The Pretty One (23 page)

twenty-six

dry (verb): to fail to memorize lines.

On Friday I get to play practice twenty minutes late. Drew is sitting on a desk, his arms crossed in front of him. He looks like he's about to blow a gasket.

“Hey,” I say casually.

I know why Drew is so angry. I've been late to play practice every day this week, each day a little bit later than the one previous. Although I normally hate being late, I would rather rip off my fingernails with my teeth one by one than endure another full day of play practice. As far as I'm concerned, I'm entitled to be mad at Drew for asking Lucy to the fall festival after I said no. If I had any nerve, I'd quit this play right now and he'd be left high and dry and without an actress for his stupid one-act. In fact, if I wasn't pretty sure he'd just replace me with Lucy, I'd quit this minute.

“Why are you so late?” His eyes are practically smoking with rage.

“I had…some…some things to do.”

“Some things to do?”
he repeats sarcastically. He stands up, his arms still crossed.

I try to give him my special I'm-not-afraid-of-you stare, but it's been a long time since I've used it.

“What
things
?”

Yep, it's not working. Surprise, surprise.

“
Personal
things,” I say simply.

The muscles in Drew's jaw clench, and for a minute I wonder if I've gone just a tad too far. He looks as if he's about to erupt into one of my dad's furious tirades. But he just runs a hand through his thick black hair and says, “Megan, this is our last practice before the dress rehearsal. Let's just…let's just try to focus.”

Over the past week, every now and then Drew says or does something that makes me forget how upset I am that he went after Lucy and wish that we were back in my house kissing. This is one of those times. There's something about the way he ran his fingers through his hair that makes me want to throw my arms around him and hold on forever.

God help me.

How can I still feel like this? I'd have to be crazy to still like Drew after he asked my sister to the dance.

Drew and I assume our positions at the front of the classroom. I start saying my lines but I'm having trouble concentrating. Still, I persevere and only sneak a peek at the script twice. Although that's an all-time record for me, Drew looks annoyed, like he really can't believe I'm not completely offscript yet. As we get closer to the kiss, my anxiety starts getting the best of me. I begin my mantra:
I'm an actress—I'm an actress—I'm an actress.

“So…” So what? What is my line, anyway? I nervously glance toward the open script that is lying on top of a desk on the front row. Unfortunately, it's upside down and more than five feet away. Although my eyesight's good, it's not
that
good.

“So we won't call it a relationship,” Drew says quickly, feeding me my line.

“We won't call it a relationship,” I mumble. “It's just about what feels good. And this…this feels good.”

The script calls for us to kiss now, so I press my lips against his for a second and step away quickly as if he has a contagious disease.

“What the hell was that?” Drew asks, breaking character.

“What?”

“Your character is supposed to be totally head over heels in love with my character and determined to do whatever it takes to keep him.”

“I know but…”

“I'm not going to get the wrong idea again, if that's what you're worried about.”

Again?
“What? I'm not…”

“No excuses. I don't know what your deal is or why you've suddenly started playing games, but I'm sick of it. If you don't think you can do this, walk out the door right now. I'd rather cancel the play than have to get on stage with an actress who doesn't give a shit.”

Drew's verbal attack has rendered me speechless. He takes a step toward me. “So what it's going to be?”

I'm breathing fast and my fists are clenched at my side. I'm so furious I'm tempted to either slug him or just walk out of here and never come back.

“We won't call it a relationship.” My voice is loud and clear. If he wants a kiss, he's going to get a kiss. He's going to get a kiss he will remember for the rest of his life. “It's just about what feels good. And this…this feels good.” I grab him by the neck, pull him close, and kiss him.

The minute our lips connect, however, something happens. It's like I'm being hit by that car in the rain all over again, but instead of being hurt, I feel more alive than I ever have before. His hands are clutching at my hips and his mouth starts to trail down my neck. I lose track of seconds and then minutes.

By the time he whispers “Megan” in my ear, I'm out of breath and on a totally different planet.

But then I crash back to earth, so hard it sends a jolt through my body and I leap away from Drew. When I see the longing in his eyes, I can't trust that it's real. So I snatch my backpack and hightail it out of there as fast as I can.

twenty-seven

dénouement (noun): the moment in a drama when the essential plot point is revealed or explained.

Any enthusiasm I've managed to conjure up for the fall festival disappears the minute Simon and I arrive.

“This looks nice,” Simon says, as he glances around the gym. “They did a pretty good job with the decorations.”

