The Pretty One(38)

“You’re going?” I ask.

“Thought I might,” he replies nonchalantly.

“Great,” I exclaim. Up until now, I haven’t been looking forward to Danny’s party, simply because of George. But he no longer matters. What matters is that I’ll get to see Drew.

Drew gives me a nod and grins. Only after he’s gone do I realize that I’m still wearing my protective goggles. I make a mental note to take them off before the party.



I experience a Drew-inspired high that lasts all the way until third period, Mr. Lucheki’s sound production class. Even though it’s in the auditorium and there’s only twenty of us in the class, Simon and I always sit in the same seats: J 19 and 20. But today Simon arrives late, and instead of sitting in his regular seat next to me, he takes a seat by the exit, directly behind Catherine and her new best friend, Laura, a freshman techie who all the guys are gaga about.

Simon doesn’t even look at me and I can tell he’s trying to avoid my eyes. What is going on here? No congratulations on the part, no I’m happy for you…zilch.

Even though he’s been acting weird lately and I probably shouldn’t be surprised, I am. After all, he, more than anyone else in this school (besides Lucy), knows how terrible last year was for me. He, more than anyone else, knows how badly I want to act and how much this part means to me. And he, more than anyone else, knows how I feel about Drew.

After class Simon doesn’t wait for me. Even though we always walk to lunch together, he takes off like a jackrabbit the minute it’s over. And that’s when I realize that he’s a class-A jerk.

I return my books to my locker and pull out my lunch, growing angrier by the second. I march into the cafeteria where I spot Simon eating by himself in a corner trying hard to pretend like he doesn’t see me. I tighten my grip on my lunch bag and head straight toward him. He looks up, surprised.

“What’s going on?” I ask angrily.

“I…ah…well…”

“Why didn’t you return my messages?”

“Sorry,” he says. “I meant to but I just got busy.”

Busy. Suddenly my anger is replaced by an ache deep inside and I’m blinking back tears, struggling to keep it together. The last thing I want is to start bawling in the middle of the cafeteria.

“I just…I was surprised I didn’t hear from you, that’s all.”

“Oh…,” Simon says. “Sorry. Congratulations on the play.”

“Thanks,” I mumble. I take the seat across from him and discreetly wipe my nose with my napkin before opening my sandwich bag and pulling out my breadless “sandwich” (a piece of rolled turkey), a punishment for all the doughnuts I’ve consumed.

“I volunteered to work on the set,” he says.

“You did?” I ask, surprised. From the way Simon has been behaving, I would’ve thought that he didn’t want to have anything to do with Drew’s play.

Catherine and Laura pass by our table. Even though I wave at both of them, only Laura waves back. “I’ll see you after school,” Laura says to Simon as she walks past.

“Laura’s going to do the set design with me,” Simon explains as he watches them walk away. No wonder Simon volunteered to do Drew’s set. He is doing it to be closer to Laura, not to be supportive of me.

“I have to go,” he says, making a point of checking his watch. “I have an appointment with my ophthalmologist.” He scoops up his lunch and practically runs toward the door.

I’m tempted to chase after him and tell him how he’s ruined my whole fantasy. Instead I take an oversized bite out of my one-hundred-calorie apple as I blink back tears and look across the table at the empty space in front of me.



“Lucy?” I call out when I arrive home. “Lucy?” I repeat.

The house is silent. My heart drops as I slowly trudge toward my bedroom. Now I really wish I wasn’t going out with George. The only bright spot to my date tonight (besides seeing Drew) was this fantasy I had about Lucy and I getting ready together. I’ve watched her get ready for parties with her friends a million times and it always looked like so much fun. Up until two seconds ago, I had big plans. Our recent squabbles would be forgotten as we laughed and shared secrets, rummaging through our closet, borrowing each other’s clothes and makeup.

I walk into my bedroom and…

Ah! Jesus!

I jump backward, clutching my chest in fear. But it’s not a burglar, nor is it a dead body. It’s just Lucy lying on her bed, dressed in yet another velvet sweat suit (blue this time), reading Backstage, the New York theater magazine. Even though you could read it online and a subscription to a hard copy costs $195, Lucy had been getting it delivered pretty much ever since she could read.

“Hey,” she says casually, not even looking up. “John Lloyd Wright just got cast in another play. I’m not surprised. He’s so brilliant.”

“You scared the crap out of me! Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

“I said hello back,” she says.

“You must not have said it very loud,” I say.

She just shrugs.

I take a breath. I’m about one hundred percent certain she’s lying, but I don’t want to get into an argument about something so lame, especially when I was so looking forward to being with her.