Freak 'N' Gorgeous

by Sebastian J. Plata

  As we make our way through the hallway toward my locker, I’m convinced people are staring for two reasons: one, I’m ugly now, and I didn’t used to be—at least not this ugly; and two, they’re surprised to see me, Jodie, and Ashley together again after what happened with Ashley and Lance and the video.

  Or maybe I’m wrong and people just think Jodie and Ashley have found a new, unattractive wing-woman to replace me.

  A part of me wishes that last thought were actually true. That people didn’t recognize me. That I could have a fresh start. Unfortunately, that’s the least likely explanation. I know this because a minute after I get to my locker, I’m cornered by half of the track team.

  “Camilla?”

  The voice belongs to Anna. For a moment, I just keep my nose buried in my locker.

  It’s weird, but I never got close to the other girls on the team. We’re on friendly terms, and we do have fun when we’re together, but I’ve never considered any of them my true friends. Jodie and Ashley have been a part of my life way longer than track has. I guess I’ve always seen it as a work-life balance thing. Track’s work and Jodie and Ashley are my life.

  Still, these girls have been nothing but nice to me, even if it is only because I’m the fastest runner on the team. Shutting my eyes for brief moment, I suck in a deep breath and turn around. “Hi, Anna.”

  Behind her are three other girls from the team: Jen, Amanda, and Eve. They’re all huddled together, like they knew they were about to come face-to-face with a monster. They look so ridiculously on edge, I almost want to shout, Boo!

  As soon as they process what they’re seeing, they gasp in unison and their faces twist in shock. Eve’s hand flies up to her mouth, but she catches herself and forces it back down into a fist at her side. She’s trying to be polite, but that doesn’t make her gaze any less scrutinizing. I feel like I’m naked on a hospital bed and her eyes are doing the operating.

  Meanwhile, Ashley and Jodie have tensed up. They’re like two soldiers willing to jump in front of a moving bullet for me. All the kids passing us slow their pace, the phones in their hands temporarily forgotten, their mouths gaping open, eyes locked on me. I do my best to pretend they don’t exist.

  “Camilla …” Anna says. She looks like she really needs to go to the bathroom and take care of a very persistent number two. She doesn’t even get this red-faced after we run five miles.

  Eager to get this over with, I try to smile.

  Anna trades a few nervous looks with Eve and Amanda and Jen. She has no idea what to say. None of them do. They just stand there, little baby lambs from a petting zoo thrown into the wild. Not that I blame them.

  Eventually, Anna opens her mouth again. “Are you okay?”

  I wish she’d just say it. Stop running circles around the elephant—or should I say, ogre—in front of her.

  “I’ve had better days,” I joke. Jodie giggles beside me.

  Now Anna looks like she might cry. It’s so obvious she’s itching with questions. She wants to know how it happened. When and why. But she doesn’t ask.

  “Sorry I didn’t reply to any of your texts,” I say in another attempt to make a crack in the Great Wall of Awkwardness.

  Anna’s quick to reply. “It’s fine! Don’t worry about it!”

  “We missed you at practice,” Amanda says, taking over since Anna seems to have reached her limit. “No one would tell us what was going on.” She gives Jodie some side-eye.

  I respond quickly before Jodie can rip her to pieces. “I was laying low for a while. Trying to get used to the new me. But I’m back now.”

  “Can you still run?” Eve blurts. If there’s an airhead on the team, it’s always been Eve. Anna’s elbow jabs her in the side.

  “She has legs,” Jodie says through her teeth.

  I flash Jodie an “I got it” smile. “Yeah,” I say. “I’ve been running a lot. I’m not quitting the team or anything. Not sure I’ll make it today, though.”

  “Take all the time you need,” Anna says, unleashing a series of rapid, red-faced nods.

  “Thanks.”

  There’s more awkward silence. Everybody’s fidgeting. We all want to be done with this conversation, including the forever-clueless Eve and all the kids quietly observing from the sidelines. Thankfully, the chime of the first bell saves us all.

  “Great,” Ashley says. “Time for class!”

  I give my teammates a small wave-and-smile combo. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do,” Amanda says as I walk off into the pool of surrounding pity.

