Freak 'N' Gorgeous

by Sebastian J. Plata

  I force a smile and leave.

  In the hall, I’m greeted by the now-usual shy smiles, heys, and Hi, Konrads. Since it’s lunchtime, I get a group text from Alan asking Lauren and me if we’re going to the Shack like we did last Thursday. I’m about to reply with a yes when the sound of a familiar voice stops me.

  “Hi, Konrad.”

  My skin goes taut and a sense of déjà vu ripples through my body.

  After a long breath, I look up. “Hi, Sara.”

  Here she is. My ex-girlfriend of seven months and four days. The girl who apparently only went out with me out of boredom, just until someone more worthy of her time came along.

  The girl who destroyed my heart.

  “You’re so tall now,” she says, her eyes sparkling.

  I’m tense all over. I can’t help it. I never thought I’d see her from this up close again, much less speak to her. “Yeah,” I say, injecting as much frost into my tone as I can. How can she even do this? How can she act like nothing happened?

  “Look, I’m sorry things ended the way they did between us. I was kind of a bitch ignoring you like that.”

  “Kind of?”

  She laughs, as if I made a great joke. My stomach churns with disgust. I don’t even bother hiding it.

  “Anyway,” she says, “congratulations. You’re really, really good-looking now.”

  I just want her to go away. “Thanks.”

  “Maybe we can talk soon?”

  “What about Mike?”

  She shrugs. “What about him?”

  “Okay.”

  “See you in gym class?”

  “Bye.”

  She walks away, and I’m left standing before my locker feeling angry at myself. Why did I even give her the time of day? I should’ve just brushed her off without a word. She deserves to feel at least a fraction of the crushing rejection I did.

  Shaking my head, I pull out my phone. There’s a message from Lauren: Let’s meet in the parking lot.

  Still dazed from Sara stooping to such a low level, I’m walking toward the exit so I can meet up with my friends when a smooth hand lands on my arm.

  “Come have lunch with us,” Becca Lipowska says, twirling her long, straight hair around the fingers of her other smooth hand.

  Whoa. First Sara gives me an apology—a half-assed apology, but still—and now Becca is not only making physical contact, she’s inviting me to lunch. Seriously, everybody is totally into my transformation except my own friends.

  I remember I’m supposed to be on my way to see them and that I still haven’t replied to our group text. “I’m sorry,” I say to Becca, regretfully sneaking a peek at my phone.

  There’s a new message from Lauren on my screen.

  Guess you’re too busy, PRETTY BOY. We’re off!

  I grit my teeth. Lauren didn’t even wait five-freaking-minutes for my reply. I could probably catch them if I hurry, but I’m pissed that she called me Pretty Boy again, and Becca’s still lingering in front of me, as if sure I’ll change my mind.

  “Actually,” I say, slipping my phone in my pocket, “never mind. Let’s go.”

  “Great,” she says, a smug grin etched on her face. “Come on.”

  She waits for me to fall into step with her and we start strutting down the hallway, Becca on my right and her hot friend Carrie on my left. The crowd in the hall starts parting like I’m a pop star with two sexy dancers at my side. I’m riding the wave, relishing our three-person parade of cool, when I see something that sticks out like a brown leaf on a healthy houseplant.

  A cold chill scuttles up my spine.

  Among the looks of envy from the guys and adoration from the girls, I catch one face that draws me in like a black hole. That face belongs to Jodie Mathews, and I don’t think she likes what she’s seeing. In fact, between the rage in her eyes, the twisted disgust on her lips, and the stiffness of her posture, I’d bet she thinks I’m Satan himself.

  CHAPTER 6

  CAMILLA

  “KONRAD?” I SQUEAK. “KONRAD WOLNIK? Sara Hernandez’s ex?”

  “Yeah,” Jodie says, focused on typing his name into the search bar. We’re at my desk, in the Lair of the Forsaken—also known as my room. After visiting Ashley at the diner, I’ve been hiding out here until I decide my next move. I only leave the house at dawn to run, and I’m back before the world is awake to see me.

  Yesterday, Mom delivered a note—a very lengthy one—to Principal Marks from Dr. Jackson. I’m temporarily excused from school because of “emotional distress due to an Inexplicable Development.”

