by Anya Bateman
My mother walked over to my jewelry box and pulled out the pearl earrings I had borrowed for Cotillion two summers before. “You have put too much on your plate. Thank goodness you didn’t continue with debate this year.” Mom held one of the earrings to her ear then put it back. When she saw my hair pick, she touched up a few areas of her hair. She was, and still is, as particular about her appearance as I am about mine.
“Maybe I will stay home today,” I said.
Mom carefully replaced the pick in the mother- of- pearl jewelry box then came to the edge of my bed to feel my head again. “That might be a good idea. One of the ladies in Mary Jane’s Relief Society, Alona, I think her name was, said both her daughters got mononucleosis their junior year. She said they were the overachiever types like you. Hopefully you’re not already ill. I’ll have my cell phone with me if you need anything.”
“I’ll be fine. I think I’ll just try to get some sleep.”
“Okay, Sweetheart.” Mom smoothed out the far too expensive Laura Ashley bedspread she’d insisted on getting me for my birthday, stroked my hair, handed me an extra pillow, kissed me on the forehead, and then left the room.
I’m not sure how long I stared at the ceiling after my mother left, but finally I opened the blinds and looked out into the backyard. A stray cat was up at the top of our apple tree and seemed to be wondering what he was doing up there. I closed the blinds, plopped back onto my bed, pulled my satin- covered pillow up over my face, and finally got a few hours of much- needed rest.
When I regained consciousness, it was well past lunchtime so I slipped on my terry- cloth bathrobe and my Mickey Mouse slippers and flopped down the stairs. When I got to the kitchen, I prepared myself a bowl of Raisin Bran. Carrying the bowl with me, I
wandered into the alcove near the stairs where we keep a small table for magazines such as Time, Newsweek, Sports Illustrated, and House and Garden. I’d read them all already, but there was a fairly old copy of Woman’s Day, a makeover edition, under some newspapers.
I like before and after pictures so I flipped through a few pages. Most of the women looked better in the after pictures, but a few didn’t. A twenty- five- year- old sales rep now looked like a sex rep with all that makeup. The “experts” had gone way too skimpy on the clothing. What? Had they run out of fabric? No, Alicia, I thought to the woman in the picture, you looked far better before. But an older woman, Beverly, had started off with rather long stringy hair and looked much better with her chic new cut and style. I did think she needed to rethink the ultra short leather miniskirt, however.
I thumbed through a few more pages and stopped at an
article entitled, “The Superman Chronicles,” which reviewed the lives of the actors who had played Superman, including my favorite, Christopher Reeve. It still seemed to me a cruel twist of fate that this actor who’d made the perfect Superman had taken a fall that had paralyzed him and eventually taken his life. I’d even liked Christopher Reeve as Clark Kent.
I shut the magazine, but a few seconds later I opened it again and stared at the picture of a young, handsome, and virile Reeve in his Superman get up. I tapped my nails against my empty cereal bowl. Slowly I lifted myself out of the chair.
We have a fairly good- sized entertainment and recreation room downstairs and I made my way down there. I sifted through the stack of movies on the TV, then thumbed through the videos in the large built- in maple case. Even though we preferred DVDs, Alex still had quite a few movies on videotape. If Alex put it back, Superman would be on the vintage action movie shelf. My fingers danced over the spines: the Batman movies, Rambo one and two, Rocky— one through twenty- nine— and the Star Wars series. Sure enough, there it was.
Holding the cereal spoon in my mouth, I turned on the VCR, slipped the movie into the slot, and fast- forwarded to where I thought the scene I was looking for would be. There it was! The scene where Christopher Reeve, alias Clark Kent, smiles, lifts his body, and removes his glasses. Just like that, without even switching into his costume, he’s transformed into Superman. I played the scene again and again. We really needed to get this on DVD!
