fierce and terrible, it makes my blood curdle. I stop still and listen while my flight-or-fight response kicks in. I hear it again, louder this time. Once again, the scream is followed by silence.

Holy crap. It's Lucy!

I race toward the sound of her voice, my body surging with adrenaline.
I'll save you, Lucy!
I'm almost relieved that after all this awfulness I have a chance to prove to her how much I love her. But as I hit the stage, I skid to a stop. Lucy's downstage center, looking perfectly cool and collected, making a notation in her script. When she's done, she tucks her pencil behind her ear, glances at sweet, gentle Harry Rice (the actor who's playing opposite her), screams: “Bastard!” and convulses into sobs.

All the senior productions deal with a breakup, and Lucy's character is a girl who is determined to fight for her man. But unlike my character (who pretty much throws in the towel with a minimum of drama), Lucy's goes bananas, actually attempting suicide. When I read the script I found it melodramatic and unbelievable, but I was wrong. Lucy seems so upset, so totally devastated, that if I didn't know any better, I'd think dopey, little Harry (who is rumored to have repeated fourth grade) just broke her heart. I hate to admit it, but Lucy is the star of the school for a reason. She deserves to be.

“There you are,” Drew whispers, coming up behind me.

I learned a long time ago not to trust my instincts, which is good because otherwise I would tackle him to the ground and do whatever it takes to distract him from my sister's performance. Not that he doesn't already know how good an actress she is, but why remind him?

“I thought we were onstage today.” I stand directly in front of him, effectively placing myself between him and the stage. Unfortunately, he's so tall that I don't even come close to blocking his view.

“My fault,” he says. “I messed up the schedule. We have the stage tomorrow.” Lucy sobs and Drew looks over my head at my sister.

His eyes kind of glisten and it's obvious he's totally, utterly transfixed. “She's good,” he whispers.

My instincts are now telling me he's really wishing he had cast my sister instead of me and I'm tempted to believe them (just this once). “She's
amazing,
” I admit.

“Come on.” Drew nods toward the back door. “I brought something to show you.”

I snap my head away from my sister, totally captivated by the excited tone in his voice. I follow him through the back door and out into the hall. I feel better as soon as I get away from the stage and can no longer hear my sister's voice. But then again, when I'm around Drew, I always feel as if I'm floating along on my tiptoes.

He leads me into the classroom where we met the day before, unzips his backpack, and pulls out a comic book wrapped in plastic. Hiding the cover from me, he opens the book and shows me a random page. “What do you think of the drawing?” he asks.

“I love it. It's Jim Lee, isn't it?”

“Yes!” he exclaims as he practically beams at me.

Until two seconds ago I never would've guessed how excited a comic book could make me. But now my hands are shaking and my heart is racing. It's hard to believe that only a few minutes ago I was so upset. It's almost as if Drew knew I needed some cheering up.

“How did you know?” he asks.

“I recognize Breyfogle's work, and I knew it wasn't him.” I open my backpack and pull out the best of the one thousand Batmen I had drawn. “I have something to show you, too.” I place it on the desk in front of him.

He places his comic book next to it so the two images are side by side.

“That's amazing,” he says. “Did you copy this from something?”

“What?” Geesh. I wasn't
that
desperate. “No!”

“I'm sorry—I just…it's so good. Why aren't you a visual arts major?”

I swallow back a thick wad of pride. “I was just playing around. I thought about Batman and imagined a scene where he had to kick some butt, and that's what I came up with.”

“I'll show you how I draw Batman,” he says. As he reaches into his backpack, my heart skips a beat while the muscles in his arm flex and release. He grabs a pencil out of his back pocket and draws a stick figure complete with a triangular cape. He draws a bubble above the character that says, “Will you be my Catwoman?”

Is his Batman flirting with
me
? Is Catwoman code for girlfriend? I'm confused and excited at the same time, but I'm determined to play along. “Catwoman? I thought she was evil.”

“Well, she's a villain, but they kinda, uh…”

“K-k-kinda what?” I stammer. It's really amazing that I'm still able to speak at all, because I feel as if something is wedged in my throat.

“Well…Batman gets all goofy around her.”

He's getting red in the face so I stay quiet. Even though I find it hard to believe that Drew, who always seems so cool and collected, is actually capable of feeling such a simple mortal emotion like embarrassment, it's possible. After all, I hadn't pegged him as a Batman guy either.

“So, what do you think?” Drew motions toward his drawing. I know he's teasing me because of the twinkle in his eyes.

“It's not bad. I like the cape…you just need to fill out the legs a little. Maybe the arms, too. And the face.”

“You're right. He's a little scrawny.” Drew says, chuckling. “So where did you learn how to draw?”

I clear my throat in an attempt to calm myself. “I've taken a lot of art classes. Lucy was always taking drama and dance and I think my parents put me into art because I wasn't really into anything else. Or at least, I wasn't really good at anything else.”

“What made you decide to study theater tech?”