The Pretty One

by Cheryl Klam

  My mom’s eyebrows twitch. “That’s a little weird.”

  And I know that, “Well, I know that I love him.”

  I can’t believe I said that out loud. And in front of my mother. She smiles a little bit but doesn’t say a word.

  “And I think…I’m pretty sure he likes me, too.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Well, he cast me in the play when I know for a fact there were better actresses. And last night he brought me flowers…and he told me I was the prettiest girl in the school.”

  “The prettiest girl in the school? Well…that is nice,” my mom says simply.

  Excusez-moi? Nice? It’s obvious my mom thinks Drew is full of crap. I’m silent for a minute. “Why would he say that if he didn’t like me?”

  My mom sighs and gives me one of her “kindly” smiles. “You don’t really know this boy yet.”

  “He’s not the type of guy to give out compliments he doesn’t mean.”

  “I’m sure he does think you’re the prettiest girl in school. But he doesn’t really know you. Not yet, at least.”

  Oh, I get it. “So once he gets to know me, he’ll run screaming for the hills. Is that it? Because I may not look like an ugly duckling but inside I’m still the same old nasty—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” My mom puts her hand on top of mine. “Where is this coming from?”

  “I’m just tired of this! First Lucy, then Simon, now you. The only person around here who seems excited about me and my new life is Dad!”

  “That’s not true, Megan. I am excited for you. Your new face…well, you’ve been given a wonderful opportunity. But I just don’t want to see you get hurt or—”

  “Or what?”

  “Or lose sight of who you are and what’s important.”

  “What’s important is that the guy who I’ve loved forever seems to feel the same way about me, too.” I grab a tissue and blow my nose. I’d really like to prove to my mom that she’s totally, completely wrong about Drew, that what we have is the real deal, that he loves me sincerely and totally and couldn’t care less what I look like—but I can’t. And I can’t because at least twenty-eight percent of me thinks she might have a point. “And I’m sorry. But if that makes Lucy and Simon hate my guts, so be it.”

  “Simon? Why should he care?”

  “Because of my new face and this wonderful opportunity, he’s decided he wants to be my boyfriend now. He gave me the ultimatum: all or nothing.”

  My mom winces.

  “How do I tell my best friend that the thought of being his girlfriend grosses me out?”

  “Maybe you can be honest with him without mentioning the grosses-you-out part.”

  “And what about Lucy? She hates me.”

  “Lucy may be mad at you, but she certainly doesn’t hate you.”

  “You’re wrong, Mom. She not only hates me, she can’t stand the sight of me.”

  “Come on, now. I know you’re upset, but you don’t really believe that, do you?” My mother takes a sip of her coffee while she pauses a moment to gather her thoughts. “You know, Lucy told me about what happened at the dance last year, and all the hurtful things she’d said.”

  My mom and I have never spoken about the moments leading up to the accident. At first I was too injured to talk, and by the time I could, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. After all, Lucy was so upset and obviously trying very hard to make it all up to me. There didn’t seem to be any point in dredging it up again.

  “Lucy relieved that moment over and over again. The whole time you were in the hospital, she slept on the floor of our room. She woke up screaming in the middle of the night, she couldn’t eat, her grades suffered, she completely dropped out of the theater program…all because…” My mom takes a deep breath. “She didn’t want to leave your side. She was haunted by the thought that she could have lost you.” Mom’s eyes get all teary. “We all were.”

  I take a tissue and blow my nose. I have never heard about Lucy’s nightmares, and although I remember thinking that she looked really skinny, I didn’t know that she stopped eating and slept on the floor of my parents’ room. And I have to say, the news makes me feel horrible and wonderful at the same time. I’m totally relieved to hear how much she loves me, but I feel awful that my sister has suffered because of me.

  My mom sighs long and deep. She stands up and gives me a hug. Even though I’m normally not the huggy-feely type, I rest my head on her shoulder as my nose drips on her shirt.

  “Oh, Megan. What you’re experiencing now…all this attention…anyone would be having a difficult time. I know you’re doing the best you can. All I’m saying is that you need to be careful. I have the feeling a lot of boys are going to be proclaiming their love. Some will be sincere and some won’t. You’ll have to decide which one is which. And it’s not going to be easy.”

  And then she tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and gives me the same kind smile she always gives me when she’s trying to convince me that things will be all right. “I know things seem complicated right now, but everything will work out in the long run. You’ll see.”

  As I look at my mom, I do my best to smile even though I have a feeling she’s dead wrong.

  twenty-three

  morality play (noun): a type of theatrical allegory in which the protagonist is met by personifications of various moral attributes who try to prompt him to choose a godly life over one of evil.

  On Monday I arrive at Lucheki’s class before Simon. I optimistically sit in my regular seat but Simon gets there late and sits about ten rows behind me. He looks like crap. He has dark circles under his eyes and his hair is abnormally messy. He’s wearing his glasses but he’s still dressed like a prep student, albeit one who has slept in his clothes. His wrinkled blue shirt is only half tucked in and his pants look a size too big.

