Beauty (24 page)

“Prom nomination photo?”

“You know, the picture of everyone who was nominated for prom court? That goes right in the beginning of the yearbook?”

“Oh yeah,” I said quickly. “Of course.” I remembered last year’s photos. There were two: one for the girls, and one for the guys. The guys had all stood in a clump, looking awkward, and the girls had all sat in a row, their hands folded neatly in their laps. I’d stared at the picture of the girls for a long time, wondering what it would be like to be Ashley, sitting front and center in the photo, the flash of the camera beaming on her like a spotlight. I felt a trickle of excitement make its way through me. Now I had the chance to find out.

“Normally we take the pictures later in the year and they’re all stiff and posed and whatever. But not with
Cynthia MacIntyre
taking ours this year!” Ashley’s eyes shone proudly. “It’s going to be like a modeling shoot, Mol. I heard she’s even going to bring designer clothes for us to wear. And her own hair and makeup stylists.”

Ashley’s enthusiasm was contagious. “I’ve never had my hair done,” I said, reaching up to fiddle with a strand. In the past, the idea of having someone’s hands all over my frizzed-out mop would have horrified me. But now, all shiny, frizz-free, it actually sounded kind of fun.

“You’ll love it,” Ashley assured me. “The shoot’s going to be in room 3B during lunch today. I can’t believe she was able to squeeze us in like that. According to Brittany, it’s her only free slot for
four
months.” She gave me an exaggerated finger wag. “So don’t be late, okay?”

“I’ll be early,” I promised.

As I headed to biology class, my excitement grew. I used to avoid having my picture taken at all costs. Even when I got forced into photos, the instant the camera went
click
, I’d look away or duck my head. Finally, I wouldn’t have to do that. I could sit front and center, and I could stare the camera straight on. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait. I was so caught up in thinking about the photo shoot during biology class that when Mrs. Carpenter asked me what Carl Linnaeus was known for, I gave her my answer in French.

Finally, lunchtime rolled around and I hurried to room 3B. Cynthia MacIntyre was there waiting for us. She was nothing like I would have imagined her. She was tiny, first of all—barely five feet tall I would guess—and she was brass, with a voice you could hear miles away. But when she showed us some of her work, everything else seemed to melt away. She was amazing. And she had photographed everyone.

“Did Brit hook us up or
what
?” Ashley whispered as Cynthia’s stylist picked out outfits for each of us.

The stylist handed me a short filmy Diane von Furstenberg dress and gestured for me to change into it. “You can say that again.”

“Did Brit hook us up or
what
?” Ashley repeated with a grin.

By the end of the lunch period, we’d had our hair and makeup done and taken a whole slew of shots together and a few on our own. “Wow, Molly,” Cynthia said, studying something on the screen of the laptop she’d set up in her makeshift work area. “Your pictures turned out amazing.”

I looked up excitedly. “Really?”

Cynthia pushed a button on her computer and the tiny printer next to it whirred to life, spitting out a single glossy image. Cynthia picked it up, waving it in the air. “Come look at this.”

My eyes widened as I looked at the photograph. It wasn’t like I didn’t look in the mirror; I knew what I looked like. But seeing my image on paper, all dressed up and made up and teased out, frozen like that forever … it was different. More real. Permanent. Like an announcement to the world: Forget the old Molly Davis—
this
is the new one! “It’s amazing,” I breathed.

Cynthia bent over my shoulder, examining the photo. “The camera sure loves you,” she said. “You know,” she added thoughtfully. “You should really look into doing some modeling.”

I was so giddy I was practically floating as I headed to my next class, and I stayed like that all day. I was on my way out to the parking lot after play practice, Cynthia’s words still spiraling through my mind—
modeling
,
modeling
,
modeling
—when I saw Kemper and Hayley on the other side of the lot. I waved at them.

“Hey, guys!” I called out. “We getting a ride home from Josh?”

Neither of them answered. And as they made their way toward me, I noticed just how angry they both looked. No, angry wasn’t the right word. More like furious.

Oh no.

Lunch
.

In my excitement over the photo shoot, I’d completely forgotten about our plans. “Well, look who it is,” Hayley said snidely when they reached me. She ran a hand through her now fully braided head of hair. Apparently she was taking bringing braids back to a whole new level. “Molly I-just-love-to-ditch-my-friends Davis.”

“I’m so sorry, you guys,” I said hastily. “I had this last minute photo shoot thing to do for prom, and I completely blanked on our lunch.” I shot them an apologetic smile. “Could we do it tomorrow?”

“Ha,” Hayley scoffed. “I’m not going to hold my breath. Oh, and by the way, Molly, the strangest thing happened this afternoon. After you ditched us at lunch, I ran into Ashley in the hall and asked her about our limo for the dance. And she didn’t seem to have any idea what I was talking about. In fact, I think her exact words were: ‘Uh, limo’s filled already, Hayley. Obviously.’ Weird, isn’t it? Since you had
just
invited us to come?”

I cringed. “I forgot to ask her,” I explained. “But I’ll talk to her, I promise.”

Hayley waved her hand angrily through the air. “Don’t bother. I wouldn’t want to intrude on your perfect little life. It’s funny, though, isn’t it? How the more perfect your life becomes, the less we seem to fit into it… . I guess when you’re nominated for queen, you can’t help but forget the little people.”

“That’s not fair!” I protested. I could feel myself starting to get angry. “I made a mistake, okay? I’m sorry! And honestly,” I added, feeling my anger building inside me, growing bigger and wider and fatter. “It’s not like you haven’t made some yourself. Remember the fair, Hayley? You should be
grateful
I even stayed friends with you after what you did to me there! Right, Kemper?”

