What I Like About Me

by Jenna Guillaume

  I stood up and cleared a space on Leila’s orange chair. Beamer rolled his eyes.

  ‘Wait. Beamer, you’re a genius,’ Leila said.

  ‘I am?’

  ‘He is?’

  ‘Yes! Babe, your talent!’

  ‘A Chewbacca impression?’ I screwed up my face.

  ‘Not just that. I’ve seen you do a bunch of impressions! They’re hilarious. Your Hermione Granger at the party the other night had everyone in stitches.’

  ‘I can’t just stand on stage and do impressions for two minutes.’

  ‘Why the hell not?’

  ‘It’s not really a talent. It’s silly.’

  ‘Oh my god, stop. It’s brilliant! Here, I’ll prove it to you. Watch my Hermione.’ She pursed her lips and said in her normal voice, ‘“It’s Leviosa, not Leviosa.”’

  ‘“It’s LeviOsa, not LevioSA,”’ I corrected, in a pretty close imitation of Emma Watson (if I do say so myself).

  ‘See? That’s perfect! Don’t you think, Beamer?’

  He looked at me thoughtfully.

  I was expecting a smart-arse comment, so I was pretty surprised when he said, ‘Why don’t you do that dance you wanted to do? The Dirty Dancing one?’

  I frowned. ‘How do you know about that?’

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t dodge the question.’

  ‘Says the person dodging my question,’ I retorted.

  He just raised his eyebrows, waiting.

  I sighed. ‘Well, for starters, it’s kind of a two-person routine.’

  ‘Aren’t you allowed, like, an assistant or something?’

  ‘And how do you know that?’

  ‘I’ve watched Toddlers and Tiaras,’ he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. ‘What? My gran loves it.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m not a toddler.’

  ‘Wait, I’ve seen people do dances with partners before,’ Leila chimed in. ‘You could totally do it!’

  I shook my head. ‘I can’t dance.’

  Beamer started to say something, but I spoke over the top of him. ‘You know what? Impressions are a great idea. I can do that. Totally.’ And I launched into my best Russell Crowe from Gladiator: ‘“Are you not entertained?!”’

  *

  Later, as Beamer and I were huddled in a sand dune after leaving Leila’s, spending some quality time not talking, he broke away from me and ruined it by talking.

  ‘Hey, uh, can I ask you something?’

  ‘No,’ I said, leaning in to kiss him again.

  He put a hand to my face to stop me, his fingers sliding across my cheek before tucking my hair behind my ear. ‘Why don’t you wanna do that dance?’

  I pulled away from him, turning to face the ocean. ‘I really can’t dance.’

  ‘Yes, you can.’

  ‘No, I can’t.’

  ‘Yes, you can. I’ve seen you. You –’

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ I said, cutting him off.

  ‘I don’t see how that –’

  ‘You don’t get it.’

  ‘Try me.’

  I let out a frustrated sigh, looking down at my hands as I ran them through the cool sand. ‘Girls like me . . . we’re not made for dancing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s like – you know that bit in Dirty Dancing, where Johnny says, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner”?’ I glanced at him and he opened his mouth, but I didn’t give him a chance to answer. ‘It’s so romantic, right? Like, he plucks her out of the corner and puts a spotlight on her because he sees her, and he demands that everyone else see her, too. And he lifts her up the way she deserves to be lifted up. And – well, meanwhile, girls like me . . . we stay in the corner.’

  Beamer didn’t say anything, and when I glanced at him he seemed thoughtful, rubbing his thumb across his lips. Finally, he said, ‘That’s bullshit.’

  ‘Excuse me?!’

  ‘Bull. Shit. If you wanna dance, dance.’

  I shook my head. ‘I told you –’

  ‘I know, I know, you can’t. But when was the last time you even tried?’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ I lied.

  ‘Well, come on then. Have a go.’ He got up, dusted sand off his butt and held his hand out to me.

  ‘What, now? Here?!’

  ‘Now. Here.’ He waved his outstretched hand impatiently.

  ‘What is it with you and dancing on beaches?’

  ‘It’s as good a place as any.’ He looked around. ‘Come on, there’s no one here.’

