Freak 'N' Gorgeous

by Sebastian J. Plata

  And then I turn my back to him.

  My whole body shaking, I walk back the way I came. This time, everybody moves aside to create a path. When I reach where Alan’s standing, I walk right past him.

  Out in the hallway, a whimper escapes my lips. Then another. I feel dizzy. The next thing I know, my hands are on my knees. I’m gulping for air, my insides in total chaos.

  Konrad couldn’t have been telling the truth. Konrad couldn’t have meant it.

  But, deep down inside, in a place where there’s no room for doubt, I know he did.

  I think I’m going to be sick.

  No, I’m definitely going to be sick.

  “Come on,” I hear from around the corner where the bathrooms are. “Just a little. I know you want to.”

  My turmoil goes on mute.

  “Stop,” another voice—a female one—answers. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Don’t!” Then, “FUCK OFF, will you?”

  Again, my mind is a blank.

  Again, I’m moving. Only faster, this time. Faster than I ever have before.

  I round the corner.

  A guy stands there, his back to me, his shirt half untucked. Facing this guy—and facing me—is Ashley. My Ashley. But she doesn’t see me. Not at first. She’s too busy fighting off the guy’s invasive hands. Poking, prodding, trying to find their way under her pretty white dress.

  Ashley’s palm arches through the air, connecting to his cheek with a loud smack. Then she thrusts both of her hands into his chest, making him stumble backward.

  The guy’s head tilts. I catch a glimpse of his profile.

  Tom Dempsey.

  I take my rage, fuse it with the self-disgust I’m feeling, and jolt forward, pouncing onto his back. And then, with my legs wrapped around him, my elbow under his neck, I’m scratching, pounding, kicking with every last drop of energy I have.

  CHAPTER 27

  KONRAD

  ON THE OTHER SIDE OF my wall, swords clash and voices scream in a foreign language.

  Arthur’s watching one of his anime shows.

  I roll over in bed and grope around the floor for my phone. There are zero new texts from Camilla. My heart clenches, but I’m immediately angry at myself. Because there are zero reasons why there’d be any. More importantly, there are zero reasons I should want to see them. Camilla played me. She made me look like a fool. So why do I still want to hear from her?

  I do, however, see four texts from Alan, two from Lauren, and even one from Mike. I don’t read any of them. Instead, I scroll, looking for Eric Stewart’s name, only to remember I’d blocked him. I guess I’ll have to apologize to him in person for wrongly accusing him of posting my yearbook photo.

  It’s 12:24 P.M. My stomach rumbles. I drop the phone back to the floor and turn over on my side. Five or so minutes into yet another replay of last night’s events, I hear two new voices join my mom’s in the kitchen.

  Snagging my pillow, I press it over my face and hold still. A couple of seconds later, it skyrockets off me. Lauren leans over me, nose wrinkling. “I’m opening the window,” she says. “It smells funky in here.”

  I don’t even have the energy to respond.

  She disappears from view. The moment she does, my bed sinks behind me and an arm drapes around my shoulder. “Hey, gorgeous,” Alan whispers into my ear. When I don’t react, he sits up. The room explodes with brightness and a breeze hits my face. Lauren’s butt parks on the sheets, inches away from my face.

  I feel a poke in my side. “Come on,” she says, prodding me some more. This is the most physical affection Lauren has ever shown me. “There’s a nice Polish breakfast on the kitchen table with your name on it. Let’s eat it and then go smoke a joint.”

  I don’t reply. I keep staring at the back pocket of her jeans.

  “Ham and sausage,” she adds in a singsong voice. “And pickles!”

  Behind me, Alan sighs. His words fly over my limp body to Lauren. “At least after Sara, he could still talk.”

  Lauren doesn’t reply. Instead, she jumps off the bed and clutches my arm, yanking it toward her. “You’re being rude, Mr. Wolnik,” she says. “You have guests! Stop being a little baby. Shit happens. Life goes on. Let’s go.” And then I’m pitching upward, my view changing from Lauren’s crotch to the open curtains.

