by Donna Cooner
JESSE: DO YOU HAVE ANY PROBLEMS YOU NEED ADVICE ON?
SIENNA: NAH, I’M GOOD.
JESSE: DO U GET ALONG WITH YOUR PARENTS?
JESSE: SORRY. WAS THAT TOO PERSONAL?
SIENNA: NO, IT’S FINE.
JESSE: OK WHEW.
SIENNA: AND YEAH, MOSTLY I DO. THEY KIND OF LET ME DO MY OWN THING. SOMETIMES, THEY FIGHT WITH EACH OTHER, BUT NOTHING TOO BAD.
JESSE: YOU’RE LUCKY.
SIENNA: DO UR PARENTS FIGHT?
JESSE: NOT ANYMORE.
SIENNA: THAT’S GOOD.
JESSE: NOT REALLY. THEY DIVORCED THREE YEARS AGO.
SIENNA: OH. SORRY.
JESSE: NO. IT’S BETTER. TRUST ME.
SIENNA: THANKS FOR BEING SO OPEN.
JESSE: NP.
SIENNA: I REALLY LIKE GETTING TO KNOW YOU. SEEING YOUR NAME POP UP ON MY SCREEN MAKES ME SMILE.
JESSE:
JESSE: YOU LIVE IN DENVER, RIGHT?
SIENNA: YEAH.
JESSE: EVER COME TO FORT COLLINS?
SIENNA: I GOTTA GO. MY MOM’S TELLING ME TO TURN OFF THE LIGHTS.
JESSE: K. HAVE A GOOD NIGHT.
I can’t sleep. The conversation with Jesse feels like a dream that can’t be forgotten. But, the truth is, I don’t want to let it go. I wonder for a minute if this is how werewolves feel after the full moon, when they’ve fully transformed.
I get out of bed and walk out into the hallway. My parents are in their room down the hall. I hear my dad snoring. I never knew Jesse’s parents were divorced. I assumed everything about his life was perfect. And was he going to ask to meet in real life? I had to shut the conversation down, and fast. I’m not ready for that yet.
In the bathroom, I scrub my face without raising my eyes to look in the mirror. I don’t want to see my reflection, but it has to happen eventually. When I lift my head, my round face and dark eyes stare back at me.
There is no sign of Sienna now, but she is inside me. I can feel her. Hear her. But there is still nothing of her in the mirror. I brush out my hair, impatiently and aggressively. Then I turn to go.
I head to Veronica’s room. I open my sister’s door and then close it behind me before I turn on the light. Compared to mine, her room is bland. Beige walls, navy-blue bedspread. Neat and tidy. It hasn’t changed since she left. But the difference in our rooms is not just about color. I pick up a picture frame off her desk. It’s of her and three of her best friends. On the wall are more photos. Every picture crowded with smiling faces. Volleyball teammates. Science fair project winners. Swim parties. Dances. But even with all the friends in her life, Veronica still made me feel special. That is her superpower.
I wish she were here with me, sitting on her bed with that half smile of hers. Ready to muss up my hair because it always made me crazy. Ready to laugh at some story I told her from school or to rehash a plotline from my favorite comic. I don’t remember a time in my life without V in the room down the hall.
Enough is enough. I sit on her bed and pull out my phone to make a FaceTime call.
Veronica answers almost immediately. I instantly feel my features relax into a smile as her face pops into view. As usual, her light brown skin is clear and makeup-free except for a couple swipes of mascara. Her thick black hair is cut into a shaggy shoulder-length style that accentuates her high cheekbones. She’s wearing a floral top I recognize as one of her go-to favorites. Our smiles are almost identical, but my face is rounder, my cheekbones less defined.
“Hey, Maisie. What’s up?” I can barely hear her with all the music and noise in the background. She’s in a restaurant, I can see.
“You’re out,” I say. “I can call back tomorrow.”
“No, that’s okay. It’s just me and Paul.” Her boyfriend, Paul, pops his head into view and gives me a goofy grin. Paul is a tall guy with a scruffy beard, wearing a blue stocking cap that almost perfectly matches his blue eyes. They started dating in Veronica’s senior year in high school and both decided to go to California together for college.
