“That’s the thing,” Jodie says. “I didn’t give any details. Camilla can use the money for whatever she wants.” She pauses. “I mean, yeah, there are a couple of weird comments from conspiracy theorists—you know, the ones who think aliens have to rearrange DNA for IDs to happen or whatever. And a few from super religious people who believe IDs are gifts from God. But most people are just kind and want to support her!”
Mom’s quiet, looking back and forth between Jodie and me. Instead of getting upset, dipping into her motherly wrath to make her devastated child feel loved and protected, her face flushes with color like she’s embarrassed.
“Mom?”
“That’s a lot of money.”
“So what?” I squeak. “We’re doing just fine. I’ll get a scholarship for track. I don’t want people’s charity!”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Mom says.
“Don’t know what for sure?”
“That you’ll get a scholarship.”
“I’m the best runner on the team!”
Mom takes a long look at me, her eyes softening. “This could be a good thing.”
My jaw drops. “OH MY GOD! Are you seriously considering this?”
“Camilla, honey, we’re getting by, yes, but we could be doing better. I wish I had money like that for you. But I don’t.”
“I’ll get a job, then!”
Her head shakes a resounding no. “Out of the question. You need to focus on school and track.” She pauses. “This could be a wonderful safety net for us. For you.”
“Do you not see how humiliating this is for me?”
Mom tries to put on a reassuring smile. “Jodie was just trying to help. Sure, she should have consulted you beforehand.” She shoots Jodie the side-eye, but it’s obviously more for my benefit than anything else. “But it’s a done deal,” she continues. “You’re not making these people spend money on you. It’s their choice.”
“But that’s a lot of money! What would we even use it for?”
“A lot of things, Camilla,” Jodie pipes up. “Maybe for books in college or a prom dress?” She shrugs, but it looks fake. “Plastic surgery? I’m not saying you need it, of course, but maybe you’ll want it in the future.”
My brain slows down. Once her words seep through me—once I understand the meaning behind them—I glare at her, willing her to spontaneously combust. “What did you just say?”
Jodie’s gaze drops to her lap. Her slender shoulders slump, making her look smaller. “Books for college?”
An involuntary growl escapes my mouth. “You said I look fine. You said I don’t look that bad. Now you’re telling me I need plastic surgery?”
Jodie dares to look me in the eye. A challenge. But it’s undermined by her tiny voice. “I’m just being real, Camilla.”
I spring to my feet and I’m upstairs in my room in a heartbeat. I know Mom’s going to follow me up here, so I lock my door and start pacing to the window and back again, restlessness coursing through every part of my being, until, just as I predicted, I hear my name on the other side of the door: “Camilla?”
“I don’t want to talk, Mom. I want to be alone.”
A pause. “Open the door.”
“NO!”
Mom’s quiet for a minute. “I’ll come back in a bit,” she says. When I don’t answer, she adds, “Just tell me you’re okay.”
My best friend not only betrayed me, she thinks I need plastic surgery. Instead of defending me, my mom took her side. Yeah, I’ve never been better.
“I’M OKAY!” I yell.
As soon as I hear the creak of the stairs, I bolt to my shelf and snatch last year’s yearbook. I need to do something to snuff out this blazing rage. This whole fucked-up day—Konrad, Jodie, this godforsaken world. All of it.
Flicking though the pages, I find what I’m looking for and lay the book down on my bed. I steady my shaking hands, and then aim my phone’s camera at the page until Konrad’s face fills the entire screen. Once it comes into focus, I snap the photo.
It’s not a terrible picture of him. He’s grinning, and the angle disguises the real size of his nose. Still, the mug looking back at me is a far cry from the handsome face I saw today on the other side of the fence. It’ll do.
It takes a while to set up a fake account. I have to create a new email address and make up a profile. But I’m on fire. And the satisfaction of what I’m about to do fuels me to see my plan through.
When I’m done, I find as many people from school as I can.
I upload Konrad’s picture from my camera.
I add the hashtag #uglyforever.
I stare at the screen.
And then I hit POST.
CHAPTER 15
KONRAD
I’VE NEVER BEEN CALLED TO the principal’s office before, so when I get to Mr. Connick’s class on Thursday and he tells me to go, I’m surprised.
Mr. Connick’s expression gives nothing away.
“Do you know why?” I try anyway.
He shakes his head. “Sorry, buddy.”
I leave class just as the last of the stragglers enters, and by the time the bell rings the hallways are empty.
Before my ID, I spent most of my time under the radar. Now I’m all over it. Could this have something to do with the interview I gave on my front lawn this morning? But that wasn’t a big deal. As soon as I told the reporter I had nothing to do with Camilla’s ID, the news crew just left, unimpressed. Turning all the possible reasons for why I’ve been summoned over in my head, I make my way toward the office near the main entrance.
An elegant woman I’ve never seen before hovers by the door. As soon as she spots me, she plasters on a gentle smile. “Konrad Wolnik?” she asks.
I’m suddenly a little nervous. “Yes.”
“Thank you for coming. This shouldn’t take long.”
