The Pretty One(68)

Her sister. Her beautiful sister.

I’ve never made Lucy so upset before and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do next. It’s totally unnerving, especially since Lucy has always seemed so strong, so capable of not only taking care of herself, but me as well. She has saved my neck so many times. Ten years ago, when we were playing dolls in our backyard and Warren Gumbar, a neighborhood bully at least four years older than me, started calling me werewolf girl, barking and howling at me through the fence. Even though he was twice Lucy’s size and all the kids at school were terrified of him, Lucy grabbed a branch and jammed it right at him, right through the fence.

And what about freshman year, when Angie Rembleaux wrote Megan Fletcher is the ugliest dog EVER inside all the bathroom stalls on the second floor and the very next day Lucy made her apologize and then wipe it all off by hand? It seems like there were a million instances just like that, and even though I really don’t want to be thinking about them right now because they only make me feel worse, they’re all fast-forwarding through my mind at the speed of light.

When Lucy comes out of the bathroom, I’ve relived sixteen years of her saving my ass and am sitting on the hallway floor, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. I open my mouth to say something, I’m still not sure what, but Lucy snaps before I can speak.

“How could you do this to me?!”

And with that, all of my sympathy and guilt morph into an anger that rivals my sister’s.

“For once, Lucy, this isn’t about you!” I shout.

I’m not even sure what I mean by that. But I know it’s enough to drive Lucy away.

She storms into our room and grabs her pillow. “I was so excited for this year, Megan. I thought it was going to be great for both of us. But I never would have guessed that you’d turn on me.”

After that dramatic statement, Lucy makes her grand exit and seeks shelter in our parents’ bedroom.

As for me, I go into the bathroom, stare at my undoubtedly pretty face in the mirror, and think about what would have happened with Drew if my sister hadn’t come home.





twenty-two

vomitory (noun): an auditorium entrance or exit that emerges through banked seating from below.

I’m awake half the night, thinking about Drew and Lucy and my parents and Simon and George and Catherine and people at school I barely know. My mind has never been this cluttered and I can’t help but believe that my new face is to blame.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, though, because when I sit up in bed, light is spilling through the curtains. I’m not surprised to see that the door to my parents’ room is wide open and the bed already made. I hear a noise in the kitchen and I take a deep breath as I steady myself against the railing, mentally preparing myself for the fireworks. But as I walk downstairs the smell of coffee hits me right between the eyes. There’s only person who drinks coffee in this house: my mom.

I burst into the kitchen and fly into her arms, almost tackling her to the ground. “When did you get home?”

“A couple hours ago.”

Maybe I’m just overly sensitive, but the sight of me doesn’t seem to be making her delirious with happiness. And she has been gone for three days, definitely long enough for some delirium. This can only mean one thing: “I take it you saw Lucy?”

She nods. “She was sleeping in my bed.”

“Look, Mom, I know what Lucy thinks, but I didn’t invite Drew over here last night. In fact, he had sent me an e-mail earlier in the day and I didn’t even respond.”

My mom looks perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

Hold everything. “Didn’t she tell you?”

“She just said that she’s been having trouble sleeping and so she stayed up and fell asleep in front of the TV.”

It hits me that Lucy may have been trying to protect me, like she used to when we were little, and my eyes fill with tears. Suddenly, I’m spilling my guts to my mom, starting with the most recent events and working my way backward.

At the end of my story, my mother sighs. “So Lucy thinks you purposefully came in between her and this boy Drew?”

I nod, miserable.

My mom gives me a sympathetic smile. “You look tired,” she says. “Do you want some tea?”

I hug my knees to my chest and nod again. My mom fills a mug with water and pops it in the microwave.

“So are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Interested in Drew?”

Even though I know Mom’s not the type to point an accusatory finger, I still feel defensive. “Well, I liked him first,” I say quickly. “In fact, from the moment I saw him. Lucy never even paid any attention to him until she found out he was directing the spring musical.”

“Come on, now,” Mom says.

“It’s true!” I say emphatically, like I’m trying to convince my mother that Drew belongs with me. “I know him a lot better than Lucy does. I know that he likes Batman and has two little sisters and carries a dictionary around.”

My mom’s eyebrows twitch. “That’s a little weird.”

And I know that, “Well, I know that I love him.”

I can’t believe I said that out loud. And in front of my mother. She smiles a little bit but doesn’t say a word.