“Did you guys get your flu shots yet?” Dad asked.
Mom said she had been busy at work, but we were going this week. A complete lie since she’s even more afraid of needles than me. We watched a movie, and I snuggled up in the recliner, while Dad put his arm around Mom. Things were looking up. I went to the den to read and woke up at one in the morning with the light still on. I guess Mom never came in to say goodnight.
Dad was there when I got up in the morning, and he took us out to breakfast. I ordered scrambled eggs and hot chocolate with whipped cream and candy cane pieces in it. After we ate, he packed up and gave me a goodbye hug. I felt the peppermint taste burn in my throat as my eyes filled with tears. His coat started to smell like a wet dog from my crying.
“Sweetie, it won’t be long until we can see each other at Thanksgiving,” he said squeezing me. “And then there’s your birthday and Christmas.”
I didn’t trust myself to say anything, and I moved my head when I let go so he wouldn’t see me cry. I dug in my coat for a tissue, but I had to use a gross old one to blow my nose. He kissed us both, and we watched him leave. Mom’s eyes were red as we walked back to the car.
“We could still make it to church,” she said. “We’ll be a little late, but earlier than we usually are. You could say it’ll be the earliest we’ve been late.”
After church, I went to see my room as soon as we walked in the door. The room smelled, but the walls were a nice cool blue. It was freezing since we had left the window open all night, but my room was finally the perfect color. Mom came in behind me.
“Nice, although the grapefruit had a certain charm,” she said. I reminded her we had plenty left over to paint her room. “Don’t you have some homework to do?” she asked.
Chapter Fourteen
I woke up late and missed the bus. I looked semi-okay in the bathroom mirror, but I almost puked when I flipped down the visor mirror in the car. My eyes looked squinty, my skin was blotchy, and my forehead was breaking out. I put some of Mom’s powder over the red mountain on my forehead. I had read in a magazine Talisa Milan used lipstick instead of blush, so I dabbed some on my cheeks. I think Talisa lied because I didn’t see her running around with bright red clown cheeks. I rubbed my face with a tissue, but it just made my face redder. Maybe the American Ingénue makeup people would have some tips on how to cover up huge forehead volcanoes.
“I can’t go to class like this,” I said.
“It’s school, not a beauty pageant. Just put more powder on.”
I slunk in late, and Ms. Ashcroft greeted me with a tight-lipped grimace. So I was five minutes late, it wasn’t like I ran over her dog. I went to the bathroom during second hour and washed my face with a rough paper towel. Ericka walked in and I pretended not to see her, even though we were the only people in the bathroom.
I went over to Devon’s house after school. She had pictures all around her dresser mirror, and there were photos of her with India and Peyton as well as magazines cutouts of Blake Alderson and Mason Fraser.
“This is from a picnic two summers ago. India made me climb to the top of this enormous playscape,” she said pointing to a photo. “I couldn’t figure out how to get back down, and I was stuck up there until Peyton’s dad said he’d catch me if I jumped.”
There were also pictures of her and Peyton on a roller coaster. I knew they were a tight-knit group, and India was her best friend. It seemed like everyone was already in a group, and I was just moving around trying to find my spot. I was so sick of being on the outside looking in. I just wanted to belong somewhere, and I wanted a best friend again. I wanted somebody who I could be myself around and talk to after school. Someone who I could just look at and she’d know exactly what I was thinking. Most of all, I wanted somebody who liked me more than anybody else — even if I acted like a total dork. Tori and I used to be able to exchange glances and talk about everything. I wondered if we’d ever start talking again. I missed her, but I also knew I’d never be able to trust her again.
When I got home there was a message on the answering machine from Tori asking me to call her. She and Ericka must want to make up. Finally. I called her back and she answered on the first ring.
“Hi Tori, it’s Landry. I just got your message.”
“Oh, Mrs. Dennis wanted me to call everyone to tell them tryouts for the play are on Tuesday,” she said.
