Read Breaking Beautiful Online
Authors: Jennifer Shaw Wolf
What did I do?
“Allie, you look beautiful.” Dad smiles from the doorway to my room. He’s wearing a suit that must be new. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him dressed up in anything but his army dress blues.
I look in the mirror and turn my head so I see only the side of my face without the scar. From this angle, I look almost normal. I turn the other direction. The image of the younger me from Blake’s painting, hanging on the wall behind me, provides a sharp contrast to my reflection in the mirror. The little girl in the painting is beautiful, innocent, and unmarked. I’m hideous, guilt-stricken, and scarred.
“Are you ready to go?”
I want to scream, “No!” I want to tell him that I will never be ready. That I don’t want to go. Instead, I answer, “Almost.”
Every New Year’s Eve, Mr. and Mrs. Phillips throw a huge party at the inn. The whole town is invited. My stomach ties in
knots, and my scar pulses every time I think about it. The last place I want to be is at the inn. The last person I want to see is Mr. Phillips. But Mom bought me a new outfit, a red beaded top and a black skirt. And Dad’s all about me getting out of the house. And it might look bad if I didn’t go.
“Let me help you with your hair.” Mom slips past Dad and picks up my brush. Her shimmery blue dress reminds me of Trip’s eyes. I look away. Everything reminds me of Trip’s eyes.
Since the day at the pawnshop, his eyes have haunted me. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what I remembered—nothing I didn’t know before. I was with Trip in the truck heading toward the cliff. Somehow I made it out before he went over the edge. But how? And why was he looking at me that way, like he was afraid of me?
Mom brushes my hair up on top of my head. She struggles to hide my scar and the places on my scalp that are still thin from the shaved-off strip. She secures it with a rhinestone clip and covers me in a cloud of hairspray so thick that if I smiled, the expression might actually stay frozen on my face for the whole evening. Then she steps back and evaluates me in the mirror. “I have some makeup that will cover the smudges under your eyes and maybe lighten up your scar, and a hairpiece that you could wear on top to make it look like you have more hair.”
Through the mirror I see Dad checking his watch. Mom smiles at him patiently. “It will only take a second. Beauty takes time, dear, you know that.”
I glance at the picture behind me. I don’t think there’s enough time in the world to make me beautiful again.
By the time she’s finished, my face feels like plastic. Mom coated so much makeup over my scar that it feels like if I smile or laugh my face will crack.
“Perfect.” She steps back from the mirror. I hazard a glance. I look like some twisted, made-up zombie, not real, not really alive. I guess the look fits the way I feel right now.
.........
The ballroom at the inn is draped in swoops of red, green, and gold. Boughs of pine and holly cover the walls. Mom smiles and nods and accepts compliments on her choice of décor as we make our way through the crowd. Dad tugs at his collar and shakes hands. Andrew looks nervous. His whole body is trembling and he keeps scanning the room, like he’s looking for someone. I keep my head down and pretend not to hear the whispers that follow me.
Mom and Dad keep moving through the crowd. I find a corner to stop and look around the room. The tables are set up the way they were the night of the cotillion. I can almost pick out the one where we sat while Trip watched Hannah walk in. I close my eyes and try to remember.
“We’re not going to the party. We want to be alone.”
“… alone?” I open my eyes and realize the woman standing in front of me is talking to me. She works at the post office and went to school with my mom, but her name slips into the cracks of my memory.
“What?” I don’t mean it to sound abrupt, but it does.
She smiles sweetly. “I asked if you came alone.”
“No.” I look for my family, but they’ve deserted me.
“Oh.” She peers around like she’s searching for my companion. “Where’s your date?”
I get what she’s fishing for. I want to tell her that Blake isn’t here, that he’s snowboarding in California. I want to tell her that I’ll be joining him there, even though I won’t be, but I force a smile and say, “No date. I came with my family.”
“Oh.” She looks disappointed. “Well, you look—” She stops. Her eyes widen as her gaze travels over my shoulder. “Who is that with your brother?”
I turn around. Caitlyn is in the middle of the dance floor, sitting on Andrew’s lap, running her fingers through his hair. Her outfit is even more colorful than it was the first time I saw her—a sequined green miniskirt, purple leggings, and a purple sweater covered in silver bows that match the one in her brilliant red hair.