  ‘We’d better get back.’ I got up and, ignoring his hand, walked past him. ‘We don’t want anyone getting suspicious. They cannot know about . . . whatever this is.’

  ‘Yeah. We wouldn’t want that,’ he said, trailing after me.

  *

  At dinner, Beamer asked the twins if they wanted to join us to watch Last Action Hero, our final Schwarzenegger (it was a tough choice, but I went with it for the pure meta joy of it all). Jimmy piped up that he loved that movie, which had a domino effect, and we ended up with pretty much everyone crowded around the TV to watch it. Only Eva and Bess were missing because they’d gone on a date. Everyone kept talking over the top of the movie, and laughing in the wrong spots. At one point Mum said, ‘We better be quiet, Maisie will get in a mood.’ Which, of course, put me in a mood.

  I got out my phone and messaged Beamer: WTF?? Is this *your* attempt to sabotage *me* now?

  He was sitting on the floor across the room from me, and I saw him look at his phone. He rolled his eyes and started typing.

  Nah. I just didn’t want anyone getting suspicious. He ended with a winking face emoji and turned his own face to the TV without once looking at me.

  Thursday, 28 December

  3 things I discovered today

  1. There are way more than seven layers of hell. There has to be. Because I discovered, like, the hundredth today. I was IN IT.

  Source: Not only did I go shopping, but I did it with the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Well, that’s kinda unfair on Bess and Anna, I suppose, but two horsemen (or, rather, horsewomen) doesn’t quite have the same ring to it. What I’m trying to say is, Mum and Eva are the apocalyptic horsepeople in question in this tortured metaphor, okay?

  2. My sister is just full of surprises.

  Source: She let something out today that she’s been keeping from everyone and it was NUCLEAR.

  3. I don’t hate everything about myself.

  Source: Some quality self-examination time (not in that way – get your mind out of the gutter).

  *

  What. A. Day. I’ll go back to the start.

  I’ve been missing Anna. Mum was right (never tell her I said that); things have been weird and I want to get us back. That’s why I suggested we do something together at breakfast.

  ‘Hey, that’s a great idea, why don’t we all have a girlie day?’ Mum said before Anna could answer. ‘We can go shopping and get mani-pedis. Maisie, is there anything you need for the pageant? You really should be –’

  ‘No, it’s fine, Mum, I told you.’

  ‘I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to get a student to make your gown. Wouldn’t you rather put the money towards something professional?’

  We’d been through this already. A few times. I stared down at the fruit salad in my bowl without saying anything.

  ‘I don’t understand why you won’t let Eva and me help you with this. We’ve done it all before, you know, and we had so much fun. This could be something we do together. We don’t do anything together anymore.’

  We’ve never done anything together, I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue. It was too early for an argument.

  Next to me, Anna said quietly, ‘Didn’t you say you needed shoes, Maise?’

  Mum went in for the kill. ‘Oh, I know the perfect place. I’ll call Eva.’ She got up and raced inside before I could get a word out, even though her mobile was in her hand the whole time.

  I shot Anna a look.


  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just thought – your mum is so keen to do this for you. It’s nice.’

  I shook my head. ‘Don’t you know? It’s not for me. It’s never for me. It’s for her. So she can control everything. So I don’t damage her perfect image any more than I already have.’

  From inside, Mum called out, ‘We’re picking Eva and Bess up in ten. Get a move on, girls.’

  I stood up, the chair legs scraping against the concrete harshly as I did so.

  ‘Let’s get this over with,’ I muttered.

  *

  You know, for a brief, fleeting moment, as the five of us sat around a table in a coffee shop and chatted, I actually thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

  Then Mum started talking about how many calories were in everything, and how she couldn’t afford to put on any more weight, and I could feel the mercury levels rising on my Urge-To-Screamometer.

  ‘Ah, you only get one body, you might as well enjoy it,’ Bess said with a smile as Mum was looking longingly at a piece of chocolate cake.

  ‘Yes, exactly,’ Mum said. And didn’t order the cake.

  At the shoe store, Mum kept on picking up impossibly high heels, even though I very clearly couldn’t walk in them.