I looked pleadingly at Kemper. She’d been quiet this whole time, but I knew she’d have something to say about that. But she stayed silent, refusing to meet my eye. Something sharp pinged in my chest.

“Grateful?” Hayley let out an angry laugh. “Right. Of course. I should be
grateful
that Queen Molly deigns to say hello to me in the halls. When she’s not too busy curtsying for her subjects, that is.” Hayley’s voice rose an octave, and a few people walking by shot me sympathetic looks.

“What’s your problem?” one of them even muttered at Hayley.

Hayley threw her arms up in the air. “Looks like I’m upsetting your
admirers
.” She glared at me, and the look in her eyes made me shudder. “What I want to know is how you even
have
admirers. You’re Molly Davis! You trip in gym class and wake up with a new pimple every day. You are
not
some superstar model!” Her voice rose another octave, and more people started gathering round, shooting her angry looks. “Come on, Molly, just tell me already. What did you do? How did you make yourself look like this?”

I let out an exasperated sigh. “I told you, Hayley. I didn’t
do
anything. I just woke up like this.” I thought about Dharma, but then shook my head to clear it. It wasn’t like
I
did this. It just happened to me. I couldn’t help that.

“Well, I don’t believe it,” Hayley fumed. “Because no one—
no one
—just
wakes up
beautiful one day. Especially not someone like you!”

I sucked in a breath, my hands shaking with fury. “It’s funny you should say that, Hayley,” I said, my voice low and even. “Because it seems to me like you just woke up
ugly
one day. You used to be nice and funny and cool. And now, you’re a bitch.”

Hayley took a step back, looking like she’d been slapped. “Strange,” she said slowly, several tears springing to her eyes. “I was just going to say the same thing to you.”

I couldn’t believe it. How dare she compare me to her? I looked to Kemper for support, but
still
she didn’t say anything, her eyes glued to the ground.

“Kemp?” I said shakily.

She shook her head, refusing to look up.

My heart pounding, I climbed on my bike. I had to get out of there. As far away from them as I could. Without another word, I took off, pedaling furiously down the street. I thought Kemper might call after me, but she didn’t. All I heard in my wake was silence.

I pedaled harder, my hair flying out behind me as beads of sweat formed on my forehead. How could Hayley say those things to me? And how could Kemper just let her?
Hayley
was the one who had changed.
Hayley
was the one who had laughed at me at the fair. My body tensed and I pedaled even harder, until I felt like I was flying down the street. My blood was pounding, my heart was racing, and the wind was rushing in my ears. Every part of me felt electrified by anger. It was like I wasn’t Molly anymore, but this new person, dangerous and wild and free. As I passed by Miracle Bakery, I glanced in the window, catching a glimpse of my reflection. I did a double take. I didn’t just feel different, I
looked
different. Just as beautiful, but darker, moodier, sultrier even.

“Wait up!” someone called out behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see a skateboarder racing to catch up with me. He had long greasy hair and was wearing ripped jeans and a beat-up T-shirt, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Hey, beautiful.” Another guy, this one on a motorcycle, came roaring up next to me. He was dressed in all black and had rings everywhere: his lips, his nose, his eyebrows.

The skateboarder caught up with us, and a few more turned a corner, heading in our direction. “Hey there,” he said.

“Hi,” I said tentatively. More and more guys were flocking to me now, on bikes and motorcycles and skateboards. These weren’t the type of guys I was used to. These were the guys who stood outside the school fence smoking, who cut class to hang out by the train tracks, who carried sketchpads and cameras and notebooks and never came to the Morgue for lunch or played badminton during gym class. These were artists, poets, goths—guys who’d never looked twice at me before, not even with my newfound beauty. They closed in around me now, waving their sketchpads and cameras in my direction, asking to draw me and photograph me and ride with me.

I felt like I was in one of those old French films, like I should be wearing a beret and sucking on a cigarette and letting these artists call me their muse as they captured my image. More and more of them circled round me, calling to me, until soon I could barely even pedal. I pulled my bike over. The guys crept closer, snapping my photo and blowing tendrils of smoke in my face. I thought about Hayley and I felt my temperature rise. The guys grew more excited, stepping closer, whispering, reaching out to touch me. It was like they were drawn to my anger the way others had been drawn to my glow.

I tried to back away, but I couldn’t. I was surrounded. “Let me draw you,” one guy begged.

“Your eyes are like the sea,” another recited. “Deep and blue, they call to me.”

“No, no, no,” someone else cut in. “Your eyes are like the sky. I can’t look away, no matter how hard I try.”

My eyes bounced from one guy to another to another as they kept coming closer. I felt like a yo-yo, pushed and pulled, back and forth. It was too much. Too close. I wanted to get away. But I was surrounded. I remembered the breathing my mom had taught me during my pageant days, when I got nervous before going on stage.
Breathe-one-two-three
, she’d chant.
Breathe-three-two-one
. And it had worked every time. With her voice in my ear and my lungs expanding, I’d feel my shoulders relax and my fists unclench.
Breathe-one-two-three
, I thought, imagining my mom’s voice, calm and steady in my ear.
Breathe-three-two-one
. Slowly, I felt my anger begin to trickle away.

The boys cocked their heads, looking at me curiously. I kept breathing, growing more and more relaxed. One by one, they began to lose interest, drifting away. When the last one had wandered off, I leaned against my bike in relief. I was standing on the side of the road, the street quiet around me. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. My mood had actually changed the way I looked. And the reaction … I shook my head in awe. Was my beauty really that powerful? Capable of drawing a whole new group of people to me, with just a shift in my mood? Taking one last deep breath, I climbed back on my bike and pedaled slowly toward home.

Even Sleeping Beauty
Plays Hooky Sometimes

MY CELL PHONE rang at two in the morning.