All eyes are on them. I pick out Mom from across the room, horrified. Dad looks somewhere between shocked and amused. Other expressions vary from pity to disapproval to nods of acceptance. For once, no one is looking at me. I suddenly like Caitlyn a lot more.
“Her name is Caitlyn,” I answer, but don’t think the woman is listening to me.
I take the opportunity to back toward the door. I’m about ready to break for the bathroom, thinking I could spend the whole evening hiding there, when I hear a terrifying sound. “Allie.” Mr. Phillips isn’t yelling like he was at the police station, but his voice makes my blood go cold. “I was hoping you would be here.”
I look up and see Mr. Phillips and his wife, always within
arm’s reach. Mrs. Phillips is wearing a fluffy white fur coat and dangly silver earrings. I meet her eyes and have to turn away. They look just like Trip’s.
“We had hoped to give this to you earlier.” To my horror Mr. Phillips holds out a little box wrapped in gold paper and tied with a red satin bow. “But we’ve been away visiting relatives in Florida. As you can understand, Christmas at home would have been unbearable this year.”
I try to keep my gaze on the box, but my eyes drift to Mrs. Phillips’s eyes, now brimming with tears. I shake my head. “You didn’t need to—”
“Oh, but we wanted to.” He presses the box firmly into my hands. “We wanted you to know how much you still mean to our family.”
While they watch I untie the bow and slide the lid off the box. Inside is a pair of earrings. Diamond earrings. I swallow hard.
“They’re real diamonds. Please try to be careful with them. I’d hate for them to get lost,” Mr. Phillips says pointedly.
I try to force “Thank you” from between my lips, but it comes out more of a hoarse whisper. I try again. “Thank you.” I back toward the door to the restroom. “I was just—”
“Of course.” Mr. Phillips smiles, but his eyes stay hard. “We’ll see you later. Enjoy the party.”
I push through the restroom door, breathing hard, looking for a refuge, but Hannah’s voice from around the corner stops me. “—the most hideous outfit I have ever seen. I can’t believe she would even show her face here at all.”
I back out again, flee for the hallway, find a dark corner, and
sink onto a red velvet bench, still clutching the little box in my hands. They could have been any diamond earrings, but they’re not. They’re the ones I pawned two months ago. If Mr. Phillips knows about the gifts I pawned, what else does he know? What else does he think he knows?
“There you are.” Mom’s voice starts out sharp, but then it softens. “Why are you hiding out here?”
“I have a headache.” I lean my head against the cool window, but it doesn’t help the throbbing in my scar. “Could I please just go home?”
She sits down on the bench beside me. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t fair of us to bring you here. I’ll go tell Dad I’m taking you home.”
She comes back in a couple of minutes. We get our coats and I follow her out to the van. The wind and rain have picked up, like the night of the accident. All the way home I keep my face against the cold window, watching the rain slide down the glass, remembering the way it covered the windshield of Trip’s truck.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?” Mom asks as she pulls into the driveway. “I could stay if you want.”
“No.” I manage a weak smile. “Dad would never forgive either of us if you left him at the party alone.”
“Yeah.” She laughs. “Parties really aren’t Dad’s thing.” I start to get out, but she stops me. “What do you know about the girl Andrew was with?”
I shrug. “Her name is Caitlyn. He met her when we went to Hoquiam. I think he’s been chatting online with her ever since.”
“She’s a little …” Mom hesitates.
“Weird,” I supply.
Mom shakes her head and smiles. “Yeah. That might fit.” She leans over and brushes a piece of hair back over my ear. “I guess I never thought we’d have to worry about girls with Andrew, but here she is. I wish I knew if this is a good thing for him or not.”
“I do, too,” I admit. Seeing her concern for Andrew makes me wonder what would have happened if I had told her everything about Trip. Maybe I should have.
She sits back in her seat and sighs. “I’d better get back so I don’t miss the big countdown. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m just going to go to bed.”
“Okay. Make sure you keep the door locked.”
I try to laugh off her concern. “It’s Pacific Cliffs, Mom. What could possibly happen?” But as soon as I get in the house, I twist the deadbolt and check the back door to make sure it’s locked.
