The manic laughter from earlier this morning returns. Now I’ve seen it all. Jodie is actually lying to try to make me feel better. My giggles, however, are only temporary. I drop to the couch and put my disgusting new face in my disgusting new hands. Jodie joins me, her long fingers landing on my shoulder, giving it a gentle rub.
“So I’m guessing you didn’t wish for this, huh?” she asks.
My head snaps up. I’m too weak to get defensive. “Jodie, please.”
“Isn’t that how these things usually happen, though?”
“I don’t know.”
She thinks for a moment. “Maybe someone else wished it?”
A cold shiver ripples down my spine. Could it be? Is this some kind of punishment for what I did? But I apologized. I was a bitch, I reflected on it, and everybody moved on. Ashley even told me so herself. She wouldn’t do this to me.
“What did your mom say?” Jodie asks quietly when I don’t reply.
“She doesn’t know yet,” I whimper. “Nobody knows.”
Jodie’s face lights up. “You have to go to the hospital and tell her. If you didn’t wish for this, then it might be something else. Someone there will be able to figure this out for sure.”
A spark of hope flickers in my chest. No sane human being would ever wish for this. Maybe this is some kind of disease after all? Oh God, I hope it’s some kind of disease. Then maybe it can be cured. The other explanation is forever.
With one of her fingers pointed at my chest, Jodie shoots up. “Wait right there.” A couple of minutes later, she’s back with my jeans and gray hoodie. I don’t point out that it’s almost eighty degrees out as I slip into both, then drop my butt back onto the couch.
Jodie peels off her backpack and settles beside me, then puts her bag on her lap and starts digging through it.
Facial wipes come out first. Her fingers grab my chin to steady it and she goes to town cleaning my face. She’s a little rough, but I kind of like the feeling. I want her to rub the ugly off my face.
She spends a long time applying makeup. I’ve never been a big fan of the stuff; it gets messy when I run. But Jodie always carries an extra bottle of foundation for my skin tone. “Just in case,” she’d always say. I’d laugh it off, but I guess “just in case” is finally here. Jodie’d probably deny it, but I bet Ashley’s shade is still in there, too.
My heart bursts with gratitude.
When she’s done, she takes a moment to examine her work. She reaches for a mirror, but I shake my head. I don’t want to see.
“Well, anyway,” she says, flashing her perfect set of white teeth. “I think you look great.” The smile, even if it’s forced, warms my chest. At this point, I’ll take anything that sounds even remotely positive. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go.”
Maybe she’s right. Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem. Maybe I’ll just wear more makeup from now on and everything will be fine.
I get up.
“Oh,” Jodie says, reaching into her bag one last time. Her hand returns with a pair of sunglasses. Not just any sunglasses. Oversized, round, seventies-style shades with lenses so big I bet if you put one on a record player it would play disco. “These will look so cute on you.” Her teeth are on display again and her eyes are trying to convey enthusiasm.
Emphasis on trying.
Forget what I said. Things are definitely as bad as I think.
I do my best to pretend I’m an A-list celebrity. Between the hood over my hair, my oversized sunglasses, and Jodie rushing me from my house to her car and her car to the hospital lobby like a bodyguard, I might as well be hiding from the flashing cameras of the paparazzi.
But who am I kidding? I feel like the freak show that I have become. Like I’m so unbelievably ugly now, people would pay to see me. Showing myself to the public for free would just be bad business.
Arm hooked in mine, Jodie leads the way as we pass through the automatic doors of the hospital waiting room. “Hi, Darnell!” she calls to the security guard.
“Hello, sweetheart.” His eyes land on me. “Who’s your friend?”
Jodie hesitates, so I answer for her. “It’s me, Darnell,” I whisper. “Camilla.”
Darnell’s face tightens into an awkward smile, his confusion crossed with concern. “Oh. Hi, honey. Sorry, I didn’t recognize you.”
Before I can melt into a puddle of shame, Jodie jerks me away, flagging down Mariah, the head nurse. Mariah took my mom under her wing almost twenty years ago and they’ve been friends ever since. I’ve known her my whole life.