Simon is full of crap. Becky Silva, a fellow junior and drama major, was in charge of the decorations this year and chose her favorite book,
The Secret Garden,
as the theme. Becky, although a talented actress, is no beauty nor does she possess an ounce of my sister's “charm,” which meant the techies weren't nearly as anxious to help as they were for my sister. Becky and a few of her friends ended up doing most of the work themselves, which (from the looks of it) amounted to tossing pots and vases filled with horrible-looking, fake plastic flowers around the room. The only thing Becky appears to have succeeded in is getting the janitor to unscrew the lightbulbs again.

“Allergy sufferers will be happy,” I say, motioning toward the fake flowers as I make a weak attempt at humor.

I had Simon pick me up early so I wouldn't have to have an awkward encounter with Drew. I have managed to avoid Drew for twenty-nine hours and hoped to keep it up until dress rehearsal tomorrow morning, where we will be safely surrounded by techies. In the meantime, I am determined to stop thinking about him. Otherwise, I will lose my mind.

“Do you want to dance?” Simon asks, as he puts his arm around my waist. This uncharacteristic public display of affection only adds to my bad mood, a state of mind made worse by the fact that I have decided that I absolutely hate my black dress. It looks like I'm going to a costume party dressed like Morticia Addams. I should never have gone shopping alone, but the other choice was to go with Lucy, and there was no way I could have handled that.

I follow Simon to the dance floor and the two of us stake out a spot toward the side. As the DJ blasts Justin Timberlake I do my best to wiggle my torso to the beat but I feel stiff and unnatural, as if I'm playing the part of a girl who is happy to be at a dance with her boyfriend. And Simon doesn't appear to be doing much better. Unlike the previous year when he imitated a chicken just to get me to laugh, this year he has taken on the serious air of a prince looking for someone to bear his children. He sucks in his cheeks and dances by shifting his weight from foot to foot as he snaps his fingers.

Simon and I are on our third dance when I see Drew. He's not with my sister and is instead standing alone on the edge of the dance floor, watching me. The minute I lay eyes on him I feel the same magnetic pull, as if he could yank me toward him with a simple nod of his head. He looks totally drop-dead gorgeous, too. His longish hair curls up on the collar of his starched white shirt and his dark blue-green eyes stand out against the black material of his tux. Just the sight of him is enough to take my breath away.

“Maybe we should go get some punch or something,” I say to Simon.

“Actually, I'm having a problem with my contacts,” Simon says, cupping his left eye and blinking. “I'll be right back.”

This is not a good time for Simon to be fiddling with his contacts. But I don't say that. Instead, unable to look away from Drew and rendered helpless by his power over me, I nod and say, “I'll wait here.”

As Simon walks away, Drew heads straight toward me. I know I should get off the dance floor and run as far and fast as I can in the opposite direction, but I still can't move.

“Megan,” he says quietly, stopping in front of me.

We stand still, just looking at each other, while couples continue to dance around us. My heart is clanging against my chest and my breathing is ragged and irregular. “You look beautiful,” he says finally.

“Hah!” I say sarcastically.

He takes a step back. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know what I mean.”

“No, I don't.”

“Well…” I need to say something that will really put him in his place. “Well…you
should
!” Not exactly what I was hoping for.

“I should what?”

I shake my head in disgust and raise my hands, as if surrendering. “Why are you talking to me, anyway? Go be with your
date
.” I spin on my heel, walking away from him.

“
What
date?” he calls out. “I don't have a date.”

Everything stops. “Isn't Lucy here with you?”

“With
me
? She was supposed to come with Marybeth. There's a whole bunch of us meeting here as a group.”

I feel a rush of relief, but after that passes, I close my eyes and for a moment I think I'm going to bawl like a baby.

“You thought I brought Lucy to the festival?” he asks, like this is the dumbest thing he's ever heard.

I really think I'm going to die right here and now, just fall flat on my face in the middle of the fall festival and croak.

“We need to talk.” Drew gently takes my arm and steers me off the dance floor. He lets go of my arm and I keep my eyes firmly on him as I follow him through the crowd and out of the gym. We walk down the hall, toward the auditorium. We walk past the front door and all the excited, dressed-up couples who are still arriving and head directly down toward the opposite end of the hall, where the auditorium and production studio are located. I keep my eyes on the floor, not making eye contact with anyone. I can't talk. Nor can I think or even feel. I'm totally, absolutely numb.

Drew reaches the end of the hall and turns into the dark, unlit window-lined hall that leads to the auditorium. He stops outside the auditorium door and turns to face me. “Is that why you're here with Simon? Because you thought I liked Lucy?”

“No. Yes. It's complicated.”

“Try me.”

Even though it's dark and the only light is coming from the main hall, his eyes still sparkle. I glance away and take a step backward, so that I'm standing up against the wall. “
Lucy
likes
you
.”

