Breaking Beautiful (24 page)

I swallow and regret every bad thing I ever said about Caitlyn. She’s met me twice, she barely knows me, but she’s willing to accept me as a friend. And I’ve never had a girls’ day like this
before either. I need to enjoy it. It might be the only one I get. I reach for the next bag. Inside is a vintage World War II soldier’s uniform. “I think this is a guy’s costume.”

Caitlyn grabs it out of my hands and squeals, “Andrew would look so gorgeous in this. Mel wouldn’t have put this here unless there was a matching girl’s costume. Help me find it.”

We keep digging, piling what I’m sure are expensive antique costumes on one side of the settee, until Caitlyn finds what she’s looking for. She gasps and pulls out a soft white blouse and a red swing skirt. There’s a pair of white gloves, a black hat with a long red feather, and a Red Cross armband.

“It’s gorgeous,” I say. “Try it on.”

“Okay, but this time you find something, too.”

I pick up a few dresses that I liked—the ruffled hoopskirt, the pioneer dress, and the Sacagawea costume—and follow her into the dressing room.

I change into the hoopskirt first and step out, drowning in ruffles. Caitlyn is turning back and forth, looking at herself in the three-way mirror. I almost gasp. She’s beautiful. The creamy blouse makes her pale skin glow pink. It emphasizes her trim waist and big chest, while the swing skirt makes her legs look great. She has piled her braids back under the hat. She has the same high cheekbones that Mel has.

“Let me see,” Mel says from the front of the room. “Do a spin.” Caitlyn twirls around and the skirt flows out and then swirls around her legs. Mel steps around her, looking at her critically. “Not bad. You look almost normal.” I’m guessing from Mel that this is high praise. “Some cute shoes, a pearl necklace, and I could do something with that hair.” She touches Caitlyn’s braids and shakes her head.

“I love it.” Caitlyn beams in the mirror. She looks so sure of herself, so confident that she looks good; I wish I felt that way.

“Do you have any more like that?” Liz, a girl I recognize from Pacific Cliffs, says from the front of the shop.

“Sorry, this is one of a kind,” Mel answers. I see a gleam of pride or at least approval in the way she looks at Caitlyn. Then she turns to me. “No. Way too many ruffles.”

I try on the other outfits but none seem to work. Caitlyn is in the front of the store, still in her dress, trying on necklaces. Finally she comes to the back and stands by the dressing room. “Did you find anything? I’m starving.”

“No,” I answer pitifully. I’m discouraged and hungry, too. “Maybe we should just give up.”

“No way,” Caitlyn says brightly. “Give me a second.”

When she comes back to the dressing room she has a fringy green-blue flapper dress. I’ve already looked at it a couple of times but decided against trying it on. “I can’t wear that.”

“Why not?” Caitlyn shakes it so the fringe moves. “It’s cute.”

“It’s sleeveless.” I automatically reach to pull down the sleeves of my sweater.

“It’s not even cut low.” Caitlyn pushes the dress toward me. “Let’s see what it looks like.”

Panic rises in my chest. “I can’t wear sleeveless.”

“Why not?” Caitlyn says.

“I … I … get too cold.”

“We’ll be in the gym and you’ll be dancing,” Caitlyn insists. “Just try this one. It’s fabulous. There aren’t very many costumes left to try, and I’m starving.” She shoves the dress around the curtain and into my hands.

I’m sweating as I slide the flapper dress over my head. When
I try to zip it up, the zipper gets stuck in the fringe and then slips out of my damp fingers.

“Let me see, let me see.” Caitlyn is whining from outside the curtain.

I tug the zipper up hard. The excuses are already forming in my mind. It didn’t fit. It has a rip in it. I force myself to face the mirror. The glow of the fluorescent light makes my arms and shoulders look pale and sickly, but that’s it. I run my fingers down the delicious bareness of my skin. I haven’t looked at my arms in months, afraid of what I would see. But here they are, bare and gloriously unmarked, except for the scar on my forearm. All this time I stayed covered, hiding the bruises that have disappeared, bruises that are never coming back. I laugh out loud.

“Allie, I’m coming in.” Caitlyn pulls the curtain and stops with her mouth hanging open. “You look amazing.”

“Let me see.” Mel steps toward me. “Come out into the light.” In the brighter light of the store, the dress shimmers and the fringe changes from green to blue, depending on how the light hits it, kind of like Blake’s eyes.