  Even though the bell rang, nobody’s rushing to class. Apparently, it’s okay to be late on Let’s Look Sad for Camilla Day. My stomach clenches. Someone should have the balls to say something about my transformation already. But all they do is stare, putting on the best funeral expressions they can muster.

  Well, everybody, I’m not fucking dead.

  Jodie and Ashley walk me to first period. I wish at least one of them was in class with me, but I’ll have to wait until third period for biology with Jodie.

  Ashley gives me a hug. “Like water off a duck’s back,” she says into my ear. When we pull apart, I smile at her, assuring her I’ll be fine, then squeeze Jodie’s hand, and walk into the classroom.

  “Good morning, Camilla,” Ms. Walker says. She’s facing the door, hands folded in front of her like I’m the guest of honor she’s been anticipating all week. “Good to have you back.” Her stiff posture betrays her discomfort, but I detect some relief there, too.

  “Good morning,” I say, beelining over to my seat. The teachers are probably glad the cat’s out of the bag. Now they can officially pity me in public.

  As people settle into their seats, I’m assaulted by more sad smiles, more reluctant waves. I adopt a neutral smile, but underneath it I’m screaming. I’d rather have people laugh at me or be disgusted by me. Anything would be better than this godawful pity party.

  Ms. Walker gets class started, but her voice does little to kill the tension in the room. Most of the kids are facing forward, but Melissa Rojas is still staring at me over her shoulder like I’m a homeless orphan on the street in winter.

  I reach my limit and lift my middle finger.

  Melissa’s face flushes with color and she whirls back to face the board. I’m pretty sure Ms. Walker saw, but if she did, she doesn’t say anything. Great. Even the teachers think I need special treatment.

  The classroom door opens, and in walks Lauren Batko in her tight jeans and even tighter black leather jacket, her face framed by her red curls.

  Konrad Wolnik’s good friend, Lauren Batko.

  Ms. Walker’s expression clouds over. “You’re late, Ms. Batko.”

  Even though I know it’s only temporary, I’m grateful for the distraction.

  Lauren shrugs. “Sorry. Just got my period.”

  The class erupts in giggles and a couple of ewws from the guys. Lauren being late to class isn’t exactly unusual. She’s late more often than she’s not—if she decides to grace us with her presence at all. What is unusual is that on the way to her seat in the back of the room, she stops in front of my desk and stands there.

  I look up and our eyes meet.

  “Holy shit,” she says, grinning. “What the hell happened to you?”

  The words crash into me, leaving me blindsided. I don’t know whether I should feel relieved or insulted.

  Ms. Walker’s voice thunders over the room, ordering Lauren to her seat. But Lauren doesn’t oblige. Not right away. Not before she shakes her head and says, “Damn, girl. You sure got the short end of the stick.”

  CHAPTER 11

  KONRAD

  AFTER FIRST PERIOD, BECCA SWOOPS down on me in the hallway and snags my hand like she owns it. She does this in the most conspicuous manner possible.

  We walk together, entwined like the happiest couple ever. Mike Rogers waves us down and Becca drags me over to where he stands by his locker with his equally annoying buddy, Tom Dempsey. Con
sidering Becca shares the same popularity rung with these douchebags, I’m not surprised she wants to talk to them. I don’t like it, but interacting with Becca means I have to interact with the jocks, too.

  “Wowza,” Mike says. “Congrats, kids.” Tom follows this up with an annoying whistle, which is kind of fitting, I guess, since he has a very unfortunate-looking gap between his front teeth. “When did this happen?”

  Becca makes a show of swinging our entwined hands. “Saturday.”

  “Nice,” Mike says. He turns his buzzed head to me, suddenly serious. “Dude, I hope there’s no hard feelings between us. About Sara. I had no idea you guys used to date. She just told me about it last night.”

  Heat surges to my cheeks. “Really?” I ask. “You never noticed us together?” Even if Mike never paid me any attention before, I’m sure he noticed Sara. All the guys did. And I was with Sara for a long time. We weren’t exactly puritans when we were at school together either.

  “Nah, man,” he says. “I didn’t know.”