Drew breathes in deep. He takes a minute to collect his thoughts. “I…I have never been interested in Lucy. And I never will be.”

“She told me you asked her to the fall festival.”

“What?” Drew's eyes open wide. He shakes his head in disbelief. “If I said or did anything to give her that impression, well, then I'm very, very sorry.”

I think about my sister and how she misled me on purpose. It hurts so bad, but at the same time, I'm so relieved that Drew isn't interested in her, I feel so light, like I'm floating.

He steps toward me and touches my chin with his index finger, lifting it up toward him. “I like
you,
Megan. In fact, all I can think about is you.”

I touch my hand to his cheek. He likes me.
Me
.

Drew takes my hand and kisses it. And then he leans toward me, lightly pressing his lips against mine. We kiss long and slow, as if there is no one else in the world but us.

And then I hear it. A little gasp from whoever is now at the end of the hall, spying on us. I jump away from Drew and turn toward the main hall, half expecting to see my sister. But it's not Lucy. It's Annie Carmichael, the biggest mouth in the school. Before I can say anything (not that I would have anyway) she turns and hurries away.

“Oh, great,” I say under my breath. “The whole school's going to know in the next fifteen minutes.” By the time it finished making the rounds, I have no doubt Annie will have (supposedly) discovered us completely naked and doing the mambo jambo.

This was not good. Not good at all. True, my sister had lied to me; true, she deserved to be tossed into a dungeon and hung by her fingernails, but I still couldn't help but feel a tiny bit protective of her. She needed to be told the truth, but by me.

I hurry toward the main hallway and arrive just in time to see Annie push past Simon.

“Megan?” Simon calls out to me. He's standing at the other end of the hall, two glasses of punch in his hands. I feel as though someone has kicked me in the stomach the minute I see him.

Simon looks from me to Drew.

“Do you want me to stay?” Drew asks, half under his breath.

“No,” I say, still looking at Simon. He's walking toward me now, trying not to spill the punch.

“I'm sorry,” Drew whispers, as if he was to blame for my present situation. Even though Drew nods in Simon's direction as they pass each other, Simon doesn't acknowledge him.

“What's the deal with Annie?” Simon asks, handing me a glass of punch as he watches Drew go back into the auditorium.

“She went tearing into the gym like she was being chased by Bigfoot.”

“We need to talk,” I say quietly to Simon.

Simon's breathing a little harder than normal and there is nervousness in his eyes, the same look he had the first day of freshman year when I met him in the office during lunch. We walk back in the direction I had just come. Only this time, when I get to the end of the hall I turn toward the production studio.

“So what do you want to talk about?” Simon asks as he follows me inside the studio.

I turn on the lights and pause, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. I look at the table saw and the circular saw and the cupboards lined with turpentine and neatly stacked cans of paint. I have spent so many hours in this room, all of them happy and almost all of them working alongside Simon.

“Oh, Simon,” I say, sinking back against the wall as my nose starts to run. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “The past few weeks have been so awful. I wanted to talk to you about everything but I…I didn't know how.”

Simon's frozen still, staring into his glass of punch.

“I really do love you, I do, just not in the way…”

“Don't!” he says, holding up his hands as if to ward me off. “What were you and Drew doing back there in the dark anyway? Did Annie catch you making out or something?”

“This isn't all my fault,” I plead.

“I don't believe this!” Simon yells.

“You were the one who threatened to walk away from our friendship,” I say. “You were the one who…who gave me an ultimatum.”

“
Ultimatum?
I told you how I felt. I was honest.”

“Honest? Then answer me this. Why were you content to be just friends when I was ugly?”

Simon's mouth drops open, as if he's flabbergasted by my accusation.

“I would never have done this to you,” I say. “I would never have given you an ultimatum. I would've been there for you. I would've wanted you to be happy.”

“You think I
want
to feel this way?”

I don't respond.

“You think I
chose
this?” He drops his head. A tear falls, splattering against the blue concrete floor. “Every time I see you talking to Drew, or to any other guy for that matter, I feel like my heart is being ripped to shreds. Every time I'm with you I want to touch you. I want to kiss you. I want to show you how much I care about you.” He shakes his head as he gives me a sad smile.

“Don't you get it, you idiot? I'm in love with you.”

He puts his hand on the door and stops. He swipes away a tear with the back of his hand, still holding on to the punch. “Let me ask you something, Megan. What about Drew? I mean, at least I was your friend before the accident.”

I want to tell him how wrong he is, how wrong
I
was, too. And I want to give him a tip for future reference: When you tell a girl you love her don't call her an idiot. But instead I stand there silent, my nose running like crazy, unable to speak. But it doesn't matter. The door is shut and Simon is already gone.