Perfect You

by Elizabeth Scott

  "I need a ride home from school tomorrow."

  "I meant something big, not driving you around," he said. "See you, Kate."

  "Bye, loser."

  He grinned at me. "Yeah, you definitely aren't getting a ride from me any time soon."

  After he left I flopped onto the sofa, exhausted, and after a while, I heard Mom's bedroom door open, and Grandma came back out into the living room.

  "Did Todd leave, darling?" she said as she sat down next to me.

  "He did. Here's the phone number." I passed the piece of paper to her. She smoothed it out and laid it face up on the coffee table. "Who was on the phone?"

  I looked at Grandma, who just nodded wearily, understanding what I didn't say. "What did he want?"

  "I don't have to work at the mall anymore and he can't-- won't--pick me up after school tomorrow."

  She sighed. "I can pick you up, darling."

  Just what I needed, Grandma at school. I could see her now, rolling down her car window to offer "advice" to everyone passing by: "Darling, no one wears that color anymore," and "Darling, do you mean to look like you got dressed in the dark?"

  "I'll take the bus."

  "Did he ask to speak to your mother?"

  "No. He actually pretended to be someone else to get me on the phone, I guess because he thought whoever answered might yell at him."

  I looked over at her. She was staring straight ahead, her expression impossible to read.

  "It didn't work, though. Todd pulled the phone away as soon as I said, 'Dad?' and yelled at him, then hung up on him."

  I thought she'd say "Good," but instead she pressed the tips of her fingers to her face, just like Mom used to do whenever she talked to Grandma on the phone.

  "I guess you're pretty mad," I said.

  "No, darling," she said. "I'm sad. I want your mother to be happy, and despite my reservations she seemed to be, and now-- well, now she isn't happy at all. And with this move coming up . . . it's going to be very hard on her. Thank goodness I've found that I quite like shopping for apartments. We saw one today that had a terrace that would be perfect for an outdoor seating set I saw in that home decorating magazine I bought last week. You know, the one from England?"

  Wait a minute. "Are you--I thought you were going home."

  "Oh no, darling. I'm staying for a while longer. You know, your mother and I have never actually lived together before, at least not since she was very young. I think it will be good for us."

  I stared at her, numb. This was it, then. It was really over. No more house, no more family. Now it was going to be me and Mom and Grandma, all living together in an apartment. Good-bye old, normal life. I wished I'd appreciated it more.

  "Darling, you're sitting in a dreadfully slumped way," Grandma said. "I know this may sound silly, but sitting up straight is truly important. Why, posture alone can make a dreadful outfit look--well, slightly less dreadful. So why don't you sit up and--"

  "I just found out I officially don't have a home anymore," I told her, sitting up straighter as I spoke, my back become more and more rigid as the words poured out of me. "My best friend not only doesn't want to talk to me, she acts like she never knew me at all.

  My parents aren't together because my father likes vitamins more than us. Oh, and to top it all off, the guy I went out with last night said we'd see each other at the mall today, but we didn't, and he hasn't called and I know what that means."

  "What does it mean?"

  I spoke slowly, and through gritted teeth. "Nothing good."

  "So, when you called and asked why he hadn't called, he said something cruel? I'm sorry, darling. I thought Will seemed nice."

  "Oh, right, I called him, Grandma. What a really great idea." I pretended to pick up a phone. "Hi, Will, I didn't see you today and I was just wondering if you noticed because I'm totally pathetic."

  She acted like she hadn't heard most of what I'd said. "Why didn't you call him?"

  "Because I don't need any more bad news. I've already got no friends, no life, and no family, making this year officially the worst year of my entire life. Why can't things be like they used to? If this year had never happened, then--"

  "Things change, darling. That's what life is."

  "Well, I hate it. And this year, my life hasn't been change, Grandma. It's been an end. A long, horrible end. The life I had is gone. Over. Done."

