Freak 'N' Gorgeous

by Sebastian J. Plata

  At first, I assume this must be some aggressive sex thing—which I wouldn’t be surprised Becca was into, and which I’m surprisingly down for. But I’m very wrong because, tilting her head back and staring me in the eyes, she asks, “Are you sexually attracted to Handy Ashley?”

  I yank my face away. “What?”

  Becca leans back on her bed. She’s still in her cheerleading outfit, and the sight of it makes the thought of the oncoming blue balls even more excruciating.

  “Carrie saw you talking to her,” she says.

  I rest my elbows on my knees and sigh. “When?”

  “After you beat up that skinny kid.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. I’m still unhappy about how my encounter with Eric played out, and I don’t appreciate Becca bringing it up so casually. “I didn’t beat anybody up.”

  “Whatever,” she says bitterly. “Answer the question.”

  “All right, fine.” I take a deep breath. “Ashley Solomon? She’s okay, I guess.”

  This is apparently the wrong answer.

  Becca sits up and folds both of her feet under her in a this-is-about-to-get-more-serious manner. I catch a glimpse of her underwear and clench my teeth.

  “Look,” she says, donning the perfect poker face. “I know you’re new to this whole popularity thing. You’re getting a lot of attention now, and you probably have all these urges to experiment with different girls, especially since they’re, like, drooling all over you and stuff.” She clears her throat. “I get that. It’s human nature.”

  Heat climbs to my cheeks. To cover it, I aim my gaze at her lower half and bite my lower lip suggestively in a last-ditch attempt to both cut this talk short and prevent the blue ball disease. “I’m perfectly happy experimenting with just you.”

  Becca glares at me and pulls at the hem of her skirt. “I think it’s time I gave you a lesson about high school society.”

  My upper lip stretches back into a grimace. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes,” she says, sticking her neck out like I’m saying something illogical. “You’re new to this. I’ve been living this life for a long time.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know there was a science behind being popular.”

  “Of course there is.”

  I stare at her. Okay. She’s serious.

  I shift to relieve the strain in my pants. Even though all hope’s officially lost, my little big guy is still fighting for it. Maybe he’ll get another chance later tonight at Carrie’s party? And to think that up until Becca’s out-of-left-field question, I was in such a good mood, too. Earlier today, Camilla had sent me a message asking me to hang out tomorrow. She invited me, not the other way around. It’s the best thing I could’ve asked for on our way to becoming friends, and I was hoping for a little celebration with Becca, not an argument.

  “I’m doing just fine,” I say, “but thanks.”

  Becca ignores me. “Social status is as integral to human society as anything else,” she says. “Being really good-looking gives you a huge advantage, yeah, but it’s not everything. You have to nurture it and you have to respect it.”

  I just keep staring at her.

  “Everyone’s eyes are on us,” she continues. “Your status affects mine. I can’t have you associating with the cheapest whores at school.”

  My mouth pops open. So much for a lesson. If I’ve ever seen jealousy, this is it.

  I don’t want to tell Becca I only talk to Ashley Solomon because of Camilla. She doesn’t need to know that. But she does need to know she sounds like a bitch right now. “How can you say awful shit like that about people?”

  “What awful shit? She’s practically a porn star, Konrad. There are videos. Videos, okay? And that’s fine—I’m all for girls owning their sexuality. But not everyone is as open-minded as I am. That kind of stuff still affects reputations.” She crosses her arms and takes a deep breath of disappointment. “All I’m saying is that I’m your girlfriend. You better start appreciating me.”

  I’m about to say, “I don’t remember making any promises,” but doing so would definitely annihilate my chances of getting under her skirt later so I keep quiet. Having sex with Becca is by far my favorite thing since my Development. I’m not ready to part with that just yet.

  “You’re really cute, and we look perfect together, but you need to start putting some effort into this relationship.”

  “Okay,” I mumble.

  “Why don’t you hang out with Mike and Tom and the guys more?”

  I look up at the ceiling. “Um, because I don’t like them?”

  “Why? They’ve been nothing but nice to you. Try out for the football team. You’ll get to know them better.”

  “I hate football.”

