Things Are Gonna Get Ugly

by Hillary Homzie

  Winslow is reaching out to grab my hand, not my bracelet. It’s going to happen. My dance with Winslow that will change me back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Olivia. She’s still standing with Principal Barnes, who has a walkie-talkie up to her ear. She stood up for me and acted like a true friend. Olivia thought it wasn’t fair that I got punished. She could have let me take the fall. Yes, she’s a very good friend.

  As Winslow’s arms go around my waist, Olivia twists her body around to stare at me and Winslow. Her mouth drops open and her eyes blink a few times, and there is no magic fluttering of her fingers now.

  What am I doing?

  Not Me!

  I can see that Olivia is making the connection. Me being so helpful. Me giving advice to her about Winslow. All of those but I only want to help yous—I can tell she’s not buying it this time. Even from the corner of the gym, I can see her mouth forming a round o, then twisting into a scowl of disgust.

  I bolt, leaving Winslow on the dance floor by himself, and rush over to Olivia. “It’s not how it looks.”

  “Winslow’s arms were around your waist,” she says matter-of-factly.

  “No! Well, yes.” How do I say this? “It wasn’t like he was going to kiss me or something. He wanted to dance and I told him that I didn’t want to dance. He thought you went away. Because of the incident. To the principal’s office.”

  “No, he didn’t. Don’t lie to me.”

  “He probably thought I was you or something. It’s dark in here. All those lights.” I squint and shield myself from the strobes.

  Winslow trots over to us. “See…he’s coming to see you, not me,” I say. “Go dance with him.” I point her toward the dance floor.

  “You of such short memory.” She shoots me a reproving look. “Mrs. Barnes, as in the principal, said I’m on NP. I have to wait here until my parents come pick me up.” Mrs. Barnes is in fact, conveniently, standing next to the refreshment stand helping herself to a few cookies. She must need lots of sugar to make it through her job.

  I swallow and yell, “Principal Barnes. The Hummer and straw girl—I was the one who did it. The messing up the LIMO! Olivia only said she did it to cover up for me!”

  Then I drag her over to Winslow and shove her toward him. He glances over at me, giving me a shocked, questioning look. What? he mouths and I feel a twinge of guilt. I can tell he’s confused, just like me. I mean my mind is pretzeled, but I know one thing. I can’t do this again to Olivia, to somebody who trusted me and has been my friend. But this is tough, because I also really don’t want to hurt Winslow, either. It seems I have no choice.

  “Forget it,” I say. “Olivia likes you. NOT ME! I wouldn’t dance with you unless forced, like in a desert island–type situation.” Winslow furrows his brow and lifts his head back like he wants to spit at me, like he’s realizing for the first time that I’m actually, really and truly insane. And maybe I am, losing my one chance to be myself.

  Olivia is fingering the buttons on Winslow’s digital Star Wars watch. “Can I communicate with Han Solo?” she asks, playfully. Is that lip gloss making her mouth so shiny? “I want to speak to someone from the Rebel Command Center,” she goes on, rather dimly. Is she playing dumb to get close to Winslow? It’s working, she mouths. And then it hits me. I was the one who told her to try flirting, being silly, and using an excuse for epidermis contact. It was all my fault, and Winslow doesn’t seem to be minding in the least. Nope, he likes having his buttons literally pushed, and Olivia’s hennaed hair in his face.

  Suddenly, he looks at me and shakes his head, and I can see that he’s disgusted with me, but he’s a boy, and he wraps his arms around Olivia and spins her and she laughs and they’re having a great time, and it’s like I’m not even there at all. Okay, he looks up at me once, maybe twice, and scowls, maybe more, but mostly I have my head down because I don’t want to see the confusion, the hurt in his eyes. Part of me wants Winslow to fight for me, to run after me, but mostly I’m relieved because I just want to sit down on the bleachers and stare at my hands for a while.

  Ninai is clapping—she’s so happy Olivia finally got to dance with Winslow.

  I feel good about what I have done but for some reason I’m shaking so badly that I stumble toward the bleachers to sit down. As Mrs. Barnes pulls me into her office, all I can think about is that I’m now really and truly and always locked into Ernestine.

  NO!

  A hand pulls me along out of the dance, through the foyer. “Do you realize how serious this is?” asks Mrs. Barnes. “On school grounds you have defaced a private vehicle and who knows how long it will take to clean that limo, not to mention how inappropriate.”

  I nod as she talks. “School grounds.” Nod. “Clean.” Nod. “Inappropriate.” Nod. Yes, I get it. All too well, Mrs. Barnes. It’s you who doesn’t understand how serious this is, Mrs. Barnes. You don’t understand anee-thing.

