The Pretty One(36)

“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 ?a.”

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.”





twelve

protagonist (noun): the leading character, hero, or heroine of a drama or other literary work.