The Pretty One(70)

On Monday I arrive at Lucheki’s class before Simon. I optimistically sit in my regular seat but Simon gets there late and sits about ten rows behind me. He looks like crap. He has dark circles under his eyes and his hair is abnormally messy. He’s wearing his glasses but he’s still dressed like a prep student, albeit one who has slept in his clothes. His wrinkled blue shirt is only half tucked in and his pants look a size too big.

I’m not one to make judgments, however, since I’m not faring much better. In fact, I’m pretty much a total wreck. Lucy has been avoiding me, staying away from the house as much as possible and sleeping on the couch. The couple of times I’ve tried to talk to her she’s been polite yet distant. It’s not like she’s mad. It’s much, much worse. It’s like she doesn’t even care about me enough to be angry. That, in addition to Simon’s behavior, not to mention the whole “does Drew just like me because I’m pretty” talk I had with my mom has turned me into a crazy, anxious shell of myself. I haven’t slept, and even though I’ve been taking my nose spray, my nose is running like a sieve.

And now, sitting in the same room as Simon and not being able to talk to him or laugh with him or just be with him—it makes everything ten times worse. Even though I turn around and look at him more than once, he never even glances in my direction. When class is over I solemnly file out, convinced Simon is never going to talk to me again. The minute I get into the hall, though, I feel a hand on my arm.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Simon asks.

I feel a rush of relief. I’m so happy and grateful that someone I care about is actually talking to me that I want to say, yes, of course, I’ll talk wherever and whenever you want, but before I get an opportunity, I see George heading in my direction. Why does George always seem to appear when I’m with Simon? And suddenly I realize that I have been so distracted by my other problems that I never responded to George’s invitation to the fall festival.

“Did you get the invite?” George calls out cheerfully.

Simon winces, but makes no effort to leave.

“Yeah,” I say to George. “But ah, well, can we talk later?”

“It’s a simple question, beautiful,” he says, stopping in front of me. I wince at his use of the word “beautiful.” “Yes or no?” he asks.

I take a breath. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I can’t go because, well…” I look at Simon. I think about him and Lucy and Drew and how terrible and complicated everything has become. “I’m going with Simon.”

Simon’s eyes open wide as his mouth falls open.

I stop breathing. What? Did I just say I was going with Simon?

“Oh,” George says. “Okay. That’s cool.”

Neither Simon nor I say anything as George walks away. We just stand there, staring at each other. I feel like I’m having some sort of weird, awful dream. What about Drew? What about Drew?

The bell rings and the halls clear out, leaving us alone.

“I need to take it slow,” I say finally. “Really slow.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Like working our way up to holding hands slow.”

“Okay,” he says again.

I think I’m going to throw up. Right here. Right outside the theater, right in the middle of the window-lined hall. The janitor will have to come clean it up, but he won’t be able to get rid of the smell, and all day long, any time anyone even walks near it, they’re going to wrinkle their nose and ask: Who puked?

“What made you change your mind?” Simon asks.

“Because you like me for who I am on the inside,” I hear myself say. Which is true. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help my nausea at all.



I don’t go to lunch. Instead I tell Simon I have a doctor’s appointment and leave school. I don’t get permission. I just open the front door and start walking with no particular destination in mind. I spend the entire afternoon walking and walking and wondering how in hell I could’ve told Simon that I would go to the dance with him.

To be honest, I had considered it. After all, I had spent the entire weekend thinking about him, Drew, and Lucy and trying to figure out what to do. And when George asked me in front of Simon and I saw the pain on his face—I cracked. I just couldn’t take it anymore.

But what’s done is done, right? All I can do now is reassure myself that what’s done is/was the right thing. After all, could I really have given up both Lucy and Simon for Drew, a guy who probably would never have been interested in me if I was still ugly? I should be commending myself, not walking around feeling as if I just stepped into a pool of quicksand.

But I haven’t stepped in quicksand. I’ve walked right back to school and into the classroom where I’m meeting Drew.

“Hey,” he says, jumping off a desk to greet me as I walk into the room.

I really, really wanted to blow off play practice, but due to my imaginary illness, I missed almost all of last week. But even if I hadn’t, I doubted I would’ve been able to blow it off. I’m just too much of a masochist.

“I’ve been trying to reach you,” Drew says.

He had called twice over the weekend and once today but I hadn’t had the heart to answer or call him back. “I’m sorry. I had…well, some things to take care of.”