  My shoulders hunch. Lauren tugs at my arm again, harder. Next thing I know, there’s a thump, a sting of pain, and my face is kissing the floor.

  “What the fuck?” I mumble, resting for a minute before hauling myself up.

  She’s smirking. “You asked for it.”

  I try to sit back on the bed, but before I can, Lauren grabs hold of me again and propels me through my door into the living room.

  In the kitchen, Mom’s worried eyes await my appearance. Crossing her arms, she leans against the counter, the frown of the century on her face. “How you feeling, honey?”

  I wonder how she knows, but get an idea who she heard about my plight from as soon as Arthur joins us. “Bro,” he says, “you’re breaking the internet.”

  Lauren turns to him. “Shut up, you little shit.”

  “Lauren,” Mom warns, fatigue in her voice.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Wolnik.” She thrusts me the rest of the way to the kitchen table, where my breakfast, currently covered in Saran Wrap, is laid out.

  Arthur rushes to sit across from me. “How does it feel to be turned down by the ugliest girl in the northern hemisphere?”

  “Arthur!” Mom snaps. “Go to your room!”

  We all wait for him to shuffle away. Then Mom comes up behind me, gives my shoulder a little squeeze, nods at my friends, and heads upstairs. Lauren takes Arthur’s place on the other side of the table. Alan grabs a chair and they both watch me eat, stealing a slice of ham here, taking a bite out of my mayo-covered boiled egg there.

  “You guys can have the rest,” I say, pushing the plate toward Lauren. “I’m not hungry.”

  They both stare at me.

  “Let’s go for a ride,” Alan finally says.

  I slouch even lower in my seat. Lauren stands up and pretend-reaches for my arm. I tip away from it and glare at her. “Stop! Not in the mood …”

  She smacks both her palms on the table and adopts an army sergeant tone: “YOU’RE COMING WITH US!”

  Alan nods. “You need some medication, and we’ve got just the thing.”

  “I still have some of that tequila left,” Lauren says, eyebrows jumping.

  I think about it. The last time I tried Lauren’s tequila I went to sleep and woke up to a whole different life. How awesome would it be if that happened again? What if I chugged the disgusting thing today and woke up my old self tomorrow? Even better, what if the past few weeks got wiped out from my memory?

  “Come on,” Lauren says, grinning. “Give in to the peer pressure.”

  I sigh. Alan takes this as encouragement and rubs his hand all over my bed head hair. I slap him away. “Fine,” I grunt. I intend to pass on the tequila, but at this point, I’m willing to try something to take my mind off what happened. Even if only temporarily. The sun is out. My friends can distract me. “I have to shower first, though.”

  “You have ten minutes,” Alan says.

  Lauren narrows her eyes. “Five.”

  The shower takes eight. And ten minutes after that, my hair still damp, we’re parked in an alley a couple of blocks away from my house. Between my fingers rests a nice, fat joint. I suck on it until I can suck no more and a cough attack rattles my entire body.

  “That’s my boy,” Lauren says, lounging in the back seat. She only lets me ride shotgun when I’m down.

  The sun ends up being more of a nuisance than anything else. It might be a breezy fall day outside, but the sun decided it’s not done with the summer just yet. Even with all four windows open, the glare is cooking us alive.

  When my coughing subsides, Alan’s hand reaches over and I pass him the joint. Before he brings it to his lips, he smiles and says,
“Let’s go to Six Flags tomorrow.”

  It’s like he flips a switch.

  All of the floodgates keeping my sadness at bay are suddenly wide open. Tears rush up my throat and explode out of my sockets.

  If yesterday hadn’t happen the way it did—if I hadn’t been epically rejected by a girl I liked more than I’ve ever liked anyone, I’d be at Six Flags with her at this very moment.

  “No, no, no,” Alan mutters to himself, rubbing my back and dropping ashes all over my shirt in the process.

  “Nice going, ass,” Lauren says as she slaps the back of Alan’s head. She shuffles around and hangs herself between the front seats. Stealing the joint from Alan, she puffs and talks at the same time. “Since we’re on the subject, though, there’s no way Camilla meant what she said.”

