Fix

by Leslie Margolis

  Cameron shook her head. “I’ve made up my mind. Dad, you’re the one who’s always telling me that if something bothers me, then rather than complain, I should find a way to make it better. Well, this is something that bothers me, so I’m fixing it.”

  Her father looked down at his feet. Clearly, this wasn’t what he had in mind.

  It was her mother who answered. “We listened to your presentation and now it’s our turn to speak.”

  “Fine.” Cameron crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against her headboard.

  “We don’t condone what you’re doing, but we’re not going to let you go to an inexperienced doctor. Frankly, we’re horrified that you’re willing to do that to your body. So we will supplement your surgery, but only if you do some research on the risks involved.”

  “I’ve already done that,” said Cameron. “Trust me.”

  “We would like a list of all of the risks, in outline form like the one you gave us this morning. But that’s not all,” said her mom. “We’ll only give you spending money for college if you maintain a 3.5 GPA.”

  “But that’s not fair.”

  “You’re right,” said Julie. “It’s more than fair. It’s generous. And we know you’re capable.”

  “Okay, fine. Is that all?” asked Cameron.

  Julie cringed. “You don’t want to be too big, do you?”

  “No, not at all,” said Cameron. “Don’t worry. I just want to be a C cup, like you.”

  Cameron’s parents looked at each other but didn’t say anything.

  “What?” asked Cameron.

  “Nothing,” said her mom, and they filed out of her room.

  Lying down on her bed, Cameron stared at the ceiling. Things hadn’t gone well, but they had gone, and once more Cameron had gotten what she wanted.

  For once, though, getting what she wanted actually felt pretty lousy. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that during the whole conversation, her father hadn’t said a word.

  Worse than that, he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The two-mile trip to the top of the canyon at Griffith Park was steep and offered no shade, but Quincy sprinted up as if she were being chased by an evil green monster.

  Allie pumped her arms as hard as she could and willed her legs to move faster. They’d been doing this run every morning for a week now. It wasn’t a race. They ran together for fun, yet both were acutely aware of the fact that Quincy always finished first. What irritated Allie was that each time she made it look so effortless.

  “So I just talked to Larkin again, and she’s freaking out about her nose job,” said Quincy, who’d hardly broken a sweat.

  “Huh,” Allie replied noncommittally. Plastic surgery was the last thing she wanted to talk about. She’d managed to change the subject every time Quincy brought it up. And it seemed as if Quincy brought it up constantly. Allie was sick of it.

  She was also running too hard to carry on a conversation. At the moment, she only cared about beating Quincy. With all this talk about Larkin’s surgery, not to mention the whole varsity soccer issue, getting to the top first had taken on more significance.

  Allie ran as fast as she could, but by the third switchback they were still shoulder to shoulder.

  “I don’t blame her for being scared. The whole anesthesia thing is risky. And what if Dr. Hsu messes up? There’s no going back.”

  Allie didn’t answer.

  Dr. Hsu was a well-known plastic surgeon, and their friend Carly’s father. It wasn’t crazy that Quincy was talking about this, but Allie’s paranoia still kicked in. Could Quincy somehow know about her appointment with Dr. Glass? Was she talking about this because she wanted Allie to admit she was getting a nose job?

  “Still, I can’t wait to see what she looks like afterward.”

  Maybe the idea had Quincy so intrigued because no one would ever think she needed plastic surgery herself. Quincy had long blond hair, blue eyes, a cute nose that turned up like a ski jump, and crazy high cheekbones. She used to be skinny with knobby knees and braces, but now she was thin and beautiful by any standard. Allie knew because Cameron had told her so. She said it as if she were complimenting Allie. Like, Good for you for sticking it out through her awkward years, because now your best friend is hot, and that definitely reflects well on you.

  As if prettiness were a virtue that translated into coolness—like it could be measured, and having a pretty best friend meant bonus points. Like Allie needed all the help she could get.

  Basically, her sister and her best friend were the same type of girl.

