The Pretty One (21 page)

Click.

Through the fog it hits me: It's a key in a lock. Which can only mean one thing: someone's home. With all the strength of a superhero, I push Drew off me. He topples over into the stove, stunned and surprised.

I hear footsteps storming through the living room and within seconds, Lucy is standing in the kitchen. “Drew? What are you doing here?”

“He just stopped by to see how I was feeling,” I say in a high-pitch voice.

It makes me sound guilty of something, I'm just not sure what anymore.

“Oh?” Lucy says, narrowing her eyes at him.

“What are you doing home?” I say to Lucy. Surprisingly, this question almost comes out as an accusation.

“I was worried about you,” she replies sternly, looking as though she'd like to strangle me and dump my body in the Chesapeake. “I'm surprised to see you out of bed.”

Now that I see the rage in her eyes, I feel like the wind has been sucked right out of my lungs. “Right, I should, well, get back in it.” I turn toward Drew. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Oh,” he says, clearly surprised by his sudden dismissal.

“Um, sure.”

Lucy crosses her arms but doesn't move. She's just standing there, glaring at me.

“Well, good night,” I say as I run back up the stairs, leaving Drew and Lucy alone. I turn off the bedroom light and crawl back into bed, still wearing my clothes. I can hear Lucy saying “so long” to Drew, then padding up the stairs.

“He brought you flowers?” she asks, flipping on the overhead light.

Half of me wants to defend myself and rip into Lucy for misleading me about her “date” with Drew. The other half wants to apologize. But for what? Getting what I
want
? Being
happy
for the first time in my life? For being (according to Drew at least) the prettiest girl in school?

But instead I say nothing.

Lucy just shakes her head in disgust and walks into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

The shower turns on and I hear a muffled noise. I get out of bed and creep out of the room, pausing at the closed bathroom door. I stand still, listening to Lucy cry in the shower. It's clear from the level of her devastation that maybe she really did like Drew. And she had come home to find him with someone she never thought she'd have to fight with for any boy.

Her sister. Her
beautiful
sister.

I've never made Lucy so upset before and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do next. It's totally unnerving, especially since Lucy has always seemed so strong, so capable of not only taking care of herself, but me as well. She has saved my neck so many times. Ten years ago, when we were playing dolls in our backyard and Warren Gumbar, a neighborhood bully at least four years older than me, started calling me werewolf girl, barking and howling at me through the fence. Even though he was twice Lucy's size and all the kids at school were terrified of him, Lucy grabbed a branch and jammed it right at him, right through the fence.

And what about freshman year, when Angie Rembleaux wrote
Megan Fletcher is the ugliest dog EVER
inside all the bathroom stalls on the second floor and the very next day Lucy made her apologize and then wipe it all off by hand? It seems like there were a million instances just like that, and even though I really don't want to be thinking about them right now because they only make me feel worse, they're all fast-forwarding through my mind at the speed of light.

When Lucy comes out of the bathroom, I've relived sixteen years of her saving my ass and am sitting on the hallway floor, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. I open my mouth to say something, I'm still not sure what, but Lucy snaps before I can speak.

“How could you do this to me?!”

And with that, all of my sympathy and guilt morph into an anger that rivals my sister's.

“For once, Lucy, this isn't about
you
!” I shout.

I'm not even sure what I mean by that. But I know it's enough to drive Lucy away.

She storms into our room and grabs her pillow. “I was so excited for this year, Megan. I thought it was going to be great for
both of us
. But I never would have guessed that you'd
turn on me
.”

After that dramatic statement, Lucy makes her grand exit and seeks shelter in our parents' bedroom.

As for me, I go into the bathroom, stare at my undoubtedly pretty face in the mirror, and think about what would have happened with Drew if my sister hadn't come home.

twenty-two

vomitory (noun): an auditorium entrance or exit that emerges through banked seating from below.

I'm awake half the night, thinking about Drew and Lucy and my parents and Simon and George and Catherine and people at school I barely know. My mind has never been this cluttered and I can't help but believe that my new face is to blame.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, though, because when I sit up in bed, light is spilling through the curtains. I'm not surprised to see that the door to my parents' room is wide open and the bed already made. I hear a noise in the kitchen and I take a deep breath as I steady myself against the railing, mentally preparing myself for the fireworks. But as I walk downstairs the smell of coffee hits me right between the eyes. There's only person who drinks coffee in this house: my mom.