  I hold my breath. Through the blur of my tears, I see Alan tense and give Lauren the eye. “Stop giving him false hope,” he growls.

  Another wave barrages my insides and I’m bawling. Alan sighs. His hand is again doing therapy work on my back. “Come on, man. If you could get over Sara, you can get over Camilla.” He pauses and adds in a quiet voice, “You guys weren’t even an official couple.”

  I slouch into my seat and curl up into a ball, my arms hugging my knees.

  “Alan, just stop talking,” Lauren says. “Sara’s a bitch. He obviously liked Camilla a lot more.” Her finger pokes into my back. “Anyway, all I’m saying is, I think there’s more to this story than meets the eye.”

  I sit up. Why can’t Lauren just shut up? At least Alan’s being honest. Brutally honest, yeah, but it’s better than this devil’s advocate crap.

  “She was pretty clear about how she feels about me,” I hiss at Lauren. “She said she never even liked me and never would. Plus, she’s the one who started the whole #uglyforever thing. She was playing me. This whole time.”

  Lauren flicks the joint out the window. “Because she thought you were playing her!” she says, as serious as I’ve ever seen her. “I don’t know what’s going on in her head, Konrad, but she had an awful ID experience. If I were her, I’m pretty sure I’d be suspicious of everyone, too. I’d probably assume the worst and hate everything around me.”

  “Yeah,” I scoff. “I’m pretty sure Camilla hates me more than anything else.”

  Lauren sighs. “Maybe she hated the idea of you. But I’m one hundred percent sure that she doesn’t hate you. Not after seeing the way she looked at you.”

  “Okay, whatever.”

  A moment passes. Alan’s looking at his lap, playing with his fingers. To my surprise, Lauren’s hand lands on my shoulder and stays there. “I know you weren’t trying to use Camilla,” she says. “I know you really liked her and meant everything you said. You’re a good guy, Konrad. You’re pretty hard to hate.”

  I feel like crying. “Yeah, well, someone should have told Camilla that.”

  “True.” Lauren gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Someone should have.”

  CHAPTER 28

  CAMILLA

  ASHLEY’S FINE. AT LEAST SHE says she is. I asked her so many times over the past two days, I don’t really have a choice but to take her word for it.

  Tom Dempsey is fine. His face is probably scratched up, and he might have a sore rib from when Ashley slammed her fist into it, but after Mr. Connick ripped me off him, and after I spat death threats into his face, Tom ran off like a little lamb being chased by a wolf.

  So he’s fine. For now. But he won’t be. I’ll make sure of that.

  Jodie found Ashley and me a minute after Tom took off. The three of us gathered into one big hug, pressed our foreheads together, and just stood there. None of us said anything. We didn’t need to.

  Me? I am not fine. Last summer, I shared a video of my best friend and the guy I had a crush on making out at a party. By doing so, I didn’t just put a stain on her reputation. I set off a chain reaction that made that stain grow larger and more vicious with each passing day.

  And I didn’t even see it. How could I not see it?

  Instead of being there for her—of thanking God for having such amazing friends, focusing on the good things in my life—I let my ID consume me.

  And then, as if that wasn’t enough, I decided to play God by blaming and punishing a boy I had no place blaming and punishing in the first place.

  I thought humiliating Konrad, belittling him while the whole school watched, would give me satisfaction and peace. Once it happened, I didn’t feel any justice. If anything, it left me with a knot inside so tight, I don’t think it can ever be undone.

  According to the text Lauren sent me yesterday, Konrad Wolnik isn’t fine either.

  I didn’t need Lauren to tell me that. I knew Konrad wouldn’t be okay and that the state of his reputation would have nothing to do with it the moment I looked into his eyes when I confronted him at the dance. No, that’s not right. I knew even before that.

  I just refused to believe it.

  “Why did you do it?” Jodie asked me that night as she, Ashley, and I sat at a booth at the Shack piled on top of each other like puppies, our dresses creasing.