  Jodie angles the laptop my way. When I see what’s on screen, I suck in a breath and hold it. The guy in the profile picture is Konrad Wolnik, but it’s also not. It’s the boy I’ve seen around the hallways at school, the one I had physics with last year, but the Konrad grinning back at me doesn’t have a big nose, a round face, and wiry hair. This Konrad has high cheekbones and eyes that could slay any functioning person attracted to men.

  “He’s taller and his body is, like, perfect, too,” Jodie explains frantically. “And,” she adds with emphasis, like she’s about to say the most important thing of all, “he’s hanging out with Becca Lipowska now.”

  At first, I’m in awe; an average guy has transformed into one of the best-looking people I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s incredible. But then I’m hit with an onslaught of jealousy, quickly followed by misery and, finally, an explosion of anger.

  “You all right?” Jodie asks.

  If wanting to see Konrad’s breathtaking eyes bulge and his movie star lips struggle for air as I strangle him to death counts as all right, then yes, Jodie, I’m very all right.

  “He did this to me,” I say. “He’s the reason.”

  Before Jodie can reply, the door opens and Mom strides in. She’s been cutting her shifts short so she can be around more. Over and over, I assure her I’d never do anything dangerous to myself, but she’s a single mother, not to mention a nurse. Her care-meter is more alert than most.

  Mom sees me practically growling. “What is it, honey?”

  Jodie decides to answer for me. “This kid we know—”

  “It’s nothing,” I interrupt. I don’t want Mom to find out about Konrad. Not yet.

  “What kid?” she asks.

  “This kid in our class,” I say before Jodie can speak, trying to come up with a convincing lie. Mom’s bullshit detector is pretty well honed, so I tread carefully. “Someone pushed him down the stairs at school. He’s fine, though. He just broke his arm.”

  “Oh my God,” Mom says. “That’s terrible.”

  Jodie’s gives me a sideways glance. “Yeah,” she says. “So terrible.”

  “Oh!” Mom blurts. Smiling, she peeks back into the hallway. “Come on in, Ashley.”

  Ashley pushes her glowing face around the doorframe. At first, I’m happy to see her, but that changes pretty quickly. As far as I know, unlike Jodie and me, it’s been school as usual for her. As far as I know, she already knew about Konrad Wolnik when I saw her at the diner yesterday.

  Mom asks the standard do you girls need anything? questions, then finally finds the door. Halfway out, she turns and says, “This is so great. I’m so happy seeing the three of you spending time together again.”

  With Mom gone, Ashley crosses to the computer screen to see what Jodie and I are looking at. And her smile falls. I give it a moment for her guilt to sink in as deep as possible before starting my interrogation. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

  Ashley silently backs up, then sets her butt on my bed. “I thought you knew,” she replies. There’s a creak to her voice. “Everybody’s been posting about it since, like, Tuesday.”

  I aim my narrowed eyes at Jodie next.

  She looks offended. “What? I barely look at stuff online at all. You know that. Plus, I was with you almost the whole time!”

  Jodie might be our very own fashion icon, but she’s a surprisingly light social media user. I bel
ieve her. As for me, it’s painful enough to have to see the few photos of Old Me scattered throughout my room. I haven’t exactly been itching to revisit my old life online.

  I inhale deeply, but my breath turns into a half sob. Angry and frustrated, I jump from the chair and start pacing around my room. I’m so mad I don’t even care that I’m parading my shapeless, unattractive body in front of my friends.

  The girls let me quietly fume. After a while, Jodie says, “It’s so weird, though. Why him? It’s not like he was ugly. He was just … average. Nothing wrong with that. He seemed pretty chill, too, and it didn’t seem like he wanted to be more popular. Sara dated him. Sara’s cute.”

  “Yeah, but Sara dumped him for Mike,” Ashley reminds us.

  I stop pacing and plop back into my chair. The memory of Gina’s party hangs in the air, thick and unpleasant. Sara left Konrad for Mike, sure, but Mike left Ashley for Sara.

  Because of me.

  Jodie breaks the silence. “He’s definitely the reason.”

  “We don’t know that,” Ashley says.