  I call bullshit, but before I can interrogate him further, Becca interrupts. “Who cares? The past is in the past.”

  Tom is looking past my shoulder. “Speaking of Sara …”

  I turn and follow his line of sight to find her approaching our group. Something’s off in her walk, though—I notice that immediately. I know her body language better than anyone. She’s already crying, “OH MY GOD,” from a few feet away.

  “What happened, babe?” Mike asks.

  Sara’s eyes are already huge, but when they land on Becca’s hand in mine, they get even bigger. She looks at me like I ran her over with my car. My chest sticks out and I beam with pride. Becoming good-looking was worth it for moments like this alone.

  Sara flashes Becca a sheepish smile. Becca wears the crown at our school and Sara’s still a little reluctant around her. Mike might be Sara’s link to the popular crew, but it looks like she still hasn’t gotten her permanent membership card. I, on the other hand, seem to have been granted mine the moment Becca started talking to me.

  Once my new relationship with Becca seems to sink in, Sara straightens her back and sucks in a deep breath. “Did you guys hear about Camilla Hadi?”

  My stomach goes into free fall.

  “What about her?” Becca asks.

  “She’s …” Sara hesitates. “She’s really unattractive now.”

  “What do you mean?” Mike asks.

  “Yeah.” Tom snorts. “She was always unattractive.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “No, she wasn’t.”

  Tom’s annoying grin drops.

  “Yeah,” Mike says, backing me up, which takes me by surprise. “She’s not exactly a catch, but she’s always had a pretty tight body because of track.”

  “Well,” Sara continues. “Not anymore. She had an ID, too. She, like, turned awful-looking. Her face is all distorted and stuff. It’s really disturbing.”

  “How do you know?” I ask, my heart thumping.

  “She’s here. I saw her this morning. The poor girl.”

  My feet are moving before I know it. Camilla’s here. She came to school.

  “Konrad?” Becca says to my back after I’ve freed myself from her grip. I ignore her. I have to find Camilla. I have no idea what I’m going to say to her, or if I’m going to say anything at all, but I have to at least see her.

  I quicken my step, tuning my ears for whispers and gossip, searching for a hint as to where she might be. If she really did come to school, then people must be talking about her.

  Everyone I pass notices me, even more than usual. I still see the awe and adoration I’ve come to expect, but today some of their looks are sprinkled with something else. Something like uncertainty and maybe even suspicion. Are people starting to blame me for Camilla already?

  I turn a corner and spot Jackie Baker. If anyone knows where Camilla might be, it’s our local journalist. I get up in her face. “Have you seen Camilla Hadi?”

  Jackie takes a step back. The something I’ve been noticing couldn’t be more clear on her face. “She was at her locker. Why?”

  “Where’s her locker?”

  Just as Jackie throws a thumb over her shoulder, a hand sneaks into mine and I startle. “Did you find her?” Becca asks. Mike and Tom are right behind her. I’d been so absorbed in my search for Camilla, I didn’t even notice them following me.

  I’m about to tell them no when Mike’s hand flies up. “Whoa!” he says as he points.

  Dread swallows me whole.

  I turn.

  And I see Camilla Hadi.

  And then she sees me.

  She’s standing in front of room 114, backpack hanging from her shoulder, like she was just about to go in but something stopped her. I notice that even though she no longer looks like an athlete, she still carries herself like one. Her chin is held high, her chest puffed out, pushing back all the gawking around her.

  Her features are different and, yes, less traditionally appealing. But it’s not at all what I’d been imagining. In my head, I’d envisioned a female Frankenstein’s creation, but Camilla’s not a freak. She might not be pretty, but she’s no monster either.

  I get a good look at her, and she eyeballs me. Me, with the most popular kids at my side—Becca’s hand again connected to mine. Me, next to Mike, who’s still pointing.

  It’s only when I see the shift in Camilla’s expression—like an airplane shadow catching on her face—that I realize what I must look like. Not only to her, but to the entire school. Here I am, the luckiest guy around, hanging out with my hot new girlfriend and popular new friends, pointing and gaping at the unluckiest girl like she’s some kind of rare animal in a cage.