  And the proof? A few weeks ago the three of them were shopping at the Beverly Center, and some sales guy at Sunglass Hut assumed that Quincy and Cameron were sisters. When Cameron corrected his mistake and explained that Allie was her sister, the guy didn’t believe her. He seemed to think they were all playing some joke on him.

  By getting plastic surgery, Allie would end up looking more like her very own sister. Did that mean she’d look more like Quincy, too? If she dyed her hair blond, would people mistake them for sisters? And was this what she was supposed to strive for?

  Quincy picked up the pace, kicking up dirt as she ran. When she pulled ahead, Allie leaned forward. They weren’t racing, but Allie was not going to let her win.

  Of course, whenever she managed to catch up, Quincy ran harder, until both of them were sprinting.

  The pace was excruciating, and soon Quincy pulled farther ahead. Her blond ponytail bobbed as her feet pounded the ground.

  They were both red-faced, but only Allie was sweating. They had almost reached the top. Allie had to beat her, just this once. Allie imagined Dr. Glass chasing her, with his scalpel in hand. She started laughing so hard she almost tripped, but it did the trick. In a sudden burst of energy she made it to the top first. She finished less than a second faster than Quincy but still before her, and they both knew it.

  “Nice,” said Quincy. She pretended that she didn’t mind losing, but Allie could tell that she did.

  Of course, she could only take pleasure in this victory for a few seconds. Soon Allie cramped up so badly, she cowered over. She stretched her aching thighs, even though the act of stretching brought more pain.

  At least Quincy pretended not to notice her suffering. “So with Larkin out, who do you want in our cabin?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Allie waited for Quincy to mention the one spot on the varsity team, but she didn’t. Whether that was because she didn’t know about it or because she was pretending not to, Allie couldn’t tell.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Congratulations,” Blake whispered in Cameron’s ear. “You have officially survived your first night in the desert.”

  Cameron opened her eyes. The sun was shining through the walls of the tent, casting everything in a bluish tint. It was hot and musty-smelling, and sand had gotten everywhere: in the corners of the tent, under her sleeping bag, on her pillow, and in her hair. But there were no cockroaches, ants, or other insects, and for that she was grateful. One night down and one to go, she thought as she rolled over and faced Blake. She’d only agreed to go camping in the first place because she knew how much it would mean to him. She loved him dearly, from his thick, sandy blond hair that refused to part evenly all the way down to the woven hemp bracelet wrapped around his tanned ankle.

  They’d been together for almost a year, Cameron’s longest relationship ever. Though Blake was undeniably hot, he existed outside of Bel Air Prep’s regular social hierarchy. He didn’t play soccer or any other sport, and he ate lunch with the granola crowd: girls who refused to shave their legs and preached feminism, guys who slouched and ranted about their awesome bass guitars. Sometimes he wore a beret, and he’d never even been to a cool party until Cameron started dating him.

  Yet all of that was part of his attraction. Cameron had gone out with plenty of popular guys at Bel Air Prep, but she could never trust them. Whenev
er a new one flirted with her, her first thought was always, He’s kidding. This isn’t real. A holdover from her Beakface days.

  Blake was different, and Cameron had sought him out because of it. She assumed her friends wondered about her choice, but no one had ever questioned it. Probably because Blake was so hot.

  Dating him was easy. Well, except for the whole camping thing. Civilization had progressed. There was no need to sleep in tents.

  “I’ve been to the desert before,” she said as she sat up and smoothed down her hair, happy that there was no mirror around because she knew she must look truly frightening.

  Blake laughed. “Las Vegas doesn’t count.” He climbed out of his sleeping bag and started digging around in his giant red backpack. Cameron couldn’t believe the stuff he’d already pulled out of there: the tent, two sleeping bags and air mattresses, all his clothes, their food, a camping stove, and half their water.

