The Pretty One (10 page)

“Mmmm,” Dad says, looking at me. “Your favorite!”

I put down my fork. For the first time in my life I am turning down a cannoli. I flash my sister a dirty look as I push back my chair. “I've lost my appetite,” I say to her.

“What?” Lucy says innocently, looking at me. “What did I say?”

ten

melodrama (noun): a dramatic form that exaggerates emotion and emphasizes plot or action at the expense of characterization.

I'm sitting outside the classroom where Drew's holding auditions. My head is pounding, my hands are shaking, and I'm pretty certain I'm going to throw up. Why in God's name am I doing this? After all, Lucy's right, they usually give the parts to the seniors. So why even bother? Why torture myself? Am I that much of a masochist?

I'm about to run screaming for the hills when Mrs. Habersham comes out to get me. I follow her into the classroom where Drew is waiting. He's sitting in the front of the room, reading his script. I can feel my knees start to shake as if they're trying to keep my shaky hands company. I really do not want to barf up the ham sandwich I had for lunch onto Drew's combat boots.

“Hey,” he says with a smile, standing to greet me. “We're going to start on page four.” He flips my script to the right page for me and points two-thirds of the way down the page. “With the line that begins with ‘I remember.' Okay?”

I look at Mrs. Habersham. What is she doing here, anyway? I thought I would just be auditioning in front of Drew. I didn't think I would be auditioning in front of the head of the drama department. “Okay,” I say.

I have to focus. I can do this. I understand this character. We have a lot in common. I'm a girl in love with a guy. And though I'm not as kooky as she is, I might just be as desperate. Besides, I've had the script for a week and I've read it so many times I've practically memorized it.

“Begin when you're ready,” Drew tells me.

I take a deep breath and begin to read my first line: “I remember the first time we got together. You told me that I was special…that you had never felt like this about anyone before. That you loved me. Remember?”

“I remember,” Drew says, reading the part of Guy.

“Was it a lie?” So far, so good. I take another breath.

“Of course not.”

“When you first broke up with me I was so devastated, I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat…I couldn't do anything. And then I thought…I'll be okay as long as he doesn't date anyone else. As long as I know his heart still belongs to me.” I glance up at Drew. He's leaning against the desk, looking at me intently. I shiver as I say my next line. “When I heard that you and Wendy were hanging out, I told myself that you guys were just friends. And last night, when you saw me talking to that guy, I could see the pain in your eyes and I knew you were jealous. I knew you still cared about me. And then you touched my arm. Remember? ‘I miss you,' you said.”

Drew looks away from me, just like the script instructs. Even though the script calls for me to caress his arm, I'm so caught up in the moment that I grab it instead, yanking him back toward me. “You still love me,” I say.

“But that doesn't change how I feel about us,” Drew says, locking eyes with me. I feel a sudden tingle. It's no longer Guy who's talking. It's Drew.

“I can't…I don't want a relationship right now,” he continues.

My lips are inches away from his. I'm thinking about the first time I saw him, the day I got lost on my way to the production studio. I knew right there and then that I wanted his attention more than I ever wanted anything in my life. I wanted him to
notice
me. Well finally,
finally,
he's noticing me. “So we won't call it a relationship,” I say with conviction. I'm a girl obsessed, a girl possessed. “It's just about what feels good. And this…this feels good.”

Time for the kiss. I'm breathing hard, ready to put my lips on his, ready to demonstrate just how much I love him, how much I've always loved him…

“Thank you, Megan,” Mrs. Habersham says, interrupting me just as my lips are about to touch his. She smiles as she adjusts her glasses. “That was nice. Very nice.”

I suddenly realize that I'm clinging to Drew, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck and my boobs pressed up against his chest as if he really is my boyfriend. Holy crap, what am I doing? I drop my hands and step back.

“Drew?” Mrs. Habersham asks.

Drew is standing still, staring at me. He looks a bit off-kilter, as if confused or surprised.

“What did you think?” Mrs. Habersham asks him.

“You were great,” Drew says quietly to me.

Great.
Drew said I was great. “Thanks!” I reply enthusiastically. I grab my backpack and escape out the door, a Cheshire cat–sized grin on my face. I did it. I read for Drew's play and I didn't pass out or throw up or make a fool of myself. It's all too good to be true.