I burst into the kitchen and fly into her arms, almost tackling her to the ground. “When did you get home?”

“A couple hours ago.”

Maybe I'm just overly sensitive, but the sight of me doesn't seem to be making her delirious with happiness. And she has been gone for three days, definitely long enough for some delirium. This can only mean one thing: “I take it you saw Lucy?”

She nods. “She was sleeping in my bed.”

“Look, Mom, I know what Lucy thinks, but I didn't invite Drew over here last night. In fact, he had sent me an e-mail earlier in the day and I didn't even respond.”

My mom looks perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

Hold everything. “Didn't she tell you?”

“She just said that she's been having trouble sleeping and so she stayed up and fell asleep in front of the TV.”

It hits me that Lucy may have been trying to protect me, like she used to when we were little, and my eyes fill with tears. Suddenly, I'm spilling my guts to my mom, starting with the most recent events and working my way backward.

At the end of my story, my mother sighs. “So Lucy thinks you purposefully came in between her and this boy Drew?”

I nod, miserable.

My mom gives me a sympathetic smile. “You look tired,” she says. “Do you want some tea?”

I hug my knees to my chest and nod again. My mom fills a mug with water and pops it in the microwave.

“So are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Interested in Drew?”

Even though I know Mom's not the type to point an accusatory finger, I still feel defensive. “Well, I liked him first,” I say quickly. “In fact, from the moment I saw him. Lucy never even paid any attention to him until she found out he was directing the spring musical.”

“Come on, now,” Mom says.

“It's true!” I say emphatically, like I'm trying to convince my mother that Drew belongs with me. “I know him a lot better than Lucy does. I know that he likes Batman and has two little sisters and carries a dictionary around.”

My mom's eyebrows twitch. “That's a little weird.”

And I know that, “Well, I know that I
love
him.”

I can't believe I said that out loud. And in front of my mother. She smiles a little bit but doesn't say a word.

“And I think…I'm pretty sure he likes me, too.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, he cast me in the play when I know for a fact there were better actresses. And last night he brought me flowers…and he told me I was the prettiest girl in the school.”

“The prettiest girl in the school? Well…that is nice,” my mom says simply.

Excusez-moi? Nice?
It's obvious my mom thinks Drew is full of crap. I'm silent for a minute. “Why would he say that if he didn't like me?”

My mom sighs and gives me one of her “kindly” smiles. “You don't really know this boy yet.”

“He's not the type of guy to give out compliments he doesn't mean.”

“I'm sure he does think you're the prettiest girl in school. But he doesn't really know you. Not yet, at least.”

Oh, I get it. “So once he gets to know me, he'll run screaming for the hills. Is that it? Because I may not look like an ugly duckling but inside I'm still the same old nasty—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” My mom puts her hand on top of mine. “Where is this coming from?”

“I'm just tired of this! First Lucy, then Simon, now you. The only person around here who seems excited about me and my new life is Dad!”

“That's not true, Megan. I am excited for you. Your new face…well, you've been given a wonderful opportunity. But I just don't want to see you get hurt or—”

“Or what?”

“Or lose sight of who you are and what's important.”

“What's important is that the guy who I've loved forever seems to feel the same way about me, too.” I grab a tissue and blow my nose. I'd really like to prove to my mom that she's totally, completely wrong about Drew, that what we have is the real deal, that he loves me sincerely and totally and couldn't care less what I look like—but I can't. And I can't because at least twenty-eight percent of me thinks she might have a point. “And I'm sorry. But if that makes Lucy and Simon hate my guts, so be it.”

“Simon? Why should he care?”

“Because of my new face and this wonderful opportunity, he's decided he wants to be my boyfriend now. He gave me the ultimatum: all or nothing.”

My mom winces.

“How do I tell my best friend that the thought of being his girlfriend grosses me out?”

“Maybe you can be honest with him without mentioning the grosses-you-out part.”

“And what about Lucy? She hates me.”

“Lucy may be mad at you, but she certainly doesn't
hate
you.”

“You're wrong, Mom. She not only hates me, she can't stand the sight of me.”

“Come on, now. I know you're upset, but you don't really believe that, do you?” My mother takes a sip of her coffee while she pauses a moment to gather her thoughts. “You know, Lucy told me about what happened at the dance last year, and all the hurtful things she'd said.”

