by Alex Flinn
“After ten years looking at your ugly face, nothing freaks me out.”
“Oh, okay, so that’s not why you’ve been beastin about it ever since we left English?”
“Have not.” But it was true. When the girl said that thing about how I’d better not ever get ugly, when she looked at me that last time, it was like she knew stuff about me, things like how I used to cry when my mom ditched ’cause I didn’t think I’d ever see her again (which wasn’t far from what happened). But that was stupid. She knew nothing.
“Whatever you say,” Trey said.
“It was scary, all right,” I agreed. “Scary that people like that even exist.”
“And go to this supposedly exclusive school and ruin it for the rest of us.”
“Yeah. Someone ought to do something about her.”
I really did believe that. I’d been trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal, being elected prince and all, but it kind of was. It should have been a good day for me, but that witch had to ruin it.
That was how I was thinking of her: a witch. Ordinarily, I’d have used a different word, a word that rhymed with witch. But something about the girl, the way she’d looked at me with those freaky eyes, a color green I’d never seen before, made me think witch. Witch totally described her.
Later, in the gym, I saw the witch again. We were running the indoor track, but she wasn’t. She hadn’t dressed out but was still wearing the black flowing clothes from before. She sat on a bench below the skylight. Above her, the sky was dark. It was going to rain.
“Someone ought to teach her a lesson.” I thought of her words: You are ugly now, on the inside, where it matters most…you are beastly. What utter crap. “She’s no different than anyone else. If she could hang with our crowd, she would. Anyone would.”
And in a second, I knew what I was going to do.
I sped up my pace. We had to do five laps around the track, and usually I did it at a leisurely pace, because once you finished, Coach made you start something else. It was BS that I even had to take PE when I was on two school teams. But I knew Coach thought so too, so I could usually get out of it. If you gave Coach the right respectful look—the type of look that made him remember the kind of checks your dad wrote for athletic association fundraisers to make up for not showing up—you got away with stuff.
Even going slow, I finished half a lap ahead of the next-closest person and started across the track to the bench where the witch was sitting, looking at something in her lap.
“Kingsbury!” Coach yelled. “If you’re through, you can get out the basketballs.”
I said, “All right, Coach.” I started to walk away, like I was going to do it, then winced. “Oh, I’ve got a cramp I need to work out. Can I go stretch? Wouldn’t want to get an injury.”
Insert respectful look here.
“Aw, go ahead.” Coach laughed. “You’re miles ahead of the others anyway.”
Worked. “You rock, Coach!”
He laughed.
I limped until his back was turned, then strolled over to the bench where the witch girl was sitting. I started to stretch.
“You’re really good at playing the adults, aren’t you?” she said.
“I’m excellent at it.” I smiled at her. “Hey.” I saw the object in her lap. It was a mirror, one of those old-fashioned ones with a handle, like in Snow White. When she saw me looking at it, she quick slipped it into her backpack.
“What’s the mirror for?” I asked, thinking it was weird for an ugly chick to be carrying around a big mirror. Weird for anyone, really.
She ignored the question. “How’s your leg?”
“What?” I stopped in mid-stretch. “Oh, it’s fine, actually. Fine. I really just came over to talk to you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“I wouldn’t say it was an honor. I was just…thinking.”
“That must have been quite an experience for you.”
“I was thinking about what you said in class. And I decided you’re right.”
“Really?” She blinked a few times, like a rat coming out of its dark hole.
“Yeah, really. We do judge people by looks around here. Someone like me…face it, I’m a lot better than average-looking, and I have an easier time than…”
“Me?”
I shrug. “I wasn’t going to get that specific. My dad, he’s on the news, so I know how it is. In his business, you lose your looks, you lose your job.”
“Does that seem right to you?”
“I never had to think about that, you know? I mean, you can’t help what you’re born with.”
“Interesting,” she said.
I smiled at her, the way I did at girls I liked, and moved closer, even though I almost hurled doing it. “You’re pretty interesting yourself.”
“By interesting, you mean weird?”
“You can be weird in a good way, can’t you?”
“Fair enough.” She looked at her watch, like there was somewhere she had to be, like we weren’t all trapped like rats in PE. “So was that what you came over to tell me?”
Witch.
“No, actually. I was thinking about what you said, and I thought maybe I ought to…expand my horizons a little.” That was a Dad phrase. He was always saying I should expand my horizons, which usually meant doing more work. “You know, meet other kinds of people.”
“Ugly people?”
“Interesting people. People I haven’t met before.”
“Like me?”
“Exactly. So I was wondering if, um, if you’d go with me to the dance next week. I think we’d have a good time.”
She stared at me, and the green parts of her eyes seemed to flash and looked like they might boil over the sides of her skinny nose. Impossible. Then she smiled. It was a weird kind of smile, a secretive one.
“Yes. Yes, I want to go with you.”
Of course she did.
3
I wasn’t home two minutes when Sloane Hagen, a typical toned, BlackBerry-wired, Evian-swigging, fake blonde, belly-pierced daughter of a CEO and my real date for the dance, called my cell. I hit Ignore. She rang again. And again. Finally, I caved.