“Hey!” Drew says, rushing to catch up to me. Although school ended an hour ago the halls are still crowded with students auditioning for the senior productions. I stop in front of the drinking fountain and wait for him.

“I just wanted to tell you that I'm totally impressed,” Drew says.

My heart bangs in my chest, and even though I've never done one before, I feel like doing a high kick right here in the hall. “Really?” I ask, smiling so big it actually hurts. “It was your script,” I say quickly. “Very powerful.” Very powerful? What kind of drama-speak is that? I'm beginning to sound like Lucy.

“Are you ready for me?” Iris Mackler asks Drew, pushing in between us to get a drink of water. She slurps it up and then turns around to face Drew as she slides her thin wire-rimmed glasses back up her nose. Iris scored big-time as a freshman, nabbing the lead in
Medea.
Tall and thin, with long, greasy-looking blond hair, she's one of the best dramatic actresses in the school. It's bad enough having to compete against my sister. I have forgotten about all the other way more talented than me drama majors who are auditioning as well. The wind is going out of my puffed-up sails.

“In a minute,” he says to Iris as he touches my arm, steering me away from her. I look down at his hand on my elbow and decide right then and there that in spite of the inevitable rejection it will still be worth it, just for this moment alone. “You read her exactly as I had envisioned,” Drew says. “A lot of people have been reading her like she's crazy. You seemed to interpret her as more of a victim.”

“I don't know if she's a victim,” I say. “But I do feel sorry for her. She's in love with someone who doesn't exist.”
Nice.
Smart sounding but not over-the-top enthusiastic.

“I had a feeling you would get it,” he says. Drew smiles at me. This time, the tingle goes all the way to my toes.

“I should be getting back,” he says. “We have a couple more people to see this afternoon and then we're all going to get together to discuss,” he says, walking backward while he continues to face me. “We'll have the cast list up tomorrow.”

“Megan!” I hear. I turn around and see George, waving frantically as he heads in my direction.

“I'll talk to you tomorrow, then,” I say twisting back toward Drew.
I'll talk to you?
I sound so certain, like of course I'll be talking to him when he tells me I have the part. “Or whenever!” I call out quickly.

“Right,” he says, as he and Iris head back into the classroom.

I feel as if I just drank a six-pack of Mountain Dew. I'm wired so tight my head might just implode any minute.

“Hello, beautiful,” George exclaims, catching up to me. “Going to your locker?” I can't deal with George right now. I really can't.

“I'll walk you,” he says, even though I haven't answered him.

“But first…” George grabs the umbrella sticking out of his backpack and poof, opens it right in front of me. Right in the middle of the hall.

“You know what this means?” he asks me.

He either has a tick in his eye or he just winked at me.

“Seven years' bad luck?” I say.

“Hah! Time for a rain check!” he exclaims. He narrowly avoids stabbing Catherine Bellows in the head with the umbrella as we begin to climb the stairs together. I say hello to Catherine but she ignores me, walking right past me without answering. I glance after her. What's up with that?

“Danny Warner is having a few friends over Friday night,” George continues. “Come with me.”

Danny Warner is a friend of Lucy's. Danny lives in a mansion in Roland Park and is known for his parties. I've been dying to go to one for as long as I can remember.

“I, ah…,” I say, reaching the top step. I stop when I see Simon waiting for me at my locker. Simon has made it pretty clear how he feels about George, and I don't relish the thought of getting the two of them together. As Simon looks at me standing underneath an umbrella with George, he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Come on,” George is saying. “I'm not going to leave until you say you'll go.”

What can I say? I'd love to go, but not with you? Besides, due to the stupid umbrella, people are starting to stare. There must be some giggly, hand-touchy way to get out of this gracefully, but I have no idea what it would be. “If you leave the umbrella at home,” I say.

George pats his heart twice, just like I saw him do the year before when he asked Michelle Berkowitz to the fall festival.

“That guy is so annoying,” Simon says, when I get to my locker. “What was that shtick with the umbrella?”

“He said he was cashing in on my rain check from blowing him off for lunch the other day. He asked me to go to Danny Warner's party with him on Friday night.”

“What an elitist bum,” Simon says, angrily. “He never noticed you when you were, well…” Simon stops himself.

