Part 9 (1/2)
”What gives? I thought your face was getting better.”
Like I'm going to tell my mother what's on my mind right now. I'm sure she'd really appreciate a conversation about Scott's s.e.xy shoulders. ”I'm just tired. Practice last night went late.” And then I had to drive all the way home from Ann Arbor-didn't get back until one in the morning.
”Would you like to take this afternoon off school?”
”Yeah. That would be great.”
”Good. Walk to the office and pa.s.s the phone off so I can get you excused. I've got an appointment for you, and then you can sleep all afternoon.”
”An appointment? Not you, too.”
”It won't take long. Meet me at home. I need to drive you.”
It must be major. She's taking off work. ”Mom . . . ”
”Please, Beth. Humor me on this one.” Her voice sounds excited-as bubbly as an accountant is ever going to get.
”What's going on?”
”I thought of something they haven't.”
”I feel like Frankenstein.”
”You mean his monster?”
”Yeah. You and Meadow's mom can fight over the mad-scientist part.”
”You may not realize it yet, but what's happening to you is big. I'm going to be a part of it.”
”Clapping in the audience isn't good enough anymore?”
”I'm not going to be in Switzerland like them.”
”You're jealous of Meadow's mom?”
”She's done so much for you.”
”How can you even compare yourself to her?” It's tough to say this into a stupid cell phone while standing outside the office. ”You're everything, Mom.” My voice breaks and I have to whisper. ”Where would I be without you?”
She sniffs. ”I know it hasn't been easy for you. The boys-you used to come home crying from grade school.” Until third grade. I had Scott to share it with after that. It made such a difference. ”You hide it from me, but I can tell how they hurt you.”
If Mom knew about the near-nude boy chained to my locker, that mask, a whole hall of guys howling when I walk by, all the creative ways high school boys can remind a girl she's d.a.m.n ugly. Less than human. Worthless. The way the girls shun me, too. No one ever wants to get stuck with me. If Mom knew, it would destroy her. ”I look fine now.”
”What about your gla.s.ses?”
”I won't wear them when we perform.”
”Not good enough.”
”You find some s.p.a.ce-age contacts?”
”Better.”
A huge billboard I've driven by hundreds of times on my way down to choir unfurls through my brain. ”Oh, no. Not more lasers.”
”This will be easier than fixing your face. It just takes a few seconds.”
”No, Mom. Please. Burning off zit scars is one thing, but that thing in my eyes?”
Her voice gets firm. ”Suck it up, girl. Just one more step toward your genetic independence.”
The hair. The acne. My awful eyesight. All from him. Now I see what she wants. No more reminders. No more guilt. Her daughter released from every curse he left behind. She wins. No way can I argue that one.
Monday I go to school for the first time without gla.s.ses. It's like I'm invisible. No one notices. No one says anything. Not even a single bark. I'm nuts, but negative attention is still acknowledgment.
I don't see Scott until choir.
”You trying contacts again? Not a good idea, Beth. You'll end up blind or something.”
”Nope.” I try to smile. ”This is something more permanent.”
”Did they dye your eyes now? They're really blue today.”
”Maybe it's the drops. I had laser eye surgery Friday. Cool, huh? It makes me dizzy, but the doctor says my brain will adjust, and I'll have almost perfect vision.”
”Whoa. You don't need gla.s.ses at all?”
”Don't lecture me, okay. I'm kind of shaky. Probably should have stayed home.”
”No, no, of course not.” He puts his arm behind me for support, rests his hand in the middle of my back, guides me up the tiers to our tenor seats. ”This actually makes sense. It'll change your life. I can't believe the Cosmo team came up with it.”
I don't sit yet, lean back against his hand-it feels so good. ”It wasn't them. My mom kind of insisted on it. Remember grade school?”
Scott's empathetic, ”Yeah,” floats into my ear.
Squirrel Face. Viper. Boys stealing my gla.s.ses every recess. Four pairs got broken. The lenses were so heavy-always popping out. Scott rescued one pair from the boys' bathroom and got beat up for his trouble. ”It still haunts my mom.”
”Not you?” His hand moves to my elbow, and he steadies me into my chair.
”It is me.”
”Not anymore, Beth.” He sits beside me.
”It's not so easy to not be that girl anymore. You know what I mean?”
He nods. He's been there, too. And, snot that I am, I a.s.sumed he could shrug it off and go act like Mr. Charming to snag a girlfriend. He's a guy. No feelings allowed. He's supposed to just want action.