How humiliating. Well, there went my hopes of making up and being friends again. I felt so stupid because I had gotten on the phone all cheerful and hopeful. She hung up, and I sat on the floor and started to cry. The phone rang again and I thought it was Tori calling back, but it was Grandma Albright.
“Hi, sweetheart. How’s school?” she asked.
“Fine.” I hit mute so I could blow my nose into a paper towel.
“How’s your mother?” she asked. I knew she was calling to find out about my dad’s visit because she thought it was horrible we weren’t all living together.
“She’s okay. She’s still at work,” I said.
“Have you cleaned up the house after your dad’s visit?” I started to answer when I got another call. It was Mom, and I told her Grandma was on the other line.
“Oh, great. What does she want?” she asked.
“She was wondering if our house was a mess for some reason.”
“The house? Oh my — did you tell her your father stayed in a hotel?” she asked.
“No, why?”
“It might upset her. Listen, I’m going to bring fish and chips home for dinner, so don’t fill up on junk,” she said.
I clicked back to Grandma, and she tried to find out what was going on with my mom and dad. Why didn’t she just call my dad, who lived two blocks away from her? Finally, she realized she wasn’t going to get anything interesting out of me so she let me go.
Since the next phase of the competition was coming up next week, I started worrying about what to wear. Mom suggested we go to the mall and look for a new outfit for me. I swear we had, like, fifty fights before we even left the first store. She wanted me to wear a dress which made me look about five years old. Then she found a dress Anne of Green Gables would have worn. I tried to explain to her I needed to look older, and I showed her a short leather skirt with a white off-the-shoulder sweater.
“Over my dead body,” was my mother’s understanding response.
“Moth-er, I can’t look like a kid. I’m supposed to be a model, not a baby,” I said. “You would not believe the outfits some of the girls wore to the auditions.”
Mom let up a little and let me try on a short skirt, but she would only let me get it if I wore it with a preppy sweater so I “wouldn’t look like trash.” I agreed, but I switched the sweater with a smaller one when she left the dressing room. The smaller sweater was a little tighter, and it showed off a bit of my stomach, too.
I also got my hair cut for the competition. The Ingénue people had already told us not to do anything drastic with our looks, but the form said a trim was okay. The hairstylist wanted to cut layers in my hair, but I wasn’t allowed to do anything other than “shaping” according to the forms I had signed. My hair looked a lot fuller after the woman styled it with rollers and sprayed it. It looked so good my mom even bought me some rollers from the drugstore and, shock of shocks, she even sprung for the volume spray and conditioner they used at the salon, which she never did. She always lectured me on how it was “a waste of money.”
On the day of the competition, I got out of school three hours early to get ready. Nobody wished me luck, other than the teachers, but at least I hadn’t woken up with a huge pimple or something. I washed my hair when I got home and put in the new rollers. However, I yanked out a ton of hair when I tried to get the rollers out. I guess they held a little too well. Mom had packed my outfit so it wouldn’t get wrinkled on the car ride. I barely spoke during the drive to Detroit. I was just so nervous. They were only choosing ten girls tonight to go on in the competition. But at least if I d
idn’t get picked, only people in the state would see it since it wasn’t being broadcast anywhere other than Michigan. We were recording the show at home, but I had made Mom promise not to show it to anyone if I didn’t get picked.
Dad called on the cell phone to wish me luck, and Grandma was at his apartment telling me I’d get chosen for sure. I hoped she was still taking her heart pills because I didn’t want to cause her a heart attack if I didn’t win. At least Grandma thought I had a chance, unlike any of my so-called “friends.” The phone rang again, and it was Ashanti calling to wish me luck.
“I’m recording it,” she said. “My dad said you should do something memorable on stage so you’ll stand out to the judges.” I could hear her dad yelling, “Good luck, Landry,” in the background. I felt better knowing at least two people, other than my family, cared.
