“Landry, I have to go to work. Just tell them it was fun and it’ll be the end of it,” said my mother, who I’m guessing had been homeschooled in a cabin outside of the limits of civilization.
“The first bell is going to ring in a minute, and I’ll go in then.”
The bell rang, but I didn’t budge. Mom sighed. “Am I going to have to push you out of this car? You’re going to be late, and then you’ll call attention to yourself.”
Crap. She was right. I got out of the car and walked in behind a group of seventh graders. I thought I was so smart, until they went around the corner leaving me exposed. Peyton waved to me and didn’t yell, “Hey loser,” so I figured it was safe to walk over to her.
“How was it?” she asked.
I shrugged as Hana walked over. “You should have gotten picked, Landry,” she said. “Did you get to meet any celebrities?”
I told her about Talisa and how none of the celebrity judges were celebrities you ever heard of before. The panel was mostly modeling people, but they threw in some local people who were semi-famous. One lady hosted a talk show in Detroit, one was a baseball player I had never heard of before, and there was some news anchor guy. I saw the talk show host for one second backstage when she wished us luck, but the news anchor guy and the basketball player never bothered to come back to see us.
I expected to get laughed at or to hear mean comments in the hall, but nobody brought it up. It was kind of weird. As far as I knew, nobody at our school had been on TV or won anything major. So how come when I got the chance to be on a popular show nobody even mentioned it? Maybe nobody cared or they were trying to spare my feelings since I made a fool of myself. No, no one at my school was nice, so they probably just didn’t care. Unless the principal had made some big announcement about how anyone making fun of the “poor reject from TV” would get suspended. Devon didn’t even bring it up, but we had talked about it on the phone. However, Tori waved to me in the hall, so I started to feel a little better. Then came lunch.
I got in the lunch line with Hana, and Tori came up behind me. I was telling Hana about how nervous I was before going onstage when Tori interrupted to ask if I got to keep the clothes I wore.
“No, it was my outfit, but I borrowed the hat and belt,” I said. She acted like it was normal for us to be hanging out, and I kinda felt like I wasn’t supposed to make a big deal out of it. I went on with my story and then said I had a couple of agents interested in me.
“Wow, so cool,” Hana said, but Tori didn’t say anything. Not, “Oh great,” or even a, “You suck.” Nothing at all. I asked her about her weekend, but she just shrugged. I started to say it would have been cool if we could have done the show together, but then she ignored me and ran off to talk to somebody in the back of the line. I grabbed a dish of macaroni and cheese and followed Hana to her usual table. Devon was already there, and I asked her if she was doing anything on Friday night.
“I think I have plans with Peyton and India,” she said. I was hurt she didn’t say, “Do you want to join us?”
When I got home, there was a message from Grandma telling me how pretty I looked on TV. I was surprised she had seen it.
“How did Grandma see it?” I asked. “Did you send her a link?”
“I don’t know, maybe Uncle Martin found a link,” Mom said. I gave her a look. “Okay, you know your grandmother. She has to be the first one to call and pretend to be in the know—”
“So she just said I looked pretty on TV without ever seeing me?” I asked. How depressing. Even my grandmother had to lie to me. I bet she’d freak if she saw the actual footage. Of course if I had anything to say about it, she never would. Grandma just figured out how to send an e-mail, so I was guessing finding a video online was a little beyond her abilities.
“How was school? Was it as bad as you thought?” she asked. I could tell she was getting ready to put on her smug “I told you so” face. I almost wanted to tell her I had gotten beaten up for being a reject. It was almost as bad to admit almost no one had even brought it up. Instead, I said Hana seemed interested.
“Have you decided about calling the agencies?”
I said I wanted to think about it a little more. I knew Mom didn’t want me to start modeling, but I kept thinking if the American Ingénue judges saw something in me then maybe I wasn’t as hideous as I thought. Or maybe I was picked just because I was tall and skinny. I decided not to think about it, but then I saw Talisa while I was watching a music video countdown show. She was wearing a white tank top with a short hot pink mini skirt. For some reason Talisa always looked weird when she dressed trendy. Like she was a doll somebody had dressed up. She was introducing the next video, and she mentioned one of her Ingénue costars was in it.
