The Pretty One(74)

My dad’s BlackBerry goes off and we’re both silent as he checks his messages. He shakes his head after he puts it away. “As for Simon…sometimes these things take time,” he says. “Time and patience. It’s like anything else.”



Lucy wakes me up at twelve-thirty that night to ask me how things went with Simon. Before my accident, she used to do this so she could tell me about her night out, and it’s yet another reminder of how different things are between us.

“Fine,” I tell her as I rub my eyes.

“Did he kiss you?”

I nod.

“And?”

I’m really surprised at what I say. “Actually, he’s a really good kisser.”

“Get out!” she practically yells. “I can’t wait to tell Marybeth. She said she could just tell he’d be a good kisser.”

I can’t help but wonder what there is about Simon that would make Marybeth think that.

“Guess what? I got asked to the fall festival!” Lucy shouts.

A chill runs down my spine.

“When I went to Jane’s tonight, I walked in the door and the first person I saw was Drew.”

I think I might pass out.

“Anyway, he kept following me around all night. No matter where I went or what I did, Drew was right there. Finally I was like, what’s going on? And then he basically asked me to go with him.”

I’m in a state of shock. I can’t do anything but stare at my sister, dumbfounded. My mom had been right about Drew after all.

Lucy stands up and walks over to her dresser. She takes a purple silk nightgown out of her bottom drawer. I curl up in the fetal position as my mind frantically tries to absorb everything my sister has told me. Maybe I was delusional when I told Mom I knew Drew better than Lucy did. Maybe I didn’t know him at all.

When Lucy gets into bed, she doesn’t say good night. Instead she says, “I’m glad everything worked out for us in the end. Aren’t you?”

I feel a burning sensation deep in my esophagus as I picture Simon in his tux and pray that the mere sight of him makes me want to kiss him and forget all about Drew. I keep praying until I fall asleep, when the sun comes up.





twenty-six

dry (verb): to fail to memorize lines.

On Friday I get to play practice twenty minutes late. Drew is sitting on a desk, his arms crossed in front of him. He looks like he’s about to blow a gasket.

“Hey,” I say casually.

I know why Drew is so angry. I’ve been late to play practice every day this week, each day a little bit later than the one previous. Although I normally hate being late, I would rather rip off my fingernails with my teeth one by one than endure another full day of play practice. As far as I’m concerned, I’m entitled to be mad at Drew for asking Lucy to the fall festival after I said no. If I had any nerve, I’d quit this play right now and he’d be left high and dry and without an actress for his stupid one-act. In fact, if I wasn’t pretty sure he’d just replace me with Lucy, I’d quit this minute.

“Why are you so late?” His eyes are practically smoking with rage.

“I had…some…some things to do.”

“Some things to do?” he repeats sarcastically. He stands up, his arms still crossed.

I try to give him my special I’m-not-afraid-of-you stare, but it’s been a long time since I’ve used it.

“What things?”

Yep, it’s not working. Surprise, surprise.

“Personal things,” I say simply.

The muscles in Drew’s jaw clench, and for a minute I wonder if I’ve gone just a tad too far. He looks as if he’s about to erupt into one of my dad’s furious tirades. But he just runs a hand through his thick black hair and says, “Megan, this is our last practice before the dress rehearsal. Let’s just…let’s just try to focus.”

Over the past week, every now and then Drew says or does something that makes me forget how upset I am that he went after Lucy and wish that we were back in my house kissing. This is one of those times. There’s something about the way he ran his fingers through his hair that makes me want to throw my arms around him and hold on forever.

God help me.

How can I still feel like this? I’d have to be crazy to still like Drew after he asked my sister to the dance.

Drew and I assume our positions at the front of the classroom. I start saying my lines but I’m having trouble concentrating. Still, I persevere and only sneak a peek at the script twice. Although that’s an all-time record for me, Drew looks annoyed, like he really can’t believe I’m not completely offscript yet. As we get closer to the kiss, my anxiety starts getting the best of me. I begin my mantra: I’m an actress—I’m an actress—I’m an actress.

“So…” So what? What is my line, anyway? I nervously glance toward the open script that is lying on top of a desk on the front row. Unfortunately, it’s upside down and more than five feet away. Although my eyesight’s good, it’s not that good.

“So we won’t call it a relationship,” Drew says quickly, feeding me my line.

“We won’t call it a relationship,” I mumble. “It’s just about what feels good. And this…this feels good.”