Gorgeous. Part 23

"Embarra.s.sing."

The lines on his forehead deepened. "Why?"

"You know how I am, getting my picture taken."

He smiled a tiny bit. "Did they hurt you in any way?"

"Just my pride," I said. "Which is kind of overly fragile anyway. As you also know. It was stupid. I admit that. I know I was stupid to go, because you didn't know where I was and it wasn't safe and also because it was stupid to think I could be pretty enough to be in a magazine. There's no reason you should believe me this time, so you can punish me any way you want, and I wouldn't blame you if you did. But I swear I won't be going into the city again; I won't be taking any more stupid risks. I'm done trying to convince myself I'm somebody. I've learned my lesson and I'm ready to crawl back into my hole."

My parents both sat there and stared at me for so long, I started to sweat. I looked down at my hands, watching my fingers grip one another. When I heard a short sniff I looked up. It was my father, who had a tear running down his face.

"You are so wrong, Allison."

"I'm sorry," I said. What a jerk I am What a jerk I am, I was thinking. I made my father cry I made my father cry. What a colossal screwup disaster disappointment I am. What a colossal screwup disaster disappointment I am.

"You're not pretty," he said.

Rub it in, I was thinking, though also, I was thinking, though also, He has a right, I suppose. He has a right, I suppose.

"Pretty is...pretty is like nice nice. It's small. It's pleasant," he said. "If that's what you were aiming for, Allison, you were doomed from the start to abject failure. Your looks are the least of you but-Stop, please don't interrupt to agree with me, Lemon; let me tell you what I can't believe you don't know. You are magnificent. Your personality, your smarts, your humor, and your fighting spirit are all so impressive to us-and yes, sometimes humbling for us to handle as parents, but how you look? Allison, your beauty continues to shock me every day of your life, from the moment you were born and I looked at your wide almond eyes that had an unG.o.dly ability to focus on mine, to this instant as you sit there in front of me. Your soul comes through your face like n.o.body's I've ever known-your vulnerability and c.o.c.ksure confidence, your independence and fragility-they s.h.i.+ne through your eyes, your mouth, your body. You were a child people's eyes were drawn to, and you are becoming a woman n.o.body can look away from. Pretty? Allison, you are gorgeous."

Tears were running down my face by then as well, and Mom's.

"I am so sorry that you don't know that."

My phone buzzed in my pocket. "I think that's the devil letting me know his side of the deal is done now," I said, and tried to laugh, to show it was a joke. They didn't laugh, and I didn't reach for my phone, which, thankfully, shut up.

Mom told me they were going to have to talk about where to go from here, but that for now I should go up to my room. I stood up and said okay and headed for the door.

Dad stepped in my way and gathered me in for a hug. Mom hugged me from the other side and, kissing my head, whispered, "I just love your thick, wavy hair so much, Allison. But this is sharp. I might just take a while to get used to it. But Daddy is right...."

"It's okay, Mom," I said, and wiggled away from them. I dashed out and took the stairs two at a time, suddenly desperate for the cool feel of my pillows against my hot face.

I didn't wake up until morning, having slept for twelve dreamless hours.

24.

I WOKE UP WOKE UP T TUESDAY INTENDING to confront Jade about why she would lie to me about Roxie. I tried to work myself into a fury as I messed with my spiky hair in front of the mirror: to confront Jade about why she would lie to me about Roxie. I tried to work myself into a fury as I messed with my spiky hair in front of the mirror: This is it, This is it, I kept saying to her in my mind. I kept saying to her in my mind. I can never be your friend again. No matter how cranky or difficult I have ever been, how tough it has been to put up with moody me all these years, I have never lied to you, never done anything even close to this betrayal I can never be your friend again. No matter how cranky or difficult I have ever been, how tough it has been to put up with moody me all these years, I have never lied to you, never done anything even close to this betrayal. I went over it so many times, it was rubbed sharp and deadly, a perfect and irrefutable argument that would, and should, destroy Jade.

But by the time I was heading toward the bus, I felt done already. Maybe I was just tired. As the bus sloped down the hill toward her stop, I thought, Okay, here we go. Okay, here we go. She and Serena sat down in the seat in front of me, their heads bent together, whispering. She and Serena sat down in the seat in front of me, their heads bent together, whispering.

Maybe she misinterpreted what she saw, I told myself. Maybe she wasn't trying to make up something that wasn't there; she just saw Roxie behaving in a way that seemed obviously s.l.u.tty and out-of-bounds to her, and she honestly wanted to protect me. Or maybe she was trying to turn me against Roxie because she didn't want to lose my friends.h.i.+p.

Whatever. I didn't say anything. I just let it slide. For once it wasn't because I was afraid of making Jade angry or disappointed at me. I kind of felt bad for her, a little, and maybe also beyond it.