I consider asking what she means by “this,” but she has that hard-to-resist air of authority. Plus, she seems nice. I walk through the doorway, and as soon as I step into the tiny waiting area, my eyes lock on a girl sitting in a chair.
Camilla Hadi.
Heat hits my face and spreads down to my toes. Every waking moment, for the past two days, I’ve spent trying to figure out how to get close to her. Never in a million years did I expect outside forces to bring us together like this.
Camilla shoots up to her feet, her smooth mask of surprise morphing into a grimace. I catch a glimmer of unease there, too, almost like she knows something I don’t.
“What’s he doing here?” she demands.
The lady’s smile doesn’t waver. “We’ll explain everything in just a second. Please.” She gestures to the next door. Camilla hesitates, but stomps into the principal’s office. I glance at the elegant woman. She urges me inside with another smile.
Framed certificates are hung on the wall and Principal Marks sits in her boss chair, both elbows on her desk. She looks a little unsure, but shifts her smile from Camilla to me.
In addition to the two chairs in front of her desk, there are two extra ones by the wall. They look like the chair in the waiting room, so I’m guessing they’ve been brought in here just for this occasion, whatever that may be.
Leaning back with his legs crossed is a middle-aged man who instantly gives off a Bill Nye the Science Guy kind of vibe. Introducing himself as Dr. Lin—“But you can call me Steve” —he stands up, shakes Camilla’s hand, then mine, and then he gestures for us to take seats in front of Principal Marks. Once both of our butts are in place, the elegant woman closes the door.
“I’m Dr. Hanks,” she says, settling herself in the chair beside Steve. They’re both smiling now. I’m not sure what to make of this whole nonthreatening atmosphere these people are trying to project, but it does put me a little at ease. I don’t think the same can be said for Camilla.
“What is this?” she barks at them.
Principal Marks scratches her temple. “Ms. Hadi, Mr. Wolnik, these nice people have come t
o pay you a visit, all the way from Washington, DC.”
“We specialize in Inexplicable Developments,” Steve eagerly explains. “We would’ve gotten here sooner, but we were in Botswana, interviewing a woman who could suddenly speak one thousand different languages.”
Camilla crosses her arms. “We’re minors,” she says. “I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to talk to us without a parent or guardian present. Is this even legal?”
Principal Marks’s face turns red. “Well …”
“You’re free to leave anytime you like,” Dr. Hanks says. “Your participation in this discussion is completely voluntary.”
Camilla gets up. “Great.”
“But,” Dr. Hanks continues, her hand flying up in desperation, as if to grab on to Camilla and hold her in place, “we’d really, really appreciate a few minutes of your time. Please, Camilla, we’re just trying to understand.”
“Understand what?” Camilla lingers on her feet, debating what to do. But the plea on Dr. Hanks’s face is so sincere, she grudgingly sinks back down.
Dr. Hanks gives her a tight smile of thanks, while Steve leans forward.
“As you may know,” he begins, “it’s believed Inexplicable Developments have been happening sporadically for as long as people have been people. Written records of them date back all the way to ancient Sumer. Throughout time, we’ve seen all sorts of variations, including ones related to physical appearance, of course.”
“Can you please get to the point?” Camilla says. I’m watching her from the corner of my eye. I’m not the only one. All eyes are on her. It’s like she commands attention, carrying herself like she has nothing to lose. My heart beats a little faster.
Steve and Dr. Hanks exchange a glance. Principal Marks is biting her nails. I don’t think she’s even aware she’s doing it. Dr. Hanks pulls out a notepad and rests it on her knee. “We have no record of two IDs so clearly related to each other happening at the same exact time. Not to mention happening this close in proximity.”
Steve jumps in, a spark firing up in his eyes. “The closest recorded—geographically speaking—is one hundred forty-seven miles.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “The closest—time-wise—is two months and seven days.”
“This is a first,” Dr. Hanks says. “Maybe it’s a coincidence, maybe it’s not. Getting insight from you two as to why this occurred may give us a hint as to why Inexplicable Developments occur in the first place.”
I open my mouth for the first time since we entered the room. “I thought they happened because of wishing?”
Dr. Hanks nods. “That’s the widely accepted theory, yes.”
“So you did wish for this change, Konrad?” Steve asks. He’s trying hard to appear patient, but I can tell he can’t wait to hear what I have to say.
I shrug. “I guess.”
His gaze moves to take in Camilla. “And you, Camilla?”
She sighs and sets her eyes on her lap. She makes us wait like she’s about to reveal something huge. “Yes,” she says.
Everyone in the room tenses up.
Principal Marks shifts in her chair and pretends to cough. “Really?” she asks.
“Really,” Camilla says, nodding meekly. “I can’t believe you’re even asking me this. Isn’t it obvious? I just didn’t want to be objectified anymore. By boys, you know? Like every teenage girl, I just wanted to be uglier.”
I snort a little too loudly. Everyone snaps out of the spell Camilla’s cast, their bullshit detectors back on high. Camilla glares at me for cutting her moment short.
Dr. Hanks looks uncomfortable. “We’re not trying to upset you. We just want the facts. For science.”
“Here’s a fact,” Camilla says. “No one would wish for this.”