  I’m not one to make judgments, however, since I’m not faring much better. In fact, I’m pretty much a total wreck. Lucy has been avoiding me, staying away from the house as much as possible and sleeping on the couch. The couple of times I’ve tried to talk to her she’s been polite yet distant. It’s not like she’s mad. It’s much, much worse. It’s like she doesn’t even care about me enough to be angry. That, in addition to Simon’s behavior, not to mention the whole “does Drew just like me because I’m pretty” talk I had with my mom has turned me into a crazy, anxious shell of myself. I haven’t slept, and even though I’ve been taking my nose spray, my nose is running like a sieve.

  And now, sitting in the same room as Simon and not being able to talk to him or laugh with him or just be with him—it makes everything ten times worse. Even though I turn around and look at him more than once, he never even glances in my direction. When class is over I solemnly file out, convinced Simon is never going to talk to me again. The minute I get into the hall, though, I feel a hand on my arm.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Simon asks.

  I feel a rush of relief. I’m so happy and grateful that someone I care about is actually talking to me that I want to say, yes, of course, I’ll talk wherever and whenever you want, but before I get an opportunity, I see George heading in my direction. Why does George always seem to appear when I’m with Simon? And suddenly I realize that I have been so distracted by my other problems that I never responded to George’s invitation to the fall festival.

  “Did you get the invite?” George calls out cheerfully.

  Simon winces, but makes no effort to leave.

  “Yeah,” I say to George. “But ah, well, can we talk later?”

  “It’s a simple question, beautiful,” he says, stopping in front of me. I wince at his use of the word “beautiful.” “Yes or no?” he asks.

  I take a breath. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I can’t go because, well…” I look at Simon. I think about him and Lucy and Drew and how terrible and complicated everything has become. “I’m going with Simon.”

  Simon’s eyes open wide as his mouth falls open.r />
  I stop breathing. What? Did I just say I was going with Simon?

  “Oh,” George says. “Okay. That’s cool.”

  Neither Simon nor I say anything as George walks away. We just stand there, staring at each other. I feel like I’m having some sort of weird, awful dream. What about Drew? What about Drew?

  The bell rings and the halls clear out, leaving us alone.

  “I need to take it slow,” I say finally. “Really slow.”

  “Okay,” he says.

  “Like working our way up to holding hands slow.”

  “Okay,” he says again.

  I think I’m going to throw up. Right here. Right outside the theater, right in the middle of the window-lined hall. The janitor will have to come clean it up, but he won’t be able to get rid of the smell, and all day long, any time anyone even walks near it, they’re going to wrinkle their nose and ask: Who puked?

  “What made you change your mind?” Simon asks.

  “Because you like me for who I am on the inside,” I hear myself say. Which is true. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help my nausea at all.

  I don’t go to lunch. Instead I tell Simon I have a doctor’s appointment and leave school. I don’t get permission. I just open the front door and start walking with no particular destination in mind. I spend the entire afternoon walking and walking and wondering how in hell I could’ve told Simon that I would go to the dance with him.

  To be honest, I had considered it. After all, I had spent the entire weekend thinking about him, Drew, and Lucy and trying to figure out what to do. And when George asked me in front of Simon and I saw the pain on his face—I cracked. I just couldn’t take it anymore.

  But what’s done is done, right? All I can do now is reassure myself that what’s done is/was the right thing. After all, could I really have given up both Lucy and Simon for Drew, a guy who probably would never have been interested in me if I was still ugly? I should be commending myself, not walking around feeling as if I just stepped into a pool of quicksand.

  But I haven’t stepped in quicksand. I’ve walked right back to school and into the classroom where I’m meeting Drew.

  “Hey,” he says, jumping off a desk to greet me as I walk into the room.

  I really, really wanted to blow off play practice, but due to my imaginary illness, I missed almost all of last week. But even if I hadn’t, I doubted I would’ve been able to blow it off. I’m just too much of a masochist.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you,” Drew says.

  He had called twice over the weekend and once today but I hadn’t had the heart to answer or call him back. “I’m sorry. I had…well, some things to take care of.”

  The smile fades from his face. “What’s wrong?”

  I turn away. I can’t tell him what I have done. I know I can’t keep it a secret forever but I just can’t handle it right now.

  “Nothing.” I set down my backpack and take out my script.

  “I’m almost done memorizing my lines,” I say, in a voice I’m hoping he’ll interpret as enthusiastic.

  He takes my hand and says, “I was a little worried about you the other night. You kind of disappeared when Lucy got home. And then when I couldn’t reach you, well, I didn’t know what had happened.”

  Once again I get a visual of Lucy’s face when she came out of the shower after she’d been crying. I pull away and take a couple of steps back. “My head was hurting.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “Are you feeling better?”

  “I’m all right,” I manage.

  “I never got a chance to do what I had intended to do the other night. I came over because I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to the fall festival with me.”

  I can’t breathe.

  “What do you think?”

  I think…I think…I think I need a tissue. My hands are shaking so wildly I can barely unzip the side pocket of my backpack to pull out the little package I always carry with me. “I can’t,” I spit out before blowing my nose into a Kleenex.