I take a long shower to wash out the hairspray and the thick layer of makeup from my face. I put on my pajamas and go to bed, but I can’t sleep. Everywhere I look I see Trip’s eyes, watching me. The house feels too quiet. I go into the living room, turn on the TV and curl up on the couch. My lack of sleep catches up to me and I doze off to the sound of the “New Year’s at the Needle” celebration in Seattle.
My head jerks up and my senses are immediately alert. I know that I heard something outside before I’m even fully awake. I listen, but the only sound is the TV, the rain splattering against the side of the house, and the wind howling like a chorus of lost souls. My scar prickles and I reach for the stone, but I left it on the dresser in my bedroom when I got ready for bed.
Then I hear it again, a bump on the front porch. The hair on the back of my neck and around my scar stands on end. A squirrel or a raccoon, I reason with myself, or Sasha wanting to come in out of the rain. But my tiger-striped cat dozes on the other chair—a sleepy purr vibrating out of her throat.
The rumble of an old pickup, like Trip’s, roars down the street. Headlights pass in front of my house—slow. I sink deeper into the couch so I won’t be seen through the window and wish for my tigereye. The headlights pass again, slower. I can’t stop thinking of the guy at the pawnshop, the earrings—that Mr. Phillips knows I sold Trip’s gifts, the locker notes, the accident, how incredibly messed up my life is.
I should go check out the noise, reassure myself that it’s nothing, but I can’t make myself move. I strain my ears again—silence. I reach for the remote to turn the TV up so it will drown out any other sounds. The reporter, wearing a long blue rain jacket and a wilted paper crown, asks the crowd outside the Space Needle about their New Year’s resolutions. New Year’s resolutions—last year it was “ten minutes early for everything, get straight As, and—”
I gasp as the flash of a face appears at the front window. I curl my fingers around my quilt and reach for my cell phone. Then there’s a tap on the door and a voice whisper-yells, “Allie.”
I stay still for a second, my heart thumping, every nerve in my body on edge.
“Allie.” This time his voice is loud enough that I recognize it. I jump off the couch and hurry to open the door.
He’s drenched, weather-beaten, and almost unrecognizable. He’s not even wearing a jacket, just a black T-shirt that clings to his chest. I step aside to let him in, but he leans against me, wraps his arms around my neck, and starts to sob.
“Blake.” I hold his wet and trembling body close to mine. “What happened?”
He keeps sobbing. There’s something embarrassing about a guy crying. Especially when it goes on for a long time and you don’t have any idea why he’s so upset. I’m not sure what to do.
I pat his back as the wet from his clothes soaks into me. I move with him to the couch. When he sits down, I pull away and wrap him in Grandma’s quilt. He keeps shivering and saying that he’s sorry, but other than that he’s not making any sense. I’m almost to the point of calling my parents or maybe even a doctor when he finally starts to calm down.
“Allie, I’m sorry.” He wipes his face with the quilt.
“You already said that.” I’m not sure what else to do so I stand up. “I can get you something warm to drink.”
He nods and wraps the quilt tighter around himself. I heat a cup of water in the microwave and mix in hot cocoa. When I bring it back to Blake, his teeth are chattering so loudly that they almost drown out the “nine … eight … seven … six—” I click the TV off with the remote before the countdown hits “Happy New Year” and sit down beside him. “You want to talk about it?”
He sips the cocoa and stares across the room. With his hair
wet and plastered to his forehead, the lost look on his face, and the little bit of cocoa at the corner of his mouth, he looks like a kid. I feel like a mom trying to protect her little boy. I’m cold, too, because of the wet that soaked into my clothes from his, but I don’t dare crawl under the quilt with him.
Finally he sets the mug down. “I’m sorry, Allie.”
“We already covered that part, Blake. But what do you have to be sorry for? What happened?” My mind is racing in a direction I can’t go—cliffs, accidents, red dresses.
He sighs a quavering, after-tears sigh, and stares at the chair where Sasha is still sleeping undisturbed. “My mom.”
I relax a little and wait for more.
“Phoebe.” He shakes his head. “Things were going so well this time. She was clean for at least ten months. She was happy. She was working. And Greg, her new boyfriend was—is—actually a decent guy.”