Authors: Barry Lyga
I look at myself in the mirror. It's still a shock—the blood red lips, the shiny head. I thought my ears might look huge and Obama-y without my hair, but they're actually sort of cute and small. Score one for me.
All that white ... I see what Roger was talking about. I
do
sort of look like Mom, toward the end. If I'm gonna pull off this white thing, though, I need more clothes and
looser
clothes, because my boobs look like they could take over a small third world country right now.
The garage door rumbles. Roger's home.
I meet him in the kitchen. He looks tired, but that's nothing new.
"Hey, Dad?"
He tosses his keys on the counter. "What do you want, Kyra?"
"What makes you think I want something?"
"You only call me Dad when you're about to ask for something."
Oh. He noticed.
"Uh, well, I was wondering if you could drive me to the mall?"
He stares at me like I'm some alien child who's beamed down from the mother ship.
"I need to buy some more clothes."
"You want me to take you to the mall."
I resist the urge to say
Duh.
I just nod.
"After all the crap you've put me through the past few days? After all the crap you've said to me? After you did
this
"—he gestures up and down my body—"to yourself?"
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping at him. I learned that in drama class last year. School's good for
something.
If I snap at him, he'll
never
take me to the mall.
"I was good in school today," I tell him.
"What, so you want a reward for doing what you're supposed to do? Jesus, Kyra."
I bite the other cheek.
"Well?" He doesn't give up. "Is that it? You go to school for one day and you think you deserve a reward?"
"No. I just need clothes, that's all." I tilt my head to make my bangs fall over my eyes so that he can't see them, but nothing happens because I shaved off my hair. Shit! Alas, poor Bangs of Doom...
"God, Kyra. I thought it would be nice to come home and have one day, maybe, without the drama and the bull, you know? Just one night where I could actually re
lax
for once—"
"Then take me! Take me to the mall and leave me there for a couple hours and just chill out, Dad. Seriously."
He thinks about it like he's trying to figure out the angle, but I can tell that he doesn't really care what the angle is. He just wants to give in. So he does.
He drops me off at the mall, tells me, "I'll be right back at this very spot in three hours and if you're
not
here, I'm not waiting. I'm calling the police, got it?"
Which is
so
Roger: He can't be bothered to figure me out. He'd just rather call in the reinforcements. DCHH.
I don't know if Simone and Jecca are still here or not. I don't really want to see them. I just want to get done what I need to get done. I don't feel like being around other people right now, which is why the mall is perfect—no one at the mall is a
real
person. They're just like these background zombies from
Dawn of the Dead.
People just wander, all hypnotized by the lights and the stores and shit.
I have three hours, which is like two and half hours more than I actually need, so I kill some time in the food court first, just sipping a smoothie and watching the people. People walking by keep staring at me because it's like they've never seen a girl with no hair before, so I randomly flip them off, which is fun.
Brookdale Mall isn't really much of a mall. It's one story, for one thing. There's maybe twenty stores and a crappy food court and a movie theater and that's it. The movie theater isn't even digital.
This is where Fanboy and I had our first ... meal. It wasn't a date. Not really. I've never been on a date before. I'm sixteen and I've never been on a date, not that I care. Dates are useless—if you like someone, why do you need to go on a date with them? And if you
don't
like them, they why would you go on a date with them in the first place? Simone goes on dates sometimes and they always end the same because Simone has never met a dick she wouldn't debase herself for.
Anyway, we just came here and ate and he told me about
Schemata.
God. When he told me about
Schemata...
it was like someone set off fireworks in my brain. It sounded
so cool.
I couldn't believe that
he
came up with it. I mean, he's from
Brookdale.
No one from Brookdale does anything cool. No one. It's like this whole town has a coolness-reducing force field over it.
Plus, he's a
guy.
I think that's what killed me, too. He's a
boy
trying to write about a
woman.
Not even a girl. I would have still been impressed if
Schemata
was about a teenage girl, but he decided to make it about an adult. He's at an age and sex disadvantage. A
serious
disadvantage, because Fanboy really doesn't understand girls at all.
But I read it, and it wasn't bad. It needed some work, but I was basically blown away by it, OK? Blown away by the way this skinny little shy, geeky guy from effing Brookdale somehow had some sort of understanding of women and the world. Who knew?
And now...
Now I'm going to wreck it.
Right?
That's what I'm going to do.
Right.
And why?
Because...
Because I remember this song. My parents loved this one album that came out a while back, and they used to listen to it all the time, and one of the lyrics went like this:
A little revenge and this, too, shall pass.
It was this sort of mellow rock song and that line just seemed out of place in a way, but I didn't really listen to the whole song, so maybe it fit. I don't know. I just know that I've always remembered that line. And I think it means that when you're all mixed up inside because someone has effed with you, you have to go and get your revenge before you'll feel better about it.
A little revenge and this, too, shall pass.
See?
I finish my smoothie and wander around the mall. I'm here for clothes, but I scope out some of the makeup counters, too, just to see if maybe I want to try something different to go with my new look. Most of the women working the makeup counters sort of avoid me because I guess I don't look like they'll earn any commissions from me, but at this one place this really fat chick with totally awesome makeup (I'm serious—she looks amazing) comes right up to me and starts chattering away, and it's weird, but for once I don't find a stranger totally annoying.
"So was this a choice or a necessity?" she asks, pointing to my head. She's kinda cute and nice and I want to tell her to go lose some weight.
"Choice."
"Oh, nice. Cool. How long have you had it like that?"