“You guys remember Bianca Laurel from the show?” she asked the studio audience. “Cause she’s in Lars Anderson’s new video, and she gets to play his girlfriend.” The girls in the audience started making “whoo” noises. Lars Anderson was only the hottest singer ever. I knew Bianca was only, like, seventeen, so it wasn’t like she was much older than me, and if Lars was interested in her then maybe I could meet a famous guy by modeling, too. Sure, Bianca had made it to the major American Ingénue competition, but it wouldn’t hurt to try modeling and see if I could get a part in a video or something. I told my mom after dinner I wanted to try modeling.
“Okay, I’ll check out the agencies tomorrow,” she said.
****
The next day I couldn’t wait to find out what the agencies said, but Mom came home in a bad mood.
“Landry, do you think I could get in the front door before you come charging at me?” she asked. I backed off, and she dumped her stuff on the kitchen table. I guess I was crowding her or something because she sighed and asked, “Don’t you have some homework or something to do?”
I went to my room and stayed out of her way until dinner. She made chicken pot pies, which I hate, but I ate the whole stupid thing (except for the soggy crust because it made me gag). She still hadn’t brought up the agents, so I asked.
“I went online and they all seem legit, but if you’re going to do this then it has to be the local one. I talked to one of the owners of the Grand Rapids agency, and I can set up an appointment for you to meet with them if you still want to,” she said.
Okay, so my chances of Lars Anderson (or any rock star) calling a Grand Rapids modeling agent weren’t good, but maybe I’d be so popular as a model I’d get to move to New York or something.
“I just want to make sure you have realistic expectations for this,” Mom said.
Like any one famous ever got anywhere from having realistic expectations. All I knew was I wanted to make enough money so I could leave school, get a private tutor, move to New York (or someplace cool), and do magazine covers and music videos. I didn’t even have to have a modeling career. I could just model until I got some sort of acting job. I’d rather be an actress than a model anyway. I just wanted to be famous, and I didn’t even care how it happened. I wanted to be like Talisa who was always in SuperTeen magazine and a Little Rose model. Plus, she was dating the lead singer of the Puking Baby Dolls. I just wanted to get out of this place and have everybody who was mean to me see I was special and they were all too stupid to notice me when they had the chance.
The next day, Mom called the Rice-Carter agency and made an appointment with me to meet Delilah Rice. I had no clue what to wear, and Mom told me to put my plaid kilt on.
“But I wore it to my first audition. What if she was there? Then it’ll look like I have one outfit.”
“Do you have another option?” Mom asked. “It’s your cutest outfit.”
I sighed. I needed to get some better clothes. Mom said I was supposed to come looking natural with no makeup on. I just used a little concealer on the pimple forming on my chin, put on a touch of mascara and brow pencil, and some tinted lip balm. We had to wait for Ms. Rice for twenty minutes, but when we went into her office she was nice
and asked me if I wanted some tea.
“I have chamomile, jasmine, and Earl Grey,” she said.
Chamomile tasted like dandelions in dirty bath water to me, so I said jasmine would be fine. The jasmine tea was okay, and it kinda tasted like flowers. She asked if I had a portfolio, but all I had were the pictures the Ingénue people had taken of me. She set up a test shoot with a photographer for me on Wednesday and told me to bring two outfits.
“Bring some sort of accessory, a prop, an outfit for a close-up, and something for a full length shot — nothing baggy. We need to see your shape,” she said. I had to fill out some forms, which were confusing. I had no idea what my bust measurements were, but she told me to leave those blank and someone would measure me later. She had me stand up, and she walked around me the same way my dad walked around the last car he bought. I felt stupid standing there, but then Delilah nodded and said I could sit down.
“Your weight is perfect, but you could use some toning,” she said.