He waves at me. “Hi, Maisie.”
I hold a hand up. “Hey.”
Paul is great. I like Paul. I just don’t want to talk to Paul. I want to talk to my sister. Maybe she won’t approve of Sienna, but at least I will have told someone what I’ve done and can explain it to the one person who might actually understand why I did it.
“We’re eating sushi.” Veronica makes an exaggerated happy face because she knows how much I hate sushi. She carefully props up the phone on something at the table so I can see both of them eating. It’s almost like I’m sitting on the chair across from them.
“Wish you were here,” Paul says. The dark stubble on his face and his thick black eyebrows only make his eyes more striking.
I wish I were there, too. Even with all the raw fish sitting around on little strips of rice.
Veronica picks up a piece of roll with her chopsticks and dips it into a bowl of wasabi. “Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back against the headboard. Maybe I can still tell her somehow even with the noise and Paul and the sushi. “Everything’s good here.”
I watch her pop the circle of rice into her mouth and chew. “How’s school?” She talks with her mouth full.
I shrug. “Like always.”
There’s some commotion in the background and she looks over her shoulder toward something I can’t see. When she looks back, she says, “This place is packed. Top spot in town for sushi. We had to wait forty-five minutes to get a seat.”
“So I should let you go,” I say, giving up on the idea of the big conversation.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asks, knowing I’m not.
I nod, wanting to add I miss you, but Paul’s right there and it feels stupid. Instead I say, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Paul pops his head back in to wave good-bye, then the screen goes black. I close my eyes and breathe in and out. When I open my eyes again, I look around the room, wishing again for V to be here. She seems so far away, physically and emotionally.
I pull myself up off the bed and go over to V’s closet, sliding the door open. Just smelling the hint of her favorite citrus shower gel lingering on her left-behind clothes makes her feel closer. I pull out a navy top covered in a tiny print of rust-colored elephants. Holding it up to my chest, I know I can fit into the trapeze high-low style, but the color would be so different from my usual black uniform.
Sienna would wear this.
For a moment, all I can think about is how things would be different if I were Sienna. Not inside. Inside I’d still be me. But on the outside I’d be her. How would my life be now? I grieve for what could have been. I missed out on so many opportunities by my own choice—swimming parties, hikes, dances. Friends. Even what I wear—a black uniform of invisibility—is decreed by my outer appearance.
The grief bleeds into anger. Sienna isn’t just for me, I remind myself. She represents every girl who’s trained herself that being good at being fat means avoiding every possibility for criticism. She’s for girls who’ve been bullied, or even just tossed aside by guys like Jesse. Maybe those other girls don’t know how to shape-shift. But I do.
I yank the elephant top out of the closet and bring it with me into my room. It’s a risky reminder of Sienna that I vow to wear to school tomorrow. It isn’t a superhero costume, but it’s a start. I lay the shirt out on my chair and sit down cross-legged on my carpet next to my bed. Beside me is a piece of paper I brought home from school—the permission slip for the Lexi Singh video audition. Am I really going to do this?
There is a knock on the door. My mom opens it slowly. “Want some company?” she asks softly.
I nod. She comes in. Katy Purry slips in behind her and they both join me on the floor. Mom and I lean back against the bed, our legs stretched out in front of us. Katy Purry curls into a ball between my feet.
“Did I hear you on the phone with your sister?” Mom asks.
�
�Yes,” I say. “She was busy.”
Mom pats my pajama-covered thigh but doesn’t say anything.
“It’s never going to be the same,” I say quietly.
“No, it isn’t,” she agrees. “Veronica isn’t always going to be down the hall, but she will always be your sister. No matter how far away you get.” Mom looks at the paper beside me on the floor. “What’s this?”
“It’s a permission slip to apply to meet Lexi Singh. She’s going to meet with some students for homecoming. Sort of a mentoring thing.”
My mom nods. “I just read about it in the Parent Newsletter. You’re going to apply, right?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I bite the inside of my lip and stare down at the carpet. “It’s all on ChitChat and I’m not great on video.”