“Some Goth chick is telling everyone she’s your date for the dance!” she shrieked.
Play it cool. You expected this.
“Does it sound likely that I’d ask some misfit to the dance?”
“Then why’s she telling everyone you did?”
“I can’t control what every unbalanced freak says about me.”
“So you didn’t ask her?”
“Are you trippin’? Why would I ask some skank when I’m already going with the hottest girl in school?” I put on my special “just for Sloane” voice. “We’re the perfect couple, babe.”
She giggled. “That’s what I thought. I’ll just tell everyone she’s messed up.”
“No, don’t.”
“Why not?” She was suspicious again.
“Well, it’s kind of funny, isn’t it? Some loser telling everyone she’s going to the biggest dance of the year with your date?”
“I guess so.”
“So picture it. She tells everyone I’m her date. Maybe she even believes it and gets a fancy dress. Then I show up at the dance with you. It’s classic.”
“I love you, Kyle.” Sloane giggled. “You’re so evil.”
“Evil genius, you mean.” I laughed a wild laugh like a villain in a cartoon. “So what do you think?”
“When you’re right, you’re right. It’s classic.”
“Exactly. So you just have to do one thing to make it happen—keep your mouth shut.”
“Sure. But Kyle?”
“Yeah?”
“You’d better not try anything like that on me. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to fall for it.”
I wasn’t so sure about that, but said, “Never, Sloane,” obedient as a Labrador.
“And Kyle?”
“Yeah, wha
t?”
“My dress is black and it has very little material.”
“Hmm. Sounds nice.”
“It is. So I’d like an orchid to go with it. A purple one.”
“Sure,” I said, thinking that was the great thing about Sloane. With most people I knew, actually. If they could get what they wanted from you, they’d give you what you wanted back.
After I got off the phone, I looked in the school directory for that Kendra girl. I didn’t really trust Sloane when she said she wouldn’t tell Kendra anything, so I figured I should call Kendra for some damage control.
But when I looked in the directory under H, there was no Kendra Hilferty. So I went through every single name in the book, A to Z, and then back again, and still didn’t find any Kendra. I tried to remember if she’d been there at the beginning of the year but gave up. A girl like her wouldn’t be on my radar.
Around nine, I was watching the Yankees kick butt when I heard Dad’s key in the lock. That was weird. Most nights, Dad was out until I went to bed. I could have watched in my room, but the plasma screen was in the living room. Plus I sort of wanted to tell Dad about the dance court thing. Not that it was a big deal, but it was the kind of thing he might at least notice.
“Hey, guess what?” I said.
“What? I’m sorry, Aaron. I didn’t hear you. Someone was trying to talk to me.” He waved his hand to me to keep quiet and gave me a “Shut up!” look. He was using the Bluetooth. I always thought people looked totally stupid doing that, like they were talking to themselves. He went into the kitchen and kept talking. I thought about turning up the sound, but I knew he’d freak. He said it sounded low class, having the TV on when he was on a call. Problem was, he was always on a call.
Finally, he got off. I heard him rifling through the Sub-Zero (which was what he always called the refrigerator), looking for the dinner stuff the maid left. Then I heard the microwave open and shut. I knew he’d come out then, because he now had exactly three minutes to kill by talking to me.
Sure enough. “How was school today?”
It was fun. Trey and I ran all the wires we’ll need to detonate the bombs tomorrow. We just have to figure out how to get hold of some submachine guns without you finding out. Shouldn’t be hard considering you’re never around. I stole your credit card yesterday. Didn’t think you’d mind. Or notice.
“Great. They put up the finalists for spring dance court, and I’m one of them. People say I’ll probably win.”
“That’s great, Kyle.” He looked down at his cell phone.
I wondered, if I’d said the other thing, would he still have said, “That’s great, Kyle.”
I tried the one thing that usually got a response from him. “Heard from Mom lately?” Mom left when I was eleven because “there has to be something else out there.” She ended up marrying a plastic surgeon and moving to Miami, so she could soak up the rays all she wants and never worry about getting old. Or calling me.
“What? Oh, she’s probably drying out somewhere.” He looked toward the kitchen, like he was urging the microwave to hurry up. “They canned Jessica Silver today.” Jessica was his coanchor, so the conversation was squarely back to his favorite subject: himself.
“Why?” I said.
“The official word is that it was a slipup in reporting the Kramer incident.”
I had no clue what the Kramer incident was.
Dad was still going. “…but between you and me, if she’d lost the last twenty pounds after she had the baby—or, better yet, not had the baby in the first place—she’d still have a job.”
Which made me think of what Kendra said. But so what? People wanted to look at someone hot instead of someone fugly. It was human nature. Was that wrong?
“She’s totally stupid,” I agreed. Dad was looking toward the kitchen again, so I said, “Yankees are kicking butt.”
That was when the microwave beeped.
“What?” Dad said. He focused on the TV for maybe a tenth of a second. “Oh, I’ve got a lot of work to do, Kyle.”
Then he took his plate into the bedroom and closed the door.