“Mariah!” Jodie says. “Where’s Mrs. Hadi?”
Mariah stops fiddling with her clipboard and lowers her chin. She observes us over her thick-framed glasses. Her gaze lingers on me, but she doesn’t ask questions. I love her for that.
“She’s assisting with surgery right now. Should be out in a couple of minutes. Can you wait?”
Jodie nods and scans the room for empty seats, but the waiting room’s full. She drags me to a nearby corner where we stand next to a young mother and her son. A big bandage covers the kid’s left hand. He holds it with his right one like it’ll fall off if he lets go. I wish I were here with a cut-up hand. Hell, I’d cut off my hand if it meant getting my old self back.
We don’t have to wait long. Not even ten minutes. Mom rounds the corner, and as soon as she spots us in the crowd, she runs over.
“What is it?” Her voice is so full of concern. My face burns and the urge to cry lurks just below the surface. I can’t bear to look at her, so I keep my eyes on the hospital floor. What do you say to your mom when her heart is guaranteed to break anyway?
It turns out I don’t have to say anything. All it takes is one look and her arms fling around me. She presses me to her bosom, her hand sliding up and down along my back. I breathe her in. If I could, I’d stay like this forever.
Eventually, in one gentle motion, she pries us apart. A cold draft of air sneaks between us. With one hand on my arm, she reaches over to pull down Jodie’s sunglasses with the other. I force myself to look my mom in the eye.
Shock flashes across her face, but it’s immediately replaced by pain. So much pain. She stifles a sob. “Oh, Camilla.” Again, she pulls me into a mighty hug, rocking me back and forth. “My baby, my baby.” She holds onto me so tight, I have trouble breathing.
Everything that happens next is a blur. I hear the woman who came in with her son complain that she got to the emergency room first. Mom shushes her and leads me to an isolated bed. Dr. Jackson arrives, takes my temperature, then listens to my heartbeat. I answer his questions. But I’m running on autopilot. I just want him to say it already. Make it official.
Just as he’s about to, the world around me comes back into focus. I’m still sitting on the bed, my now-shorter legs dangling above the floor. Jodie stands next to Mom. Mariah lingers behind them. They all look like they’re at a funeral. I guess, in a way, they are.
Dr. Jackson clears his throat, pulls up a chair, and settles into it. I get the feeling he doesn’t do this for all of his patients. Mom shuffles over, takes my fingers from my lap, and wraps them in hers.
“Camilla, sweetheart,” he says with a sigh, “you’re perfectly healthy.” I nod, urging him to just spit it out. “I know how you must feel—”
Um, no, I think to myself. No, you don’t.
“—but there’s nothing medically wrong with you.”
Mom’s eyes are brimming. I think, at this point, she’s even more distraught about this whole thing than I am. And I get it. I do. The child she gave birth to, watched grow over a span of sixteen years, looks nothing like she did up until last night. God already took the love of her life. Now he replaced her daughter with a monster.
“It’s very strange,” Dr. Jackson continues. “I’ve never personally seen a case like this before. It’s so far outside the usual paradigm. But it just goes to show that there are so many things we don’t understand about this particular phenomenon yet.” He
pauses and tries to soften the blow. “Sometimes, unlucky things happen to the best of people.”
“It’s okay, Dr. Jackson,” I blurt. “Just say it.”
Mom’s fingers squeeze harder around my hand. Mariah’s gaze drops. Jodie gives me a small smile, but a tear skids down her cheek. Everyone braces for it. Everyone except me.
“Unfortunately, there’s no doubt in my mind that … that this is an Inexplicable Development.”
Even though I knew the words were coming, they echo inside my head. They feel so formal. So burdensome. So exhausting.
Inexplicable Development.
The name says it all.
Something that just happens. Has been happening for centuries. Inexplicably. Irreversibly. Once or twice in a blue moon. In this little town or that faraway country.
Something you read about in biology, occasionally hear about on the news. Something people commonly chalk up to wishing, but clearly even doctors don’t fully understand.