  It’s totally, unnaturally, quiet.

  I clear my throat and turn back to face him. I might as well get this over with now. “I told Simon I would go with him.”

  “Simon?”

  I pick up my script and stare at it.

  Drew starts walking to the front of the room and stops. “So…you and Simon…are you guys just friends, or is it…something else?”

  “Something else?” I want to tell him that it’s not just about Simon. It’s about my sister, too. And it’s about being true to my old self.

  “Are you and Simon dating?”

  I swallow hard. “We’ve been best friends forever.”

  “So you’re just friends?”

  “Not exactly,” I whisper.

  I can see a flash of pain in Drew’s eyes as he pauses a second.

  “He just…he really knows me. He cares about me for who I am.” There. That should do it. Relationship over.

  “Okay,” he says finally, and motions for me to take my place.

  But as we begin to recite our lines, I notice that Drew’s demeanor has changed. Usually he’s patient and encouraging when I forget a line, but today he seems annoyed, almost angry. All I can I think about is how tender he was to me the other night and how he offered to make me spaghetti and how it felt when he kissed me and now it’s all gone.

  When Drew decides to call it quits a half hour early, I’m relieved and upset at the same time. It’s torture to be with him and look into his eyes and know that when I walk out the door, I’ll be leaving a part of myself behind.

  But it’s the sacrifice I have to make.

  twenty-four

  catharsis (noun): a moment of high tragedy at the emotional climax of a play, followed by an emotional cleansing for the characters and the audience.

  When I get home, Lucy is in our parents’ room with the door shut. I knock but she doesn’t answer. I turn the knob and peek inside. She is wearing a bright yellow sweat suit, listening to music on her iPod as she writes in a spiral notebook.

  “Hey,” I say.

  She doesn’t bother to glance up.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to the fall festival with Simon.”

  Lucy pauses a split second before glancing at me.

  I’ve been around Lucy enough to recognize a nice dramatic moment when I see it, so I seize the opportunity, turning on my heel and shutting the door behind me.

  I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear the bedroom door open. “What do you mean you’re going with Simon?” Lucy calls out.

  “He asked me and I said yes,” I reply.

  “What about Drew?” she asks, following me.

  I shrug. “What about him?”

  “I thought…”

  Even though I’m kind of happy Lucy is speaking to me again, I can’t have a conversation about Drew with her right now. I turn away from her and hurry into the kitchen. I begin rummaging through the cupboards with all the nervous energy of an addict. I find a half-eaten bag of Oreos and rip it open.

  “When did all this happen with Simon?”

  I twist an Oreo apart and pop the slightly soggy and stale creme-covered side in my mouth. I chew a couple of times and then say, “Well, things have been weird since the beginning of the year. He told me last week that his feelings for me have changed and he wanted to go to the fall festival with me.”

  “Wow,” she says, dropping into a chair.

  I sit down across from her and pop another Oreo into my mouth without bothering to twist it apart. I swallow the huge glob in one gulp.

  “So do you like him?”

  “Of course I do. He’s my best friend.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I, well, I guess I’ll find out. He just called a few minutes ago and asked me out on an official date this weekend.”

  My sister’s brow is furrowed and I can tell she’s feeling something unpleasant. But what? Guilt? Remorse?
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br />   “Look,” she says. “I’m sorry about the other night. I just, well, things are weird this year, you know?”

  It’s good to hear Lucy apologize, but when she doesn’t tell me that I don’t have to give up Drew, my heart feels almost hollow.

  “So what are you and Simon doing this weekend?” she asks.

  “We’re going to go see the new movie about the space invaders on Saturday. Maybe get some coffee afterward.”

  “You should wear my yellow BCBG top,” Lucy says with a smile. “It looks so awesome on you. Or maybe my pink Michael Kors instead. Let’s go try them on and see which one looks better.”

  My sister stands and extends her hand to me. I accept her hand and tuck the package of Oreos under my arm, hoping that somehow Lucy will do something unscripted.

  On Saturday night, Simon picks me up for our official date looking like he’s going to his mother’s country club. He’s wearing ironed khakis and a starched button-down shirt topped by a blue blazer with gold buttons. I know he dressed up for me, and although on some level I’m sure a little part of me appreciates the effort, the majority of me just finds it annoying. I have not dressed up for him. In spite of my sister’s protests, I’m not wearing any makeup and my slightly dirty hair is pulled back in a ponytail. I’m wearing my loose-fitting jeans and one of my old hoodies. Why bother dressing up? I’m more comfortable this way, and since Simon likes me for who I am on the inside, I figure he couldn’t care less what I looked like. Right? Obviously, I’m still a little frustrated that he and I are in this situation in the first place. I really wish he never gave me an ultimatum. I know that Simon knows me a lot better than Drew, but if he really loved me, would he/could he have walked away from more than two years of best friendship?

  But, as I kept reminding myself all week, he hadn’t actually done anything. He had just threatened it. I have to believe that if push came to shove, he would’ve been happy with whatever level of friendship I offered.