Fix

by Leslie Margolis

  “We trust you,” said Julie as she put her arm around Allie and steered her out the door.

  Back in the waiting room they spoke to Madison. “You’re getting rhinoplasty?” she asked before she even looked at Allie’s chart.

  Julie answered for her. “Yes, she is.”

  Allie wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Was it that obvious? Sure, her nose was large, but did that mean everyone looked at it and thought, That girl needs surgery?

  “Don’t worry. Dr. Glass does amazing work.” Madison stretched out the word “amazing” as if she were describing the chocolate soufflé at the Four Seasons. “You’ll love him.”

  It was then that Allie noticed Madison’s breasts, which were spilling out of her top. They seemed too big to be real. Was this the work of Dr. Glass? And did Madison get a discount? she wondered. Or was she working off the cost?

  “We were hoping that Dr. Glass could fit Allie in earlier,” said Julie. “Perhaps if he has something next week. Or even later this week …”

  “You’re in a hurry, huh?” Madison asked.

  “It’s not that,” said Allie. “It’s just … I have other stuff I want to do this summer.”

  Madison nodded, as if either she didn’t care or she didn’t believe her. She looked at her computer screen, typing quickly with slender, manicured hands. “Oh, sorry, but he’s fully booked. Summer is a busy time—especially for noses. You know, with school out and everything. Tell you what, though. I’ll put you on the waiting list. Anything opens up and I’ll give you a call, okay, honey?” Madison winked at her.

  “Thanks,” said Julie. “We appreciate that.”

  Allie couldn’t decide what she despised more, being called honey or being winked at.

  Once they were in the elevator, her mom turned to her. “I know how important soccer is to you, Allie, but in the long run you’ll be happy you did this.”

  Her mom looked so hopeful, so excited about the whole thing, that Allie didn’t want to disappoint her. “I guess it’s just a week,” she said with a shrug.

  Allie couldn’t stay mad at her mom, who was only doing what she thought was best. Julie always did what she thought was best. That’s why she’d given up acting after she had kids. That’s why she drove car pool and that’s why she went to all of Allie’s soccer games, always bringing orange wedges and Gatorade for the whole team.

  “I’m sure something will open up,” Julie continued. “Just in case it doesn’t, though, I’ll check with the airline to see if we can push your departure date back by a week or two. And you should call Coach McAdams to let her know you may not make it.”

  “Okay.” Allie squinted as they stepped into the bright sunshine of West LA.

  It was lunchtime and the sidewalk swelled with men and women. Most wore suits and they all walked quickly, rushing to important places. Half of them had cell phones stuck to their ears. Dr. Glass’s building—the “surgi-center,” he called it on his website—seemed discreet. Blending in with the surrounding glass and concrete buildings, it could easily be mistaken for a bank or an insurance office. Yet Allie still felt embarrassed leaving, as if everyone knew what really went on at that address.

  “Do you want to drive home?” asked Julie, handing over the keys to the car.

  She must really feel bad, Allie realized. She’d only gotten her permit last month, and all of her driving lessons so far had been with her dad.

  “Are you sure?” Allie stared at her mom’s car, a large navy blue BMW, warily. She didn’t want to drive it but couldn’t think of a plausible excuse not to.

  “Your dad said you’re doing very well,” Julie replied. “So why not?”

  It was one thing to do well in empty parking lots and on traffic-free streets just after sunrise. Driving in afternoon traffic was another thing entirely, but it seemed silly to mention this. It was only driving. Allie would have to figure it out eventually.

  Taking the keys, she opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat. Allie was used to her dad’s tiny sports car. Her mom’s four-door sedan felt like a whole different category of vehicle—closer to an ocean liner than a car. But Allie refused to complain or even comment. She could tell she’d already put a damper on her mom’s plans, what with asking silly questions of Dr. Glass and worrying about missing camp. He was a top Beverly Hills surgeon. Why would he care about her soccer schedule? How could she have expressed doubt that she’d love his work? His wife radiated beauty, as did his secretary. All of the actresses rumored to be his clients (according to her mom and her sister) were also stunning. Cameron looked amazing, and she’d probably done much better during her consultation. Cameron always did things better.