Something that’s supposed to be positive.
Something I definitely did not wish for.
And yet, something that still weaseled itself into my life and destroyed it.
CHAPTER 3
KONRAD
TODAY IS AN IMPORTANT DAY. Not only is it the one-day anniversary of my Inexplicable Development (yay!), it also marks my grand return to school. I kind of wish my transformation happened before the first day of the year, and not a random two weeks into September, but hey, not everything’s going to be perfect, right? Wink-wink.
Mom’s at the stove, flipping eggs. I wait, my mouth formed into a giant grin, my leg pumping under the kitchen table. Arthur and Dad are both still asleep. I’ve been up for an hour. If they looked like me, I’m sure they wouldn’t waste their time sleeping either.
Call it cocky, call it douchey, whatever. I don’t care. I’m calling it “embracing my fate.” Because, yeah, there’s no way I’m feeling guilty about something this awesome. I hit the ID jackpot and I’m going to let myself enjoy it.
Yesterday, I took a shitload of selfies. Yes, selfies, and no, I’m not ashamed. I need some kind of outlet for my new hotness. Of course, I didn’t just do it because I’m in love with myself. There’s a method behind my narcissistic madness. As soon as I make my appearance at school, I’m going to update all of my social media. Delete everything that came before and start all over with my new mug. It’s time for a new beginning and I’m going to start with a bang.
In between all the selfies, I went to the mall. Most of my old clothes don’t fit me anymore, so I got new jeans, three T-shirts, and a new pair of Vans. By the way, my shoe size went from a ten to a twelve. Yes, this is important.
I drove a little farther out than necessary, all the way to the mall downtown in the city. I didn’t want anybody from school seeing me before I was ready. I want the big reveal to be nothing short of perfection.
Also important, strangers notice me now. Like, actually notice me. My final tally for two hours of wandering from store to store was five glances, two smiles, and a ’sup from some random dude. A dude. Even floor staff treats you differently when you’re good-looking. Before the ID, the only attention I got from strangers was an occasional move it, kid.
Today is going to be epic. I’ll be the man of the hour. Man of the year, even. People might be a little weirded out by the circumstances, sure, but that’ll pass.
A squeal of joy escapes my lips. Thankfully, the hiss of frying bacon drowns it out and Mom doesn’t hear a thing.
“I’m going to call the school and let them know,” she says through a yawn. “Just to be on the safe side.”
“I know,” I mumble. “You said that forty thousand times already.” What does she think the school’s going to do about it, anyway? Assign me a pair of burly bodyguards because I’m so beautiful people won’t be able to restrain themselves?
“I’m glad you met up with Alan yesterday,” she adds.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Me, too.”
Mom thinks Alan came with me to the mall. Technically, he was supposed to, so I’m not a total fraud. But he canceled on me last minute—his cousins invaded his house. Of course, I could’ve told Mom that, but considering she thinks this is more of a curse than a blessing, I thought it would ease her mind to know that I already had Alan’s support. Truth is, he knows nothing about it. Yet. He’ll be finding out soon enough.
“You’re going to need your friends,” she says, standing over me and scraping the eggs onto my plate. “Now more than ever. You might think this is the best thing that’s ever happened to you, but not everyone will agree.”
“Mom,” I say with a sigh, “how can anything but the positive come out of this?”
Suddenly enveloped in a dramatic silence, she returns the pan to the stove and makes her way back to sit across from me at the table. Great. The lectures continue. As if I didn’t get enough of them last night.
“Honey, everything’s going to change.”
I unleash a tsk. “I know, Mom.”
“People will treat you differently. You had time to grow into yourself. Now you almost have to start from scratch. It’s like getting a new car. It takes time to learn how to navigate it.”
“You don’t navigate cars, Mom. You drive them.”
“Well, you better drive carefully.”
I roll my eyes.
“Konrad, I just want you to remember who you are. You can’t let this go to your head. Looks are not everything.”
“I won’t.”
“You promise?”
“I promise,” I say, just so I can get back to my food.