  Both Jodie and I turn to stare at her.

  Jodie’s face scrunches up. “Are you defending him, Ashley?”

  “No,” Ashley quickly replies. “It’s just that … nobody knows for sure how IDs happen. And they happen so rarely and so randomly. No one has ever found a pattern to them. I looked it up last night.” She pauses. “I’m just saying, maybe this is just one big, twisted coincidence.”

  Jodie shakes her head with certainty. “He obviously wished for this.”

  “That’s really unlikely,” Ashley goes on. “There is a ton of research out there, old and new. The theory that someone can wish something upon someone else has been basically debunked.” She pauses, then continues a little more gently. “Besides, I don’t think Konrad specifically thought, ‘I wish I was insanely attractive and I wish the complete opposite for Camilla Hadi.’ He’s never been a mean person.”

  “We don’t know what he’s really like!” Jodie says. “Or what he thought. At the very least, whatever happened to Camilla is collateral damage. However you look at it, he’s the reason. I’ve never heard of two IDs happening at the same time. There is obviously a correlation.” She turns to me, eyes full-on puppy dog. “He stole your beauty, Camilla.”

  I look away. “What beauty?”

  I was never beautiful. It’s a fact; I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I’ve never even had a boyfriend. I was just as average as Konrad, if not more so.

  “Don’t be like that,” Jodie says.

  My eyes fall to the now-stubby fingers in my lap. I make my hands into fists so I don’t have to look at them anymore. I never did anything to Konrad Wolnik, and certainly never gave him a reason to do something like this to me. And yet, he did. Whether intentionally or not, he made me this way.

  “Let me talk to him,” Ashley says.

  I tense up. “What would you say?” I’m not ready for news of my ID to spread beyond those few who already know about it. At this point, I’m not sure I ever will be.

  “I’ll try to find out as much as I can.”

  “I should talk to him,” Jodie interjects. “Konrad’s not going to trust you since you’re kind of the reason Sara broke up with him. If you hadn’t given Lance a hand job at Gina’s party, Mike wouldn’t have broken up with you, and Sara would still be with Konrad.”

  “I didn’t give him a hand job,” Ashley says through her teeth. “We made out. Kissed. That’s it.”

  Jodie huffs. “That was one hell of a kiss then. Since when does kissing involve slipping your hand down a guy’s jeans?”

  Ashley flinches, and then her expression goes hard. “Maybe if you hadn’t stabbed me in the back and posted that video, Konrad and Sara would still be together.”

  “That was my idea,” I say, my eyes downcast. “I shared the video.”

  “Yeah, but Jodie’s the one who made sure everyone knew about it. Plus, you’re actually sorry, Camilla. Jodie’s obviously not.”

  Jodie’s eyes fall to her nails. “Whatever. I apologized already. Plus, you knew Camilla had a thing for Lance.”

  Ashley slaps both of her hands on my bed. “NO, I DIDN’T!”

  “She didn’t, Jodie,” I say for the millionth time. “I never told her.”

  “Whatever,” Jodie mumbles. “If Ashley didn’t know, then she was one clueless friend.”

  “Ugh!” Ashley says. “I didn’t know!”

  I give her a weak smile. None of it matters anyway. Lance was never interested in me before, and he sure as hell won’t be interested now.

  “Okay,” I say.

  Both girls turn my way. “Okay, what?” Jodie asks.

  “You can talk to Konrad, Ashley.”

  I might not have been beautiful, but what I was—what I had—was mine and mine alone. No one had a right to mess with that but me. Especially not a human being who is so vain, and so self-centered, that his greatest wish in the whole world was to be better looking. Whether he meant to or not, Konrad Wolnik ruined my life for his own selfish gain.

  And there’s no way I’m going to let him get away with that.

  CHAPTER 7

  KONRAD

  IT’S LUNCHTIME. EVERY TIME I touch the bleachers the metal scalds my palms. I try to keep my hands in my lap, but I can’t stop fidgeting. Also, I’m sweating like a construction worker. The sun burning through my jeans is playing a part, yeah, but it’s got nothing on Becca Lipowska.

  “So how many girls have you been with?” she asks.