  ‘You’ll just have to practise, Maisie – you’ve got over a week! Eva and I will help you.’ She smiled at Eva.

  ‘Yeah, totally – we’ll do that book-balancing thing,’ Eva said with a slightly evil grin.

  I groaned.

  ‘What about these?’ Bess said, picking up a pair of black strappy sandals.

  I tried them on. They were perfect. Sure, they weren’t the flashiest, but they were way more comfortable than any of the others I’d tried.

  Mum screwed up her nose. ‘You know it’s called a beauty pageant, not a comfort pageant, right?’ She cracked up laughing at her own joke.

  ‘Leila said to go for something simple,’ I argued.

  ‘I’m not a fan, Maise,’ Anna piped up. ‘I think you can do better.’

  I sighed and put the shoes back. We ended up buying a pair of wedges that I don’t think any of us really liked, but at least I could (almost) walk in them.

  I’m not even going to go into the torture that was my mother dragging us all around Target to find the perfect pair of Spanx for me, except to say that when I moaned she snapped, ‘Well I don’t know why you entered the pageant if you’re not even going to bother trying.’

  By the time we hit the food court for lunch, everyone seemed rather frazzled, as my grandma would say. I ordered a salad, even though I was really craving Macca’s. I just didn’t have the energy to deal with a double-whammy lecture from Eva and Mum about my eating habits.

  But maybe I shouldn’t have worried. Because the weirdest thing happened. Mum turned on Eva.

  Apparently Eva has developed a late-stage rebellious streak.

  Mum was asking her about her dance course and what she’s going to be doing next year, and Eva was giving her really short, vague answers. She kept glancing at Bess, who was raising her eyebrows and looking pointedly at Mum.

  ‘Alright, what’s going on?’ Mum said, dropping her fork on the table and clasping her hands together in front of her in the way she does when she’s pissed off.

  ‘Nothing,’ Eva said, but she couldn’t meet Mum’s eyes. Which was probably a good thing, because Mum was sending one of her most cutting death stares Eva’s way.

  ‘Why don’t you just tell her?’ Bess said quietly, and Eva sent a death stare of her own. (They run in the family. Hey, maybe that should be my talent for the beauty pageant: terrify the audience with a single glare.)

  ‘Tell me what?’ Mum said. She was all out of patience; I could tell by the way her mouth had tightened so much it had begun to resemble a dog’s bum hole.

  Eva sighed. ‘Let’s just talk about it when we get home, alright? In private.’

  Mum looked at her for a second, probably weighing up just how far she could push it right then, and made her decision. ‘Alright, let’s go.’ She got up and headed straight for the car park without looking back.

  And so ended the shopping trip from the hundredth layer of hell.

  *

  DJ, you are not going to believe what Eva’s big secret was. I can barely believe it.

  SHE WANTS TO CHANGE DEGREES. SHE WANTS TO QUIT DANCING. SHE DOESN’T LOVE IT ANYMORE. SHE DOESN’T SEE THE POINT.

  Her whole life, she’s dedicated herself to this one pursuit – to performing, to being professional, to being perfect – and now, all of a sudden, she wants to chuck it all in.

  You should have heard Mum ranting. She was mad enough when I quit dancing, and that was just because of what she called my ‘attitude’ and subsequent activity levels (or lack thereof). With Eva, it’s so much worse. This was supposed to be her career. Her life. And oh, Mum let her know it: ‘After everything we’ve sacrificed – after all your hard work – you haven’t thought this through – I can’t believe – what has got into you –’ It went on and on. She even phoned Dad, and he picked up. Yep, incredibly, Eva actually got Mum to speak to him again – although really all Mum was doing was screaming at him about ‘your daughter!’ as though she’d somehow forgotten she was also responsible for the conception, birth and raising of my sister.

  I’d had enough by this point. I grabbed Anna and we snuck out the door. We walked down the beach, not saying much. I guess we were both lost in our own thoughts.

  Do you want to know what mine were, DJ? I’d never admit this out loud, not to anyone – not even to Anna. But a small part of me was kind of thrilled that, for once, the golden child was the disappointment. For once, the shine had worn off.

