The Pretty One(44)

Since I have about five hours to kill, I take my book and walk to the aquarium. Moby stays in my backpack while I watch his distant cousins the dolphins perform before heading back to Federal Hill to meet Simon at Spoons. Since Simon has paid the last couple of times we went out, I plan on getting there early so that I can get the drinks before he arrives. I’m feeling pretty good until I set foot inside the coffee shop. Simon is already there and has snagged a premium spot near the window. Even though I’m counting calories, he has an iced mocha cappuccino (with whip) waiting for me. To make matters worse, he’s sans glasses and wearing a preppy boy costume.

“Why are you all dressed up?” I say, taking a seat across from him.

“I’m not dressed up.”

“You’re not wearing your shorts or your glasses.”

“I’m not wearing shorts because it’s cold and I’m not wearing glasses because I got contacts.”

I take a sip of my iced mocha cappuccino. I want to believe him. I really do not want to think that his being dressed up has anything at all to do with me, but I have a nagging and mildly horrific idea it does. “I thought you said you couldn’t wear contacts.”

“I figured it was worth another try. My glasses were…beginning to annoy me.”

“Well, you look good.” I take another sip. I’m not a hundred percent sold, but if Simon says that his glasses were beginning to annoy him, I’m willing to take him at his word. The past few weeks have been totally stressful and I so badly want everything to be back to normal again. If I have to ignore a few things until they blow over, so be it.

“Thanks,” he says, reddening. “And so do you…as usual.”


Ignore it, I remind myself. After all, how could I blame Simon for seeing me a little bit differently these days? I am different. I now look like the kind of girl I used to secretly envy; the kind of girl with a face that wins attention and admiration from strangers; the kind of girl who has no idea what it’s like to be mocked and despised, or worse yet, invisible. “So what did you do last night?” I ask, quickly changing the subject as I dab about twenty calories of whipped cream off my lips with my napkin.

“Laura came over and we hung out,” he says. “She’s really funny. You’d like her.”

Even though I really don’t know her that well, from what I have seen, she’s not funny in the slightest. But I don’t care about that. What matters is that Simon obviously likes her. And I really want him to like her—like her so he’ll be happy, and we can get back to normal. “What did you guys do?”

“Not much. She came over and we played Monopoly.”

“Sounds fun,” I say, although I hate Monopoly. In fact, as Simon knows very well, I hate all board games. So it is probably good that he has found someone besides me to play Monopoly with.

He smiles at me again and glances away, as if he’s getting ready to say something. Something uncomfortable. “About the other day…,” he begins. “I’m sorry. I’m happy for you about this play thing. I was just being a jerk.”

I’m reminded of the scene from Men in Black, when the old man’s head opens and there’s a little alien sitting in there, manning the controls. Simon may be wearing a costume, but the same little alien is at the wheel. He is still my BFF.

“Look what I did last night.” I reach into my backpack and pull out the diorama and the plastic bag with the furniture. I set the diorama on the table, place the furniture inside, and turn it around so he can see it. “Look familiar?”

“That’s…is that my living room with the furniture rearranged?” Simon asks. “That’s great! Let’s do it for real. My mom will totally freak. Can you come over tomorrow? We’ll rearrange the furniture before she gets back.”

“Your mom will kill you if you do it without her permission. But keep this and show her. If she likes it, I’m totally up for it.”

He takes the diorama and smiles at me again.

Neither one of us say a word. “Thanks again,” he says, tapping the top of the diorama. “This is really, really great.”

“It’s not that great.” His reaction is a little over the top considering I’ve made him dioramas before and he couldn’t have cared less. Like when I bumped my knee on his dresser and decided it was in the wrong spot, so I made a diorama of his bedroom with all the furniture rearranged. He looked at it for two seconds before telling me in detail why my design wouldn’t work.

“I just want you to know that I’m happy for you—you know, about the play,” he says. “I just, well, I missed you last year. I was kind of hoping that when you came back things would get back to normal. The Chase/Fletcher set design team would be in business again.”

“I was looking forward to that, too, but this whole acting thing just kind of popped up out of nowhere.”

“And it’s great. Considering how much you used to talk about being a drama major.” Even though Simon’s trying to be supportive, his insistence is beginning to sound a little insincere. “By the way, I was sorry to hear about your wedding.”

“I’m all broken up about it.” I take my napkin and pretend to dab my eyes. “Hah! We couldn’t even make conversation! It was so awkward it was painful. I only gave him one-word answers.”