I walked around school much looser all day, saying hi to people, even smiling occasionally. Maybe it was less humid or the pollen count was down, something like that. Or maybe I had just hit the point where I was over Jade's s.h.i.+t.

That was the one scary thing I did on Tuesday-because not confronting Jade kind of felt like letting that friends.h.i.+p go.

My math final was actually easy. As I wandered down the hall after it, I texted everybody in my contact list a correction: About what I said Sat night about Roxie Green? I mistyped. What I meant to say was that Roxie Green is an amazing friend and the most fun person I've ever met. I regret the error. Love, Alison Avery

It was weird how many people texted back stuff like, you are an amazing friend too you are an amazing friend too, or, whatever you say-do you guys want to come over for a pool party Sat nite? whatever you say-do you guys want to come over for a pool party Sat nite?

I had decided to crawl back into my hole, but I couldn't seem to find it. As gorgeous as the weather was, mid-eighties with low humidity, even that wasn't p.i.s.sing me off.

When Susannah Millstein asked what I was doing over the summer, and I told her I didn't know, mostly hanging out, she smiled and said she had gotten her parents to let her pull out of Tennis Intensive at Duke University to have some downtime. She asked if maybe I'd like to hang out some, and when I said sure, I actually meant it.

Weird.

Seventh period, when I explained to my English teacher, Mr. Katz, that I had needed to leave school early the day before for, um, personal reasons, he got all fl.u.s.tered and said no problem, and let me take the final out in the hall while the cla.s.s watched a movie version of Candide Candide all period. When the bell rang, I handed in my bogus essays along with my autobiography in six words: all period. When the bell rang, I handed in my bogus essays along with my autobiography in six words: Sold my cell to the devil.

He laughed out loud. "Like Faust, but your cell instead of your soul?" he asked.

"Um, yeah," I answered, remembering the name vaguely from something we were supposed to have read.

"Excellent. Well, I hope it works out better for you than him."

"Jury's still out."

I performed my Gouverneur Morris thing for the a.s.sembly Wednesday, and got an honorable mention. It would have been nice for once to be the winner, but what did I really expect? Anyway, there was a certificate. I put it on the counter when I got home and waited to see if anybody was going to magnet it to the fridge.

Thursday morning, there it was, amid the forest of my sisters' test papers and commendations.

Embarra.s.singly, it mattered a tiny bit to me, as stupid as that is. Still, it was the one thing I'd actually worked on all year, so, whatever.

Anyway, it kind of cracked me up all morning, in and out of my last finals, thinking how proud I was to have a c.r.a.ppy sheet of paper on the fridge with my name Sharpied in on the (name) line, and that's why I was apparently smirking as I walked with Roxie out to the field at lunch.

In answer to Tyler's question.

But I didn't answer. I just shrugged, and then he asked if he could talk to me. My fingers went icy as I walked with him toward the back fence.

I hadn't really spoken to him since getting on the train Monday morning, had avoided him pretty much, because I figured, now that I had put the word out that no, I was not a model, that some rumors actually are false, he wouldn't have much use for me. And since I was done humiliating myself-had determined, in this last week of school, to turn over a new leaf and not walk face-first into windmills-there was no reason to cross paths with Tyler Moss if I could possibly avoid it.

It wasn't just "honorable mention" on the social studies presentations I was busy congratulating myself about. I was feeling pretty proud of my newfound self-preservation instinct.

"You don't have to say anything," I told Ty, feeling way impressed with my own maturity. "It's okay."

"What's okay?" he asked. He was all kind of blotchy and nervous-looking, poor thing.

"You were briefly, whatever, into me-if you were-under false information. You thought I was a model. I'm not; I never was. So you don't owe me an explanation or whatever. It's been fun, the end. Let's not drag it out, right?"

I held out my hand to shake his, half joking, to ease the awkwardness. He was a good-looking, sarcastic jock; I was a gawky, intense girl who briefly had delusions of grandeur. There really was no reason for us to waste more of each other's time.

"I never hooked up with Roxie Green, if that's what you still think," he said.

"No," I said, and decided to just be blunt. I was hungry and my lunch period was only forty-three minutes long. "Ty, let's be real. You even admitted it-you like me because of how I looked, and that I was a model, but that was all a fake; it never really happened. Tomorrow's the last day of school and we won't see each other all summer. So let's just leave it as acquaintances, right?"

Ty looked at his sneakers. "Okay, I like you because of how you look; it's true," he said. "I'm sorry if that's shallow, but I do; I can't help it."