  Becca’s quiet. When I glance her way, she catches my eye. “Why haven’t you asked me to homecoming yet?”

  “What? I don’t know. That’s like a month away, isn’t it?”

  “See? That’s your problem right there. You’re holding on to your past when you should only be thinking about the future. You need to get your shit together, Konrad.”

  The words sink in, hitting a sensitive spot I didn’t even know was in me. I start picking at my palm with my fingernails.

  Becca sighs. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to be that couple. Just promise me you’ll actually try to have fun tonight.”

  I think for a moment. As ridiculous as she can sometimes sound, maybe Becca’s right. My past has turned its back on me; why shouldn’t I turn my back on it as well? Maybe I just need to worry about what happened and what people think of me a little less, and focus on what will happen a little more. Maybe then I’ll actually be happy. Things are already looking up, aren’t they? Tomorrow I get to hang with Camilla Hadi. If she’s giving me a chance, I can do the same for others.

  And so I do: I promise Becca and I promise myself that tonight, at Carrie’s birthday party, I’ll give this popularity thing my all.

  Carrie’s family is loaded. You can tell by the grand living room with the high ceilings and the even grander backyard that’s set up like a wedding reception. I’m pretty sure Carrie had it catered because there’s not one, but two tables stacked with snacks, and the snacks, in this case, are more platters of sushi and tiramisu than pretzels and chips.

  Every member of our school’s royalty is here. People I don’t recognize, too, so I assume they’re queens and kings from neighboring kingdoms. This is the kind of party you hear rumors about, secretly aspire to attend, and never get invited to if you’re an average kid with a big nose.

  Honestly, though, I can’t say I’ve been missing out. The guys all wear different shades of the same T-shirt and hat. The girls are carbon copies of that ex-Disney chick who screams instead of singing. Everybody’s recycling the same exact dance moves.

  I think Becca might be right. There is a science to being popular. And this science is just as boring as the one Mr. Sanchez drones about in class.

  With Becca’s fingers in my left hand and a bottle of beer in my right, I travel from couch to chair to kitchen counter. I let her lead me, even though I kind of feel like a six-foot diamond ring she’s showing off. I smile politely at all the people she introduces me to, secretly wishing Alan and Lauren were here so we could smoke weed and talk shit about them.

  Carrie shuffles up to us. It’s still early, but her gaze is already lagging.

  “Hi, Konrad,” she says, her words slurring together.

  “Hi, Carrie,” I say. Becca’s elbow jabs me in the side. “Oh! Happy birthday!”

  “Thanks. Glad you could make it. All my friends have been asking about you!” She pauses. “Camilla Hadi, too, actually. I’m thinking maybe I should’ve invited her.”

  I give her a skeptical glare. “I don’t think she would’ve come, anyway,” I mumble. Birthday girl or not, if Carrie’s going to start making fun of Camilla, I’m going to call her out.

  But then Carrie’s face goes serious. “Have I ever told
you guys about the ID that happened to my cousin’s mother-in-law’s boss’s son?”

  “Um,” I say. “I don’t believe you have.”

  “So, her son, right?” She goes on. “He really loved scuba diving. He’d spend all his money on traveling to all these exotic locations and stuff. Anyway, he really wished he could breathe underwater because he really loved being with the fishes and stuff.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And guess what?”

  “He woke up one day and he could breathe underwater,” Becca answers, bored.

  “Exactly! But there was a catch,” Carrie says. My skin crawls and I lean in a little closer so I can hear her over the music. “After his ID, he could only breathe underwater.”

  A chill runs through my bones. “What do you mean?”

  “He couldn’t breathe regular air anymore. He almost died that morning! So then they had to build him this big aquarium in his yard and he lives inside it now.”

  “That’s … insane,” I say.

  “Right? I mean, he’s going to move to the ocean soon, and he’s really happy, so it’s fine. But, man, some of these wishes come true in unexpected ways.”

  “Yeah …”

  “So yeah,” Carrie finishes. “Maybe what happened to Camilla Hadi is a good thing and she doesn’t even know it yet. At least I hope so.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Becca says, yanking at my arm. “We’re going to get some drinks, Carrie. See you in a bit, okay? Bye!”