Mom looks sideways at me. There is a silence between us while we both think. She reaches over and picks up the paper from the floor. “Why don’t I sign this now and it will be ready when you decide?”
I smile and lean against her, putting my head down on her shoulder. She wraps her arm around me and brushes my hair back from my forehead. I think again about telling my mom about creating Sienna, but I know she wouldn’t understand. And now I’m glad I didn’t say anything to Veronica either.
It’s wrong. I know it. But I’m still going to keep doing it. At least for now.
My mom signs the form and hands it to me. She studies my profile for a long minute, and then she says, “Do you know what?”
I glance at her. “What?”
“I could have almost been your twin when I was your age. We look so much alike.”
I realize I’ve never seen pictures of my mom at my age. Older and younger, but not at sixteen. “Seriously?”
She nods.
“Did you ever want to look … different?” I ask.
She laughs. “Of course I did. Doesn’t everyone at some point?”
I think about Jesse Santos. Maybe not everyone.
“I wanted to look just like a girl in my class. Her name was Katherine Dutton. No. I wanted to be Katherine.” Mom gets a dreamy look in her eyes. “Everything about her was so perfect in every way. She was blonde and tiny and beautiful and popular.”
I figure there is a moral coming at the end of this story, so I try to jump straight to it. “And she was ugly on the inside and her whole life turned out miserable after high school.”
Mom shakes her head with a wry smile. “Hardly. I’m friends with her on Facebook. Looks like she is doing great. Her husband is an architect. The daughter goes to medical school. Her son is a star tennis player at the private school he attends. They vacation in Portugal. And Jamaica. There are check-ins at a winery in Napa and a Michelin-starred restaurant in New York.”
“So what’s your point?” I ask, because none of this sounds bad to me.
“My point is I wouldn’t trade anything—not my looks or my life—for Katherine now. I am who I am supposed to be,” she says. “Inside and out. And you are, too. But we become something special because of everything we are, not in spite of it.”
Mom leans over to kiss my forehead, then tells me good night and slips out of my room. Katy Purry follows after her, and I stay sitting on the floor, holding the signed permission slip.
I don’t feel special, but I feel better.
CHITCHAT DIRECT MESSAGE
DEZIREA: HEY. LOOKS LIKE WE HAVE SOME FOLLOWERS IN COMMON. HOW COME WE NEVER MET?
SIENNA: I LIVE IN DENVER.
DEZIREA: YOU ARE ADORBS! THAT’S ONLY AN HOUR AWAY. WE SHOULD TOTALLY HANG OUT SOMETIME. DO YOU EVER COME UP TO FORT COLLINS?
SIENNA: SURE. I’LL DM YOU.
DEZIREA: COOL.
My dad’s knock interrupts my chat with Dezirea.
“Maisie? Are you awake?” He opens the door a crack and sticks his head inside. “I’m leaving for the office.”
I drag myself out of bed slowly, putting the computer on the nightstand. Last night Camila followed me on ChitChat and this morning Dezirea messaged me. Sienna is slowly coming into clearer view.
I use my curling iron to add in beachy waves to my long dark hair and apply a coat of mascara—more effort than I usually spend on my appearance. Before I can lose my nerve, I put on V’s elephant blouse over a pair of skinny jeans. Then I add a black hoodie, but leave it unzipped.
Downstairs, I pop a bagel in the toaster, then pour Meow Mix into Katy Purry’s empty bowl. She looks at me as though it is incredibly demeaning to have to eat such slop, but then puts her furry head halfway into the bowl and starts crunching away. I stifle a yawn, blink, and force my eyelids to stay open. The bagel pops out and I jump. I smear on some strawberry jelly and sit at the table alone, chewing and staring into space. My brain refuses to engage with reality. On the third bite, everything kicks in with a vengeance—filling my head with a long list of things I need to accomplish today.
I need to figure out what I’m going to do for the Lexi Singh video. And I need to reply to more ChitChat accounts to keep Sienna alive.
And I need more information from Jesse.
“Hi, sweetie.” My mom comes down the stairs with a coffee cup in one hand and her phone in the other. “You look cute.”
“Thanks,” I mumble through my last bite of bagel.