My mom and I have never spoken about the moments leading up to the accident. At first I was too injured to talk, and by the time I could, it didn't seem to matter anymore. After all, Lucy was so upset and obviously trying very hard to make it all up to me. There didn't seem to be any point in dredging it up again.

“Lucy relieved that moment over and over again. The whole time you were in the hospital, she slept on the floor of our room. She woke up screaming in the middle of the night, she couldn't eat, her grades suffered, she completely dropped out of the theater program…all because…” My mom takes a deep breath. “She didn't want to leave your side. She was haunted by the thought that she could have lost you.” Mom's eyes get all teary. “We all were.”

I take a tissue and blow my nose. I have never heard about Lucy's nightmares, and although I remember thinking that she looked really skinny, I didn't know that she stopped eating and slept on the floor of my parents' room. And I have to say, the news makes me feel horrible and wonderful at the same time. I'm totally relieved to hear how much she loves me, but I feel awful that my sister has suffered because of me.

My mom sighs long and deep. She stands up and gives me a hug. Even though I'm normally not the huggy-feely type, I rest my head on her shoulder as my nose drips on her shirt.

“Oh, Megan. What you're experiencing now…all this attention…anyone would be having a difficult time. I know you're doing the best you can. All I'm saying is that you need to be careful. I have the feeling a lot of boys are going to be proclaiming their love. Some will be sincere and some won't. You'll have to decide which one is which. And it's not going to be easy.”

And then she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and gives me the same kind smile she always gives me when she's trying to convince me that things will be all right. “I know things seem complicated right now, but everything will work out in the long run. You'll see.”

As I look at my mom, I do my best to smile even though I have a feeling she's dead wrong.

twenty-three

morality play (noun): a type of theatrical allegory in which the protagonist is met by personifications of various moral attributes who try to prompt him to choose a godly life over one of evil.

On Monday I arrive at Lucheki's class before Simon. I optimistically sit in my regular seat but Simon gets there late and sits about ten rows behind me. He looks like crap. He has dark circles under his eyes and his hair is abnormally messy. He's wearing his glasses but he's still dressed like a prep student, albeit one who has slept in his clothes. His wrinkled blue shirt is only half tucked in and his pants look a size too big.

I'm not one to make judgments, however, since I'm not faring much better. In fact, I'm pretty much a total wreck. Lucy has been avoiding me, staying away from the house as much as possible and sleeping on the couch. The couple of times I've tried to talk to her she's been polite yet distant. It's not like she's mad. It's much, much worse. It's like she doesn't even care about me enough to be angry. That, in addition to Simon's behavior, not to mention the whole “does Drew just like me because I'm pretty” talk I had with my mom has turned me into a crazy, anxious shell of myself. I haven't slept, and even though I've been taking my nose spray, my nose is running like a sieve.

And now, sitting in the same room as Simon and not being able to talk to him or laugh with him or just be with him—it makes everything ten times worse. Even though I turn around and look at him more than once, he never even glances in my direction. When class is over I solemnly file out, convinced Simon is never going to talk to me again. The minute I get into the hall, though, I feel a hand on my arm.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Simon asks.

I feel a rush of relief. I'm so happy and grateful that someone I care about is actually talking to me that I want to say, yes, of course, I'll talk wherever and whenever you want, but before I get an opportunity, I see George heading in my direction. Why does George always seem to appear when I'm with Simon? And suddenly I realize that I have been so distracted by my other problems that I never responded to George's invitation to the fall festival.

“Did you get the invite?” George calls out cheerfully.

Simon winces, but makes no effort to leave.

“Yeah,” I say to George. “But ah, well, can we talk later?”

“It's a simple question, beautiful,” he says, stopping in front of me. I wince at his use of the word “beautiful.” “Yes or no?” he asks.

I take a breath. “I'm sorry,” I say quickly. “I can't go because, well…” I look at Simon. I think about him and Lucy and Drew and how terrible and complicated everything has become. “I'm going with Simon.”

Simon's eyes open wide as his mouth falls open.

I stop breathing. What? Did I just say I was going with Simon?

“Oh,” George says. “Okay. That's cool.”

