Part 17 (1/2)

”You can make more money other ways,” she said, sitting up, getting way into this. ”On average it's probably more cost-effective to work at Starbucks. But how many girls would do anything to be a model?”

”Lots,” I said, draping my arm over my face.

”Exactly. And why?”

”To be seen,” I mumbled.

”Exactly,” she said. ”To be looked at. It's as if they don't exist if they aren't famous or something. So sad. But you-you just see right through the hype, the false promise of fame, glamour, beauty, don't you?”

”Me? Sure,” I said. ”Right on through it.”

”How many girls are flopped across their beds crying and hating themselves because they can never measure up to the impossible standards of beauty held out in those c.r.a.ppy magazines?”

”Uncountable numbers of us,” I said.

Mom laughed again and said, ”You are wicked.”

”Probably,” I said.

She sighed. We had run out of stuff to bond over, now that we were done tras.h.i.+ng the only thing I'd ever gotten chosen for.

”How's the lawsuit going?” I eventually asked her.

She shrugged. ”How's adolescence?”

”That bad?” I asked her.

”If memory serves,” she said, ”maybe even worse.”

”Yeah, but for you that's not saying much,” I said. ”You were probably like Phoebe, all smooth and pretty and lucky in every way.”

Mom chuckled. ”No.”

”Or like Quinn, brilliant, perfect, well behaved...”

”Grandma called me a lot of things when I was a teenager,” Mom said. ”But well behaved was not one of them.”

I lowered my arm and turned to look at her. She was kind of smirking a little, but her eyes were sad.

”Fighting the world is not always easy,” she said. ”I always felt like I had to prove myself. I still do. You, too?”

I nodded.

”You're going to be a big success someday, Allison Wonderland. You mark my words.”

I held my breath. I wanted to stop time, right there, before she got to the next part, which would probably be a criticism, or at least a qualification: If you would just stop s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g everything up; if you would just please not be so difficult; if you could manage to be more like Quinn. If you would just stop s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g everything up; if you would just please not be so difficult; if you could manage to be more like Quinn. But so far there it was, just But so far there it was, just a success a success. And she hadn't called me Allison Wonderland since I was a little kid, when I went through a brief easy period. You're going to be a big success someday, Allison Wonderland. You're going to be a big success someday, Allison Wonderland. This felt less real to me than negotiating with the devil. I held very still, balancing the words carefully above my head. I didn't want to do anything that would make me find out I'd been dreaming this time. This felt less real to me than negotiating with the devil. I held very still, balancing the words carefully above my head. I didn't want to do anything that would make me find out I'd been dreaming this time.

She stood up. ”A big success,” she repeated, as she covered the distance to my door in six long steps. ”And when you do make it, when you succeed-and you will, Allison-I will be so proud of you.”

She left, her words echoing in my head.

When I succeed, she will be proud of me.

I lay there for a while repeating that to myself, and then remembered I'd gotten my phone back. When I grabbed it and checked my messages, this is what I saw: All 17 messages have been deleted.

Screw you, I texted back, but, with no number to send it to, deleted it and dropped the phone on my bed. I texted back, but, with no number to send it to, deleted it and dropped the phone on my bed.

I took a shower, listening to the echo of my mother's words. I dried my hair, put on moisturizer, repeating to myself: When I am successful, she will be proud of me When I am successful, she will be proud of me. I was staring at myself in the mirror, wondering if she was right that someday I could be a success, and what it would feel like for her to be proud of me, when I heard my phone beeping.

You have 1 new voice mail.

It was a message from the woman at zip zip, saying, ”We are trying to reach Allison Avery. The message on this phone is cryptic. If this is the correct number, or if it is not, please call back and confirm that Allison Avery will be at our studio for a photo shoot next Monday at two p.m.”

I stood there, dripping in my towel, trying to figure out what to do. When you are a success, and you will be, I will be so proud of you. But not until then, When you are a success, and you will be, I will be so proud of you. But not until then, she didn't have to add. she didn't have to add.

Fine, then.

I would prove to her, to everybody, to Tyler and Emmett and Jade and everybody else at school, to Phoebe and Quinn, Grandma and Dad and especially to Mom-who's interesting-looking interesting-looking now? Maybe the ugly duckling isn't just ugly. Maybe the experts know more, and chose me. Out of all those poor deluded schlubs, they wanted me. Me. now? Maybe the ugly duckling isn't just ugly. Maybe the experts know more, and chose me. Out of all those poor deluded schlubs, they wanted me. Me.

I grabbed the phone and hit the Send b.u.t.ton to dial them back. While it connected and started ringing, I was thinking how weird, that maybe in this horrible town where I never fit in because the one thing that matters at all is being gorgeous, the most gorgeous girl is me.

Me? Gorgeous?

It was too ridiculous to even say inside my own head, so as the woman's voice mail picked up, I thought about the ten thousand bucks. What would Mom say when I handed her the check? Would she cry? Hug me? Tell me she couldn't take it? Even if she refused, she'd have to be impressed with me, right?

You are a success, Allison Wonderland.

Yeah, except that first she'd have to ground me for the rest of my life for going to the callback. The voice mail message finished. Beep! Beep! They would totally kill me if I cut again and went into the city, and no way would they give me permission. I shut the phone and dropped it on my bed. They would totally kill me if I cut again and went into the city, and no way would they give me permission. I shut the phone and dropped it on my bed.

Still in my towel and s.h.i.+vering, I was also in a sweat. Forget it, Forget it, I told myself. I told myself. I'm not the gorgeous type. It was fun and kind of funny. Now it's over. I'm not the gorgeous type. It was fun and kind of funny. Now it's over.

As I headed back to the bathroom to dry off, my phone buzzed again. I dashed back to it, sure the woman from zip zip had seen my number and caught me. What to do? But no, it was a new text, from Roxie: had seen my number and caught me. What to do? But no, it was a new text, from Roxie: U there yet?

My hands were shaking. Yes, Yes, I typed, and lamely added,:) I typed, and lamely added,:) In three seconds my phone beeped, and I read her response: Chamber of commerce?

I quickly texted back: U still mad?

Almost done, though still WAY jealous, you gorgeous lunk. Any other secrets u'r hiding?

I started to answer no, but then thought about the fact that my mother had gotten fired, our family finances were apparently in tatters, that I couldn't go to Tennis Europe because we couldn't afford it, and and and...

Yes, I texted back instead. I texted back instead. Many. Many.

Did Ty ask u out?

That, I wd've told u!

Emmett asked me out, she texted to me. she texted to me.