“Sure,” I said. And as soon as I figured out what she meant, I’d get right on it.
“Nothing over five pounds,” she said as I stared. “You know, for the free weights,” she said as she mimed lifting a dumbbell. Oh, muscle toning. Duh. I thought she meant, like, using astringent or something on my face.
I got home, and Devon texted me about going to the apple orchard for cider and donuts with Peyton and India after school on Wednesday. She said they’ve gone there every year since they were eight. I wanted to go, but I had my test shoot then. At first, I felt bad about missing out because it had been a long time since anyone had invited me anywhere. Then I started thinking about how Talisa had told Young and Fun magazine she had to “miss out on a lot of fun things with friends.” But I bet she thought it was all worth it since now she was famous.
I laid out my outfits for the test shoot. I was going to wear a black turtleneck for my close-up. I was also bringing a scarf, my black hat, and a huge white teddy bear (actually an old bear of my mom’s which I stripped of his little scarf and ski hat) for my props, and I was going to wear a peach and black sweatshirt and matching skirt I had gotten a year ago for Christmas. The skirt was too short for me on its own, so I was going to put black pants underneath.
****
Ms. Rice loved the stuff I brought when I showed up at the agency. They put the scarf in my hair for the close-up pictures. The photographer took shots of me standing, sitting on the floor with the bear, and posing with the hat. A week later Ms. Rice called and asked us to come to the agency.
We went to her office after school, and I was so nervous I could actually feel sweat drip under my arms. I thought she was going to say, “Sorry, I changed my mind,” but Mom said they would have just said it on the phone. Ms. Rice (she told me to call her Delilah) called us into her office just as I was getting up to go to the bathroom for, like, the hundredth time. I needed to pee, but I went in and hoped I didn’t have an accident in her office because those pink chairs looked expensive.
“I’d like to sign Landry to a six month contract,” Delilah said. I almost leapt across the table to kiss her. She pulled out my proofs to show me which pictures I should get for my portfolio. I was surprised to see how great they ended up. I didn’t look like Talisa Milan, but for me, they were great. Although you could kinda see my forehead breaking out in one. Delilah gave my mom some papers to sign, but my mother, being Miss Overprotective, asked to take them home to read. I bet Talisa’s mom didn’t take her contracts home to read back in the day.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Mom asked me for the millionth time in the car.
“Yeah, I can start making some money for college,” I said, thinking I would impress her with my responsible planning.
She laughed. “Right, you just wanted this to save up for college. Good one.”
I called my dad when I got home. While my mom was all weird about me doing this, my dad thought it was great.
“Of course they’d want to sign you honey, you’re gorgeous,” he said. “After all, you get your looks from my side of the family.”
In reality, I looked almost exactly like my mom except I have my dad’s eyes and chin. My mom is like a softer, prettier version of me. I was just glad to hear my dad say I was pretty enough to model. I knew it was my dad so of course he was going to say I was cute, but it was still nice to hear. I wondered if Mom kept asking me if I was sure I wanted to do this because she didn’t think I was pretty enough to model.
“Landry, come in here. I want to go over the contract with you,” she said.
We sat at the kitchen table as she read these boring forms. I put my head on the table while she was going over them.
“This is going to be expensive,” she said, poking me with her pen.
“Why? I thought Ms. Myeski said you should never have to pay to model.”
“But the pictures for your portfolio cost a lot. And you need something called a comp card,” she sighed. “They’re supposed to take it out of what you make, but… I dunno. Are you sure—”
“Yes. Why do you keep asking me? You know, Dad thinks I’m pretty enough to be a model, so how come you don’t?”
“It has nothing to do with — I know you’re pretty, but I just don’t want to see you get hurt—” I started to interrupt, but she put her hand up and gave me “the look.” “Of course your dad thinks you’re beautiful, but remember guys think it’s what a girl wants to hear. There are a lot more important things than just being pretty. Sometimes people put too much focus on a girl’s looks to distract her from other things.”
