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To Fred Klompston
“Imperfection is beauty.”
—Marilyn Monroe
PROLOGUE
She was always the prettiest girl in the room.
When she was little, her parents used to show her off to adults. Then they’d pretend to be surprised when the compliments started pouring in.
“Oh, isn’t she the cutest little thing!”
“Look at her in that dress! What an absolute doll!”
“You two are going to have your hands full when she gets older; she’s going to drive all the boys crazy!”
“Oh, come on, you’re just being nice,” her parents would say, but they knew.
And soon enough, she knew.
By the time she was in elementary school, she could tell that people were treating her as if she were special. Girls wanted to be her best friend. Boys stared at her from a distance. Even teachers were extra nice. It took a little while, but she got used to it.
Then she started liking it.
Then she started needing it.
And before long, it became who she was. It didn’t matter that she liked reading, or was the high scorer on the soccer team, or took dance classes. She was Calista Getz, the pretty girl. The prettiest girl in the room. The most beautiful girl in the whole school!
Until she wasn’t.
MONDAY
“AAAAAGGHHHGHGHGHGHGHHH!”
I yell like a lunatic when I see my best friends in the whole world, Ellie and Ella, running toward me.
“AAAAAIIIIEEEEEEEE!” they scream back. We hug for about five minutes. We talk at each other for five more minutes, but none of us can hear a word anyone else is saying. People are staring, but we don’t care. We’re back together again, and it’s great.
Then the bell rings, and the school year begins.
I don’t like it when girls yell at the top of their lungs. It’s really distracting and annoying.
So when I see three girls acting crazy, like one of them just got back from a war or something, I walk by them as fast as I can and go into the classroom.
It’s not until I’m sitting down that I realize one of them is Calista Getz.
We take our seats in first period, and I notice that two of the fluorescent light bulbs in the ceiling are flickering. Seriously? On the first day of school? No wonder the teachers are always complaining about budget cuts.
“I can’t believe you’re sitting next to Patrick Toole,” Ellie whispers from two rows away.
“Ssssshhhhh!” I say. Ellie looks wounded, so I add, “Oh, don’t be so sensitive.” People take everything I say and do so seriously. It’s kind of ridiculous.
I glance over to my right. “Hey, Patrick.”
Patrick smiles, and his white teeth practically blind me. Okay, not really, but his teeth are extremely white. Also, you could probably build a swimming pool in one of his dimples.
“Did you have a good summer?” he asks.
“It was okay, I guess.” Rule number one: Never sound too excited in front of a guy.
“Cool.” Patrick looks down. He’s shy in front of me. Everyone is shy in front of me, except the obnoxious boys—like Patrick’s friend Will Hanson, whose only goal in life is to show off in front of his friends.
“Looking super hot, Calista!” Will says, right on cue. “Like, solar system hot!”
I try to laugh, just to be nice. I do that a lot—try to make boys feel better by laughing at their jokes. The truth is, I’m a nice person, but because I’m pretty, people don’t always believe it.
“Shut up, Will,” Patrick says, then turns back to me. “I’m glad you had an okay summer.”
“How was yours?”
“Good, thanks.”
Patrick is the me of boys. He’s really cute. Everyone always thinks we should become boyfriend and girlfriend, even though I barely know him. People don’t care about that, though. They just think the two most good-looking kids in the grade should go out. I guess that makes sense.
“Let’s get started,” says our teacher, Ms. Harnick, and my conversation with Patrick is over.
For now.
“Damian White,” calls Ms. Harnick.
I raise my hand. “Here.”
She nods. “Welcome, Mr. White.”
I put my hand down quickly. I don’t like to raise my hand.
“Hey! Damian!”
I look over to my left. Will Hanson is leaning over his desk, in my direction. He has red hair and braces, and he’s smiling, but not out of friendliness.
“What?”
“How was your summer?”
“It was fine.”
“The weather was pretty brutal this year. So humid. That must’ve been tough.”
I don’t answer him. I feel my skin start to get sticky.
Will keeps needling me. “Do you ever take that red jacket off, by the way? What are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“Leave him alone,” says a girl sitting behind us. I can’t remember her name. She smiles at me.
Will turns around. “Hey, Laura, why don’t you mind your own business? Go grab a burger or something.”
The girl’s eyes flash. “Real original, Will.”
Will turn backs to me. “Now, where were we?”
My whole back is wet.
It’s a good thing I have extra shirts in my locker.
Will Hanson is a jerk. As if I would ever let anyone like him get to me!
That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
As soon as class is dismissed, the kid Will was making fun of hurries to the door. He was new last year, but I recognize him right away. He’s really tall, and he always wears the same red jacket, even if it’s really hot out.
As he passes my desk, he notices me and hesitates for just a second.