“Totally you.” Caitlyn is beaming as much for me as she was for herself. “Try the headband.” She hands me a green sequined headband with a peacock feather in the back.

I put it on and smile at my reflection in the mirror. I feel pretty again, sexy even, but most of all, free. I shake my shoulders in a little shimmy, to make the fringe sparkle, just because it feels good.

Mel looks at me critically. “Fishnet stockings, green heels, a long necklace, and you’re set. I have a cool pinstriped suit with a white-on-black tie and a black fedora that your date could wear.”

“So you’re good, right?” Caitlyn says.

“Yeah.” I run my hands down my arms again.

“Go change.” She gives me a little shove toward the dressing room. “I’m ready for lunch.”

I’m reluctant to take off the dress. It feels so good. I still haven’t changed when Caitlyn pokes her head in. She hands me a fuzzy blue wrap. “Mel told me if you’re worried about being cold you could wear this, but hurry up.”

I take the wrap from her and slide it over my shoulders.

“Let me see the dress without that sweater.” He reaches across the seat and tugs at the sleeve playfully. He’s in a good mood, excited about his surprise.

“I’m cold.” I pull away. I’m never sure how he’ll react to seeing the evidence of what he does to me. Sometimes it makes him remorseful, but just as often it makes him mad, like it was my fault. “Where are we going?” I concentrate on making sure I have the right level of excitement in my voice and snuggle up against him. “C’mon, tell me.”

“You’ll just have to be patient.” His eyes sparkle, even in the dim light of the truck. He grips the steering wheel with one hand and puts his arm around me with the other, pressing into the bruise on my shoulder.

Dread pours into my stomach. He’s been planning my birthday surprise for weeks. Dropping hints and telling everyone. What happens if I don’t come up with the reaction he’s expecting?

My stomach tightens with the memory of living in the uncertainty of Trip’s emotions. Always feeling like I was walking on the edge of a cliff.

Cliff.

In my memory we were driving up the road toward the cliff. But why?

“Are you still in there?” Caitlyn shakes the curtain.

What if we weren’t going to the cliff? What if he was taking me somewhere else, somewhere beyond the cliff?

“Allie?”

I keep thinking about it while I get dressed. Trip hadn’t taken me to the meadow for ages. Why would he take me there the night of the dance?

“You need to do something about your hair.” Mel’s voice slams into me as soon as I step out of the dressing room.

“What?” I reach up and adjust the scarf over my head.

Mel puts her hand on her hip. “Your hair would look better if it weren’t so shaggy.”

I duck my head and step away. “I’ve been trying to grow it out.”

“Allie used to have the most beautiful hair,” Caitlyn says. “Down to the middle of her back. Andrew showed me pictures.”

“Well, right now it just looks bad.” Mel’s words sting, like they were coming from Mom, or even Trip. “You should let me cut it.”

I try to adjust the scarf so it covers my hair better. I want to cry. When I put on the dress, for the first time in forever, I liked what I saw, and now Mel is telling me how ugly I am.

“Ooo, let her cut it.” Caitlyn is almost clapping her hands. “Mel is great with hair and makeup. Sometimes she helps Dad out.”

I have to look up to make sure I heard her right. I can’t imagine sophisticated Mel working on dead people.

“I have an idea.” Mel pulls off the scarf before I can stop her. She ruffles my hair like she’s evaluating it. “But you’ll have to trust me.”

“I don’t know.” I try to smooth it over the scar.

“You need to cut it.” Mel’s voice is almost commanding. “Anything is better than what you have now.” She walks over and puts a BE BACK IN AN HOUR sign over the door. “We can go to my apartment.”

“Now?” Caitlyn asks. “I’m starving.”

Mel rolls her eyes, but she gestures to her purse. “We’ll get takeout on the way. I’ll buy.”

Before I have a chance to back out, I’m sitting in the middle of Mel’s tiny but tastefully decorated kitchen with wet hair, wearing a plastic drape, while Caitlyn texts Andrew and eats Chinese food.

I cringe at every snip and rub the tigereye under the drape. Mel works fast, not even hesitating when she pulls the comb over the scar on the back of my head. When she’s done with the scissors, she runs some kind of gel through my hair and fluffs it with a cold hair dryer. She pronounces me done and Caitlyn brings over a mirror.