  "Darling, I'm going to tell you something important," she said. "Things end. People leave. And you know what? Life goes on. Besides, if bad things didn't happen, how would you be able to feel the good ones?"

  "But I've lost my parents, my best friend, my house--"

  "Don't be melodramatic, darling. You haven't lost your parents."

  "Fine, they're just 'changed.' But where's the good stuff you mentioned? Because I'm sitting here trying to think of something--anything--and I can't. In fact, whenever I think life can't get any worse, it does."

  "So, you're telling me that no matter what, you can't be happy? Well, darling, it's no wonder you're miserable. It's what you want." "It's not like that," I snapped. "I want to be happy."

  "So then try."

  "Try? That's your advice? Try to be happy? Great, Grandma. Thanks."

  "Darling, the world doesn't owe you anything."

  "Wow, that so doesn't make me feel better."

  "It's not supposed to," she said. "That part is up to you."

  She stood up, glancing down the hall. "I'm going to check on your mother. Think about what I said, all right, darling?"

  "Sure," I muttered, and when she left, I waited for a minute and then went back to my room, shutting the door firmly behind me before climbing into bed and pulling the covers up around me even though I wasn't cold and was actually still dressed. It just felt nice to be wrapped up in something safe.

  I couldn't believe Grandma's idea of advice. Telling me the world didn't owe me anything and that I had to try to be happy to be happy? What kind of crap was that? I could try to be happy forever but it wouldn't change the fact that I'd been wrong about Anna wanting to be my friend again, and it definitely didn't seem like it was going to get my parents back together or even talking.

  Try to be happy? Please. Wasn't that what I'd been doing ever since the disaster that was the first few days of school?

  No.

  The word washed over me as I lay there.

  No, I hadn't tried to be happy. I'd thought about what had happened with Anna, wondered what I could have done differently, wished for things to go back to the way they were.

  I hadn't tried to be happy for Dad and the changes he'd made either. I didn't think I'd ever find any happiness in his obsession with Perfect You or what it had cost our family.

  I supposed there was some happiness in not having to work at the mall anymore but, weirdly enough, that stupid job was the only thing that had actually brought me any. If it hadn't been for the mall and the hideousness of working there, plus the dismal state of my life in general, I never would have gotten up the nerve to talk to Will that first time.

  (All right, I basically invited him to make out with me, but it sounded better the other way.)

  It was funny to realize that the stupid booth and those stupid Perfect You vitamins had helped me get to know Will. Had helped me realize how much I liked him. I'd even got up the nerve to confront him and ended up going out with him because of it.

  But I'd only done that after Todd had basically told me to try living, to let people know who I was, and I'd realized Grandma had said something similar, urged me to go after what I wanted.

  Try to live. Try to be happy.

  I moved out of my cocoon of covers and looked at the phone. Trying to be happy sounded pretty good, but my father's attempt at happiness hadn't worked out too well for him or anyone else. And trying with Anna hadn't either.

  But that's what happens, Grandma had said. Things end, people leave, and life goes on.

  You need the bad things to feel the good ones.
>
  Try, she'd said.

  I picked up the phone. I put it down. This was too hard. What if I'd read too much into last night? What if Will didn't want to talk to me? Then it would be better to find out now, wouldn't it?

  I picked up the phone again, and dialed.

  It rang. I felt sick. What was I supposed to say? My head and heart were so full from everything that had happened today, from everything that had happened all year, that I didn't know where to start.

  "Hello?" he said, and the minute I heard his voice I knew what I had to say, and it wasn't hard at all.

  "Hey, it's Kate."

  "I know," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

  THE END

  Chapter Thirty- seven

  Okay, so that wasn't exactly the end. In fact, it was more of a beginning, and you know what? It was a good one.

  Other things did end, though. I stopped looking for Anna first thing when I got to school. I stopped looking for her in the halls. I still see her, though. She's still dating Sam. Diane is still her best friend. She seems happy, but I don't know if she is. We never speak.

