Perfect Shot

by Debbie Rigaud

  That sounded like a threat. Did Kelly figure out what Brent told me?

  “Hold up—who the hell do you think you are?” I finally shot back.

  “I’m the only person brave enough to tell you the truth. You are making a fool out of yourself here, London. The people voting for you online are only doing that for their amusement. They don’t want to pull themselves away from a train wreck. And from one girl to another—you’re wasting your time with Brent. A guy who works with gorgeous models and sophisticated women won’t look twice at you. If it’s your mom making you do this, tell her you’re not cut out for it.”

  That was enough. The last ounce of calm in me flew out the window. I don’t know what floored me more—the fact that she had dared to insult me or the fact that a small part of me believed what she said.

  “You conceited little witch,” I snapped. “You are so full of yourself! You think you can coast on your looks and everyone’s gonna get out of your way? Well, I’m here to tell you—that’s not the way this works!” My chest was heaving and I was shouting at this point. All of the angst that I’d been holding in all day just exploded. I wanted to knock that beanie right off Kelly’s head with one clean punch. I’d never punched another person before—if you don’t count the odd wayward fist on the court.

  She’d just insulted everything that I stood for. And right to my face and in a way no different from an anchorwoman reading the top news headlines.

  When my anger boiled to the top, it took shape as tears and welled up in my eyes. Kelly’s smarmy expression started to look fuzzy to me.

  “This contest doesn’t mean as much to me as it does to you because this is all you got going for yourself. I don’t have to put up with this!” I shouted loud enough for the whole floor to hear.

  With that, my wobbly legs carried me to the fitting room door, which I swung open like a force of nature. I stopped short when I saw Didier, Brent, and the rest of the photo crew staring at me in wide-eyed shock.

  Then it clicked that they’d heard everything I’d yelled to Kelly, but hadn’t heard what Kelly had said to me, because she’d said it in a low voice.

  Just then, Kelly stepped out, giving everyone her best rendition of a devastated damsel. The one who ended up looking like the diva was me. And no one had love for a diva and her outbursts.

  “I just need a minute and I’ll be right there,” she said to Didier in a little, wounded voice. I was wrong about Kelly’s lack of talent. The girl’s a great actress and is a master mind at all things devious. She obviously had planned to screw me and I’d played right into her hands.

  Didier looked concerned for poor Kelly. “Are you okay?” He followed her into the fitting room, rushing past me without so much as a glance.

  Brent looked mad disappointed and surprised. There was nothing more I could do or say at this point. I walked off the set and headed upstairs and then out of Chic Boutique.

  I planned on not ever returning.

  Thirteen

  I felt so angry after Kelly got all brand-new on me, I had to walk it out like DJ Unk.

  The air outside was a bit frosty. I buttoned up my waistcoat and pulled up the collar to block the chilly wind. Unfortunately, I had to walk against the wind to get home. But I was determined to endure the fifteen minutes it took to get there. I just wanted to lock myself in my room. It was the second night in a row that I’d had those plans. Just yesterday I’d woken up feeling like I was on top of the world.

  The time on my cell said 7:06. My dad was scheduled to pick me up from Chic Boutique a little after 8 p.m. I flipped open my phone and texted him that I was already on my way home. A few seconds later, he texted back K. Hope you had a great day.

  My dad knew exactly what was up between my mom and me. Knowing him, he wouldn’t get involved unless I took too long to apologize. Sometimes I wish my dad wasn’t so levelheaded. It’s like the man can’t relate to any type of deviation from the straight and narrow. It makes me feel like a malfunctioning robot sometimes.

  On the walk home, I passed only a few pedestrians. There was a stillness to the neighborhood. I was wearing rubber-soled shoes, so my feet barely made a sound hitting the pavement. There weren’t even that many cars on the road. The moon was full and luminous. And when the wind picked up, it just swirled all the stillness from miles around.

  Even though I had just had my public outburst, I was feeling very calm. A visible cloud of mist puffed out of my mouth when I exhaled. I turned off the main road and passed a row of mismatched houses—tall brick homes, low-roofed ranches, classic colonials, spacious front porches, small manicured lawns, and large front yards. Some houses seemed dark and lifeless inside, while the windows of others reflected a warm glow of light.

  The stillness followed me home. My dad’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Aside from the light on on the front porch, everything seemed dark. As soon as I got inside, I switched on the living room lights.

  No one was home. That’s when I remembered my parents had planned to take the boys to a movie. I was glad that I didn’t have to face anyone tonight, but a small part of me had been hoping to see them so that I could feel normal again. I didn’t want to be reminded that a lot had changed. I was now this modeling, stylist diva who breaks out with outbursts. Or was I? Maybe I was a delusional phony who got mixed up in a world I knew nothing about.

  I wasn’t sure anymore.

  To add injury to insult, Brent had witnessed the whole thing. He and I had just shared our first kiss and now it looked like whatever we were working on was going to be stalled indefinitely. I didn’t want to face him and I wasn’t sure he was invested enough to deal with me, considering what he overheard.

  I thought back to the day I saw him in Art Attack. He was minding his own business and I inserted myself into his life. I couldn’t remember the last time I was that pushy. Maybe I was experiencing some kind of delayed posttraumatic stress syndrome.