“When I was
what
?” Excuse me, but was my best friend about to call me the u-word?

“Did he ever say hello to you before this year?” He shakes his head. “I hope you put him in his place.”

“Well…”

“You're kidding me,” Simon says, reading my reaction as a big, no-I-did-not-put-him-in-his-place.

“He caught me at a vulnerable moment. I panicked.”

“All right, fine,” Simon says. “So we'll go out on Saturday night.”

Crap and double crap. I forgot that I talked to Simon about doing something this weekend. “Saturday night is my date night with my mom.”

Simon looks like I just threw his favorite sneakers in the toilet. “So you're blowing me off this weekend,” he says.

“No,” I say. “I just need to…”

“Take a rain check?” Simon jokes. But it's obvious from the look in his eyes that he's not happy. “Anyway, how was your audition with
Drew
?”

Up until that moment I had every intention of discussing it in detail with Simon. But the sneer in his voice when he said Drew's name was unmistakable.

“Okay,” I say simply. And amazingly enough, Simon lets it go at that.

         

When I get home, I go straight to the kitchen and start rummaging through the cupboards, looking for something good to eat.

“Hey,” Lucy says, walking into the kitchen with her purse swung over her shoulder.

I find an unopened bag of pretzels and another of Oreos. I decide that I should start with the least caloric snack first. “All right,” I say. “I was nervous.” I rip open the pretzels.

“Did Drew say anything? Give you any clue as to what he thought?”

“Not really.” I practically gag on the dry lump of pretzel as I swallow it. I twist around and grab the package of Oreos. My dad was buying double-stuffed for a while, which I'm not crazy about since I find them too sugary. These are the original single-stuffed, the kind I prefer. “How did yours go?” I ask, as I rip them open.

“Fine,” she says. “Great.”

“Good,” I say, crunching down on an Oreo.

“Well, I guess I'll see you later,” Lucy says casually. “Marybeth invited me out to dinner with her parents.”

“But it's your turn to cook,” I mumble, my mouth too full of Oreos to speak clearly.

“Sorry,” she says. “I'll cook tomorrow night if you want.”

It's obvious that she is still mad at me. And I feel a little guilty, like maybe her anger is justified. Like I have done something wrong. But what have I done? After all, she gave me the go-ahead to audition.

“Oh, by the way,” I say, trying to sound excited. “George asked me out for Friday night.”

My telling her about George is a peace offering. After all, I would expect this news to please her since she's been pushing for me to go out with him.

“Oh, that's nice,” she says, heading toward the front door.

“We're going to Danny Warner's party.”

“Should be fun,” she says, opening the door.

I put down the bag of Oreos. “Lucy,” I call out.

“Yeah?”

I hesitate. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” she says impatiently. “I just don't have time to chat. I have to meet Marybeth in twenty minutes.”

I don't believe her but instead of tackling her in the doorway and forcing a confession and a sisterly hug, I go back to my Oreos. After all, everything will go back to normal tomorrow when she finds out she has won the part.

I'll be disappointed, but in a way, it'll be a relief.

eleven

upstage (verb): to overshadow another performer by moving upstage and forcing the performer to turn away from the audience.

Even though I try to go to sleep before Lucy, I'm still awake when she crawls into bed. I know Lucy knows I'm still awake because my eyes are wide open, but neither she nor I say a word to each other. Up until two days ago, Lucy and I never went to sleep without wishing each other good night. I didn't really think much of it when we missed the first night, but I was a little bothered by it the second time it happened, and now I find myself extremely agitated by the realization that we might never wish each other a good night again. And that would really stink because what kind of sisters went to sleep without wishing each other good night?

“Good night,” I say.

“Good night,” Lucy says softly, just like always.

But I still don't feel any better. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening as Lucy's breathing becomes more and more regular. I find myself a tiny bit annoyed by the way Lucy so easily drifts off to sleep. She doesn't really seem to be anxious or nervous about the cast lists at all.

I twist around in my bed, push myself up on my elbows, and peek over my white iron headboard at Lucy. She is wearing her pink tank and boxer set pajamas and her long silky hair is splayed out over the pillow. Even when she's sound asleep, she looks like a doll.