  Mom and Dad are officially separated. Dad lost his space at the mall when he couldn't pay next quarter's rent, and moved out to Faron, where the big mall is. There's a woman, Gloria, who runs a Perfect You store there, in a booth just like Dad used to own, and he works for her. Every time I go out there, we sit in his tiny apartment and he tells me about the displays he wants to do and the new products he's sure will sell. Sometimes we go over to his boss's house and Gloria and her husband give me free samples to take home.

  I never do.

  Mom still won't let me drive by myself. I refuse to let her forget that she promised I could the moment I turn seventeen. I only have a few weeks to go now. Me and her and Grandma live in an apartment together, and it's not too bad. I have my own room, which is nice, but I still have to share a bathroom with Grandma. That's the same as it always was.

  Todd wants to be a photographer now, and probably bores his coworkers at the coffee place to death talking about it. I know he bores me whenever he comes over, which is usually to mooch food. He's living with the girl he met at the movie theater back when we both worked at the mall. Her name is Wendy, and she wants to be a director.

  Sometimes she invites all of us over to watch her films, which usually star Todd sitting around trying to look pensive. I think they're perfect for each other.

  Will and I have been dating for six months. He's still the kind of guy who will come up to me after class and say, "So, what happened in there? I lost interest as soon as the teacher started talking," but he's also the kind of guy who will decide that since it's a Wednesday, we need to go eat tacos and then drive out to the park and watch the sun set.

  He's also still a really good kisser.

  He makes me happy.

  I still miss Anna. I still miss my old house; the front hallway, the kitchen, my room. I still miss my parents being together, and Grandma still drives me crazy just about all the time. I even sort of miss Todd being around, though of course I'd never actually tell him that.

  But things change. Stuff happens. And you know what? Life goes on. In fact, that's what life is. Who'd have thought Grandma would be right about anything, much less something so important?

  I guess vitamins didn't ruin my life after all. They just changed it. Changed me.

  So I can't say this is the end or even an ending because it isn't. It's just life, and you know what? I'm going to do my best to try and really live it.

  BEGIN Like what you just read?

  Here's a sneak peek at Elizabeth Scott's next novel:

  Something, Maybe

  Everyone's seen my mother naked.

  Well, mostly naked. Remember that ad that ran during the Super Bowl, the one where a guy calls and orders a pizza, then opens the door to see a naked lady with an open pizza box ("The pizza that's so hot, it can't be contained!") covering the bits you still aren't allowed to see on network television?

  That was her. Candy Madison, once one of Jackson James's girlfriends and star of the short-lived sitcom Cowboy Dad. Now she's reduced to the (rare) acting job or ad, but she was relatively famous (or infamous) for a few days after a football game with a pregame show that lasts longer than the actual game.

  Whoo.

  I'd love to say the ad caused me nothing but grief at school, but aside from a few snide comments from the sparkly girls (you know the type--unnaturally white teeth, shining hair, personalities of rabid dogs) and some of the jock apes (who, of course, were watching the game, and like both pizza and naked women. Not a stretch to figure they'd be interested), nobody said anything to me.

  But then, nobody really talks to me. That's good, though. I've worked long and hard to be an invisible presence at Slaterville High, an anonymous student in the almost two thousand who attend, and I want it to stay that way. (The school website actually boasts that we're larger than some colleges. I guess overcrowding is a good thing now.) However, the ad has caused me nothing but grief at home. When it aired, traffic to Mom's site, www.candymadison.net , tripled, and she worked long and hard to keep it coming back, giving free "chats" (where she sits around in lingerie and answers questions about her so-called career and Jackson) and pushing her self-published autobiography, Candy Madison: Taking It All Off. We actually sold ten of the twenty-five cases of the book still stacked in our garage.

  And the press coverage? Mom loved it. The ad only ran once, because some senator's kid saw it and . . . you know where I'm going, right?

  Of course you do, and naturally the ad became extremely popular online. Celeb Weekly magazine did five questions with her, and Mom pushed her website and book and then talked about how she was always looking for "interesting, quirky character roles."