  All of these thoughts bombarded me as I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. After tussling with my confusion and going over the last few crazy events, I drifted off into a deep sleep.

  I woke up in the middle of the night from a crazy dream that I couldn’t remember. It was 3 a.m. I turned on my computer and started typing a draft e-mail to the judges. It was a letter of apology for skipping out. I didn’t offer an explanation, only a condemnation of my actions and a promise to come back a stronger candidate, should I be fortunate enough to stay. Now that I had cooled down, I could see the foulness of my earlier behavior. Even if I didn’t belong in this competition, I didn’t want to pull a Robert Muraine of So You Think You Can Dance fame and bow out before my time in the contest was up. Besides, quitting was just not my style.

  After clicking send, I was able to drift back to a more peaceful sleep.

  This was the first Saturday in weeks that I would be at work for my full eight-hour shift. My manager was happy to see me when I walked in bright and early. I’d left the house early that morning and decided to eat my breakfast at the small park around the corner from work.

  “London, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked me in the break room a few minutes before the store was set to open.

  “Sure,” I told him.

  He looked like he’d just woken up a few minutes earlier. His lips were cracked and he still had tiny bits of crust in the corners of his eyes. I took a step back in case he was about to set off a yawn. I had just dumped what was left of my hot chocolate, so I leaned against the sink.

  “You’ve been missing a lot of Saturdays in the past month,” he started. Uh-oh, I thought. Was I about to lose my job? I still needed about half of my summer camp tuition.

  The gamble I took by signing up for the modeling contest to get to know Brent was not working out in my favor at all. I was neglecting what was important. I would end up with nothing that I started out hoping for—not my sports camp money, my job, or Brent.

  “I’ve been trying to make up for it by filling in for other peop
le whenever possible,” I reminded him in my last-ditch effort to save my job.

  “That’s true and I appreciate that,” he continued. “So I was thinking that I would instead have you on the schedule as a floater. That way you don’t have to worry about skipping more Saturdays and I can have the peace of mind knowing that other employees can be covered when there’s a last-minute change of plans.”

  In volleyball terms, there’s a name for the player who serves as a kind of team floater. The position is called libero and it’s the only one where the player wears a different uniform than the rest. They look and act different from the other players. That was me—the libero at work and the libero-looking contestant.

  “But I most likely won’t be missing any more Saturdays,” I explained, thinking about my dropping out of the contest. Even if I did go back to the contest, there was only one more week left.

  “You say that now, but what if the contest needs you to commit to a few more?” he asked. “Or what if you win and they need you to tour France or something?” Boss man was being over-the-top now. “You never know,” he responded to the expression on my face. “Look, London, I don’t want to lose you around here, but I think this is the best way to go from here—at least until things calm down a bit.”

  There was nothing more I could say. He had considered his options and his mind was made up. I couldn’t blame him. I had been unreliable these past few Saturdays. He had accommodated me up until now.

  “Thanks for working with me on this,” I told him. “I realize that there’ve been a lot of changes and I wouldn’t want to lose this job over it.”

  “Neither would I,” he assured me.

  Fourteen

  Thankfully, I was pulled off register when my goth coworker’s shift started two hours later. I stepped away unscathed from any transaction dilemmas that could’ve plagued my morning.

  It was a slow enough day that I was able to text Pam back and forth a few times. She was visiting family in Brooklyn and wouldn’t be able to meet me for lunch that day. She texted me some words of encouragement and sent me a funny photo of her at the Caribbean marketplace, standing next to a barrelful of yellow plantains, her favorite food. I smiled at the look of ecstasy on her face as she clutched a few of them in her arms, lookin’ like Alicia Keys after the Grammys.

  Pam always knew how to make me smile when life seemed like it was getting too serious.

  But every time my phone vibrated, I half-expected, half-hoped that it would be Brent texting me. He hadn’t so much as left a comment on my Facebook page since my outburst. I was too embarrassed to contact him. Anyway, his silence was probably a sign that he was as much a loser user as Rick was.

  The moment when I came out of the fitting room and saw the look on his face replayed in my mind.

  “Excuse me,” a guy said as I was about to start stocking colored pencils. Since starting this job, I’d spent more time stocking that fixture than anything else in the store. It was amazing how fast those bitties flew off the shelves. I turned to the source of the voice.

  “Yes, may I help you?” I asked, happy to get off my knee and stretch my legs.

  When I looked up, I was caught completely off guard. That “customer” was none other than Rick. He was the last person I expected or wanted to see. But I kept those feelings to myself.

  “Hi,” he started cautiously. “I’m looking for a few colored pencils for my little brother. Do they come in a pack at all or do I have to buy them as singles?”

  “There’s this pack right here.” I reached for the box of twenty pencils on the shelf right below my shoulder and handed it to him with as much emotion as a robot.

  “Oh!” Rick chuckled sheepishly. “It’s always like that—by the time you ask for help, the thing you’re looking for is right under your nose.”

  “Happens all the time,” I deadpanned. “No worries.”

