The Pretty One

by Cheryl Klam

  “Did I? I guess it’s pretty good, for a rough. But there are some definite problems. Like the fact that the characters don’t have names. What’s with that? It’s so confusing.”

  “I wasn’t confused.” There are two characters. One is referred to as “Guy.” The other “Girl.” Simple.

  “These senior productions typically become a real partnership between the writer and the actor,” she says authoritatively, ignoring me.

  “That’s interesting,” Mom interjects cheerfully.

  “I love the story though, don’t you?” Lucy says to me, as she begins grating the Parmesan cheese. “There’s kind of an ominous undertone. The heroine is definitely a little unhinged—the way she tries to seduce him into staying with her and stuff.”

  “She seduces him?” my mom asks.

  “There’s sex in this play?” my dad practically exclaims.

  “No,” I say to my parents. “It doesn’t say that they had sex. It just says that they hooked up or, well, got together. And I don’t think she’s crazy.”

  “Got together?” Lucy says. “You don’t think that means they had sex? They totally did.”

  Lucy has a point, which makes me think about Drew. I know he’s a writer and this is fiction and all, but does the fact that he’s writing about people having sex mean that he’s actually had sex? Read: Did he sleep with Lindsey?

  “For two,” Lucy continues, “if she’s not crazy, why is she sitting in the park by herself at night talking about vampires?”

  “Vampires?” Mom asks.

  “She’s upset,” I say to Lucy. “And I think that it’s sad, not crazy. She thinks she knows him but she doesn’t. She’s in love with the, well, idea of him.”

  “Idea of him,” Lucy grunts, ramming the cheese over the grater.

  “There’s vampires?” Dad asks.

  “No,” I say to him. “The play takes place at night when there’s a full moon. The character of the girl makes a comment about how she’s always heard that weird things happen on a full moon. And I think she only says that because she’s trying to be wacky just because she thinks that will make her more interesting or something. She really likes this guy.”

  “She’s nuts,” Lucy says, grating even more ferociously.

  “Lucy!” Mom says, motioning toward her plate.

  Lucy stops grating as she looks down at the mountain of cheese on her plate.

  “I think that’s enough,” Mom says. “Since when do you even like Parmesan cheese?”

  “I want to hear more about how you’re doing in school, Megan,” Dad says.

  “Well,” I say, pausing to chew, “my teachers are a little concerned. I think they’re afraid Jan wasn’t up to snuff.” Jan was my tutor last year. She looked like a smarty, but I think she took one too many whiffs from the glue bottle.

  “Are you sure you want to try out for a play?” Mom asks.

  “Maybe you should just focus on your studies for a while.”

  Uh-oh. This is a potential complication I didn’t expect. “I can handle it,” I say quickly.

  “Mom’s right,” Lucy says. “You don’t want to overwork yourself. You want to be able to have some fun this year, too.”

  I give Lucy a look that signals her to mind her own business.

  “Yeah,” Dad says. “I bet you’re going to have quite the social life now that you’re—”

  “Better,” Mom says, interrupting him.

  “So is everyone fawning over you now?” Dad asks. “I bet you and Lucy are the prettiest girls in the school!”

  Before my accident, I would’ve loved my dad to say something like that (even though I would’ve known it wasn’t true). But now it just makes me want to chomp on my nail. It’s as if he’s all excited and giving me credit for something that has nothing to do with who I really am. And it’s a reminder of how he felt about me when I was ugly.

  “A lot of guys are interested in her,” Lucy announces.

  “Really?” both Mom and Dad say at the same time.

  “Guys?” I say to Lucy.

  “George Longwell, one of the most popular seniors. He’s a music major.”

  “Whoopee,” I say sarcastically. “One guy: a music major who sings in a barbershop quartet.”

  “Barbershop quartet? Those guys who sing a cappella?” Dad asks.

  “Bingo,” I say.

  “So you think he’s weird?” Lucy asks, annoyed. “Is that why you keep avoiding him?”

  “I’m not avoiding him.”