  When we get to the huge coolers sitting between the tables in the yard, Becca says, “You’re taking Camilla Hadi’s ID way too personally. Your body language changes every time somebody brings her up. You need to let it go, Konrad. I told you, it’s not your fault.”

  Am I that obvious? “Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

  She digs among the bottles, ice crunching, glass clinking. “What do you want?”

  At that moment, my phone buzzes in my pocket. “Um …” I say, fishing it out. On my screen there’s a notification from a concert app I have installed. The message flashes the words “The Leaky Lizards” so I tap it out of instinct. Tomorrow night, the Leaky Lizards are doing a surprise set at a small venue downtown.

  My heart rate accelerates. Before I can think about it, I tap a couple more times and reserve two tickets. When I look up, Becca’s holding out a bottle and eyeing me suspiciously. “Who was that?”

  “Nobody,” I say, returning my phone back to my jeans. I’m not sure why I feel a little guilty, but I’m sure my mood’s about a hundred times better than it was a minute ago. I smile at Becca and take the beer. It’s a European one I can’t even pronounce.

  “Carrie is totally wasted already,” Becca comments. “I give her twenty more minutes before she passes out.”

  I’m about to agree when I hear my name shouted from the deck. I look in that direction and my eyes lock onto Mike’s.

  “YO!” he yells. “Stop drinking those pussy drinks and get over here!”

  Shooting me a tight smile, Becca takes back the beer she just handed me. I know what this means, and I’m already regretting it, but I promised both her and myself I’d make an effort tonight, so I grudgingly make my way up the steps.

  As soon as I’m within reach, Mike’s arm flies around my neck and he pulls me into an uncomfortable bro hug. His breath reeks of alcohol. “This way, playa!” he says.

  I shuffle along, having to huddle because Mike’s a few inches shorter. While he guides me inside, I rack my brain for potential topics of conversation. Maybe I can ask him about weed? Jocks smoke weed, too, right? And right about now, I could definitely use a hit or two.

  In the living room, a bunch of guys stand in a half circle. Sara’s off to the side by herself, sipping on something from a red Solo cup. She glowers at me before looking away. Mike’s buddies start hooting. He moves me closer so I can see what’s happening.

  Tom’s on his knees in the center. From the fist around his mouth protrudes a long tube that ends in a funnel that sits in Ryan Campbell’s hand. In Ryan’s other hand, I notice another object: a bottle of whiskey.

  “That’s pretty dangerous,” I say.

  “DO IT!” Mike yells. He lets me go and smacks Ryan’s back, prompting him to pour a good amount of the honey-colored liquid down the funnel. A couple of seconds later, it explodes out Tom’s mouth and he collapses onto his back, howling.

  Mike turns to me. “You want to go next?”

  “I’ll pass.”

  Mike’s fingers snap and this short, freckled dude I’ve never seen before hands me a full shot glass. I down it. Then I down another one. And another. And with each new one, mingling with these guys becomes easier and easier.

  Before I know it, Becca’s hand is in mine again and I’m back outside in the yard with Mike and Tom and Carrie and everybody else and we’re playing a weird mash-up of “would you rather?” and “truth or dare.” I’m so tipsy I don’t even mind Sara being there.

  This is the new Konrad Wolnik, I think. This Konrad is a handsome devil. This Konrad parties with the cool kids, the hottest girl within a one-hundred-mile radius at his side. This Konrad should be having the time of his life.

  But can he really say that he is? Honestly? If he were, would his mind constantly keep wandering to tomorrow? To the Leaky Lizards concert?

  To Camilla Hadi?

  “Would you rather,” Mike asks Becca, “eat a used tampon you found in a trash can”—he waits for the slew of ewws and ahhs to quiet down—“or turn your mouth into a urinal for three different truck drivers at a highway rest area?”

  Becca squints. “That’s a good one,” she says. She thinks about it for a couple of seconds. “Truck drivers.”

  “No way!” Carrie yells, her face twisted in disgust. Sara mimics her like the follower that she is.