Looks are not everything. Yeah, right. What world is she living in?
After breakfast, I drive over to Alan’s. He has no idea I’m coming. I never pick him up like this. It would be super eco-friendly and all, but he lives on the other side of town, has his own car, and, most importantly, hates the way I drive.
I park in front of his house. The sun feels so good on my face I decide to snap another selfie. I swear, it’s like an addiction. Before, on the rare occasion I’d snap one, I needed at least five takes before I settled on something acceptable. Now I can have my eyes closed, my tongue out, and my mouth gaping mid-sentence, and still rock the photo.
Checking out my latest self-portrait, I ring the doorbell. After a couple of seconds, Mrs. Nguyen opens the door. She’s squinting, scrubbing her glasses on her robe.
“Is that you, Konrad?”
“Morning, Mrs. Nguyen!”
“It’s 7 A.M. What in the world got into you?”
“Can I go up?”
Shaking her head, she steps aside and tilts it toward the staircase. I paste on a smile and wait, hoping she’ll put her glasses back on and say something about my transformation. She doesn’t. She just shuts the door and walks off. I can’t say I’m not disappointed.
I run upstairs.
There’s a slight chance that, at this very moment, Alan is playing with himself. He has a policy and it goes something like this: polishing your knob in the morning polishes your mind for the day. If I do catch him in the act, it’ll only make this day better.
I barge into his perpetually clean-freak room without knocking.
Alan’s not playing with himself. He’s not even moving. He’s sprawled out on his bed in his boxers and a Hanes T-shirt, a limb at each corner of his bed, his snores the only indication he’s alive. An Xbox controller sits at his feet and his TV screen displays a frozen enemy soldier.
I launch myself onto his mattress and scream into his ear, “GOOD MORNING!”
He totally freaks out, shrinking away and covering his head with both hands. “WHAT THE FUCK?” he yells in a creaky voice. “Get off me!” Unfortunately for him, telling me to get off only encourages me. I drop my arm around him and spoon him from behind, my face zoning in on his giant crop of pitch-black hair. This works like a charm. He rockets off the bed.
As soon as he does, I prop my head up with one hand, strike a se
xy pose, and bat my eyelashes. “Are you sure you want to reject this?”
“Huh?” Alan growls, turning his back to me and plucking his basketball shorts from his desk chair in an obvious attempt to hide his morning wood. Once they’re on him, he gropes for his glasses. Like mother, like son, I guess.
Patiently, I wait, my teeth on full display. When he can finally see the world around him, he looks at me. He takes me in. He sees the new me.
I don’t move, enjoying the delight bubbling up inside.
His annoyed snarl vanishes. Within seconds, his face becomes a slideshow of different emotions, changing like a kaleidoscope. First his eyes go big, then his brow wrinkles, his lip twitches. He opens his mouth, closes it again.
I can’t contain myself any longer. I jump from the bed and immediately remove my T-shirt. “Check this out.” I flex and spin around. “Dude, look at my stomach!” I babble about what happened, about what’s different, not missing a single detail. I make him squeeze my biceps, get up in his face and point out the inch I gained on his height. Alan has gotten plenty of ignorant you’re really tall for an Asian comments in his life, including some tongue-in-cheek but secretly envious ones from me. He’d always just shrug in response, but I know he liked hearing them. Well, he’s not the tall one anymore and I’m making sure he knows it.
Alan doesn’t speak, but I can tell he’s following every word. “Dude,” I finish, spreading my arms out in a ta-da. “Isn’t this insane?”
Something like a groan escapes his lips. He opens his mouth again, but the words take a while to come out. “Yeah,” he finally says. “It is.”
“Well? What do you think?”
He shakes his head, taking a while to answer. “Dude, this is so … random.” His eyes jump all over my body. “You look so weird.”
“Not weird,” I correct him. “Gorgeous.”
“You look like a Disney prince version of yourself.”
“Good,” I say. “That means I can get all the Jasmines!”
He forces out an awkward chuckle.
“What?” I ask.
“You wished for this?”
I shrug. “Yeah.”
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