Neither Simon nor I say anything as George walks away. We just stand there, staring at each other. I feel like I'm having some sort of weird, awful dream. What about Drew?
What about Drew?

The bell rings and the halls clear out, leaving us alone.

“I need to take it slow,” I say finally. “Really slow.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Like working our way up to holding hands slow.”

“Okay,” he says again.

I think I'm going to throw up. Right here. Right outside the theater, right in the middle of the window-lined hall. The janitor will have to come clean it up, but he won't be able to get rid of the smell, and all day long, any time anyone even walks near it, they're going to wrinkle their nose and ask: Who puked?

“What made you change your mind?” Simon asks.

“Because you like me for who I am on the inside,” I hear myself say. Which is true. Unfortunately, it doesn't help my nausea at all.

         

I don't go to lunch. Instead I tell Simon I have a doctor's appointment and leave school. I don't get permission. I just open the front door and start walking with no particular destination in mind. I spend the entire afternoon walking and walking and wondering how in hell I could've told Simon that I would go to the dance with him.

To be honest, I had considered it. After all, I had spent the entire weekend thinking about him, Drew, and Lucy and trying to figure out what to do. And when George asked me in front of Simon and I saw the pain on his face—I cracked. I just couldn't take it anymore.

But what's done is done, right? All I can do now is reassure myself that what's done is/was the right thing. After all, could I really have given up both Lucy and Simon for Drew, a guy who probably would never have been interested in me if I was still ugly? I should be commending myself, not walking around feeling as if I just stepped into a pool of quicksand.

But I haven't stepped in quicksand. I've walked right back to school and into the classroom where I'm meeting Drew.

“Hey,” he says, jumping off a desk to greet me as I walk into the room.

I really, really wanted to blow off play practice, but due to my imaginary illness, I missed almost all of last week. But even if I hadn't, I doubted I would've been able to blow it off. I'm just too much of a masochist.

“I've been trying to reach you,” Drew says.

He had called twice over the weekend and once today but I hadn't had the heart to answer or call him back. “I'm sorry. I had…well, some things to take care of.”

The smile fades from his face. “What's wrong?”

I turn away. I can't tell him what I have done. I know I can't keep it a secret forever but I just can't handle it right now.

“Nothing.” I set down my backpack and take out my script.

“I'm almost done memorizing my lines,” I say, in a voice I'm hoping he'll interpret as enthusiastic.

He takes my hand and says, “I was a little worried about you the other night. You kind of disappeared when Lucy got home. And then when I couldn't reach you, well, I didn't know what had happened.”

Once again I get a visual of Lucy's face when she came out of the shower after she'd been crying. I pull away and take a couple of steps back. “My head was hurting.”

“I'm sorry,” he says. “Are you feeling better?”

“I'm all right,” I manage.

“I never got a chance to do what I had intended to do the other night. I came over because I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to the fall festival with me.”

I can't breathe.

“What do you think?”

I think…I think…I think I need a tissue. My hands are shaking so wildly I can barely unzip the side pocket of my backpack to pull out the little package I always carry with me. “I can't,” I spit out before blowing my nose into a Kleenex.

It's totally, unnaturally, quiet.

I clear my throat and turn back to face him. I might as well get this over with now. “I told Simon I would go with him.”

“Simon?”

I pick up my script and stare at it.

Drew starts walking to the front of the room and stops. “So…you and Simon…are you guys just friends, or is it…something else?”

“Something else?” I want to tell him that it's not just about Simon. It's about my sister, too. And it's about being true to my old self.

“Are you and Simon dating?”

I swallow hard. “We've been best friends forever.”

“So you're just friends?”

“Not exactly,” I whisper.

I can see a flash of pain in Drew's eyes as he pauses a second.

“He just…he really knows me. He cares about me for who I am.” There. That should do it. Relationship over.

“Okay,” he says finally, and motions for me to take my place.

But as we begin to recite our lines, I notice that Drew's demeanor has changed. Usually he's patient and encouraging when I forget a line, but today he seems annoyed, almost angry. All I can I think about is how tender he was to me the other night and how he offered to make me spaghetti and how it felt when he kissed me and now it's all gone.

When Drew decides to call it quits a half hour early, I'm relieved and upset at the same time. It's torture to be with him and look into his eyes and know that when I walk out the door, I'll be leaving a part of myself behind.

But it's the sacrifice I have to make.