  “He said he could swear that you run away from him when you see him.”

  A piece of pasta lodges in my throat and I choke it down with a gulp of water. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “He’s really cute,” Lucy tells my parents. “All the girls have a crush on him.”

  “If he’s so great, maybe you should go out with him,” I say to Lucy.

  She puts her fork down and raises an eyebrow, flashing me the evil eye. “If you don’t like him, maybe you should tell him to leave you alone.”

  “I don’t even know him,” I say, backing down a little.

  “Well, all I’m saying is that it’s going to be hard to get to know him when you’re constantly running away.”

  I look at the piece of rigatoni loaded with sauce that I just stabbed and I’m suddenly filled with an overwhelming urge to fling it in my sister’s face. “Can I be excused?” I say instead.

  “We haven’t even had dessert yet,” Mom says. “I picked up some cannolis.”

  “Mmmm,” Dad says, looking at me. “Your favorite!”

  I put down my fork. For the first time in my life I am turning down a cannoli. I flash my sister a dirty look as I push back my chair. “I’ve lost my appetite,” I say to her.

  “What?” Lucy says innocently, looking at me. “What did I say?”

  ten

  melodrama (noun): a dramatic form that exaggerates emotion and emphasizes plot or action at the expense of characterization.

  I’m sitting outside the classroom where Drew’s holding auditions. My head is pounding, my hands are shaking, and I’m pretty certain I’m going to throw up. Why in God’s name am I doing this? After all, Lucy’s right, they usually give the parts to the seniors. So why even bother? Why torture myself? Am I that much of a masochist?

  I’m about to run screaming for the hills when Mrs. Habersham comes out to get me. I follow her into the classroom where Drew is waiting. He’s sitting in the front of the room, reading his script. I can feel my knees start to shake as if they’re trying to keep my shaky hands company. I really do not want to barf up the ham sandwich I had for lunch onto Drew’s combat boots.

  “Hey,” he says with a smile, standing to greet me. “We’re going to start on page four.” He flips my script to the right page for me and points two-thirds of the way down the page. “With the line that begins with ‘I remember.’ Okay?”

  I look at Mrs. Habersham. What is she doing here, anyway? I thought I would just be auditioning in front of Drew. I didn’t think I would be auditioning in front of the head of the drama department. “Okay,” I say.

  I have to focus. I can do this. I understand this character. We have a lot in common. I’m a girl in love with a guy. And though I’m not as kooky as she is, I might just be as desperate. Besides, I’ve had the script for a week and I’ve read it so many times I’ve practically memorized it.

  “Begin when you’re ready,” Drew tells me.

  I take a deep breath and begin to read my first line: “I remember the first time we got together. You told me that I was special…that you had never felt like this about anyone before. That you loved me. Remember?”

  “I remember,” Drew says, reading the part of Guy.

  “Was it a lie?” So far, so good. I take another breath.

  “Of course not.”

  “When you first broke up with me I was so devastated, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat…I couldn’t do anything. And then I thought…I’ll be okay as l
ong as he doesn’t date anyone else. As long as I know his heart still belongs to me.” I glance up at Drew. He’s leaning against the desk, looking at me intently. I shiver as I say my next line. “When I heard that you and Wendy were hanging out, I told myself that you guys were just friends. And last night, when you saw me talking to that guy, I could see the pain in your eyes and I knew you were jealous. I knew you still cared about me. And then you touched my arm. Remember? ‘I miss you,’ you said.”

  Drew looks away from me, just like the script instructs. Even though the script calls for me to caress his arm, I’m so caught up in the moment that I grab it instead, yanking him back toward me. “You still love me,” I say.

  “But that doesn’t change how I feel about us,” Drew says, locking eyes with me. I feel a sudden tingle. It’s no longer Guy who’s talking. It’s Drew.

  “I can’t…I don’t want a relationship right now,” he continues.

