The Pretty One(61)

“You want to see it up close?” Fred asks, once again as excited as if he’s offering us a chance to see a treasure from Tutankhamen’s tomb. “I’ll let you view it in the back where there’s more room.”

Drew takes my hand in his. “Lead the way.”

I follow along behind him, thinking about how amazing his skin feels against mine. But soon I remember that tomorrow Drew and Lucy will be at the Kennedy Center together. I get a sick feeling in my stomach that spreads everywhere in a matter of seconds. I just know Lucy will use on him that weird power she has over men and he’ll have no choice but to hold her hand, too.





twenty

typecast (verb): to cast a performer in a role that requires characteristics of physique, manner, personality, etc., similar to those possessed by the performer.

“Were you up here all night?”

It’s seven-thirty in the morning and I’m on the roof, wearing my coat over my pajamas, covered in sawdust.

Lucy is standing in the doorway. She looks exactly like the Valentine’s Day Barbie I got from Aunt Shelley in third grade. She’s wearing the outfit she and Marybeth picked out for her date with Drew: red velvet jeans (that she has dry-cleaned) and a tight pink turtleneck, topped with a fuzzy white shrug and long, dangly rhinestone earrings.

“I couldn’t sleep.” In fact, I have been up since four. I tossed and turned for a half hour before grabbing a large shoe box from the back of the closet, taking out the chinchilla-trimmed boots that Lucy bought on eBay last year for a hundred and fifty dollars, and heading up to the roof. Since we don’t have a basement, my dad built a little shed for my equipment and that’s where my mom prefers me to work on my projects, especially the big messy ones.

Lucy goes to the edge of the balcony and glances toward the harbor. “I don’t know how you can stand to be up here at night by yourself. It would creep me out.”

“It’s kind of nice,” I say.

“What are you working on?” she asks, motioning toward my diorama.

I hesitate. I’m not sure if Lucy knows about Drew’s Batman obsession or not. One thing is certain. If she does, she’s going to know in a second what I’m up to. “A…cave. You know, for Batman.”

“For Batman? As in the comic books?”

The knowledge that I know something about Drew that she obviously doesn’t gives me a little thrill.

“Graphic novels,” I say authoritatively. “They’re not just for kids anymore. Some go for as much as, well, two hundred and sixty-five dollars.”

Lucy just shrugs and heads toward the door.

“So what time are you guys leaving?” I ask, before she can escape. I don’t really want to know, of course. But I just can’t help myself.

“At lunch.”

I hear a horn beep. Marybeth just got a new car and I overheard Lucy and her making plans for her to swing by and pick her up early so they could get some coffee and discuss her “strategy” for her date with Drew.

As Lucy leaves, I think about her and Drew sitting in his stepfather’s fancy car, just the two of them. I think about the romantic walk through the glitzy lobby of the Kennedy Center. I think about them sitting side by side in the dark theater. I think about the ride home, the big dramatic moment when the music reaches a crescendo and Drew turns toward Lucy and realizes she’s the girl of his dreams, his real-life Valentine’s Day Barbie.

I wipe my nose on my coat sleeve and turn my diorama back around. It really wasn’t that elaborate, at least, not yet. I had painted the inside of the box black and was in the process of building a computer console and elevator. The diorama wasn’t nearly finished but I suddenly wondered if it was even worth the effort. Although I thought it a great idea a couple of hours ago, it now seems a little sad (in a really pathetic sort of way). What was I thinking? That a little extra credit might win Drew’s affection? A Batman diorama was not going to make up for me not having my sister’s innate sensuality, or her ability to morph into whatever person someone might want her to be.

Somehow I know that a diorama will not win Drew’s affection. I gather up all the pieces and head back inside. I walk to the kitchen, yank out a black Hefty bag, and stuff it in. I tie it up, walk it out the back door, and toss it into the trash. And then I go upstairs to get cleaned up for school. I forget all about my promise to be true to my old self. Intent on looking good today, I’m determined to give Valentine’s Day Barbie a run for her money.



In production class I barely hear a word of Mr. Lucheki’s discussion on the importance of properly miking the actors. I’m too busy thinking about how Drew had taken my hand in his at the comic book store, and how he’d used the word we, intimating that he and I were actually a real couple. Sitting all by myself in the front row, I couldn’t feel more lonely if I was stranded in the middle of the Sahara.

After class, I wait until everybody has left before I exit the auditorium. It’s almost twelve o’clock, time for Drew and Lucy to leave on their big date. Even though I had gotten all dressed up just so I could purposely run into Drew before he left and attempt to distract him from my sister, I don’t go to the cafeteria. (It just seems too pathetic.) Instead I head toward the Cross Street Market to stake out a table for myself. But on the way there, I start to feel worse. I keep thinking about Lucy being alone with Drew and wondering what’s going on between them at that very minute. I’m so upset that I stop walking and call my mom. But once again, she doesn’t pick up. Her not being there so annoys me that I slam the phone shut before leaving a message. I gnaw on my finger for a minute before doing something so desperate it surprises even me. I call my dad.