I puff up my pillow and flop back down, my arms crossed over my face as I try and breathe through the stent in my right nostril while feeling sorry for myself. Before my accident, I couldn't sleep if my nose felt the least bit stuffy, and now I have to go to bed with what feels like a piece of macaroni jammed up my nose every night.

I spend the next five minutes keeping pace with my sister's long, even breaths, but it doesn't help one bit. I can't compete, not even in the breathing department.

I get out of bed and walk into the bathroom. As I turn on the light, the sight of my reflection in the mirror catches me off guard. The doctor had told me it would take me awhile to get used to it, but it's been nearly two months and I still feel like I stole someone else's face. I raise my head, getting a bird's-eye view of my nostril as I pull the stent out of my nose. I set it on the edge of the sink and lean over it so I can be closer to the mirror. I touch my fingers to my forehead, trailing them down my cheeks to my chin. I look straight into my own eyes and think:
Who are you?

What would my old face say if it could see me now: wracked with nerves and unable to sleep? It would probably say something smart-alecky like, Boo hoo, cry me a river. But my new face knows something my old face doesn't. So I consider my equally smart-alecky reply as I stick the macaroni back up my nose. Cry you a river? I say to my old face, but before I can make my snappy reply, I burst into tears.

And then the stent shoots out of my nose.

         

The cast list goes up at the end of the school day. I'm on way to the auditorium to see Lucy's name on Drew's cast list when I pass Lucy's friend Jane Hitchens in the hall. “Congratulations,” she says politely.

“For what?”

“Drew's play,” she says.

Suddenly, I'm running as fast as I can. I get to the auditorium and elbow my way through the small crowd gathered around the cast lists, frantically searching for Drew's list. And there it is. Right smack in the middle.

         

THE END.

GUY: DREW REYNOLDS

GIRL: MEGAN FLETCHER

         

My heart catches in my throat as I turn, glancing across the hall toward the production studio, looking for someone with whom to share my excitement.
I did it! I finally did it!

“Hey, Megan,” Marybeth says. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I say.
I got the part! I got the part!
I don't think I've ever felt this way before. I feel so full of love, happiness, and joy that I want to scream from the rooftops, draw hearts and flowers on all my notebooks, and throw my money up to the sky.

“Um…,” Marybeth says, motioning toward my nose.

I grab a tissue out of my pocket (I always keep a stash, just in case) and swipe it across my nose. I'm so happy, I'm crying through my nose.

“Does your sister know yet?” Marybeth asks.

And just like that, my nose dries up.

I remember how content Lucy looked last night in her sleep. How peaceful. “I don't know,” I say to Marybeth.

“She's going to be bummed,” she says, half under her breath.

“She saw it,” says Maria, another one of Lucy's close friends.

“How'd she take it?” Marybeth says, wrinkling up her nose like she just smelled something stinky.

“She got cast in Russell's play. But she's still pretty upset.”

“Have you seen her?” I ask.

“I think she said she needed to get something from her locker.”

I hurry back upstairs and toward Lucy's locker. I'm not sure what I'm going to say to her, but I'm hoping it will come to me when I see her. One thing I'm sure of: I have upset the natural order of the world and I'm about to pay penance.

I turn the corner and stop. At the far end of the hall is Lucy. In spite of what I have just heard, she doesn't look upset. In fact, she's smiling. But she has a reason to smile. Drew is with her and she is resting her head on his shoulder.

I quickly turn and head in the opposite direction. How could I think for one minute that I could win in a duel with my sister? Even now with my new face, there's no way I can compete with Lucy's charm and effortless grace. I may have won the part, but she would win the guy.

         

I'm halfway home when my phone rings.

“Hey, kiddo,” my dad says casually when I answer, as if he always calls me that. “Mom said congratulations are in order. It didn't take you long to spring to the top of the heap, did it?”

I'm sure this is meant as a compliment, but this whole my-dad-likes-me-now-that-I'm-pretty thing is very annoying.

“It's not like a big, huge deal. It's for the senior playwriting independent study. There are going to be five productions.”

“Don't minimize it,” he says sternly. “You've worked hard for this.”

Not really. At least, not in terms of studying the craft of acting. The only thing I've done was have plastic surgery to improve my face and lose an inner tube of blubber, which I guess, according to my dad, counts.