  I turned my back to him and continued working. I was in no mood. Maybe he’ll just leave now that he’s gotten what he supposedly came in for. But that was wishful thinking.

  “London,” Rick said under his breath before clearing his throat. The unmistakable sincerity in his tone piqued my curiosity. I didn’t turn around, but my restocking pace slowed to a crawl. “Look, I’ve gotta be straight up. I’m sure you heard—or will hear—that homegirl axed me for another dude.”

  Now, this is getting interesting, I thought, riveted. Only my actions didn’t show it.

  “But I’m glad it happened because, number one, I deserved it after how I did you,” he continued matter-of-factly. “And number two, I needed it because that ish woke me up and made me realize I was smelling myself too hard these past few months.”

  “London, almost done there?” My manager was at the end of the aisle with a “no fraternizing” scowl on his face.

  “Just about,” I answered. “I’ll be right there.” When he walked away, I threw the empty cartons into a container. I was ready to carry off everything in my arms. Rick looked at me expectantly when I faced him, but still I said nothing.

  “I just want to say that I’m sorry I messed up what we used to have,” he insisted. “I’m not talking about the dating relationship, but about our friendship. And I know I don’t deserve to have that anymore, but I wouldn’t want my past stupidity to continue causing tension between us. I mean, we have two more years of bumping into each other on a daily basis.”

  “London.” My manager was back. This time he stood there and waited for me.

  “Look, this isn’t the time or place—,” I started.

  “What are you doing for lunch? Can we talk then?” he asked. “What time should I be back?”

  “Okay, yes. In a half hour.” In my haste, I heard myself agreeing before walking away.

  Thirty minutes later on the dot, he was back and waiting for me by the exit. I led him to the closest sandwich shop so that we could get the lunch over with quickly.

  “Remember the time we doubled up to play beach volleyball against another couple?” Rick reminisced without bringing up our past drama. This relaxed me a bit.

  “I’ll never forget that dive you took.” I giggled in spite of myself. “I’ve never seen someone take such a mouthful of sand.”

  “You wouldn’t believe how long I was flossing out grains after that.” He laughed.

  “No!” I cracked up even louder.

  “It was all worth it because we kicked ass.” He underscored what he said with his talking hands. “I’ll team up with you any day, London. You play with heart because you’re so competitive.”

  This hit a nerve. “What do you mean by that?” I demanded. “Why do people peg me for this competition-crazed chick?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just that you’re driven by a good challenge,” he explained.

  “You don’t know everything about me. I do a lot of things just for the fun of it.” I didn’t sound convincing.

  “I’m sure of that,” Rick soothed. “Like this modeling thing? I’m sure you decided it would be fun to go to the casting. Just for the fun of it,” he repeated with a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

  I averted my gaze so he wouldn’t be able to read me anymore.

  Rick and I exchanged a few more funny memories and then I headed back to work. It was oddly enough a pleasant half hour. It felt good not to be angry at him anymore.

  I looked at my laptop screen in disbelief. I wouldn’t even have checked Facemag.com had it not been for Pam’s urgent text message asking me to.

  There on the contest update was the rundown of week four’s challenge. All the drama was there in writing—including the e-mail that I sent to the judges. I couldn’t believe they posted my letter word for word. “After storming out of the contest, London saw the error of her ways and sent the judges this apology,” I read aloud. Just when I felt I was going to be sick to my stomach, my eyes caught the final stats. Amazingly, and simply by default, I was ranked number three! That was right behind Kelly (numbe
r 2) and Maya (number 1), which meant I was invited to the competition’s final week. I had to read it over just to believe what I’d seen.

  Basically, the reason I was chosen was because I was the best out of the worst. Two of the contestants were disqualified for not following the rules. The judges penalized them for picking more than one outfit. It was a big no-no to be suspected of bending the rules or cheating. The extra clothing allowed them to have more chances to get the look right, which wasn’t fair to the other contestants.

  The fourth-ranked contestant didn’t style or model the looks all that well. I was still in the competition because Kelly got rave reviews for the outfit that I styled. She also knocked her photo shoot out the box.

  I felt like a cartoon character shaking off some absurd injury that flesh-and-bone people couldn’t survive.

  Everything was happening at such a whirlwind pace, I didn’t even know what to think. This was superexciting news! Never had I imagined myself getting this far in the modeling competition. It was crazy.

  The judges sent out an e-mail asking contestants to report to Chic Boutique bright and early next Saturday morning for the final day of the competition.

  As I sat looking at the posted photos of me shopping like I knew what I was doing, I pushed aside the sinking suspicion that Rick and Kelly were somewhat right about my supercompetitive nature. They think they know me, but they don’t. My passion comes from more than just the idea of winning.

  Fifteen

  “Gurrrl.” Pam dragged out the word in a way that signaled that she had something juicy to tell me.

  “What?” I couldn’t wait to hear her news. Pam usually knows how to make any story sound like golden gossip. It was clear that Pam was just trying to keep my mind off the MIA Brent, so I didn’t make it tough for her. I gave her my full attention.

  “My boyfriend is a lunatic,” she started. I wondered what could possibly be off about Jake. He was, like, the nicest guy and the sweetest boyfriend to Pam.