  Another part of me was hurt. Mum talked about what she and Dad – what Eva – had sacrificed, and how it had all been for nothing. But what about what I’d sacrificed? What about how I had been the sacrifice?

  It wasn’t just how Eva’s dancing had always taken priority in our family, and how all of Mum’s spare time had gone into supporting her.

  It was Eva and everything she’d said and done to let me know I was less important than this thing in her life – that I wasn’t worthy of her dancing. Now that thing was worthless, where did that leave me?

  But you know what else, DJ? There were other parts of me that felt very different. Parts that kind of took me by surprise, after everything that’s happened.

  Like the part of me that was in awe of my sister. For what it must have taken her to make this choice and go through with it. For sticking to her guns, standing up to Mum, for making a whole new sacrifice by tossing aside her role as the perfect daughter, the perfect dancer, the perfect everything.

  And that last part? That last part of me was really worried about my big sister.

  *

  After we’d been walking for awhile, Anna asked if I was okay.

  ‘Me? I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘That was pretty intense back there,’ she said.

  ‘You know what my family’s like,’ I said. I didn’t particularly want to go into the conflicting feelings crashing around inside of me. So I said, ‘What do you want to do tonight?’ And the subject was dropped.

  We decided to go bowling with the boys in town, because staying within a one-kilometre radius of the war zone that was Mum and Eva seemed like a terrible idea.

  We were halfway through our second game (I was winning – I am the strike queen) when Anna and Sebastian went to get drinks and didn’t come back. They’d been all handsy and giggly all night. Beamer and I . . . hadn’t. He was back to his usual annoying self, ribbing me about my technique, boasting about his own. When I beat him round after round he just grinned and said, ‘It’s all part of the plan.’ Uh-huh.

  ‘Should I go find them?’ I said, after fifteen minutes had gone by and there was no sign of Anna and Sebastian. Beamer gave me a look.

  ‘Guess they forfeit, then,’ I said, getting up to take Anna’s turn for her. I faced away from the lane,
bent over and rolled the ball between my legs. It hit the pins in the middle, creating a split.

  ‘Shot!’ Beamer cried, laughing.

  For my next go I lifted my right leg across my body and swung the ball under it, completely missing all the remaining pins.

  ‘Beat that,’ I said. Beamer grinned and cracked his neck and his knuckles before reaching for his ball. He acted like it was as heavy as a boulder, bending his back and dangling the ball between his legs, using both hands to hold it. He hobbled up to the line like that, then bent over, placing the ball gently on the lane.

  ‘Stop checking out my butt,’ he called, wiggling it in the air.

  I laughed and called out, ‘You wish!’, even though that’s exactly what I’d been doing.

  He gave the ball a push and straightened up with a hop, backing up to stand by me as we watched the ball move at an achingly slow pace down the lane. It finally stopped about a metre from the actual pins. We had to get the guy behind the counter to retrieve it.

  ‘Alright, no more slow balls,’ I said, but we were both cracking up. We spent the rest of the game taking it in turns to bowl as fast as we could, with as many different ridiculous poses as we could think of. A couple of times we both bowled at the same time, the balls ricocheting off each other, until one got stuck against the pin-retriever machine thingy (I’m sure they have an actual name, but I don’t know it) and the guy who’d helped us earlier threatened to kick us out.

  There was still no sign of Anna and Sebastian, so Beamer and I headed to the arcade, unable to stop giggling. I grabbed Beamer’s hand and pulled him into the old-fashioned photo booth.

  As the first flash went off, we looked at each other, breathless and smiling.

  As the second snapped, he leaned in closer so our faces were nearly touching.

  As the third went off, he brought his lips to mine.

  And as the fourth clicked, I looked at the camera in surprise as he whispered in my ear, ‘You’re so beautiful.’

  If this were a montage in a movie, it would have been all romantic and cute. It would have been with the dreamy leading guy and the beautiful leading girl, not the smart-arse best friend and the chubby sidekick. But Anna and Sebastian were off making out somewhere in the dark – probably next to the dumpster, let’s be real. Because life is not a movie.