4
Okay, maybe Sloane didn’t tell Kendra she was my date for the dance. But she definitely told everyone else. When I got to school, two girls who apparently dreamed I was going to ask them blew me off, and Trey was at my side as soon as I walked in the door.
“Sloane Hagen.” He held up his hand to high-five. “Nice job.”
“Nice enough.”
“Nice enough,” he imitates. “She’s, like, the hottest girl in school.”
“Why would I settle for less than the best?”
I figured for sure Kendra knew too, so I was surprised when she came up to me in the hall between classes. “Hey.” She linked her arm through mine.
“Hey.” I tried not to pull my arm away or see who might be looking at me with this defective attached to me. “Tried to call you last night.”
For the first time, she looked flustered. “I’m not in the directory. I’m…um, new this year. Transfer student.”
“Figured it was something like that.” She was still hanging on me. Some friends of mine walked by, and it was just automatic that I tried to squirm from her grip.
“Ouch!” One of her nails scraped me.
“Sorry.”
“So, we still on for the dance?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t we be?” She gazed at me.
I was just about to lay it on her, the part about how we needed to meet at the dance because my dad couldn’t drive on account of the six o’clock news, when she said, “I think we should just meet there.”
“Really? Most girls want, like, a royal escort.”
“Nah. It’s weird, but my mom might not be totally thrilled about me going to a dance with a boy.”
As opposed to what? A werewolf?
This was too good to be true. “Okay. I’ll buy your ticket and see you there.”
“See you there.” She started to walk away.
I did too, then remembered what Sloane had said, about the corsage. I figured I should ask her, to make it seem real. “Kendra, what color dress are you wearing? My dad says I’m supposed to get a corsage.”
“Oh, I haven’t decided what I’m wearing yet. Something black—it’s my signature color. But a single white rose goes with everything, doesn’t it, and it symbolizes purity.”
She was so incredibly ugly that I imagined for a second what it would be like if I actually was planning on taking her to the dance, leaning toward her, looking at her mossy teeth and hooked nose, and those weird green eyes, and pinning on the corsage while all my friends stood and laughed at me. For a second I wondered if she really was a witch. Impossible. There was no such thing as witches.
“You got it,” I said. “So I’ll see you at the dance?”
“It will be a night to remember.”
5
The day of the dance, I got into the tuxedo Magda, the new maid, rented for me with Dad’s credit card. One great thing about having a dad who’s never around is they buy you stuff because it’s easier than arguing. Trey’s parents, for example, were total cheapskates—like they told him he had to choose between an Xbox and a Wii. Worried about “spoiling” him or something. My dad bought me both. Then I talked to Trey on my cell phone (from Dad) while waiting for the limo (sponsored by…Dad) to arrive. I checked the Sub-Zero for the corsage Magda was supposed to pick up from the florist. Sloane had told me about fifteen or sixteen more times that her dress was “black, very hot” and that I wouldn’t be sorry if I got her an orchid corsage. So, of course, that’s what I told Magda to buy.
“You ever think that school dances are a form of legalized prostitution?” I said to Trey on the phone.
He laughed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I—by which I really mean my dad—drop five hundred or so on a tuxedo, a limo, tickets, and a corsage, and in return I get some. What does that sound like to you?”
Tr
ey laughed. “Classic.”
I looked in the refrigerator for the corsage. “Where the—”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I gotta go.”
I plumbed the depths of the Sub-Zero, but there was no orchid corsage. The only flower in there was a single white rose.
“Magda!” I yelled. “Where the hell’s the orchid corsage you were supposed to get? What’s up with the rose?” I was pretty sure roses were way cheaper than orchids. “Magda!”
No answer.
I finally found her in the laundry room, slopping detergent on the collar of one of Dad’s shirts. Pretty cushy job if you asked me. Dad worked 24/7 and didn’t mess the place up. I was mostly at school or, if not, I stayed as far away from home as possible. So basically, she got a salary and free use of our apartment, and all she had to do was laundry and vacuuming and watch soap operas and fan her butt all day.
That and run a few simple errands, which she obviously couldn’t even do right.
“What’s this?” I said, shoving the plastic corsage box under her nose. Actually, that wasn’t exactly what I said. I added a few swear words that she probably didn’t even understand.
She stepped back from my hand. All the necklaces around her neck made a jingling sound. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Beautiful? It’s a rose. I said an orchid. Or-chid. Are you so stupid you don’t know what an orchid is?”
She didn’t even react to stupid, which just showed how stupid she was. She’d only been there a few weeks, but she was even dumber than the last housekeeper, who got canned for putting her cheap red Wal-Mart T-shirt in with our laundry. Magda didn’t stop folding laundry, but stared at the rose, like she was high on something.
“I know what an orchid is, Mr. Kyle. A proud, vain flower. But can you not see the beauty of this rose?”
I looked at it. It was pure white and almost seemed to be growing before my eyes. I glanced away. When I looked back, all I could see was Sloane’s face when I showed up with the wrong kind of corsage. I’d get no love from her tonight, and it was all because of Magda. Stupid rose, stupid Magda.