She glances down at her phone. “Oh, that’s cool,” she comments.
“What?” I ask, picking up my plate to take it to the dishwasher.
“My colleague from Denver is thinking about moving up here. She has a daughter about your age.”
I nod, my mind still on my to-do list.
“I should introduce the two of you.”
I stand up and rinse off the knife in the sink.
“Her name is Claire.”
My hand freezes, the water still running over the knife and into the sink. No. It can’t be. The girl whose image I used to become Sienna? I remember that I saw her picture on a profile connected to my mom. But still. What would be the chances that Mom is referring to that same girl? There must be a million other Claires. Right?
My mom reaches around me and turns off the water. “You better hurry. You’re going to be late.”
Owen and I pull into a parking space in the student lot. Outside of the school, groups of kids hang out. Some gather on the benches. Some sit on the concrete ledge that lines the walkway leading to the front doors. There’s even a large group sitting in a circle out on the grass. It doesn’t look like some picturesque high school movie to me. It feels like the start to a horror movie. The elephant shirt I’m wearing is such a tiny change. When I left home a few minutes ago, it felt like a good one. Now I’m not so sure.
“We should go in,” Owen tells me from the passenger seat.
“One second,” I say. I twist the rearview mirror toward me and apply one coat of MAC Russian Red lipstick for courage. Owen watches me, puzzled. He’s not used to seeing me put on makeup.
Then I grab my backpack from the back seat of the Jeep Wrangler, and open the car door.
Outside, the wind whips my hair across my face as I struggle to get out. The gust is so powerful it pushes back against the door, making it almost impossible to open. Finally, I make it outside and slam the door with more force than necessary.
Showtime.
Owen and I walk to the school entrance together. The wind blows the colors of fall across the still-green grass, mussing girls’ hair and tossing about discarded pieces of notebook paper. My eyes focus on the tree beside the front doors and one red leaf fluttering wildly at the very top. There is something sad about the way that one leaf clings so determinedly to the top branch, even though everyone knows the coming winter will be its downfall. I want to be as determined and undaunted as that leaf.
Inside the school, Owen heads for the boys’ bathroom, and I continue on to my locker. I pull out my books for class and hang up my hoodie inside, my heart pounding. When I close my locker door and step away, I come face-to-face with Bella and Hunter going toward their lockers at the end
of the hall.
I don’t move. My stomach clenches.
“Oh, look. The elephant is wearing elephants. How appropriate,” Hunter says in a loud stage whisper I am meant to hear.
A deep flush of embarrassment crawls from my stomach to my cheeks.
Bella laughs. “Excuse us,” she says to me in a singsong voice.
Sienna wouldn’t move. Something hardens inside my chest and I like it.
“Go around me,” I say.
“Are you kidding me?” Hunter asks.
I cross my arms in front of my chest and step in even closer. “Does it look like I’m kidding?”
There is surprise in his eyes, then a small glint of something that looks almost like fear. Bella grabs his arm and pulls him to the side.
“It’s not worth it,” Bella whispers. “She’s crazy.”
Maybe I am.
I stand there long after they leave, breathing hard, the satisfaction pulsing through my brain. When I feel a hand on my shoulder, I turn to find Owen standing beside me. “What do cows like to do at a concert?” he asks.
I don’t say anything. My mind is still on my tiny victory over Bella and Hunter. Not now, Owen.
“Make mooosic,” he says. He half smiles.
“Why is this joke thing so important to you?” I ask sharply. My patience with his new obsession is running out. Can’t we just be like everybody else? Even just a little bit?
Owen shrugs. He has a confused look on his face, and I instantly feel guilty.
“Everybody needs a little silliness in their lives. Why can’t it come from me? Is that so bad?” he asks quietly.
“Don’t you care that people think you’re weird?”
He stares at the floor and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Do you think I’m weird?”
Seeing his face, something twists in my heart. My mood isn’t Owen’s fault.
“Absolutely.”
Finally, he looks up at me, eyes locked on mine like we’re the only ones in the crowded hallway. “Oh, thank God,” he mumbles fervently.
I laugh.
“Because I would never want to be like Hunter and his crowd,” he adds.