Back upstairs, I headed to the drawer of our rosewood cabinet where I was pretty sure I’d abandoned my old glasses after I’d gotten contacts. That’s exactly where I found the beasts. With a grimace of disgust, I put them on and walked into the family room to the mirror over the fireplace.
Ever since finishing school I’ve had excellent posture, but now I slumped forward and pulled my glasses halfway down the bridge of my nose. Because I had to look up over the rim of my glasses, I lowered my head as well and stood like that for several seconds.
I turned sideways, then forward again, took my glasses off, and lifted myself to my full height. Even in my bathrobe and my hair a mess, the contrast was astounding. Okay, one more time.
Laughing a little, I donned the glasses and slumped once more, then pulled myself up again, taking off the glasses just like Clark Kent had. The difference that such a small change could make really was intriguing. I stood there staring into the mirror at myself as Super- Jana. Then I raised an eyebrow. A smile began to form.
Chapter Thirteen
•••
I have a plan!” I said excitedly to James and Alex. I’d called Alex the second I knew school was over to arrange a meeting with them at James’s house.
“Have a nice day off, Ferris?” Alex asked as soon as I arrived at James’s.
I ignored the statement and reference to one of his all- time favorite old movies and didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash. There was no time for small talk or bantering! “Here’s what I’m thinking. Picture a huge banner with a before picture of you, James, on one end. The banner reads: ‘Watch James Wickenbee turn into Super- Jim!’”
“A before picture?” James looked confused. “Before what?”
“Let me rephrase that. On one end we place a large picture of what you look like now. But on the other end, we leave a blank square for another picture of you. Under it we write, ‘Fairport’s Next President.’ As the campaign progresses, James, you improve— and again, let me rephrase that— your appearance improves. A day or two before the election we place a picture of the new and improved you in that spot— your new picture, the after picture— which shows you as Super- Jim. We can even follow this Superman or Super- Jim theme throughout our campaign. Our committee members can wear T- shirts with a big letter ‘S’ on them, and we’ll hand out fliers with the Superman emblem on them that say ‘Vote for Super- Jim!’”
James still looked confused. “I’m really happy you’ve decided to help us, Jana, but I’m not sure I understand what you mean when you say that my appearance will improve.”
“It won’t happen all at once.” My voice was uneven and all my words came out in a rush. I couldn’t believe how excited I was about this! It was obvious, though, I needed to transfer some of that excitement to James and Alex— especially James. After all, he was the one who would be doing the changing and so far he wasn’t acting particularly caught up in my plan.
“You’ve seen those talk shows where they bring out someone and show that person before, and then they send that person to some professional hairstylists, fashion experts, and so forth, and he or she comes out looking like a new person?” I continued, still talking fast.
“I don’t watch TV much, but I take it you mean where they do an overhaul on somebody’s appearance?”
“Exactly. It’s called a makeover.”
“That’s right. Uh- huh.” He rubbed his forehead. “No offense, Jana, but I’m really not into that type of thing.”
“Do you have a full- length mirror anywhere?”
“Probably somewhere. There could be one in the basement.” I wasn’t surprised that James didn’t know where the family’s full- length mirror was. “But like I say—”
“It’s in our room— the master bedroom.” James’s mother had poked her head into the living room and was smiling broadly. “On the bac
k of the closet door.”
“Thank you.” I smiled only slightly in return and raised my eyebrows a little at her. Mary Jane took the hint and disappeared back into the kitchen. In a lower voice, I listed a few more things that I’d need in order to give James a better idea of what I was talking about. He reluctantly left the room with his assignment.
“Take it easy on him,” Alex whispered. “Try to be subtle.”
“I’m always subtle.”
“Right . . . uh- huh.” Alex lifted his eyes toward the ceiling.
After a few minutes James came back into the room juggling the mirror under his arm, a plastic spray bottle of water, and a brush and comb. He leaned the mirror against the bookcase and pulled up a chair. “I’m not sure why I’m doing this, but—”
“Just trust me. Okay, let’s see.” While I ran my fingers through his hair, he nervously pushed up his glasses. “Now your hair’s not a bad texture, and it’s a good rich brown, but this style’s not right for you. We’ll need to get you some help there.”