  The week the story ran, Mom bought ten copies of the magazine at the grocery store and wandered around the house grinning and flapping the interview at me. The phone rang almost hourly, her brand-new agent calling with other offers (mostly for work involving less clothing, which Mom turned down) and an invitation to appear on a talk show.

  Not a classy talk show, mind you, but still, it was a talk show. She said yes until she found out they show was about "Moms Who Get Naked: Live! Nude! Moms!" and backed out. Not because she objected to being called a mom. Or because she knew--

  because I'd told her so--that I'd die if she did it. It was the nude thing.

  "I've never done any nude work!" she said to her agent. "I'm an artist, an actress--all right, yes, the ad. But I was wearing a pizza box! I want to be taken seriously. What about getting me on the talk show with the woman who says Wow!' all the time and gives her audience members free cars? I could talk to her."

  The "Wow!" lady wasn't interested, Mom's new agent stopped calling, and today, when we go to the supermarket, Celeb Weekly doesn't have her picture.

  "I don't understand," she tells me. "I got so much e-mail from my fans after that interview, and they all said they'd write to the magazine and ask for more. Do you think I wasn't memorable enough?"

  I look at her, dressed in a tight, bright pink T-shirt with candymadison.net in sequins along the front, and a white skirt that barely skims the top of her thighs. Her shoes have heels that could probably be used to pierce things.

  "You're very memorable, Mom. Did you get the bread?"

  "I don't eat bread." Is she pouting? It's hard to tell. She's had a lot of chemicals injected into her face.

  "I know, but I do," I tell her, taking the Celeb Weekly she thrusts at me.

  "Sorry," she says. "I'm just in a bad mood. They could have at least run one picture!"

  "I know, but they . . . ," I say, and trail off because there's Mom, in the back of the magazine under "Fashion Disasters!" The picture they're running was taken at the premiere of a play she did way (way) off Broadway a week ago. The play ran for exactly one night. She played a nun (now you see why the play lasted one night) and wore a dress with what she called s
trategic cut-outs to a party afterward.

  The caption under the picture reads, "Note to Candy Madison: Sometimes pizza boxes ARE more flattering!"

  "What?" Mom says, trying to look at the magazine again. "Did I miss something? Is there a picture of me? Or, wait--is Jackson in there?"

  "Urn . . . Jackson," I tell her, and she looks at me, then pulls the magazine out of my hands and sees the picture.

  And then she starts jumping up and down. Never mind that everyone in the grocery store is watching her even more than they usually do, most with resigned "Oh, why must she live here?" expressions on their faces, and a few "Oh, I hope she jumps higher because that skirt is covering less and less" grins.

  "I'll go get the bread," I tell her, and walk away. Shell be done jumping when I get back, because she'll have seen the caption. At least this means we won't have to buy ten copies of the magazine. I would rather have food than look at pictures of celebrities.

  (Call me crazy, but I just think it's a better choice.)

  And I would much rather look at pictures of Mom than of Jackson James, founder of www.jacksonjamesonline.com , the home of JJ's Girls, and current star of JJ: Dreamworld.

  He just turned seventy-two, acts like he's twenty-two, and once upon a time Mom had a child with him. Check out any online encyclopedia (or gossip site) if you don't believe me. The photo you see-- and it's always the same photo--is of me and Jackson. It was taken when I was a baby, but still. It's out there.

  When I get back, Mom has seen what they said about her, but she still wants a copy of the magazine. "I don't think that many people look at the captions, do you?" she says as we're heading out to the parking lot, stroking the glossy cover of Celeb Weekly. "I can't believe I'm in here again." Her smile is so beautiful, so glowing. So happy.

  Mom almost never looks happy. Not really.

  "I bet plenty of people will see the picture," I say, which isn't a lie. I'm sure plenty of people will. But I bet they'll read what's under it too. She doesn't need to hear that, though. Not now.