I gasp at the reflection. My hair is shorter than it’s ever been, even shorter than it was after the accident. It’s so short that the ends turn up in little curls.

“Wow, you look like Andrew. I love it.” Caitlyn hugs my head.

I touch the curls to make sure they’re mine. Then I run my fingers through what’s left. I wonder what Blake is going to say.

“I could help you with makeup.” Mel studies my face. “I have something that would cover your scar, so you’d hardly know it was there.”

I touch the ridges over my eye. “Okay.”

Caitlyn and I go into the bathroom while Mel retrieves
what looks like a silver tackle box. Inside are jars and tubes and rows of every color makeup possible. Mel mixes a couple of thick foundations on her wrist, holds it up to my forehead, mixes some more, and then starts smoothing the mixture over my eye. She puts foundation over my whole face, and then brushes it with powder. She adds eyeliner, mascara, and a light pink lip gloss before she turns me around to look.

It looks like someone else staring back at me. But it is me—only I look like a younger, more innocent me. Like the picture Mom has in the living room of me with fluffy blond hair and a little blue sundress, or the picture that Blake painted. I touch the place over my eye. I can feel the scar, but in the mirror, it’s gone. It looks natural, not like what Mom tried to do, and my face doesn’t feel like plastic.

I want to cry with joy or relief, or what, I’m not sure. Caitlyn hugs my head again and beams at me.

“I could show you how to do that, if you like,” Mel says. When she smiles I realize that she does look like Caitlyn.

I smile back. “Thanks, that would be great.” For the first time in a long time I feel beautiful.

Chapter
34

My hands tremble as I try to duplicate what Mel did with my hair. I’ve already given up on covering the scar, I’m too nervous I’d make it look worse. Twice I put on a hat, then a scarf, and then took them off again.

Dad loves my haircut. Mom thinks it’s “nice, but weren’t you trying to grow it out?” Andrew says we finally look like twins.

Blake hasn’t seen me yet. I’m almost as worried about his response to my hair as I am about my meeting with Detective Weeks later today.

I’m ready when he comes to get me for school, but I linger in my bedroom, listening to him talk car stuff with Dad. The El Camino is running okay, but Dad says there’s still a lot of work that needs to be done. He’s helping Blake through the repairs, not charging him for them.

“Allie, you’re going to make Blake late,” Dad yells through my door.

I come out holding my breath. Blake takes my backpack and says, “Hey, ready to go?”

“Sure.” I study his face, looking for a reaction, but he walks away.

He doesn’t say anything the whole way to school. Hardly looks at me, even. As we wait to turn into the parking lot I’m thinking
he hates it, he hates it, he hates it
with every ding of his turn signal. Suddenly I don’t feel beautiful anymore. My head feels too bare without my hat. My scar feels too exposed. If only I’d been able to do the makeup the way Mel did.

I stay in the car when Blake gets out, trying not to cry. I’m waiting for him to yell at me for cutting my hair, to tell me how much he hates it, to tell me that I look like a freak, to tell me how ugly I am.

He opens the door for me and I turn my legs around and step down, but I can’t make myself stand up. I stare at the gravel that covers the parking lot and rub the stone in my pocket. “I’m sorry,” I finally say.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry for what?”

“It’s just hair.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. “It will grow back.”

He squats down in the gravel in front of me. “Allie, what are you talking about?”

“My hair.” Tears burn behind my eyelids. “I’m sorry I cut it. Caitlyn’s sister just—”

He laughs, which makes me feel worse. Then he stops. “You think I don’t like your hair?”

I look up, but instead of facing him, I look over his shoulder to a group of freshman girls, including Kasey. They’re watching us.
Don’t make a scene.
“It’s okay if you hate it,” I whisper.

“Hate it?” Now he looks worried. He rubs his neck. “Allie, I … actually … I mean I’m sorry. I didn’t even notice you cut it until just now.”

I stare back at him, shocked. “You didn’t even notice?”

He clears his throat. “I was thinking about my car and the dance meeting today. I’m sorry, I just—”

“So you don’t hate it?”

He takes both my hands and pulls me to my feet. “You’re beautiful with short hair and beautiful with long hair. You’d be beautiful bald.” Someone behind us snickers. “In fact …” He slides his fingers through my hair and cups the scar on the back of my head. I look in his eyes and they go tender. “You are the most beautiful, incredible, amazing girl I’ve ever met.”