The Pretty One(80)

Catherine and Laura are standing beside the table saw, just staring at me. I’m a little bothered to see that even normally cheerful Laura is now giving me the same evil eye as Catherine. Simon has obviously told them what happened at the dance. Or Annie.

“Simon, can I talk to you for a minute? Please?” I beg.

Finally, with what appears to be considerable thought, Simon puts down his brush and climbs down the ladder. We walk out of the production studio and down the hall and up the marble staircase, to the deserted second floor. When we reach the top of the stairs, I notice his shoe is untied. I attempt to point it out to him by tapping it with my foot but he moves away from me as if he can’t stand to have me touch him, even with my foot.

I swallow back the lump in my throat. What can I possibly say to make things better? “So you gave up on your contacts, huh?”

He sighs as if he’s not sure whether to answer me or not. “I hated them,” he said. “I was just wearing them to try to look a little better for you.”

“Oh, Simon,” I breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

He raises his hand as if to silence me. “It’s not all your fault. I knew how you felt about Drew. I was just…stupid.”

I chew on my bottom lip while he tucks his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor. “What’s going to happen to us?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I wish we could go back to how things were between us before your accident, but…I don’t think I can.”

“What are you saying?” I wipe my nose on the back of my sleeve as I blink back my tears. “That you need some time apart? Some time to think things through?”

“No.” Simon closes his eyes for a minute and breathes in deep. “What I’m saying is that…I can’t be just your friend, Megan. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“But…I love you.”

He gives me a little grin. “I know. Just not the way I want you to.”



After my talk with Simon I go back to the auditorium and stare blindly at my script until Drew arrives with Mrs. Habersham, who is there to give us our final critique. I nod at Drew as we take our places onstage. I’m glad that when the play opens I’m supposed to be sitting down because knowing that Mrs. Habersham is there evaluating me is making my knees so wobbly I don’t think I could stand if I had to. I do my best to remember my lines, but I keep getting distracted by Mrs. Habersham, who is in the front row, watching me intently as she takes copious notes on the spiral pad in her lap. I feel totally, utterly sick to my stomach. As I forget yet another line, I can’t help but feel bad for Drew. He has put so much time and energy into this whole thing and I am going to blow it for him. We finally finish and I brace myself for a lecture as I walk to the edge of the stage to receive Mrs. Habersham’s critique.

“That was terrible,” she says simply.

Drew inhales deeply as he crosses his arms.

“Miss Fletcher,” she continues, as she pushes her glasses up her nose and leans forward. “I know you saw the script at the audition because I was there, but have you even looked at it since?”

I stare down at my feet. There’s nothing to say. She’s right. I’m terrible.

“Why haven’t you memorized your lines yet?” she asks.

“I, ah, well, I’m trying.”

“With less than thirty-six hours until your performance, I would suggest you try a little harder,” she says crisply.

“She’s had a lot of stuff going on,” Drew says, courageously rising to my defense.

“Let me remind you that this is your play Drew,” she says, almost angrily. “And casting Megan was your decision. As the director, writer, and star, you’re the person who will be held accountable. Your entire grade is riding on the performance—the entire performance.” And with that threat, she turns and spins away, walking up the aisle with her notebook tucked under her arm.

“I’m sorry,” I say to Drew as soon as Mrs. Habersham is out of earshot.

“No,” he says. “I’m sorry. About last night…I had no idea that Lucy…I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say. “It’s mine.”

He takes a breath and glances toward the back of the theater. “I tried to call you.”

“I know. I just, well, I had a lot of things to think about.”

He walks toward the edge of the stage. He sits down and motions for me to join him. “How did everything go?”

“Not so good,” I say, sitting next to him. “Lucy’s furious. And Simon, well, I told him I could never see him as anything more than a friend. Needless to say, he doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “Megan, what I said last night, about how I feel about you…if it helps at all—”

“It does,” I say quickly.

“I just want you to know that I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.”

I look into Drew’s eyes. A year ago it would’ve been inconceivable to me, almost laughable that I might question whether or not someone might want to be with me because of the way I look. As of last year, people liked me in spite of the way I looked, not because. “The way you feel about me…does it…would it matter…” I swallow. “What if I looked like I used to?”