The Pretty One(57)

“If you want I can stop by and give you a hand,” I offer.

“Maybe when I’m done with practice one day.”

“Sure,” he says. “That would be nice. Oh, by the way, my mom loved your new design for the living room. She said she should pay you instead of her interior decorator.”

“Ha, ha! Okay, great!” It comes out really forced. Like it’s obvious that I’m not sincere. “Oh, and I’ve got a compliment for you as well. Guess who was talking about you at lunch the other day? Marybeth. She was saying how great she thinks you look with contacts. She said she never noticed until now what cute eyes you have.”

“Really?” he asks with a sad smile. “That’s nice, I guess.”



When I get home, Lucy isn’t there. On the kitchen table is a handwritten note explaining that she is going out to dinner with Marybeth and will see me later. I tell myself I really shouldn’t care. After all, in spite of Lucy I’ve had a pretty good day. I kissed Drew, left my mom a very long-winded, ecstatic message, and had a nice talk with Simon. So what if my sister can’t stand the sight of me?

I make myself a tuna fish sandwich with lite mayo as I try to ignore the Lucy-inspired pit in my stomach. I think about what Lucy said about being charming and nice and then I think about George. I grab my sandwich and head to the computer, determined to deal with him once and for all.

After several drafts, I type an e-mail that I’m pretty sure is good:



Dear George,

I’m really sorry but I can’t go out with you on Thursday night. In fact, I can’t go out with you at all. I think you are a GREAT guy and wish you all the best.

Sincerely, Megan



I’m just about to press Send when I hear the front door open. “Mom?” I call out.

“Just me,” Lucy replies.

I check my watch. It’s nearly eight o’clock and I haven’t heard from Mom since I left her that message. I can’t help but feel disappointed. So much for her sharing my excitement over my first (stage) kiss. Still, I’m happy that at least Lucy is home.

“What did you get?” I ask cheerfully as she walks in the bedroom carrying a Bebe’s bag.

“Pants,” she says. “They were on sale. We stopped there before dinner.”


“Where did you go to dinner?” I ask.

“Cheesecake Factory,” she says.

As Lucy is well aware, I absolutely love the Cheesecake Factory. In the old days she probably would’ve said something like I was thinking about you the whole time or I brought you back some cheesecake. But it’s as if she’s forgotten that I’ve ever even been there, not to mention that it’s one of my favorite places on earth.

“Hey,” she says, motioning toward the shirt under my hoodie.

“Is that my shirt?”

“It was in our share pile.”

Lucy doesn’t say anything more, but I can tell she’s not too happy by the way she turns away from me. I curse myself for wearing the shirt. I knew it was hers but since she lets me wear some of her other shirts, I didn’t think she’d care. Still, it was a dumb thing to do, especially considering the sorry state of our relationship.

“Will you read this?” I ask, motioning toward the computer screen. “It’s to George.”

Lucy leans over my shoulder and reads it. “That’s not a letter. That’s a bitchy note. Have you not been listening to a word I’ve been saying to you? You have to be bend over backward to be nice now or people are going to hate you.”

“I know, I know,” I say defensively. “I really do understand what you’re saying. Honest. But what’s nasty about this?” I glance at the note again as I begin to chew on my thumbnail. “I say he’s a great guy.”

“I don’t understand why you don’t want to go out with him,” Lucy snaps. “He’s cute and popular…he’s funny…”

“He’s kind of annoying. And also…he has girl hair.” I’m stunned that I remember what Simon had said last year.

“Girl hair?” Lucy asks, wrinkling up her nose and raising her eyebrows like I had just spoken in tongues. “You don’t like him because of his hair?”

I never should have brought up the girl-hair thing. I know it sounds superficial, I should’ve just stopped at annoying. But I’m not about to back down. “I would think you, of all people, would understand. Remember Andy?” I say, mentioning the guy who asked her to the fall festival the previous year. “You said you didn’t like him because of his hands.”

“This isn’t the same thing. Not even close.”

“Why?”

“Because a year ago you would’ve been counting your blessings to be fortunate enough to be asked out by someone like George!”

“I see,” I say calmly, yanking my thumb away from my mouth. “So, as far as you’re concerned, Miss Pathetic BuckTeeth Fatso on the inside is lucky that I even caught George’s eye. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, Lucy, but he’s…he’s not my type.”

“How would you know what your type is when you’ve never gone out with anyone? When, up until yesterday, you’d never even kissed anyone?” she adds.