  Camilla breaks our eye contact first. She slips into the classroom, leaving Ashley and Jodie standing outside. I hadn’t noticed they were there until now. I shiver. Their combined glares could turn a large mammal to stone. Jodie gives me the finger and turns away. Ashley, on the other hand, starts stomping in my direction. I’m frozen before she even arrives.

  “You just had to rub it in, didn’t you?” she says.

  “He’s not rubbing anything in,” Becca replies icily. “What’s your problem?”

  “Speaking of rubbing,” Tom chimes in, “when’s it my turn, Ashley? And can we make a video like you did with Lance?”

  “Fuck you, Tom,” she spits. Then she turns back to me. “Just stay away from her.”

  “It’s not like that,” I say, but my voice is too small, and Ashley’s already turned away.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Becca says, dismissing Ashley with a wave of her hand. “It’s not like you wished for Camilla’s ID or anything.” I stiffen up even more. A sudden fear grips my insides and I look Becca right in the eyes. Her smile wavers. “Did you?”

  “No!” I almost yell. “Of course not!”

  Her face lights up. “Good.” Leaning in, she gives me a peck on the cheek. “Then it’s not your fault. It’s just an unfortunate coincidence. See you at lunch?”

  I mumble a goodbye. The warning bell echoes through the hallway. Everyone disperses.

  Me, I stay where I am, until I’m the only person left.

  Becca’s right. It’s just a messed-up coincidence. It’s not my fault.

  So why do I feel like it is, now more than ever?

  This is just great, isn’t it? Camilla hates me. Her friends hate me. My ex-friends hate me. And now, with the way people glance at me, half the school seems to hate me, too. And what did I do to deserve any of this? I was a sixteen-year-old teenager insecure about the way he looked.

  What. A. Crime.

  In geography, Mr. Miller’s voice is a monotonous drone. I keep sneaking glances at my phone—for which Mr. Miller actually scolds me twice. Clearly, I’m not the only one using my phone in class, though, because the hashtag #IStandWithCamilla is exploding everywhere I look.

  My leg keeps bobbing up and down under my desk. What am I going to do? My ID was supposed to make
more people like me. But line me up next to Camilla and I’m a selfish douche who, very likely, may have played a part in another person’s misfortune. If I were an outsider looking in, I’d think so, too.

  A notification pops up on my screen and I tap it without even catching who it’s from.

  Did you have anything to do with Camilla Hadi’s ID?

  It’s from Eric Stewart. Instinctually, I turn around, but then remember that the kid isn’t in this class with me. I return my attention to my phone and block him.

  So even Eric thinks I’m to blame. That’s just fantastic. I’m pretty screwed, aren’t I?

  But then it comes to me.

  I look up from my screen and carefully glance around to see if anybody else has been struck by the same spark of enlightenment. All I get is Mr. Miller’s scowl.

  I obediently drop my gaze to appear low-key, but what’s happening within me is anything but. Because I think I just came up with a solution.

  It’s so simple. I just have to become Camilla’s friend. Get close to her, be nice to her and the people she hangs out with, show her that I’m not a narcissistic bastard. If she likes me, if she approves of me, then everyone else will have no choice but to like me, too.

  As soon as the lunch bell rings, I spring from my seat and head for Camilla’s locker. The first step in getting on Camilla’s good side should be an apology for sounding like an ass when I visited her house. Hopefully, I’ll be able to catch her alone. Going through Jodie Mathews and Ashley Solomon seems like a lot of work.

  Hands in my pockets, I keep my eyes on the floor, trying to be as inconspicuous in the hallways as possible. My phone buzzes against my hand. I pluck it out to find a text from Becca, but my mind’s pretty preoccupied at the moment, so I ignore it.

  As I round a corner, I hear a whistle—not unlike a catcall a woman walking down the street might hear from a creepy dude. Curiosity wins, and I look up.

  Lauren’s fingers fall away from her face, revealing a smirk. She’s looking right at me. Alan is beside her. His head turns just in time to avoid catching my eye.

  I realize I’ve slowed my pace, nearly stopping, so I hurry on with every intention of walking past them without a word.