  My lips are inches away from his. I’m thinking about the first time I saw him, the day I got lost on my way to the production studio. I knew right there and then that I wanted his attention more than I ever wanted anything in my life. I wanted him to notice me. Well finally, finally, he’s noticing me. “So we won’t call it a relationship,” I say with conviction. I’m a girl obsessed, a girl possessed. “It’s just about what feels good. And this…this feels good.”

  Time for the kiss. I’m breathing hard, ready to put my lips on his, ready to demonstrate just how much I love him, how much I’ve always loved him…

  “Thank you, Megan,” Mrs. Habersham says, interrupting me just as my lips are about to touch his. She smiles as she adjusts her glasses. “That was nice. Very nice.”

  I suddenly realize that I’m clinging to Drew, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck and my boobs pressed up against his chest as if he really is my boyfriend. Holy crap, what am I doing? I drop my hands and step back.

  “Drew?” Mrs. Habersham asks.

  Drew is standing still, staring at me. He looks a bit off-kilter, as if confused or surprised.

  “What did you think?” Mrs. Habersham asks him.

  “You were great,” Drew says quietly to me.

  Great. Drew said I was great. “Thanks!” I reply enthusiastically. I grab my backpack and escape out the door, a Cheshire cat–sized grin on my face. I did it. I read for Drew’s play and I didn’t pass out or throw up or make a fool of myself. It’s all too good to be true.

  “Hey!” Drew says, rushing to catch up to me. Although school ended an hour ago the halls are still crowded with students auditioning for the senior productions. I stop in front of the drinking fountain and wait for him.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I’m totally impressed,” Drew says.

  My heart bangs in my chest, and even though I’ve never done one before, I feel like doing a high kick right here in the hall. “Really?” I ask, smiling so big it actually hurts. “It was your script,” I say quickly. “Very powerful.” Very powerful? What kind of drama-speak is that? I’m beginning to sound like Lucy.

  “Are you ready for me?” Iris Mackler asks Drew, pushing in between us to get a drink of water. She slurps it up and then turns around to face Drew as she slides her thin wire-rimmed glasses back up her nose. Iris scored big-time as a freshman, nabbing the lead in Medea. Tall and thin, with long, greasy-looking blond hair, she’s one of the best dramatic actresses in the school. It’s bad enough having to compete against my sister. I have forgotten about all the other way more talented than me drama majors who are auditioning as well. The wind is going out of my puffed-up sails.

  “In a minute,” he says to Iris as he touches my arm, steering me away from her. I look down at his hand on my elbow and decide right then and there that in spite of the inevitable rejection it will still be worth it, just for this moment alone. “You read her exactly as I had envisioned,” Drew says. “A lot of people have been reading her like she’s crazy. You seemed to interpret her as more of a victim.”

  “I don’t know if she’s a victim,” I say. “But I do feel sorry for her. She’s in love with someone who doesn’t exist.” Nice. Smart sounding but not over-the-top enthusiastic.

  “I had a feeling you would get it,” he says. Drew smiles at me. This time, the tingle goes all the way to my toes.

  “I should be getting back,” he says. “We have a couple more people to see this afternoon and then we’re all going to get together to discuss,” he says, walking backward while he continues to face me. “We’ll have the cast list up tomorrow.”

  “Megan!” I hear. I turn around and see George, waving frantically as he heads in my direction.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then,” I say twisting back toward Drew. I’ll talk to you? I sound so certain, like of course I’ll be talking to him when he tells me I have the part. “Or whenever!” I call out quickly.

  “Right,” he says, as he and Iris head back into the classroom.

  I feel as if I just drank a six-pack of Mountain Dew. I’m wired so tight my head might just implode any minute.

  “Hello, beautiful,” George exclaims, catching up to me. “Going to your locker?” I can’t deal with George right now. I really can’t.

  “I’ll walk you,” he says, even though I haven’t answered him.

  “But first…” George grabs the umbrella sticking out of his backpack and poof, opens it right in front of me. Right in the middle of the hall.

  “You know what this means?” he asks me.

  He either has a tick in his eye or he just winked at me.

  “Seven years’ bad luck?” I say.