Mom went on a big thing about how people focus on the appearance of a woman running for President, while they focus on the guy candidate’s career. I made the mistake of yawning, which just made her mad and extended the stupid lecture. Mom went and got one of my teen magazines and started showing me how the articles on the guy singers focused on their songs, but the female singers’ articles focused on her clothes and makeup.
“But guys don’t wear makeup,” I said.
“Look at this cover. Tell me Drew Bernard doesn’t have eyeliner on,” she said holding Seventeen up.
Ew. Drew did have eyeliner on, and it looked like he had gloss on his lips — not like the super shiny kind or anything, but his lips were definitely glossier than most guys. Okay, so she had a point.
“And look at this,” she said turning to another page.” Salma Dagwood writes her own songs and plays the guitar, but the article focuses on how to get glowing skin like her, while this boy here doesn’t even know how to play the guitar he’s holding. And did you know Talisa Milan was an honor roll student? They don’t tell you the important stuff.”
It did seem unfair, but what did she want me to do about it? I asked her if I could still try modeling, and I promised I wouldn’t get all caught up in my looks and stuff.
“You have to promise to keep your grades up — even in math,” she said. “And absolutely no dieting. If I even suspect you’re eating less I will come down to your school and watch you eat your lunch.”
I rolled my eyes. Like I could give up food. Please. I promised I wouldn’t diet or do anything drastic to my looks without asking her first. It meant I couldn’t pluck my eyebrows or dye my hair, which was fine. I tried plucking my eyebrows once after seeing an article in a magazine, and it hurt so bad. And I had a huge fear of hair color after Grandma told me about some girl who went blind when hair dye dripped in her eye. She was probably just trying to freak me out so I wouldn’t dye my hair, but you know what? It worked.
“This is a big commitment to make, and you’re going to miss out on a lot with your friends,” she said. “I’m not going to let you take off from school, so you can only work on weekends, which will cut into your social life.”
Like I even had a social life. Ashanti was still sick and other than inviting me to the apple orchard, Devon hadn’t exactly been dying to hang out with me. People talked to me at school, but no one asked me to do anyth
ing outside of school. I hadn’t had a comment or a “like” on my social media page in weeks. I even considered setting up a phony account just so I could post fake comments on my real page and not look so pathetic. I could work every weekend from now until I was eighty and I wouldn’t miss a thing. Actually, working would give me a good excuse for not having any plans on the weekends.
Mom told me according to the contract, I wouldn’t be allowed to work much because of my age. I couldn’t do any of the perfume promotions where models stand in a department store and ask to spray you with perfume because I was too young. I would be limited to fashion shows, ads, and maybe commercials. I guessed music videos were out of the question, but it was still better than nothing. Plus, it was only for six months so I could quit if I hated it.
When I got to school it was pretty obvious nobody seemed to care I had an agent. Ashanti thought it was cool when I called her about it on the phone, but no one else said much. When I told my dad people at school didn’t seem to care, he said the other girls could be jealous. Maybe, but it was hard when the girls I went to school with were more impressed with winning basketball games, and I’m just not good at sports. Plus, during lunch, I overheard Arianna in the bathroom saying she was surprised I was chosen to model at all.
“She doesn’t look like a model,” she said. “But I guess they do have to be super skinny.”
I couldn’t see whom she was talking to through the crack in the stall, and the other girl didn’t say anything. I waited until she and the other girl left before I flushed the toilet. However, when I came out of the bathroom I saw Arianna walking back to the lunchroom with Ericka. I went back to my table and told Hana and Devon I wasn’t feeling well.
“Do you want us to walk you to the office?” Devon asked.
I was just going to sit in the library for a while, but I guess Devon wanted me gone. I shook my head and Hana told me to “feel better soon,” and then they went back to their food. I went to the office and said I didn’t feel well. The secretary asked if I felt like I was going to throw up, and I nodded. Then she stuck this gross looking barf-colored bowl in front of me. I’m surprised nobody puked just from looking at it.
True Colors Page 11