“Thanks,” he says. “For before.”
“No problem,” I say, but he’s gone so fast he doesn’t hear me.
After first period, everyone rushes out into the hallway. Ellie and Ella surround me as we walk to our next class. They’re basically blocking me off from everyone else, because they want me for themselves.
“So, have you decided?” Ellie asks.
Ella nods eagerly. “Yeah, have you made up your mind?” The general rule is that Ellie talks first, then Ella says the same thing, but slightly differently.
I shrug, pretending not to know what they’re talking about. “Decided what?”
Ellie and Ella stare at each other as if they’re having an eye-widening contest.
“The dance!” they both blurt out at once.
“Who are you going with?” Ellie asks.
“To the dance!” Ella adds, as if I’d forgotten what they said one second earlier. “Everyone wants to know!”
“I haven’t really thought about it, if you want to know the truth,” I say, which isn
’t technically the truth.
Ellie leans in even closer. “What about Patrick?”
“What about him?”
“You know!” squeals Ella, and they both dissolve into a fit of giggles. I shrug, throw in a little eye roll, and notice Laura Corbett walking slightly behind us. Laura was my best friend in elementary school. We’re still friends, but it’s different now.
“Laurasaurus,” I say. “What’s up?”
Ella and Ellie immediately stop laughing and turn their attention to the intruder.
“What do you want?” Ellie sneers.
“Yeah, do you need something?” Ella chimes in.
I smile at Laura in what I hope is a friendly way.
She tries to smile back.
“Why so serious, Ellie?” I say. “Or is it Ella? I always get you guys mixed up.”
“You are so not funny,” Ellie says. “Go away.”
“Yeah, scram,” echoes Ella.
I throw up my hands. “Come on! The school year just began. Can’t we all just be friends?”
“Har dee har HAR,” Ellie sneers.
“Oooh, how clever,” I sneer back. Calista looks like she’s already bored with this idiotic exchange. Not that I blame her.
“What’s up?” she says.
I stare at Calista, still trying to understand why my former best friend hangs around with these girls.
“Uh, hey Callie. I’m just making sure you’re coming to practice later?”
She smiles, and for a second I see the girl that used to kick the ball with me for hours and hours in the yard behind my house. We used to call each other “besties for life.” That seems like a pretty long time ago.
“No one calls her ‘Callie’ anymore,” Ella announces. “And Calista can’t talk to you right now. We’re talking about the dance.”
“Oooh, don’t let me stop you,” I say. This Friday night we have the First Week Dance, where all the eighth graders (who have gone to school together pretty much all their lives) get reacquainted in a big dark room, with the floor sticky from fruit punch and loud pounding music that occasionally gets people to jump up and down with their arms in the air. It’s fun for twenty minutes and kind of annoying the rest of the time. And it’s fun for the cool kids and kind of annoying for the rest of us.
But it’s all anyone wants to talk about.
“Callie?” I say, trying to get my answer. “Are you coming later or not?”
“To soccer practice?” Ellie asks, wrinkling her nose like she just smelled a dead squirrel. She twists her head toward Calista. “Tell me you’re not playing soccer this year!”
We all wait. This is an important answer—for Ellie, Ella, and myself, anyway. Calista looks like she really couldn’t care less.
“I guess so,” she says, finally. “My parents would be, like, so mad if I quit.” I pray that no one notices my huge sigh of relief. Calista smiles at me. “See you later, Laurasaurus?” Laurasaurus is her nickname for me, from the old days. I really liked it back then. Now I’m not so sure. It makes me sound—let’s see, how should I put this—huge.
“Yep, definitely.” I start to walk away, since my work here is done. But Ellie has one last question for me.
“Do you play goalie?” she asks. “Because you kind of look like you could totally block the goal all by yourself.”
Ellie and Ella dissolve into hysterics. I look at Calista, who doesn’t seem amused. But she doesn’t seem mad, either. She doesn’t seem anything.
“No, I don’t play goalie,” I answer. “I play defense. And you better watch it before I defense your butt with my foot.”
That shuts them up.
I walk away.
I feel bad when I see Laura leave. I want to say something, but I don’t. I can’t. I don’t know why I can’t, but I just can’t.
“I can’t believe you two used to be friends,” Ellie says.
I stare at Ellie.
“We still are,” I say.
I wish they had assigned seats at lunch. It would make life a lot easier.
But they don’t, so I sit with Jeffrey Klantz. We started eating lunch together halfway through last year. I take out the same thing I eat every day: a peanut butter and apple sandwich.
I also take out my notebook and start sketching.
“What are you drawing?” Jeffrey asks. “Wait, let me guess: A desert.”
Everyone who knows me knows I like to draw deserts. Hilly, sandy, hot, dry deserts. I don’t know why. I’ve just always done it.