  “I thought he was using me.” My voice cracked. “I thought I was being duped by a selfish asshole, so I wanted to dupe him first.”

  “But he sounded so sweet, so sincere up there.”

  A huge lump filled my throat. “I know …”

  “So why didn’t you believe him?”

  I shifted away. “How could I, Jodie? Look at me and then look at him. How could I even think that was possible?”

  “Camilla,” Ashley said then. “Do you really believe that? Look at all the shit happening in the world all the time. At all the things you’d never expect to happen, not in a million years, but that do anyway. I’m not even talking about Inexplicable Developments. A lot of other things are fucking inexplicable. And what? You’re telling me you couldn’t believe that a good-looking guy could possibly like you? That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  “It’s not just that,” I explained. “I was convinced that he was responsible for what happened to me. I mean, how can I know that he’s not?”

  “But he told you he wasn’t. And he apologized anyway.”

  A tear slid down my cheek. “It wasn’t fair.”

  Ashley scoffed. “Oh, boo-hoo. Newsflash, Camilla: life isn’t fair to anyone. Everybody’s got problems. You’re not special.”

  “Maybe you can still work things out,” Jodie suggested, her mascara in smudges. “Maybe if you apologize, tell him the truth, he’ll forgive you.”

  I closed my eyes and sucked in a shaky breath. “Even if for some reason he magically did forgive me, it still wouldn’t work.”

  “What wouldn’t?”

  “Me and Konrad.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. He’s gorgeous. He’d dump me the first chance he got.”

  “Maybe he would,” Ashley said with a tsk. “So what? You don’t know that for sure. You don’t know anything for sure. Nobody does. You can’t assume things before they happen.”

  No one said anything for a few beats.

  “Anyway,” Jodie said, cutting the silence, “regardless of how you treated Konrad, the way you called out the whole school up there? On that stage? That was badass.”

  “Agreed,” Ashley added. “That was cool as hell.”

  Wiping at tears with my fingers, I managed a tiny smile. “Thanks, guys.”

  After another moment, Jodie asked, “Do you really like him?”

  My smile vanished. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll never talk to me again.”

  Ashley crossed her arms. “No excuses. You don’t get a special pass for what you did to him, you know. You need to make things right.”

  I didn’t say anything after that. Because there is no making things right. I burned everything to the ground and there’s nothing left to rebuild with. I don’t deserve Konrad. I don’t even deserve his forgiveness. I was a terrible friend, a terrible person.

  I
’m pretty sure I know why my ID happened now.

  The outside just needed to match the inside.

  It’s four o’clock on Sunday when I get home from my run. Mom’s in front of the TV watching a rerun of a nineties high school series. As she takes in my sweat-soaked T-shirt, a crease of worry forms on her forehead. “It’s too cold to be running in short sleeves,” she tells me.

  Without a word, I fall into a chair.

  She’s watching me. “What is it, honey?” she asks. When I don’t reply, she points the remote at the TV to lower the volume, then sets it down on the coffee table and waits.

  “Mom,” I say, looking at her. I’ve made a decision and I need her to know there’s no room for negotiation. “You know that crowdfunding page that Jodie set up?”

  Her eyes grow bigger and her jaw tightens. “It’s up to thirty-two thousand dollars now.”

  “I know,” I say. “I just looked.”

  We stare at each other for a moment.

  “I want to donate it to charity.”

  Her eyebrows jump along with her voice. “All of it?”

  My gaze doesn’t waver. “All of it.”

  “But—”

  “I know which charity, too,” I cut her off. “I want it to be Direct Relief. I did my research and I think they do amazing things for the world. They provide medical aid to people who can’t afford it and they help out when disasters strike. I want them to have it.”

  The hushed voices of the TV characters are the only sound in the room. Finally, Mom’s shoulders go slack and she leans back on the couch. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Other people need that money more than I do.”

  Slowly, she nods. “Looks like there’s no changing your mind.”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  Mom sighs. “It’s your money, so it’s your decision.”

  “And,” I add, “I want to transfer to a different school.”

  Her frown returns. “A different school? Why?”