Part 24 (1/2)

I recognized his voice immediately. It was the way he said my name, slow and sure, like he knew me better than I was admitting knowing myself, exactly the way he had said it while stretching his long legs out in front of him while sitting on my couch, trading me gorgeousness for my cell phone.

But this time, after my name, even though I didn't answer, he said, ”Congratulations.”

I, of course, thought he was talking about Tyler asking me out, and/or my self-protectively smart decision to reject him before he could (eventually, inevitably, heart-breakingly) reject me. So I just said, ”Thanks.”

But the voice said, ”You are a finalist.”

”In what?”

He paused, then said, ”Zip magazine. The New Teen.” magazine. The New Teen.”

I stood there blinking (my real talent) while my whole family looked at me like, What's going on What's going on? Or maybe, Why are you rudely preempting your sister's beautiful story of altruism? Why are you rudely preempting your sister's beautiful story of altruism?

”My a.s.sistant will text the address and details, but we'd like you to come in for the final shoot and interview, with me, on Sat.u.r.day. Noon.”

”With you?”

”I'm the editor in chief.”

”No way.”

”Who else would I be?” he asked, and hung up.

I closed the phone.

”Who was that?” Mom asked.

”The devil,” I said.

”Allison,” Mom said, a warning brewing in her voice. ”I asked you a question.”

”And I answered,” I said. ”I'm a finalist in the modeling contest.”

Phoebe, gotta hand it to her, immediately jumped around whooping and yelling, hugging and congratulating me, while the other three stood there dumbfounded and kept asking if I was telling the truth.

I a.s.sured them I was. Dad turned away to flip the chicken b.r.e.a.s.t.s on the grill. Mom, meanwhile, grilled me: what did that mean, what was this magazine anyway, what had I done to make the finals of this compet.i.tion.

I tried to answer calm, cool, and collected, but it was hard. I was really wis.h.i.+ng I could have a minute just to myself to jump around and shriek (or maybe Phoebe could be there, because she was so purely happy for me it was crazy). A finalist? ME? Seriously?

I could tell Mom was trying to get the information largely to avoid the obvious question of Why would they choose you, honey? Why would they choose you, honey?

I answered every question as best I could, and as factually. No, I hadn't done anything more embarra.s.sing than cry, a little, but not (seeing Dad's alarmed face) because of anything the photographer did or asked me to do, just because I felt so inadequate. But my clothes stayed on.

If I won? Well, I said, of course probably I wouldn't win, but if I did, I would get to go to Nice, France, for one week over the summer with one of my parents, all expenses paid, for an extended photo shoot. Mom and Dad glanced at each other and Phoebe sat down, her chin cupped in her fists, watching me like it was a star sighting.

Quinn was still standing there with her hands on the sides of the salad bowl, looking like she'd been painted there by Vermeer.

”And,” I said, ”if I win, which I probably won't, of course, but if somehow I did? I would win a ten-thousand-dollar scholars.h.i.+p.”

Well, that got everybody's attention. They all stared at me.

I smiled and said to Mom, ”I'd give it to you. All of it. I'm sure your lawyer could figure out how to transfer it to you. I know times are tough right now, and it would feel great to me to be able to help out.”

I think Mom might have misted up, I really do; it was only a second or part of a second, but time almost slowed down, and I watched a small tear form itself in Mom's eye and I swear it was a tear of pride. I really think that I did not make that up afterward to console myself.

Anyway, that possible fraction of a second was interrupted when Dad, the Zen master, kindergarten Teacher of the Year, nicest guy in the world, slammed down his grilling tongs and said, ”Absolutely not.”

”Absolutely not what?” I asked.

”My daughter is not prost.i.tuting herself to-”

”Daddy!” Phoebe interrupted, objecting, but he plowed right past.

”That's right, prost.i.tuting herself! What do you think selling your body is called?”

”Jed,” Mom said, for once trying to calm him down. The world had flipped in an instant.

”We do not need the money that badly, Claire!”

”That's not the-”

”We can live perfectly well in a small house, without all the tinsel and glitter. I will not pimp out my daughters to chase shallow dreams of fame and fortune; I won't!”

”It's ten thousand dollars, Jed,” Mom said. ”It is obviously not going to make a dent, and you know it. The ten thousand dollars is far from the point, and it would belong to her, not us! Would you let Allison talk? You and I can discuss this later.”

Dad turned back to the grill.

Mom and Phoebe and Quinn turned to me. But I had nothing really to say. My grand gesture, my huge success, wouldn't even make a dent. It was nothing to them. I could never be good enough, even if I won.

I shrugged. ”No big deal,” I muttered. ”Obviously.”

”It is, Allison,” Mom said, leaning forward and taking my sweaty hand in her cool one. ”We're very proud of you. Tell us about this compet.i.tion. A finalist!”

”No, you're not!” I said. ”It won't make a difference anyway, even if Dad let me go and do it. Just forget it. Let Quinn talk more about helping underprivileged children. Then you guys can feel proud.”

Dad slammed the grill shut. ”You know what, Allison? We do feel proud of that. We feel proud that Quinn is reaching out to other people, trying to make the world a better place, working toward something that is bigger than herself.”

”Congratulations,” I said to Quinn.

”Jed!” Mom yelled.

Dad took a deep breath. ”It's not that we're not proud of you, too, Allison. It's just that you don't need to give us money. Live a good life; be a good person. Money and strutting your body around are shallow goals, too shallow for you.”

He wiped his hands on his ap.r.o.n and came toward me, arms outstretched. ”Okay, Lemon?”

”No!” I yelled. And I ran away from him. I ran away across the backyard, past the pool, around the tennis court, across the gra.s.s, then around the house to the front. I stood at the top of the driveway, looking down it, to where it turned toward the street, and contemplated putting one foot in front of the other and never looking back. Where would I go?