  After adjusting the seat and mirrors, buckling her seat belt, and checking to see that her mom was ready, Allie carefully backed out of the parking space onto busy Wilshire Boulevard.

  “Nice work.” Julie nodded. “Now turn left at the light up here, and don’t forget to signal.”

  Allie exhaled after she made the turn.

  They weren’t too far from home. Allie focused on the road and tried not to think about the surgery, how she’d read that the doctor would have to cut across the bottom of her nose and peel the skin back, then break the bone to put it in its new place.

  Her mom’s cell phone rang, interrupting Allie’s gruesome thoughts.

  “Hello?” Julie asked. “Oh hi, Peter. Hold on a second.” She cupped the mouthpiece of the phone with one hand and turned to Allie. “You’re doing great, Allie. Why don’t you turn right at the light? There’ll be less traffic if we go the back way.”

  “Okay.” Allie checked her rearview mirror three times and then glanced over her shoulder before changing lanes. The mere mention of traffic caused her shoulders to tense. The steering on the BMW was different, more stiff than what she was used to. Allie had to pull on the wheel harder to turn, coming dangerously close to the cars parked on the side of the road. At least she thought she came dangerously close. Her mom didn’t say anything, so maybe she was doing okay.

  Julie spoke into the phone. “I was just thinking about you … No? Did they say why? Oh. Well, no, that’s okay …”

  Allie couldn’t help but eavesdrop. She knew her mom had been up for a role in some new movie. With Cameron on her way to college and Allie a soon-to-be-licensed driver, Julie had decided to go back to work. Although in her industry other people decided whether or not they wanted you back.

  Peter O’Reilly was her new agent at ICM, and she’d just started auditioning two weeks before. Clearly, she hadn’t gotten the part. Allie felt bad. Her mom had been excited about it and had said she thought the audition went well.

  She glanced at her mom, and then immediately saw something small and brown dart into the road.

  Allie swerved without even thinking.

  It happened faster than a blink. The next thing she knew, a horrible sound filled her ears: glass shattering, metal scraping against metal, crunching and grinding.

  When she realized what was happening Allie screamed and slammed on the brakes. But it was too late.

  Her mom turned to her and asked, “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay.”

  Allie was okay, yet too upset to say so. She was shaking and could hear herself breathing heavily.

  Her mom seemed fine, although shocked. Julie was clutching her phone so hard, her knuckles had turned bone white. Allie was surprised the phone didn’t splinter into pieces. “I’m going to have to call you back,” Julie said.

  Glancing down at herself, Allie half expected to see blood, yet her T-shirt was clean, which made her feel silly. Sure, she’d been jolted, but big deal. No one was hurt, so why was her body shaking uncontrollably?

  When Allie looked in the rearview mirror, her heart sank to her knees. The car behind her seemed damaged, pushed in.

  “Tell me you’re okay,” Julie repeated.

  Allie opened up her mouth and felt something tickle the back of her throat. She couldn’t
speak, so instead she burst into tears.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “You are such a freak show sometimes,” Lucy called as she headed downstairs. “I’m outta here.” Her tone was as clear as the cloudless sky. I’m sort of joking, it said, but not really.

  Cameron didn’t blame Lucy for being perplexed. If the guys on the beach had been anyone other than her former tormentors, she’d be scrambling to get dressed and out the door. But the situation was much more complicated. As far as her friends were concerned, she’d always been the Cameron they knew and loved: smart, beautiful, and carefree. In her invented past, the one she’d told them about, life had never been a struggle. And for three years it had been so easy to pretend that this image had been genuine, her only true self. At least it had been until now, when her past appeared right in front of her, playing football on the beach less than twenty yards away.

  On one level, she knew she was being overly dramatic. The world had larger problems—war, famine, and the proliferation of Hooters across America, to name a few. (Any guy who said he ate there for the excellent barbeque was lying through his teeth.) But that didn’t take away from the fact that Cameron had been miserable for four long years, tormented mercilessly from the sixth through the ninth grade. She didn’t want to remember, yet the pain remained in the pit of her stomach, like a balled-up fist that refused to unclench.