We finally got to the hotel. Mom took a zillion pictures while I got ready so she could send them to all the relatives in Chicago. I felt nervous — like my skeleton was going to leap out of my body and run around the room. The American Ingénue people had put a little gift basket in our room with candy and sodas. Yeah, I’m sure real models ate candy all the time. I went to the bathroom five times and ended up throwing up ten minutes before I had to check in at the Ingénue table.
“Maybe a soda would settle your stomach,” Mom suggested as I curled up in a ball on the bed. “Or how about some of this banana taffy. You love banana—”
“Why would you offer banana flavored anything to a sick person? What’s wrong with you?” I said groaning.
Mom gave me a cough drop to cover the barf smell because I couldn’t handle the thought of putting minty toothpaste in my mouth. She walked me down to the check-in spot, although I noticed none of the other girls had their mommies with them.
“You were right,” she said looking around. “These girls look like they’re my age.”
To make matters worse, one of the competition organizers tried to give her a number as she was leaving. Everybody stared at me while she explained she was actually my mother. Fabulous. Not only did I look pathetic for bringing my mommy with me, it looked like my mom had me when she was thirteen or something. We lined up, and the organizers said we’d all take turns walking down the runway and then give our names and where we were from. Then the judges would narrow the group to ten girls. Those girls would go on to model different clothes the organizers picked from the racks backstage. I noticed Franciszka T had provided outfits for the girls who were chosen. They were gorgeous clothes, but I knew I’d probably puke again if I had to do a quick change. The organizers scrutinized all of us and gave us accessories to wear. I tried not to take it personally when they put a sailor hat on my head. I mean, the lady did say I had a “nautical” looking outfit on, but all I heard was “your hair sucks.” The volunteer, Georgia, also gave me a heavy gold chain belt to wear over my skirt. It looked like a belt Ashanti’s mom had.
We got back in line, and I stood behind a girl with dark blonde hair and amazing blue eyes. I asked her if she was nervous, and she told me she was used to doing pageants.
“It’s no big deal after a while,” she said as she told me all the different titles she had won. She pointed out a couple of other girls who had been in the pageants with her. Some of the girls weren’t what you’d call “pretty,” but there was something interesting looking about them. Others… well, maybe their mothers bribed the judges or something. Or maybe I had no idea what the judges were looking for in a model. I started to ask the pageant girl if my hair looked okay, but then Talisa Milan walked in the room.
All the girls crowded around her until the organizers made them back off. Everybody was going crazy over her outfit, but it looked like somebody wound a purple rag around her. An expensive rag. She had sleek, glossy dark hair which seemed to swing when she moved. She seemed laid back, and she told us to relax and have fun. One of the girls asked her if she was still dating Lorenzo from the band Puking Baby Dolls.
“Yeah, he’s a sweetheart,” she said, tilting her head and doing an annoying half smile you always see popular girls doing. “And he’s writing a song for my album. It should be coming out this summer so look for it, okay?”
“I heard she can’t sing,” the girl next to me whispered. “And she’s super phony.”
Talisa was acting like we were all best friends when this was the first time she had ever seen any of us. But she was sorta nice, and at least I could tell people I met someone famous.
“You guys all look so cute. I wish I could stay, but I have to go right after I do the intro,” Talisa said, pouting. “I have to do a TV appearance tomorrow at five, so I gotta fly to Chicago.”
Like we were supposed to believe she’d rather stay here with a bunch of people she didn’t know instead of being on TV?
“Ladies, line up. We go on in ten minutes.”
“Good luck you guys,” Talisa said. “I’m so excited for you.”
I didn’t think she meant it, but she looked over at me for a second and winked. Before she went on stage, she brushed lint off one of the girls and tilted my hat to the side. She smelled like gardenias when she leaned in to smooth my hair.