"Just a day or so."
She nods. "Are you going to keep it?"
"I think so."
"OK, then..." She goes and rummages around in one of the cases, then comes up with two little bottles. "Look, if you get scalp irritation, you're going to want to take some of this—this is lavender oil, OK?—and mix it with some of
this
oil. And it'll help with ingrown hairs, too."
Wow. I never thought of any of that. "OK. Thanks. How, uh..." I can't help looking at
her
hair, which is so perfect that I figure maybe it's a wig. Damn. Perfect hair, perfect makeup. If she would lose, like, a thousand pounds, she'd be awesome. "How do you know this stuff?"
"Oh." Her smile shakes a little. "Well, my sister shaved her head. Chemo, you know?"
Shit.
"She had breast cancer and she was going to lose her hair anyway, so..."
"Yeah."
"Anyway ... is that going to be it?"
"Sure." I want to ask her if her sister made it or not, but I don't know how to ask. I want to tell her about Mom, but I don't know how to do that, either. So I just say nothing as she turns to the register to ring me up.
"Hey, do you want to see something?" she asks, and without waiting grabs something from a little stand on the counter. "Check this out. Pretty girl like you, I think you could pull it off."
She hands me a lipstick. It's called ElecTrick Sex.
"Oh, ignore the name," she says.
I twist off the cap. The lipstick is this deep electric blue. It's like someone caught the night sky when a lightning bolt hit and shoved it into this tube of lipstick.
I immediately imagine it: My white clothes. My powdered white face. With my lips surging, blue and sparkling.
And then ... Blue blurs on Jecca's lips. Blue smudges on Fanboy...
Whoa! OK! Back to earth, Kyra!
The makeup lady is still grinning at me. "What do you think?"
"Sure," I tell her.
She rings me up and gives me my bag and says, "You have a great day, OK?"
I stumble out of the store, sort of in shock. I feel like I've been reverse mugged. This person came out of nowhere and was really nice to me and did all sorts of nice things.
I feel bad all of a sudden. Why did I even
think
about her weight? Like, does it really matter? She was really nice and really pretty and happy and good at her job. And she treated me like a person when no one else even looked at me. So does it really matter that she's fat? Who the eff cares? Why the eff does everyone have to be like a magazine cover?
That keeps whipping and whirling through my head the whole time I'm at Minus, which is the only place in Brookdale to buy clothes that are even remotely cool. I find three more white outfits, which ought to hold me for now. I can mix and match these with some other stuff from home and I should be good for a little while. But even as I'm changing and checking myself out in the mirrors, I can't stop thinking about the makeup lady.
So it's strange, because I finish shopping and I still have some time before Roger picks me up, so I think I'm gonna go back into the store and go apologize to the makeup lady for thinking she's fat and then I'm gonna tell her that she's really cool and beautiful and shit like that.
Yeah. That's what I'm—
"Hey, bitch!"
I look over—it's Simone, standing by the wishing fountain. She changed her outfit from school, of course, because she can be much, much sluttier at the mall than in school. She's wearing a thin little black halter that stops just below her boobs so that the world can see her belly ring. She's got on the tiny black skirt she loves, the one that's so tight and short that if she moves one inch in the wrong direction, you can practically see her uterus. Her dragon tattoo winds up from her ankle, disappearing under the skirt. She's all made up with bright red lipstick and so much eye shadow that her eyes look like endless pools. Every guy within a hundred feet can't help looking at her, even the old ones. Especially the old ones.
"You made it!" she says as I come over to her.
"Yeah. I don't have long, though." I steal a look at my watch. "Roger's gonna give birth if I'm not outside in, like, fifteen minutes."
"What did you buy?" Nod to my bag.
"Just some shit. What about you?" She's got a bag from Minus sitting at her feet.
"I'll wear it tomorrow. You'll see."
"OK."
Jecca pops up then, bagless, from the hallway that goes to the bathrooms. "You found Kyra," she tells Simone.
"Duh."
"You didn't buy anything?" I ask her.
"Nah. Everything I tried on made my ass look
gigantic
."She pouts. "I've got major ghetto booty. I need like, ass lipo or something." She twists around to look at her own butt. "Do they do just ass lipo? Can they do that? I want Brad to notice my ass, but not because it's huge."
Simone rolls her eyes. "Enough. We get it. Fifty thousand e-mails over the summer weren't enough. You love Brad. OK."
Fifty thousand e-mails about Brad ... and none of them to me.
Jecca is always complaining about her ass and her hips. Usually I just let it go, but tonight when she says it I can't help thinking about the makeup lady, and combined with the never-ending Brad worship, it pisses me off.
"Shut up about your ass, Jecca. Your ass is fine. You're sixteen, for God's sake. Why the eff are you thinking about lipo? Be happy with your body."
Simone whistles. "Check out Grrl Power Kyra!"
"Shut up, Simone."
"'Be happy with your body,'" Simone goes on. "Yeah, right. How much boobage did you strap down tonight?"
"Leave her alone," Jecca says. "She's not, like, judging our bodies. That's cool."
Yeah, maybe
I'm
not judging, but everyone else is. All the guys streaming around us are checking us out. Well, they're checking out Jecca and Simone—me, they skip over. The bald chick who's standing sort of slumped over with her bag clutched to her chest so that no one can look at her boobs. Simone keeps moving and positioning herself so that guys can get a better look, and Jecca is standing with her hips cocked in a way that she knows is sexy. It's like it's automatic for them. I don't think they even think about it.