“Did you wish for anything else? Anything that might explain—”
“No.”
“What do you remember wishing for? Before the Development.”
“Let’s see.” Camilla looks up at the ceiling and starts counting things off on her fingers. “Winning the lottery. Hairlessness, so I could stop shaving my legs. A chocolate fountain. My dad not dying. Should I go on?”
Camilla doesn’t even flinch when she says the last thing on her list. I feel a warm pang in my chest. I had no idea Camilla had lost her dad.
Dr. Hanks’s gaze falls to her notepad. “I’m sorry,” she says.
Everyone in the room shifts uncomfortably. To our relief, Steve decides to change the subject. “Are you two close?” he asks, leaning back again.
It’s Camilla’s turn to snort a little too loudly. “Nope.”
“Were you? Before?”
“Nope,” she repeats.
“How would you describe your relationship prior to the Developments?”
I answer this one before she can. “We had a class together last year. We saw each other in the halls. Know some of the same people.”
“Did you communicate much?”
I glance at Camilla, then look down. “Not much.”
“He asked to borrow my pencil once,” Camilla says, a little too cheerfully. “You should all write that down. I have some pencils I can lend you right now, actually. Maybe you’ll wake up looking like supermodels, too.”
“Camilla,” I say to her, scolding. These people are only trying to do their jobs and, honestly, I’m starting to feel bad for them. “Let’s just hear them out. Maybe they can help.”
Her glare settles on me again, twice as intense as before. I sink deeper into my seat. “Help with what?” she says. “There is no helping! These things, they’re irreversible. Permanent! Unlike you, I don’t get a happy ending. No matter what.”
“Camilla,” Dr. Hanks says. “You’re angry, we understand, but—”
“I had nothing to do with this!” Her voice cracks. “You’re beating a dead horse. Also, it sounds like you know as much about IDs as I do.” She rises to her feet. “If Konrad shares something useful, please let me know. I’m done volunteering for the day.” And just like that, she storms out of the room without even bothering to close the door behind her.
I have an urge to follow her, calm her down, convince her that people do care. I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to go through this alone. But it’s not my place. I’m not her friend yet. And at this pace, I never will be. Why couldn’t I just keep my damn mouth shut?
The room is quiet. I realize that everyone is staring at me, waiting. Principal Marks looks about a decade older than she did three minutes ago.
“We’re just average sixteen-year-olds,” I say.
“We know,” Dr. Hanks replies. “But what we also know, Konrad, what every single ID has proved in the past, is that there’s always a trigger. It’s the only common thread among all incidents. And the trigger always comes from the person the ID happens to.”
“A trigger?”
“Yes. Usually it’s in the form of a powerful desire. More powerful than any other—a powerful wish, if you will. In your case, your insecurity led to a vigorous belief that you’d achieve happiness through physical attractiveness. We don’t know what it was for Camilla yet, but we know that the trigger had to be there.”
I let the words sink in. “It wasn’t that powerful,” I mumble.
“What’s that?”
“My desire to be good-looking,” I say. “It wasn’t that powerful.”
“It had to be.”
“There’s no way it could’ve been something else?”
Dr. Hanks shakes her head. “Unless there was another powerful desire we haven’t yet discovered that might somehow explain your ID, then no.”
“I’m just a normal dude. I want the same things everyone else does.”
She gives me a sad smile. “There’s always a reason, Konrad.”
“Well,” I say, “what could it have been for Camilla, then?”
Dr. Hanks shrugs. “Honestly, we have no idea. And she might not know what it was at this point either. But, my guess is, eventually, she will.”
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
“Want to go to the Shack?”
“Um.” I look around, like I’ll find the perfect excuse taped to a wall somewhere. “I have homework to finish. I’m just going to have lunch in my car.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Her lips twist to one side. “You’re still coming to Carrie’s party, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, even though Carrie’s party is the last thing on my mind. I not only forgot about it, I don’t even know if I want to go anymore.
“Is it the picture?”
The way she says this makes me tense up. “What picture?”
Becca pulls out her phone. Her nails swipe and tap at the screen while I wait. When she angles the screen my way, my stomach goes into free fall. Staring back at me is my yearbook photo. My gigantic nose. My skinny neck. A reminder of a past I don’t know how to feel about anymore. A reminder of a present I know is a lie.
“Who posted this?” I ask, noticing the #uglyforever hashtag.
“It’s from a fake account. Some guy named Josh Steinberg.” She hides the phone back in her pocket. “Someone’s just jealous. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure it doesn’t spread.”
My irritation morphs into full-out fury. I don’t even bother asking how she plans on doing that because I know exactly who this jealous someone is.
“I’ll be right back,” I say. And then I’m marching though the hallways, each step pounding more anger into my system.
It’s not the picture itself that bothers me. It’s the loser who thinks he has the right to rile me up, mess with my life because he doesn’t have one of his own.
I recognize Eric Stewart’s skinny frame almost immediately. His back is to me at first, but my approach draws the attention of everyone around, so he stops and turns to see what everyone’s looking at. That’s when he finds my face hovering two inches from his. Surprised, he stumbles backward, grappling with a paper lunch bag in his hands.
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