“What do you mean by style? I’ve always worn it this way.”
“Here, I’ll show you.” I sprayed his hair until it was fairly wet. “Wearing your hair straight back does nothing at all for you.”
I’d accidentally sprayed his glasses and James pulled a tissue from a box next to an old console and wiped them dry without taking them off.
I parted his hair and combed it forward. “When this dries, you’ll see how much better this looks on you. Of course, you’ll need a good hairstylist to cut it for you before it’ll really look like it should. I’ll make an appointment for you with Raphael. He’s expensive but worth it. Next— posture. Stand up please.”
James rose slowly, apprehensively.
I nudged him sideways. “Okay, now take a good look.”
“I always remind him to stand up straight,” offered Mary Jane, who had appeared this time through the opening between the kitchen and living room.
I immediately stopped talking and with a slow, exaggerated turn in her direction stared at her with my head lowered.
“I tell all my children that,” she said with much less confidence. “But you kids go ahead. I won’t interfere anymore.” She backed away quickly from the opening, and I heard her muttering something about going down to her lab. It was for the best. This wasn’t something a mother should see.
“Okay,” I said, lowering my voice again. “Let’s continue. Here’s the thing, James. People can’t see themselves in action. If we all had cameras following us around, we’d know what we looked like and we’d probably be astounded, but we don’t. How you stand is vitally important. Alex, can you pull back James’s shoulders?”
After Alex had forced himself out of the comfortable corduroy chair, he placed both hands on James’s shoulders and tugged. At precisely the same time I pressed the back of my hand hard against the small of James’s back.
“Aaargh! Hey!” James thrust out the upper front portion of his body.
“Ah- ha, I knew you had a chest in there! So far, so good.”
“Look, I’m not . . . This is . . .” He pushed at his glasses.
“Now this is the important part, James,” I continued, ignoring his attempts at complaint. “Pretend you’re being pulled skyward— or in your case, we’ll call it heavenward.”
“Heavenward, huh?” James blew out air and shook his head. As he lifted himself straight, he immediately locked his knees, a common mistake.
“Don’t go swayback on us,” I said.
In my ninth- grade PE class, Mrs. Creel had had us all flatten our backs against the gymnasium wall. That was the first time I’d realized that in order to get the small of the back lined up, it was necessary to bend the knees slightly. That fact was confirmed in my finishing course. Boys and men don’t take finishing courses, and I doubted that male gym coaches discussed posture in boy’s PE.
“Bend your knees slightly,” I said. “Okay . . there you go.” I lifted his chin. “That’s so much better.” I stepped back, nodding with some measure of satisfaction.
“Dude, I think you just grew five inches,” Alex said, amazed. “Coach Rigby will be after you to play basketball.”
Mary Jane peeked around the side of the opening again. When I turned in her direction, she jerked back and disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared. “I’m heading to the lab right now,” she said. “I’m on my way.”
“Seriously . . .” Alex couldn’t get over the transformation. “I’ve heard of growth spurts but, not half a foot in thirty seconds.”
There was much more to do and I was anxious to move on. “Now, about your clothes, James—”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“What’s not wrong with them? No more wearing Fred’s or worse, Felix’s, shirts and pants!”
“Hey, as long as my brothers aren’t here to wear their clothes, why shouldn’t I go ahead and . . .” James’s voice trailed off because I’d adjusted the mirror so that he could see that his pants, undoubtedly Felix’s, ended several inches above his ankles.
“Unless you’re going for the Capri look,” I drawled.
James continued staring at his thick white socks which were extremely noticeable because they were extremely exposed. “Oh.” He paused. “I didn’t realize I’d outgrown these pants.”