  “Piss is sterile,” Becca explains. Both she and Mike take shots. I’m not exactly sure how this game works.

  “Oh,” Tom interjects. “I’ve got one!” He glances my way and winks before turning to Ryan Campbell. I already have a bad feeling. “Would you rather,” he asks the kid, “blow Konrad and swallow, or go down on Camilla the Gorilla for two hours?”

  I suck in a breath and hold it. Carrie laughs.

  “Come on, man,” Mike says. “That’s a little harsh, no?”

  “Easy,” Ryan answers. “Blow Konrad, hands down.”

  “ME, TOO!” Tom yells.

  “Y’all serious?” Becca asks.

  “Hell yeah we’re serious,” Tom says. “Think about it. If Camilla looks like that where we can see, just imagine what’s going on down there.”

  People start howling, but their voices are drowned out, becoming more distant, as if I dipped my head underwater and I’m listening from below.

  They’re all looking at me. Mike pats my back, says something about how Tom’s only joking, but I don’t really hear him. I’m still holding my breath. I feel the veins at my temples bulging. Clenching the muscles in my arm, I ball my right hand into a fist.

  And I sock Tom right in the gap between his front teeth.

  CHAPTER 18

  CAMILLA

  SINCE MOM HAS THE DAY off, I ask to borrow the car.

  Seeing me express interest in something other than running in the neighborhood or bumming around my room, she almost explodes from joy. “Where you off to?” she chirps from the sink when I pluck her keys out of the kitchen drawer.

  I’m still pissed at her for taking Jodie’s side the other day, so I work to keep my voice neutral. “Just going to hang out with Ashley,” I tell her, as if that’s even possible right now. “I won’t be long.”

  “Okay, honey. Have fun.”

  My back toward her, I scrunch up my face. Fun? Please. I’m going to see Konrad Wolnik. What she’s saying is just not feasible.

  Crushing the keys in my palm, I march to the garage. There’s a reason I want the car. I want to be the one calling the shots, and being behind the wheel will help me feel like I am. Even if I did
only invite him to get Starbucks and talk. About what exactly, I have no idea. But as long as I get my proof that Konrad is an evil human being, it doesn’t even matter.

  I can’t believe I’m going to do this, actually hang out with him. It’s even more baffling that I’m the one who suggested it. The news people would have a field day. I can already see the headline: “Freak and Gorgeous Grab Coffee.”

  But this needs to happen. I need Ashley to forgive me and I need to out Konrad for who he really is. This is the perfect chance to kill two birds with one stone.

  And so, with Jodie’s sunglasses shielding my face, I drive to the address he sent me. I’ve been less and less reliant on the giant shades since I went back to school, but today I’ll be in public with a hot guy. I refuse to be a part of a walking attractiveness spectrum.

  I kill the engine in front of a plain bungalow with a big tree blocking most of its windows. I take out my phone and text: IN FRONT.

  While I wait, I pull down the sun visor and, in the tiny mirror, check my hair and face for any inconsistencies. Three seconds later, I slap it shut. I’m here to infiltrate enemy lines, not to impress a boy. I cackle out loud at my own stupidity.

  A knock on the passenger window makes me jump. Konrad’s stooped over, peering inside. I unlock the door, hating him for sneaking up on me.

  “Hi, Camilla,” he says, swinging it open.

  “Hi, Konrad,” I grunt back.

  “Can I get in?”

  “No, you can’t. I’ll drive and you walk.”

  Konrad forces a laugh and thrusts his left foot inside. While he settles into the seat, I adjust my sunglasses. My heart is racing. This setup, his proximity, everything about this feels so unnatural. It’s like two sworn enemies—a rabbit and a fox—forced into a confined space together. It’s blasphemy.

  He’s rubbing his large hands together, as if nervous. Everything about him is large. His arms. His muscular thighs. The way they’re spread apart like he’s entitled to all the space in the world.

  I feel the burn of resentment building. Some of it is toward my own body, for betraying me, for reacting to his physique and his boy smell. But most of it is toward Konrad himself because this only reminds me that he’s the reason I’m never going to be intimate with anyone of the opposite sex for as long as I live.