  “Hah! Time for a rain check!” he exclaims. He narrowly avoids stabbing Catherine Bellows in the head with the umbrella as we begin to climb the stairs together. I say hello to Catherine but she ignores me, walking right past me without answering. I glance after her. What’s up with that?

  “Danny Warner is having a few friends over Friday night,” George continues. “Come with me.”

  Danny Warner is a friend of Lucy’s. Danny lives in a mansion in Roland Park and is known for his parties. I’ve been dying to go to one for as long as I can remember.

  “I, ah…,” I say, reaching the top step. I stop when I see Simon waiting for me at my locker. Simon has made it pretty clear how he feels about George, and I don’t relish the thought of getting the two of them together. As Simon looks at me standing underneath an umbrella with George, he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

  “Come on,” George is saying. “I’m not going to leave until you say you’ll go.”

  What can I say? I’d love to go, but not with you? Besides, due to the stupid umbrella, people are starting to stare. There must be some giggly, hand-touchy way to get out of this gracefully, but I have no idea what it would be. “If you leave the umbrella at home,” I say.

  George pats his heart twice, just like I saw him do the year before when he asked Michelle Berkowitz to the fall festival.

  “That guy is so annoying,” Simon says, when I get to my locker. “What was that shtick with the umbrella?”

  “He said he was cashing in on my rain check from blowing him off for lunch the other day. He asked me to go to Danny Warner’s party with him on Friday night.”

  “What an elitist bum,” Simon says, angrily. “He never noticed you when you were, well…” Simon stops himself.

  “When I was what?” Excuse me, but was my best friend about to call me the u-word?

  “Did he ever say hello to you before this year?” He shakes his head. “I hope you put him in his place.”

  “Well…”

  “You’re kidding me,” Simon says, reading my reaction as a big, no-I-did-not-put-him-in-his-place.

  “He caught me at a vulnerable moment. I panicked.”

  “All right, fine,” Simon says. “So we’ll go out on Saturday night.”

  Crap and double crap. I forgot that I talked to Simon about doing something this weekend. “Saturday night is my date night with my mom.
”

  Simon looks like I just threw his favorite sneakers in the toilet. “So you’re blowing me off this weekend,” he says.

  “No,” I say. “I just need to…”

  “Take a rain check?” Simon jokes. But it’s obvious from the look in his eyes that he’s not happy. “Anyway, how was your audition with Drew?”

  Up until that moment I had every intention of discussing it in detail with Simon. But the sneer in his voice when he said Drew’s name was unmistakable.

  “Okay,” I say simply. And amazingly enough, Simon lets it go at that.

  When I get home, I go straight to the kitchen and start rummaging through the cupboards, looking for something good to eat.

  “Hey,” Lucy says, walking into the kitchen with her purse swung over her shoulder.

  I find an unopened bag of pretzels and another of Oreos. I decide that I should start with the least caloric snack first. “All right,” I say. “I was nervous.” I rip open the pretzels.

  “Did Drew say anything? Give you any clue as to what he thought?”

  “Not really.” I practically gag on the dry lump of pretzel as I swallow it. I twist around and grab the package of Oreos. My dad was buying double-stuffed for a while, which I’m not crazy about since I find them too sugary. These are the original single-stuffed, the kind I prefer. “How did yours go?” I ask, as I rip them open.

  “Fine,” she says. “Great.”

  “Good,” I say, crunching down on an Oreo.

  “Well, I guess I’ll see you later,” Lucy says casually. “Marybeth invited me out to dinner with her parents.”

  “But it’s your turn to cook,” I mumble, my mouth too full of Oreos to speak clearly.

  “Sorry,” she says. “I’ll cook tomorrow night if you want.”

  It’s obvious that she is still mad at me. And I feel a little guilty, like maybe her anger is justified. Like I have done something wrong. But what have I done? After all, she gave me the go-ahead to audition.

  “Oh, by the way,” I say, trying to sound excited. “George asked me out for Friday night.”

  My telling her about George is a peace offering. After all, I would expect this news to please her since she’s been pushing for me to go out with him.