"It's not that it's shallow," I tried to explain. "It's just-"

"Yeah, but," he continued, kind of ignoring me, "I also like you because you're funny and weird, and every time I'm with you, you surprise me, and also because your hero was, what did you say? 'A one-legged drunken carouser who in spite of his own bad impulses managed to write the most important and generous doc.u.ment in history.' Right?"

"I can't believe you remembered that."

He shrugged. "A one-legged gorgeous girl swinging a plunger in the corridor is pretty memorable. What?"

I just shook my head. "I don't get it."

"What's to get?" He smiled halfway, crooked. "Those are the three things anybody would look for in a girlfriend: hotness, humor, and a kick-a.s.s hero."

I managed not to ask, Did you just say the word Did you just say the word girlfriend? girlfriend? Because I think you said Because I think you said girlfriend, by asking, instead, and randomly, "Well, who's your hero?" girlfriend, by asking, instead, and randomly, "Well, who's your hero?"

"My brother, Gideon," Ty said without a moment's hesitation.

"Your brother?"

"He didn't write the Const.i.tution, I admit, but his smile lights up the world."

"Talk about a kick-a.s.s hero," I whispered.

"Will you go out with me?" he asked me.

"No," I said.

He looked so shocked and hurt, I hurried to explain.

"I'm not...It's not that I don't like you," I said.

"Just not in that way?" he guessed wrongly.

"Oh, no," I said quickly. "In that way. Exactly in that way. I've liked you in that way for, like, the whole year."

"So then, why-"

"You just...You have this idea of me," I said. "You think I'm, like, cool, or strong, independent. Maybe even, you know, pretty."

"Yeah?"

"But you're wrong," I said. "I'm not. I suck. You are, like, gorgeous and funny and a jock and smart and totally dedicated to your disabled brother. I'm petty and cranky and awkward and weird-looking. All of which you would realize within days, maybe minutes, and then you'd break up with me and I'd have to spend the rest of the summer in a worse funk than I usually am in."

"Way to look on the bright side," he said, smirking a tiny bit.

"The bright side and I don't get along so well."

"Maybe you're wrong," he said. "What if you don't suck? What if you're actually way cooler than you think, funnier, more gorgeous, more generous? Maybe your one big fault is that you just have no idea how great you are."

I shook my head. "Trust me."

He watched his sneaker kick at the gra.s.s. "Fine. Well, whatever. Have a good summer."

"You too," I managed.

He started to walk away, and though my knees were freaking out I managed to stay upright.

A few steps away, he turned and walked backward, saying, "Call me if you realize you're good enough for me. We could have some fun."

I managed a smile and an "Okay," but I didn't mean it. I knew that was something I'd never realize. Maybe he could tell, because he shrugged, like giving up, then turned around and didn't look back.

25.

DAD HAD DECIDED WE WERE grilling that night for dinner, so the rest of us were setting the table and making the salad and everything was chaos. Phoebe was drifting around all tan and happy, having spent the morning at her cute boyfriend's mother's nursery repotting plants, and then the afternoon with a bunch of friends swimming together in our pool. Her long blond hair was still damp against her bronze shoulders. Dad kissed her on her head as she stood beside him, holding the platter and humming in her sweet off-key voice. grilling that night for dinner, so the rest of us were setting the table and making the salad and everything was chaos. Phoebe was drifting around all tan and happy, having spent the morning at her cute boyfriend's mother's nursery repotting plants, and then the afternoon with a bunch of friends swimming together in our pool. Her long blond hair was still damp against her bronze shoulders. Dad kissed her on her head as she stood beside him, holding the platter and humming in her sweet off-key voice.

Inside, while making the salad, Mom asked Quinn how her meeting had gone. I didn't even know she had such an important meeting, she didn't tell me about it, but apparently it was with her advisor to talk about her summer job working in a camp for underprivileged kids. Quinn was all excited about the job. She carried the big wooden bowl out, and Mom had the tongs she'd gotten on a trip last year to India.

I carried the mustard and the vinegar, following them.

Mom interrupted the PhoebeDad duet to tell him to listen to Quinn's wonderful story. Dad ate it up. He loves do-gooder stuff like donating and soup kitchens and all that. He asked Quinn a hundred questions and listened carefully to every answer, nodding with such a proud face, casting glances at Mom like, Isn't she just remarkable, our s.h.i.+ning star? Isn't she just remarkable, our s.h.i.+ning star?

Quinn stood at the head of the table with her hands on the smooth sides of the salad bowl, talking about how good it felt to be making a difference in the lives of these kids.

I dropped the jar of mustard and it shattered all over the patio.

It was totally an accident. I watched my parents give each other looks and take their deep breaths. Before I could even apologize, my phone rang.

"Saved by the bell," Phoebe whispered, kneeling down with a roll of paper towels. She was just trying to be sweet and helpful, I knew; there was no reason to grunt at her.

Alas.