Let's Face It

by Jodi R. Moore

  The lights went out and the commercial started.

  Even though I had seen the video so many times, this was the first time I noticed that the youngest member of Suki5, the one Jayla said was sick, wasn’t actually in the commercial. I wondered if he had been sick when they were making it. Or maybe he didn’t want to be in it.

  Everyone clapped when the video was over, probably thinking that was it—but then the lights came up and Suki5 started singing their song (or really Suki4 plus the dancer filling in for number 5). The ballroom doors opened and in ran about a hundred girls around my age, screaming as they scrambled to get close to the stage.

  Jayla’s plan was working. Not only would all these girls know about Clearagel Cool now, but they’d also tell their friends.

  Charlie and I were standing just a few feet away from the stage, and he was kind of dancing in place—or at least the upper part of his body was while his feet stayed planted on the floor. I had never seen him dance before, but it was kind of like him playing the drums (only without the drumsticks). It was so cute that I was torn between whether I should look at Suki4+1 or Charlie.

  I think Charlie won out for a lot of the song. And when I was looking at him he always seemed to be looking at me, like he enjoyed watching me enjoy this more than he liked Suki5.

  The only thing I wasn’t enjoying was the waiting. T2 was next. I’d have to wait until after Suki5 performed to hear T2’s exciting news.

  I had never been good at waiting.

  Waiting to find out if someone likes you . . .

  Waiting for my skin to possibly clear up . . .

  Then the song was over. As Suki5 ran off the stage, the girls were still screaming so loud I could barely hear the announcer’s voice welcoming Terry Tomlin to the stage.

  When the lights came back on, I recognized Terry standing at the podium.

  “What a show,” Terry said, clapping. He looked at our table, straight at Charlie’s dad who wouldn’t even look back at him, then scanned the rest of the tables. “Not too bad for a forty dollar device. Well, I don’t know how much they’re going to charge for it, but there are a lot of people who aren’t going to spend that kind of money. I’m Terry Tomlin, and at my company, T2, we’re committed to creating the products we need at a great value. I’d like to introduce you all to someone who has been helping us get our next product exactly right.”

  Terry looked toward the other side of the stage as dramatic music blasted through the speakers—the kind of music that you’d hear at a sporting event to get the crowd pumped up before the team runs out.

  I waited for Dr. Lee to come out on the stage. It was all I could do to stay seated in my chair as the music played. Even Charlie was excited, his fingers tapping against his legs like he was drumming along to the music.

  And then just as Dr. Lee ran out, the T2 table jumped up cheering.

  But it wasn’t Dr. Lee.

  It was someone wearing a baseball hat. Everyone was cheering like he was famous or something, as he tossed tiny ball-like objects to the tables around the room. But not ours.

  Charlie looked over at his dad who was grimacing.

  “Who is that?” I said to Charlie.

  “The new Padres pitcher—first round draft pick. It was huge news a few weeks ago.”

  My mind was spinning trying to figure out what this had to do with Dr. Lee.

  “We have a video to show you what we’ve been up to.” Terry said. The room went dark as the video started.

  I fully expected Dr. Lee to come on the screen, maybe giving a tour around her lab like she did for me and Charlie. I expected Terry to talk about how expensive this type of research was and why he left Tomlin & Tomlin so he could pursue this.

  But the “expert” on the screen wasn’t Dr. Lee. He wasn’t even a scientist. He was a pitching coach, saying things like: There are proven techniques for getting rid of inflammation. Images of pitchers clocking 99 mile-per-hour fastballs were followed by footage of them icing their shoulders. Then there was computer animation of the inflammation involved with acne. Never before has there been an easy way to ice small areas of your face without getting your hands cold.

  They had their own device?! No. T2 had something even simpler. Cheaper. Under five dollars. Ice packs!

  T2 Coolitz—a new kind of ice pack made in different sizes, with T2’s patented cooling beads inside. They sit in washable fabric pouches. One side lets the cold seep through to your skin and the other side is made of a special material so that your fingers won’t get cold holding it. T2 Coolitz are the perfect solution, the guy in the video said.

  But not the solution I really needed!

  I couldn’t believe none of the companies in this room were willing to do the research that needed to be done.

  I knew I wasn’t wrong about seeing that sticky note in the lab. Dr. Lee must’ve talked to Terry—but all Terry did was make another product for the acne aisle, not something that could get rid of the acne aisle altogether.

  Before Terry left the stage he told everyone to stop by the T2 booth for autographed photos and samples.

  I was speechless—but it was more like the words running through my head were too loud to speak.

  Charlie took one look at my stunned expression and knew what I was thinking.

  “Maybe Dr. Lee was talking about someone else,” Charlie said. “You could go talk to Terry and ask him about it.” I looked over at the T2 table. Terry and the pitcher were swarmed by people offering their congratulations. “Or you could come back to the Green Room with me. My dad’s going to have his picture taken with Suki5.”