“Good luck,” she said. I never realized how pretty her mouth was. She had small Cupid ’s bow lips which looked like my Cadia doll. One of the other finalists from the show, Rae Ellen, was there, but I didn’t remember her as well. I think she was the one who got sent home for refusing to do the photo shoot with the cougar.
“Hi y’all,” she said. “I bet y’all thought I was going to wear red lipstick again. There’s a fan website keeping track of how often I wear it, but it’s my signature look. You were thinking I’d have it on, weren’t you? Y’all are funny.”
The rest of the girls seemed to be going along with it, but I wondered who in their right mind cared whether or not this weirdo wore red lipstick? And she just walked in the room, so how did she know what we were thinking or that we were funny? We were all strangers. People were acting so fake it made me feel sick… well the stress-induced diarrhea and vomiting wasn’t helping much either.
The stage manager came over and made sure we were lined up in the right order. From backstage we could hear the opening music playing. The girl behind me said she felt like throwing up.
“I already did before I came,” I said. “So at least I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”
“Unless you get the dry heaves,” she said.
Crap. What if I got the dry heaves on stage? And what if it got so bad one of my eyes bulged out or something? I should just go back up to the room… double crap. Mom had the room key. At least there was a bathroom for when I had to worry about… the other end.
While I was deciding whether or not to chicken out, the stage manager, Georgia, started having the girls go out on stage. I overheard somebody say one girl fell out of her shoe as she stepped on the runway.
“Is she okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. She just pretended to have two heels on and walked on her tip toes,” Georgia said.
I would have burst into tears and run off the stage — kind of like I did when I was four years old and in a dance recital. We were supposed to be little ballerinas and have scarves attached to our tutus, but my mom was still in school at the time and she came home late and forgot to give me my scarves. So all the other little girls pulled out their scarves, and there’s a video of me looking on either side of my tutu for my scarves and then bursting into tears crying “Mommy!” as I ran off the stage. My grandmother said I was adorable, but I don’t think it was any coincidence my grandfather died two weeks later.
At least I didn’t have to worry about missing scarves tonight. All I had to do was focus on not tripping. If I could just make it down the runway and back, I’d be fine. Unless, of course, I suddenly came down with Tourette’s Syndrome and started swearing live on the air… but I’d know if I had Tourette’s, right? It doesn’t just come on out of nowhere, does it?
“Okay, g
irls. Your group is next,” Georgia said.
I took a deep breath. All I had to do is say, “My name is Landry, and I’m from Grand Rapids.” Easy—as long as I didn’t get the dry heaves or puke into the microphone and electrocute myself…or get diarrhea on live TV. Why did I ever go to the audition in the first place? Everything was fine when I was just boring old Landry fading into the background. The girls at school were a lot nicer to me when I was nobody special. I mean, before this stupid competition I had friends, but now it seemed like there was no one I could trust. Maybe if I lost this stupid thing I could go home and everything would be back to normal.
“Okay, girls. You guys are next.” Georgia pushed me in the back. “Don’t forget to smile,” she said in my ear.
Then the girl in front of me morphed into a different person. She straightened her spine and walked with a little skip in her step. “I’m Desiree, and I’m from Sterling Heights,” she said in a low sexy voice. Great, I had to follow her.
“I’m Landry, and I’m from Chicago, Illinois,” I said. I moved away from the microphone and realized I said “Chicago” instead of “Grand Rapids,” so I went back to the microphone to correct myself and slammed into the next girl. She acted like she didn’t notice, but I had hit the microphone and it made a shrieking noise. I heard laughter. People were laughing at me. On television. I wanted to die.
I saw Georgia gesturing at me to get off the stage, and I walked off. I had been practicing my stupid runway walk for weeks and for what? A chance to humiliate myself on live TV? I’ve always been sorta accident prone. If anybody was going to do something stupid and embarrassing it was probably me, but I thought I could control myself for two seconds on live television. I’m such an idiot.
True Colors Page 9