  When she finally peeled herself off the bed, she slipped into her favorite pink bikini, which was slightly padded but didn’t look it, and headed back to the balcony. The football game had broken up. Lucy was talking to all three of the guys she’d claimed: Hunter, Max, and Braden. They were certainly less scrawny than Cameron remembered. They’d gone through other changes, too—Hunter had graduated from a bowl cut to a buzz, Braden now stood a head taller than his friends, and Max sported stubble that was visible from the balcony—but they were still the same guys. Cameron would have recognized them from a mile away.

  And here were her best friends flirting with the enemy.

  Lucy tossed her hair and laughed her exaggerated look at me laugh. Hadley and Taylor were both captivated by Travis, a surfer with shoulder-length dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Ashlin threw a Frisbee with the remaining two, Emmett and Devon.

  Back in junior high, those guys seemed like movie stars. They inhabited their own fabulous and very distant universe. Cameron hadn’t thought about them for a long time. She hadn’t needed to.

  Taking a deep breath, Cameron steeled herself against her fears. No way would the guys recognize her. She was an entirely different person. So why did she feel like crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over her head?

  Things were different and she needed to prove it, so she headed to the bathroom, where her hair dryer awaited.

  Twenty minutes later Cameron strutted onto the beach, still in the pink bikini, with a bright green sarong slung low around her hips. Her long hair hung loose down her back. She batted her mascara-coated eyelashes, pulled her cherry-tinted lips into a smile, and walked like she had something to prove.

  “What took you so long?” Lucy asked.

  Cameron smiled and projected her voice. “Well, I was dripping wet and naked when you found me. What did you expect?”

  Upon hearing the word “naked,” all six guys looked at Cameron. Including Devon, even though a Frisbee was sailing toward his head.

  A second later, it clocked him in the face. Everyone laughed, except for Cameron, who flashed a self-satisfied smile.

  “I made a pitcher of strawberry margaritas,” she called to the crowd. “Anyone thirsty?”

  A smiling, bikini-clad blonde offering free alcohol: that was all it took for the six guys to follow Cameron back into the house. And where the guys went, her friends followed.

  “Who wants salt?” Cameron asked as she headed to the outdoor bar where she’d set everything up, the blender, ice, tequila, and glasses arranged almost as carefully as her plans for the La Jolla guys.

  Hunter, Braden, and Max did. Emmett and Travis didn’t. And Devon was too busy icing the bruise over his eye (with the help of Ashlin) to be paying any attention to the drink orders.

  Lucy went inside to get the chips and salsa.

  “There’s beer, too,” said Hadley, pulling a six-pack of Corona from the outdoor minifridge.

  Everyone else settled onto the lawn furniture at the far end of the pool.

  “Our lucky day,” said Travis, grinning at Cameron.

  Lucky day, she thought bitterly. When we were partners in seventh-grade science class, you did everything you could to get away from me. Even though I did all the work and got us an A.

  She walked across the patio and sat down between Braden and Hunter. “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said. “I’m Cammi.”

  Thankfully, her friends were too busy flirting to notice her brand-new nickname. So afraid of being recognized, Cameron had even lowered her voice an octave.

  “Hey, nice to meet you,” said Braden.

  (This from a guy who’d once tripped her in the hallway.)

  “Excellent margaritas,” said Hunter, who used to stick gum in her hair on a weekly basis.

  “They always taste better down here. Don’t you think?” asked Cameron.

  “Don’t know,” Hunter replied. “I’ve never been to Mexico before. But I can tell you one thing, they taste much better when I’m sitting next to a really cute girl.”

  Cameron forced a smile and pretended the line wasn’t horribly pathetic. “You’re too sweet,” she lied.

  “We need some music,” Hadley called from across the room.

  “Totally,” Taylor agreed.