  We’ve been out here for ten minutes. Out on the field some of Mike Rogers’s douchebag friends are throwing a ball around. They’re all pretending not to, but I can tell they’re totally watching us.

  “Oh, I only dated Sara.”

  Becca slaps my arm playfully. This is the fourth time she’s done that since we sat down. “No, stupid,” she says. “I mean, like, been with.”

  Truthfully, it’s only been Sara and my hand, but Becca doesn’t need to know that. “Hmm, like maybe five or so,” I lie. “You?”

  She giggles. “Girls?”

  My cheeks burn, and I chuckle like a goat.

  “Well,” she says, leaning in even closer. I feel the hair on my neck spring to life in sync with something else in my jeans. “This is a secret, but I did sort of hook up with Carrie once. But there was this college boy with us, so it wasn’t a full-on lesbian thing, or anything.”

  I whip my bulging eyes her way, but then jerk back because her barely visible freckles are, like, an inch away from my face. “You had a threesome?”

  She shrugs, clearly enjoying my bewilderment. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Nice.” I swallow hard.

  “It wasn’t my thing, though.”

  “I see,” I say, thinking of a good topic to follow that up with. Nothing good comes to mind, so I just go with: “So tell me something about yourself.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Hmm. Like … do you know what you’re going to study in college?”

  Becca’s face goes deadly serious. “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “Premed. I’m going to be a neurosurgeon.”

  My mouth pops open. I didn’t think anything could top her threesome story, but here we are. I was expecting her to say something like, “I want to try modeling.” But no, Becca Lipowska wants to be a freaking brain surgeon.

  “That’s intense.”

  “Yeah. I’ve always had a thing for brains. Like, I used to buy rats at pet shops, or mice—you know, like the ones they sell for snake feed?—and then kill them and cut open their skulls. These days, I’m mostly interested in the human brain. The whole human nervous system.”

  “Oh, wow,” I say, slightly disturbed. “That’s … pretty sick. I mean, like, in a good way.”

  She slaps my arm again. “I got it.” Her tongue brushes over her shiny lips and her gaze drops to my lower half. “Come over to my place tomorrow night,” she says. “My p
arents are going to see some play at seven. We’ll have a couple of hours.”

  On behalf of the soldier in my pants, I immediately agree.

  “Great,” she says, getting up with a satisfied grin on her face. “We should probably get something to eat now. Lunch is almost over.”

  I don’t move. Partly because I’m sure even the guys on the field will be able to see my boner, and partly because there’s something I want to ask her, even if it will probably make me sound like a loser. “You’d never talk to me if my ID hadn’t happened, right?”

  Becca’s smile dims but doesn’t disappear completely. “Look, I’ll be real with you,” she says. “You weren’t my type before. Now you are. Plus, you seem like a really cool guy. I’d like to get to know you better.”

  “But you wouldn’t have before?”

  She shrugs. “No, probably not.”

  My lips pinch, but I nod. I appreciate her honesty. It’s so much better than Sara’s fake “I’m just trying to reconnect with you” bullshit.

  Smiling up at her, I say, “Tomorrow.”

  Becca and I hug (she insists) and we part ways. I buy a hamburger at the cafeteria and look for Alan outside the gym.

  The gym building has these creepy-looking protruding eaves. The place looks like a spaceship from a Soviet-era science fiction novel. The overhang does provide a lot of shade, though, and it attracts kids from all walks of life. Most of them stare at me as I approach.

  Alan’s squatting with his back against the wall, one hand wrapped around a sandwich and the other attacking his phone. Mouth bobbing up and down, he glances up from the screen. His eyes narrow. “What took you so long?”

  I throw my thumb over my shoulder and shake my head. “Becca …”

  His eyes drop back to his phone. Unwrapping my burger, I rest my back against the wall and slide down next to him. “Sorry.”

  “We really did wait for you in the parking lot yesterday.”

  “Yeah,” I mumble through a bite. “For, like, a minute.”

  “Dude,” he says in a tone I’d only heard from him once before, when he snapped at Mark Andrews for asking if his sister was already bald. This was before she even started chemotherapy. Snapping at people is not something Alan usually does. “Lauren and I haven’t changed,” he goes on. “You have.”