“I have the feeling there are a lot of things you haven’t realized. But don’t worry, we’ll go through Alex’s closet. It looks like you two are both around six feet, give or take a half- inch. Alex bought a couple of shirts the other day in colors that tend to wash him out but they might work for you.”
Alex shut one eye and moved back a little.
“Nobody’s perfect,” I said to my brother. “Not even you, Alex.” I turned back to James. “There might be some decent pants for you as well in Alex’s closet. We have to begin work on your walk right away.”
James sighed, scratched his neck, and mumbled something.
“And the mumbling will need to stop,” I continued. “Heavenly stars, there’s so much, it’s overwhelming! Thank goodness your teeth will only need some whitening. Obviously, there’s no time for even minor dental work.” James pushed up his glasses again. “And oh, yes, those glasses . . .”
James immediately pressed his glasses against the bridge of his nose as though he were trying to permanently attach them there. “My glasses? I like these glasses. What about my glasses?”
“I’m guessing you’re farsighted. You probably don’t even need to wear them all the time.”
“It seems like a waste of time to keep taking them off, putting them back on, and finding them in between.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ve seen you walk down the halls with them perched on the end of your nose, peering at people over them. That really needs to stop. How you look at people is extremely important. You can’t expect to become president of a school by peering at people. And that’s another thing. You need to get rid of the scowl.”
I knew I was being hard on James, but sometimes you have to hit hard and fast for it to stick. Now that I’d analyzed him more closely, I realized James really did have some decent material to work with, but we had very little time. He needed to cooperate completely if we were going to make this happen.
“What scowl? I don’t—” James checked in the mirror again and saw that he was scowling at that very second. “Oh.”
“That’s right. You peer at people over your ridiculous glasses while you scowl at them. It’s a bad habit.”
“Tone it down,” said Alex, obviously irritated with me. “Why are you repeating yourself?”
“To make my point!” I tried to take James’s glasses from him again, but he pressed them back against his nose with even greater force.
“I mean it. Take it easy, Jana,” Alex warned.
“Okay!” Since I couldn’t very well pry James’s glasses out from under his fingers, I lowered my hand and took a couple of steps back. My brother was right about my tendenc
y to become too intense at times. “Okay, okay, you’re right. We can’t do this all at once. James, we’ll leave your glasses alone for now, but we need to really zero in on your posture immediately. Starting tomorrow, we’ll have committee members reminding you to stand up straight. A thumbs up means stand up.” I lifted my thumb. “This will be our sign to you that you need to straighten your shoulders and your back and imagine strings from heaven pulling you up— all of that.
“That reminds me. That’s something else we need to work on right away. We need to get on the phone and get a committee started immediately. Make a list of all the . . . ummm . . . all the people you know who might be willing to help.”
I was smart enough to avoid the word “dorks” but knew that the less- than- sought- after students might be the only ones we’d be left with for our committee.
First of all, I doubted that very many of those I considered normal classmates would be hopping on this particular bandwagon. Adriana, simply because she was a close friend, would possibly help a little if it wasn’t at school or where anyone else would know she was involved. I was sure Michelle Wilcox, as a fellow member of James’s church, would have been willing to jump in had she not already agreed to be Ruby Backus’s campaign manager. Alex’s friends Rob and Pete were already helping Brad Jenkins and his yell- leader friends were backing Lucas Hart. In fact, just about all those I considered the “good people” had been snatched up quickly by the other candidates.
“Sorry about this, James.” Alex’s eyelids were lowered partway, his eyebrows drawn together. “Jana tends to think she’s the queen mother. I’ve had to deal with it my whole life.”
But James was busy studying himself in the mirror. “No . . . no . . . it’s okay. In fact, you know what? I think I needed this.” He turned so that Alex could get the full picture. James’s hair still needed a lot of work, but we could at least get an idea of how it would eventually look. He was standing to his full height and his chest and shoulders looked strong and firm. With the exception of his clothes and glasses, James looked good. He looked, well almost, like a Super- Jim. It shut Alex right up.