  Cameron played up her discomfort, purely for the entertainment value. “Seriously. It was really rustic. The Bellagio lost our reservation, and there were like a hundred conventions in town, so we couldn’t find a decent place to stay. We ended up at this nasty Motel Six two miles from the Strip. Can you imagine?”

  Apparently, Blake wasn’t in the mood. There was no trace of humor in his voice when he said, “Come on, Cam. It’s total sacrilege comparing a Motel Six to Joshua Tree National Park.” He pushed aside the giant pack and started going through his day pack.

  “I was just kidding,” she said, annoyed that she had to point this out. “What are you looking for, anyway?”

  “My toothbrush. Aha!” He pulled out his dop kit and smiled triumphantly. “Be back in a minute.”

  “Wait for me.” Cameron had been dying to pee for an hour but was too scared to leave the tent by herself in the dark. Apparently, snakes were more active at the park during the summer, but by the time Blake had warned her of this, it was too late to turn around and go home.

  “My back is killing me,” she said as she climbed out of the tent and stretched.

  “You rolled off your air mattress in the middle of the night. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t wake up.”

  Cameron was momentarily freaked that Blake had seen her sleeping. What if she’d been drooling or something? Sometimes she talked in her sleep. What if she’d said something ridiculous?

  “What’s wrong?” asked Blake.

  “Nothing,” she replied.

  “Don’t you love sleeping out in the wilderness?”

  Their campsite was nestled between two large boulders, a five-minute walk to the bathroom area. Which was good, because they couldn’t see or hear anyone else, but also bad for that same reason.

  “Honestly? I’ve seen too many bad horror movies to enjoy it,” said Cameron. “I was up half the night worried there was some guy with a hook for a hand lurking nearby, just waiting to sneak into our tent and maul us. This is the classic scenario, and as a pretty blonde, I’m a walking target.”

  “So that’s why you made me sleep by the opening?”

  Cameron nodded. “It’s still not safe, though. Any psycho with a nail clipper could rip right through this flimsy thing. Probably with a pair of tweezers, even.”

  “You’re too much.” Blake grabbed Cameron around the waist, picked her up and spun her around.

  “Look out. I have morning breath.” She pulled her face away and covered her mouth with one hand when Blake tried to kiss her.

  “I don’t care,” Blake said, but he put her back down anyway.

  Cameron took a few steps away and looked around. “Now which way is the bathroom?”

  “You’re too much.” Blake laughed, thinking she was pulling some fake “ditzy blonde lost in the wilderness” routine. Good thing he didn’t realize she was serious.

  After they washed up and got dressed and ate some lumpy oatmeal, they set out for a hike. Blake was sweet enough to carry all their water, leaving Cameron with her camera and their lunch, neither of which weighed much.

  “You’ll get great shots on this trail,” said Blake.

  “I can’t wait,” said Cameron, meaning, I can’t wait until this hike is over and the sun goes down so we can go to sleep and wake up and pack and finally leave this place.

  Still, as much as she was looking forward to being back in LA, she had to admit that Joshua Tree was stunning. It was covered in funky red-orange rock formations, with patches of purple wildflowers scattered about and the coolest-looking cactus-type trees she’d ever seen. After an hour of walking, she hardly minded the heat, or the way it made her sweat like a pig in a wool blanket. She just wished they were staying at a hotel instead. Or at the very least at a campsite that had hot-water showers and someplace to plug in her hair dryer.

  That was the price she had to pay in order to go out with a granola. Next time, she decided, she’d find a guy with a deeper appreciation for indoor plumbing. And even though it seemed wrong to think about her next boyfriend when she was on vacation with her current one, Cameron couldn’t help herself. It was just who she was. Whenever she heard her favorite song on the radio, she still felt compelled to change the station, always in search of something better.

  After scrambling up a particularly steep hill, Blake stopped and took off his T-shirt. Then he pulled out a bottle of water. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Great.” Cameron was out of breath, but happy at least to be getting such a great workout.

  He offered her the water. “Want some?”