  Pictures with pop stars. Autographed baseballs. Didn’t anybody care about actually helping kids like me, so I could go out in the world without spackling on concealer and not wonder if the reason guys never liked me more than as a friend was because of my bad skin?

  “I’ll meet you in there,” I said.

  I was still watching Terry from a distance thinking of what I wanted to say to him. The crowd around him thinned after the pitcher left to go to the booth so I finally had my chance to go talk to him.

  “Terry,” I said. He looked at me like he was trying to remember where he had seen me. “I’m Charlie’s friend, Kaylin.”

  “I remember you.” Was it all my questions he remembered? Or my terrible skin which I was losing all hope would ever get better?

  “Do you remember Dr. Lee with the vaccine?” I asked. “I met her. She said she’s been talking to companies about the research.”

  “I’ve spoken with her,” he said. “I’d love for T2 to someday be able to work on research like that.”

  “Really? That’s what I was hoping,” I said. “But then I just don’t get why you’re doing this. Ice packs?”

  “You don’t like the Coolitz?” He acted like he was surprised, but he shouldn’t have been.

  “It’s not that I—” Um, no I hate them! I hate all of this. “I just thought that maybe you were going to help with the vaccine research and tell everyone about it today.”

  “You did?” He sounded surprised, and maybe he finally understood why I was so upset. “I wish I could’ve done that,” Terry said. “That’s partly why I decided to come out with the Coolitz. With the money I make from them, I might eventually be able to work on advancing research like Dr. Lee’s. But that’s a few years down the road.”

  I started to get that awful feeling inside, like I did at the science fair when I wanted something so bad, but I just couldn’t make it happen. It was like I was losing something. Losing my chance to be able to look at myself in a mirror and just see me without seeing my acne first.

  “Years down the road?” Could he see the disappointment on my face?

  “I’m sorry, Kaylin,” he said.

  Sorry for what? My splotchy t-zone? The cystic pimple on my left temple? The stupid icepacks? The tears glossing over my eyes with nowhere to go but down my face—my soon to be even redder face?

  I had to get out of
there. I started walking toward the Green Room, but I knew if I opened the door it’d be all eyes on the crying girl, wondering what’s wrong. When all you had to do was look at me to know.

  No. I couldn’t go in there. Not with Jayla and Charlie’s dad, the photographers and Suki5. I especially didn’t want Charlie to see me like this.

  So I ran. Out.

  And didn’t stop until I got to the bathroom.

  I yanked open the bathroom door trying to swallow down the emotions leaking out all over me—tears, the beginnings of a runny nose—now I was even sweating.

  And still not in private! A group of girls who came for Suki5 were washing their hands and primping in the mirror. There was nowhere for me to go. No escape. And no escaping my thoughts.

  I went into a stall to get some toilet paper to blow my nose with, and shut the door behind me. I wasn’t crying loud enough for the girls to hear. I couldn’t hear much of anything over them all talking over each other like they had three separate conversations colliding together—yammering on about Suki5 and somebody’s birthday party they were going to later that night.

  “You know what he needs for his birthday?” someone said. “Clearagel Cool!” They all laughed.

  “I can’t believe he asked you out,” another girl said.

  Then someone said, “Yuck.”

  The others agreed, “Double Yuck!”

  Yuck? Because of his skin?

  What’s he supposed to do when there’s no cure for acne—and may never be.

  I unlatched the stall door and went to the sinks. One girl stepped aside to give me room. But I didn’t start washing my hands.

  “That’s pretty mean what you said about the guy having the birthday party.” They looked at my reflection in the mirror not even turning toward me. “He can’t help it if he has acne.”

  “You don’t even know him,” the girl closest to me said.

  But what she didn’t realize was, I did.

  eighteen

  I didn’t know his name, but I knew what it was like to be him. There had to be millions of us struggling with our skin problems, and nobody would care more about finding a cure than us—the people who really needed it.

  I went back to the ballroom. It had pretty much emptied out by now, but I saw Charlie sitting at one of the tables with his uncle. They sprang out of their seats when they saw me.

  “I’ve been texting you,” Charlie said. “I didn’t know where you went.” He had the same concerned look that Terry had on his face. Terry probably told him that I ran out.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “I was just thinking.” In a bathroom stall, wiping my tears away with toilet paper. I didn’t tell them that part. But at least I was finally seeing clearly again. Terry started saying goodbye to Charlie. As soon as there was a break in their conversation, I had my chance. “Can I ask another question? You said if you had the money you would’ve worked on the vaccine research?”

  “I did,” he said. “And I would. But I don’t right now, have the money.”

  I wanted to make sure I understood it all. “A million dollars? That’s what it costs?”

  “That’d be a pretty good start,” he said, nodding.

  A million dollars worth of answers. A million dollars worth of hope. A million dollars that could make a difference in the lives of millions of people.

  “What if I could find a way to raise the money?” I knew it sounded crazy when I said it. But I was glad the idea came to me, even if I didn’t have a clue how I could raise a million dollars.