“Yes,” I say.
Jeffrey pulls out his lunch bag and starts eating. I keep drawing, pausing every once in a while to take a bite of my sandwich. Jeffrey and I don’t talk to each other very much. But I like that he’s there.
“Look,” Jeffrey says, suddenly.
I look up. He’s pointing across the cafeteria. There’s some sort of fuss going on at the table closest to the door. That’s the table where Calista sits.
Calista Getz.
I think about Calista a lot. Everyone thinks about Calista a lot, probably. But I bet I think about her more. She was the first girl I met when I moved to Easton last year. She showed me around the school, and she was very friendly. I remember when she pointed out where the nurse’s office was, she said, “Hopefully you won’t have to spend too much time in here.” I said, “I hope so, too.” She smiled her nice smile, waved, and walked away.
That was the last real conversation we ever had.
“Leave me out of it,” I say, sitting in my usual seat at the head of the table.
Ellie takes a bite of her salad. “Patrick’s shy! He’s like perfect-looking, but he’s shy!”
“If he wants to ask me, he’ll ask me,” I say. “If not, I’ll live. There are plenty of other fish in the sea.”
Ella frowns. “What does that even mean?”
I roll my eyes. “It means if I don’t go with Patrick, I’ll go with someone else.”
The rest of the girls at the table nod their heads like I’ve just said something incredibly wise. There’s Beth, and Camille, and Ginger, and Leslie. Camille is the only one who sometimes actually says what she thinks, even if it means disagreeing with me. I like her, but if I became good friends with her, Ellie and Ella would totally freak out.
“He’s looking over here!” Ellie says, elbowing me in the ribs. “He’s smiling! No wait! He’s getting up! He’s getting up and he’s smiling! Let’s go talk to him!”
“Let’s go what?” I say, but I’m too late. Ellie and Ella suddenly shoot out of their chairs, hurry over to Patrick’s table, have an incredibly urgent, eight-second conversation with him, and scamper back.
“Stop being so crazy, you guys,” I mumble into my straw. “I mean it.”
Ellie looks slightly crushed, the way she always does when I get mad at her. “Sor-RY.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. She doesn’t get it. The whole point with boys is to not let them know you care. You lose control that way.
Ellie quickly recovers. “Well, we probably shouldn’t even tell you this since you’re being so bossy,” she gasps, “but Patrick is going to ask you to the dance tomorrow!”
Ella nods like an out-of-control bobblehead. “He’s going to pop the question at lunch! He just told us!”
Without meaning to, I smile. “Really?”
“Really!” they both yell, practically hyperventilating.
“That’s nice,” I say. Luckily for me, no one can hear my heart pounding.
Camille catches my eye. “Are you relieved?” she asks.
Ellie and Ella laugh.
“Are you serious, Camille?” says Ellie. “As IF!”
“Patrick is the one that should be relieved!” Ella chimes in.
“Well, you never know,” Camille says, staring back down at her plate.
She’s totally right, of course.
You never know.
“We need to talk about dresses!” says Ellie. “We should plan a trip to the mall!”
“My mom’s taking me tomorrow,” I say. Ellie and Ella look disappointed, but only for a moment. As everyone starts yammering about what to wear, I sigh and look around, suddenly bored. The first kid I see is Damian White, that really tall kid who always wears a goofy red jacket. He’s sitting all the way across the cafeteria with some kid I don’t know. The only reason I know who Damian is is because he stood in line in front of me last year when we got our books on the first day of school, and one of the teachers asked me to show him around. He was new. He seemed like an okay kid, maybe a little weird. I heard somewhere that he’s a really good artist.
I smile at Damian, but he doesn’t smile back.
It’s possible he doesn’t remember who I am, but I doubt it.
When Calista lifts her head and stares right at me, I freeze, and my breathing stops.
When she smiles, I quickly stare back down at my plate, then wipe my forehead, which feels a little damp.
“I bet they’re talking about the First Week Dance,” Jeffrey says.
I wait to speak until my breathing returns to normal. “I suppose so,” I say.
“Who do you think she wants to go with?”
“That’s none of our business.”
Jeffrey laughs. “In this school, everything is everyone’s business.”
I nod. “Yeah, I guess so.”
After a few more deep breaths, I go back to drawing. Jeffrey goes back to eating.
At soccer practice, I warm up with my friend Rachel Samuels, who’s the goalie.
“You told Will Hanson off?” she says. “I love it!”
“Yeah, it felt good,” I admit.
“Who was the kid Will was hassling?”
“I forget his name. The kid who always wears a red jacket; he was new last year.”
Rachel nods. “Oh yeah, I know who you’re talking about. He’s like, super awkward, right?”
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