  “No, you go first.” After pushing her sweaty bangs from her face, she took off her lens cap and pointed the camera toward Blake. When he tipped his head back to drink, she snapped a few shots.

  “The scenery is much more interesting than I am,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” Cameron wanted to get a good shot of him to enlarge for her dorm room wall. (Even though she thought about moving on, she still wanted proof that she’d once dated a guy with perfect biceps and a washboard stomach.)

  “Here.” As he tried to hand her the bottle, she continued to snap away.

  He shielded his eyes from the sun. “Come on. That’s enough.”

  “You look amazing, Blake. Seriously. You’re like a model, advertising Nalgene bottles or tourism in California or something.”

  “Yeah, that’s me.” Blake rolled his eyes. “You know, Joshua trees don’t grow anywhere else in the world. I thought you’d want to shoot them.”

  Cameron paused to wipe a speck of dust from her lens. “There are plenty in the background.”

  “Don’t you want pictures of the landscape without me in the way?”

  Lowering her camera, she leaned against a large rock on the side of the trail. “Nature shots don’t really fit into the theme of my work.”

  “What theme?”

  “Well,” said Cameron, “I’m just more into taking pictures of beautiful people rather than beautiful scenery.”

  “Isn’t that kind of, I don’t know…” Blake’s voice trailed off, but Cameron knew exactly what he meant: “superficial.” They’d had arguments like this before, and it drove her crazy. Just because she liked to shop and would rather watch Legally Blonde than, say, Being John Malkovich didn’t make her shallow. It only made her honest.

  “I just think that people are a much more worthy subject matter than inanimate objects. Even ones as stunning as this. Plus, think about it. Every single tourist who comes to this park takes tons of pictures of the Joshua trees and the wildflowers and the desert landscape. So what’s unique about that? Anyone can capture something beautiful that exists in nature, but making people look beautiful? That’s the sort of thing David Champlain is into. He’s built a whole career based on it.”

  “Beautiful by whose definition?” Blake asked.

  “Society’s,” said Cameron, with a shrug. It annoyed her when he acted virtuous like this. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I mean.”

 
“Can’t you do some of both?” asked Blake. “I mean, look at where we are.”

  “I don’t think the park’s true nature can be captured on film, anyway. It’s in the air and the smell and in the general feeling of this place, right?”

  “Ansel Adams did an amazing job of capturing Yosemite,” said Blake.

  “Perhaps, but Ansel Adams isn’t teaching a one-time workshop at UCSB.” She didn’t mean to sound cold. It was just her “eye on the prize” mentality talking. “Anyway, Ansel Adams focused on beauty in the natural world, so he got great pictures without even trying. My approach to photography is the opposite. I really love that a picture can lie. That you can take a regular person and make that person seem spectacular.”

  “Suit yourself.” Blake shrugged. “I thought you weren’t sending your portfolio in until the end of the summer.”

  “I’m not, but my mom has this old friend who’s some super successful freelance photographer, and she agreed to critique my work. She’s in town next week, so I’m showing it to her then. I’m almost done, too. I got so many great pictures in Cabo.”

  “So does that mean we can stay out here longer?” asked Blake. “Because there’s this great ten-hour hike that I’d love to do, but we won’t have time if we have to pack up and leave by sundown tomorrow.”

  “Sorry,” said Cameron. “But I need to get back to LA.”

  “You’re sure you can’t stay for just one extra night?”

  “I have this thing I have to go to. A doctor’s appointment.”

  Actually, Cameron’s next appointment was an entire week away, and it annoyed her that Blake made her have to lie.

  “Is there something wrong?” he asked.

  “No. It’s nothing serious, but I’m having surgery in a few weeks.”

  Blake studied her face, clearly alarmed. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” Cameron kicked at the ground. Her new hiking boots were already covered in red dust.

  “No one has surgery for no reason.”

  “Don’t worry, okay? I’m fine. I’m just getting a breast aug.” It felt weird to say it out loud. Especially to Blake.