“Wow! Must feel great, huh?” he continues, obviously waiting for me to jump up and down or something.

“To be honest…” Wait a minute. I'm going to be honest with my dad? I must have leaked a little too much cerebrospinal fluid. “I'm a little creeped out.”

My dad is quiet for a minute as if he doesn't know what to make of my reaction. “Yeah, well, good for you. We'll all have to go out and celebrate when I get back.”

I think about Lucy. I can't imagine she will be in the mood for much celebration. And after seeing her with Drew, I don't really feel like celebrating, either. “Um, well…,” I begin.

“Where do you want to go? Your choice. How about the Bicycle?” he says, mentioning one of the most expensive restaurants around.

“Actually, it's kind of awkward because Lucy tried out for the same part.”

“Mom said she got a part in another play, though.”

“Yeah, but…”

“This is the first time you've tried out for anything. And you got a role. I'm sure Lucy's happy for you.”

It's obviously a lot more complicated than that, but I don't feel like getting into it with my dad. And so I say, “Yeah. Sure.”

“I'm sure this is just the beginning. All the guys are going to be fighting over who gets to cast you in their play.”

When I get home, the house is empty. The first thing I want to do is eat myself back to fatness to spite my father and bring back some normalcy. Lucy, I imagine, is still talking to Drew, giving him the guided tour of Lucyland, which is something like a Disney creation—she's the cartoon princess with birds chirping all around her, and midgets and mice and orange-faced Oompa-Loompas sing songs about her in this crazy high pitch, and the fat kids end up in the chocolate river. Drew is hers forever, the whole thing tinged with an edge of wicked stepmother cruelty because of the brief bit of hope I was allowed.

And to make matters worse, Simon hasn't called me back yet. And to add insult to injury, it's absolutely freezing in here and I really, really hate to be cold.

I walk upstairs and open the closet door, careful to keep Lucy's stupid dollhouse up with my foot. I glance at my reflection in the mirror on the inside of the door. I think about what my dad said about all the guys wanting to cast me now because of the way I look. I know he meant it as a compliment, but I didn't quite see it that way. I wanted to think that I had won the part because I was the best person for the role. And even though I really, really wanted this part and should probably be kissing the mirror with appreciation (if what my dad said is true), I feel a little embarrassed, like in fifth grade when I used a dictionary for an English test when (unbeknownst to me at the time) I wasn't supposed to and got an A. I gently nudge it back in the closet, holding it in place with my foot as I thumb through the sweaters, looking for something to put on. But they all seem too formal or something, like a costume. I just want something comfortable that I can get swallowed up in. I glance at the black bag marked
SALVATION ARMY
. I want one of my old hoodies.

Lucy walks in the house about twenty minutes later, carrying a grocery bag. “What are you wearing?” she asks, stopping and nodding toward my hoodie.

Odd. I have just upset the natural order of the world and the first thing out of her mouth was in regard to my choice of clothing? “I was cold,” I say simply.

“Did you check to make sure the heat is on?” she asks, walking right past me.

Lucy is acting as if it's just another day after school, which is totally freaking me out. “Um, yeah,” I say, following her into the kitchen.

“I got you something at the market.” She sets the grocery bag on the kitchen table and pulls out a box of doughnuts.

She got me doughnuts? What in God's name is going on here? “Thanks,” I say.

“Congratulations on the part,” she says, as she begins to put the groceries away.

“Oh, thanks.” I stand still, holding on to my box of doughnuts.

“I'm really happy about the way things turned out. Drew was so wonderful about everything. He explained it all. Apparently Russell was just like insistent that I be in his play.” She shrugs her shoulders. “I would've preferred Drew's, of course, but they're buddies so…
comme ci, comme ça
.”

I get the gist. It's not like I won the part fair and square. Lucy won both roles and the directors drew straws.

“But this will be fun,” she says a bit tightly. “Two sisters, both in senior productions.”

Sure,
I think.
Fun. Fun like jumping into an ice cold pool of water, fun like tearing off a scab, fun like getting your eyebrows plucked, fun like having a flock of birds pluck out your eyes, fun like being set on fire and shot out of a cannon.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding my head as I open up the box of doughnuts. “It'll be a regular old funhouse around here.”