  “Um, I don’t know what to say.” Terry had a puzzled look on his face. “That’s not how we usually—”

  “Well, no offense, but the usual way doesn’t seem to be working so well.” Charlie smiled at what I said. He knew it was true and even Terry was having a hard time responding.

  “You’ve really caught me off guard,” Terry said. But he looked like he was at least thinking about my question. “You know, I can’t think of why I wouldn’t take the money if you could really come up with it somehow.” But the way he said somehow, I knew he didn’t think it was likely. At least he didn’t say don’t get your hopes up.

  “I’ve got to get back to the booth, but it was really good to see you.” Terry hugged Charlie. “And especially you,” he said to me, “my million dollar friend.”

  After he left, I looked at Charlie like what have I gotten myself into. “I can’t believe I said that to him. What was I thinking?” I clearly wasn’t.

  “If anyone could do it, you could,” Charlie said.

  It was at least a possibility.

  “Will you help me?” If I was going to raise a million dollars, I would need all the help I could get. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but maybe this weekend we could get together and come up with a plan. And then next week, I don’t know exactly what we’d do yet, but if we—”

  “Kaylin, I really want to help you. I do.” He sighed. I felt a but coming. Maybe it had to do with his dad. I wasn’t sure, but I kept looking in his eyes, trying to say Please, Charlie, don’t let me down. Not now. Not after everyone else had.

  “It’s just that I start band camp tomorrow,” he finally said. “I’ll be there all next week.”

  Why didn’t I realize that sooner? Of course he had band camp. Jenna and Maron were going, too, and every other bando in the San Diego area. Not only would I not get to see him every day after the conference, I wouldn’t get to see him at all! Or talk to him much. I hardly heard from Jenna last summer when she was there.

  “If I was going to be around, I’d totally help,” he said. “Maybe when I get back.”

  I didn’t know if I was more bummed that he wouldn’t be able to help me or that I wasn’t going to see him for nearly two weeks. Probably that I wasn’t going to see him. And I didn’t even want to think of what could happen while he was at band camp. All Jenna ever talked about after camp were her band crushes!

  What if Charlie started liking someone there? I wanted Charlie to like me. I knew he did as a friend, I just hoped he liked me the same way I liked him. But now, for the next two weeks, I wouldn’t be able to figure that out.

  I couldn’t do anything about band camp.

  But a million dollars . . . I could do something about that. I just wasn’t sure what.

  nineteen

  Charlie said I was good at getting people to care. If I could get them to care, then I might be able to get them to donate some money to T2 for the vaccine research. Even something small, like a dollar. But could I get a million people to donate?

  Laptop open . . . camera pointed at me . . . my head in the center of the screen . . . no make-up, just me . . . deep breath . . . you can do this . . . ready . . . set . . .

  RECORD

  Hi. My name is Kaylin Bidwell and I’m fifteen. Two years ago, my skin started breaking out. I didn’t really worry about it too much then. I mean, it was annoying and everything, but every time I got a pimple, I knew it would eventually go away.

  But then more came back.

  At first I felt like I must be doing something wrong. I thought if I just used a certain face wash or a special gel then my skin would glow like that girl in the commercial. Sometimes I even felt like it was working.

  But then I’d wake up with another pimple. And another. And another.

  My doctor said one day it might all go away. Eventually.

  “Eventually.” That’s what I’m supposed to wait for—and just put it out of my mind. Stop obsessing.

  So, this summer, rather than obsess over each individual bump, I started obsessing about WHY?

  Why, when there are so many smart scientists and the most amazing discoveries, do I still need to get these pimples on my face?

  Why?

  Is it that nobody is capable of figuring it out—or is it just not important?

  Well, it’s important to me.

  And if it’s important to you, like it is to me, I think we should do something about it.


  There are scientists right now working on a cure. But they need to do more tests to see if it will work. And the tests cost a lot of money.

  Is it possible to cure acne? I don’t know for sure. But if each of us who think it’s important gave a dollar then I think we could get closer to answering the question.

  I don’t want to ask WHY anymore.

  WHY NOT? Why not do something about it.

  Let’s face it, nobody’s going to care more about this than you and me. So let’s do something about it.

  I posted the video for all my friends to see along with the T2 address for donations.

  The next day, when I checked the comments for the video, three people had said they mailed in a dollar.

  But more important than the three dollars, there were three more videos from girls who had seen my video.

  And then three more.

  The next day, Rachel and I went to our favorite yogurt store, FroYo4ever.

  Once we made it through the long line, and tried the new flavors, we dispensed our usual concoctions of frozen yogurt and toppings.

  After we sat down, Rachel said, “I have something for you.” She pulled an envelope out of her purse. “It’s fifteen dollars from some of my friends at Junior Lifeguards. They saw your video.” I had over 200 views now, and about a dozen people said they had mailed in some money, but I had no idea how much. “You’re probably close to thirty dollars by now. And you said it yourself that when the March of Dimes started raising money to fight polio, after the first few days they only had $17.50. So, I think you’re doing pretty good.”