  Cameron slapped her hand against her forehead. “I had my Phish CDs out to pack, but I totally spaced.”

  “I love Phish,” said Braden, scrambling to his feet. “I have some great bootlegs back at our place. I’ll go get them.”

  “Excellent,” said Cameron.

  Lucy glanced at her, confused. Probably because she knew Cameron didn’t have any Phish CDs. Why would she when she hated the band so much? (Blake thought Trey Anastasio was a musical genius. Cameron thought he was a Jerry Garcia wannabe. It was one of the few things they fought about.)

  She grinned at Lucy, who let it pass. Cameron knew she’d have to come up with some sort of explanation later, but there were other things to focus on now. Like, for instance, the following fact: Now that Braden had taken off, there was plenty of space on the couch, but neither Cameron nor Hunter had moved. In fact, their bare knees kissed.

  She reached for her own drink and took a sip. It was icy cold and just sweet enough to overpower the tequila.

  “So, where are you going next year?” asked Cameron.

  “San Diego State,” Hunter replied.

  “Sounds like fun.” Cameron drained her drink.

  “That’s the plan.”

  Cameron poured herself another margarita and topped off Hunter’s. The booze and mindless conversation flowed freely. Soon they were giggly and drunk. Everyone was. It’s that easy, thought Cameron. She was in. Hanging out with the same guys who used to avert their eyes when she passed them in the hall. Now they watched her. And it wasn’t to see if she messed up so they’d have more ammunition. No, they’d been fooled. They actually thought she was one of them. It was such a rush. Better even than her first few months of tenth grade, when her popularity fit her like a stylish, yet too-stiff-to-be-comfortable, new coat.

  Her plan had been to flirt relentlessly with the La Jolla guys and then reveal her true self and send them all packing. But this was too much fun. She’d feared these guys for so long. In a sick way, she’d envied and almost worshiped them too. Yet now, three years later, they seemed so ordinary.

  Someone must have turned on the radio, because Bob Marley blared from the outdoor speakers.

  Ashlin and Devon were getting very cozy at one end of the pool. Lucy was, for some reason, petting Max’s head. And everyone else was getting into the hot tub.

 
Cameron didn’t even hear anyone approach, so she was surprised to turn around and find Braden. He had the bootlegs with him, and somebody else. Some bodies, that is, the sight of which caused Cameron to choke on her drink.

  Trailing behind Braden were three more of her classmates from La Jolla: Keisha, Nikki, and Alexis.

  The La Jolla guys’ teasing had always been harsh, but that was nothing compared to the girls’. They’d been unmerciful. Especially Alexis and Nikki, who had not once but twice cut Cameron’s bra in half while she was showering after gym class. (They’d claimed she was too flat to wear one. Sadly, this was still the case.)

  The chilling looks, the blatant laughter, the unrelenting cruelty—it all came flooding back to Cameron at the very sight of these people.

  “There you are,” said Alexis, striding past Cameron without even acknowledging her existence. She leaned toward Hunter and kissed him on the lips. “We got to the house and it was empty, and we were like, ‘Where are they?’ And then Braden comes in, and I’m like, ‘Where is everyone else?’ So he brought me here. Are you guys ready? Because I was about to order pizza.”

  The three girls from La Jolla surveyed Cameron’s friends and the entire scene.

  Nikki’s cold eyes seemed to linger for too long on Cameron. You’re so unbalanced. You’ve got that huge nose and such a flat chest, she’d once said. It’s really sad.

  Suddenly, Cameron had the chills. She crossed her arms over her chest, self-conscious for the first time all day, hating that these girls still had the power to make her feel so small.

  “So you guys are renting a house this week too?” asked Keisha, finally acknowledging Cameron and her friends.

  “No, this is my parents’ place,” said Lucy.

  No one said anything. And even though it was eighty-five degrees outside, the air felt as chilly as early morning on a winter day.

  Cameron meant to set her margarita on the coffee table but missed. It tipped over and the remaining red liquid spilled to the ground.

  “Shit!” yelled Lucy, getting up and running to the kitchen for a towel.