  It’s freezing but I feel hot, almost feverish. It’s like a heat wave is racing up my spine. The floor almost shakes and I can still hear the thrumming of the music through the closed doors.

  The Importance of Being Ernestine

  I stare at Mrs. Barnes’s Master of Education degree from the University of California at Davis and her Best Volleyball Coach Ever plaque. Her office isn’t that big and I feel like I’m suffocating. My stomach ricochets and I REALLY need some air. My whole body feels chilled and hot at the same time and little pinpricks of energy swirl even down to my toes. “I—don’t feel very well,” I mumble.

  “I can see you’ll be fine. Too many Cokes. That’s why you fainted at the dance. You of all people, my dear, have nothing to feel sick about.”

  That’s it. I’m Mount Vesuvius. Pompei. “Yes, I do! I’m stuck in this heinous body forever!”

  Mrs. Barnes screws up her face so that her eyes practically come together. “Taffeta Smith, you’re many things.” She makes little quote marks in the air. “But quote, unquote, ‘heinous’ is not one of them.”

  “Did you just call me Taffeta?”

  “Yes.” Uh-huh.

  “Taffeta? Taffeta Smith?”

  “That is your name.”

  “Do you have a mirror?” She opens her purse and hands me a compact. I see hazel eyes, an upturned nose, and hair that does not frizz. I see me.

  “Omigod! I love you!” I throw my arms around her. The woman is sort of rigid but she relents.

  “What’s this about, Taffeta?”

  “I…just had to tell you I love your dress!” I’m filled with cheery goodness. “This school! This planet!” I need to get back to the dance. I want my friends to know that I’m back. I am running through the courtyard when I stop cold in front of a planter full of a straggly bush with Christmas lights. Wait a minute. Which friends do I tell? I know what to do and nearly skip into the gym. Not skip. FLY!

  I’m Back!

  I stop Olivia and Ninai as they’re about to head over to the refreshment table. My former domain. “I’m so glad to see you,” I say all out of breath, even though I’m back in my in-shape body. “You won’t believe it. Something worked. Look, I’m me. Go ahead. Pinch me. It’s me. It worked out. It’s my skin. My legs. And hair and it’s all silky and everything. Feel.” Wait a minute. Olivia is definitely not dancing with Winslow anymore. I’m so confused. I mean, why did I turn back? It’s not like I actually, technically, danced with Winslow.

  “Um, Taffeta,” says Olivia, inching away. “You do have very nice hair and all.”

  Ninai rolls her eyes at Olivia. “Very nice.” They both have face paint on. Olivia looks like a kangaroo and Ninai appears to be a walrus. No lip gloss, hairstyles, knee-high leather boots. None of it.

  “Ninai, Olivia?” I moan. “Don’t you remember me at all?”

  “Why are you talking to us?” asks Olivia.

  “Because you’re my friends.”

  “Yeah, right, Taffeta, and there’s a paper you’d like to copy,” says Olivia. “A test coming up, or would you like
to speak to him?” She points to Winslow who’s shuffling over toward us.

  “No, you guys don’t understand. We’re good friends now! You promised you’d go biking with me.”

  “Now?”

  Oh, man. I forget I’m back in my original world, my true self, whatever that is. My hair is long and unfrizzy. In the blinking disco lights, I notice I’m wearing Juicy jeans and a lacy crop top. “Okay, I know I sound like a freak, but we’ve been friends for a few weeks now and I really like you guys. I mean it.”

  I can feel the distrust radiating off their bodies. Then my eye catches something, a calligraphy E. I am wearing the scarf that Olivia and Ninai gave me. It’s the only thing that survived in the transformation. That’s so weird.

  “Look, I’m sorry for everything. All of those e-mails last year pretending Tyler liked you. I was mean and stupid and if I could take it ALL back I would. Tyler had nothing to do with it. I’ve been a jerk, and I want to make it up to you. I want to be your friend. But the truth is, Olivia, Tyler isn’t who I thought he was exactly.”

  Ninai and Olivia’s eyes pop open. Olivia takes a step backward, as if I couldn’t possibly be for real. “There’s so much that I want to tell you. Like the reason that Mrs. Barnes is doing the testing in January. Ninai, you have to organize a school protest or something. Olivia, it’s because she wants to test when a lot of the ESL students will be visiting their families down in Mexico!” I think I’m screaming this info because even with the rocking-out music, heads are turning. I could swear I can even see Caylin peering at me. After all, I’m talking about Principal Barnes, her mother.

  Ninai and Olivia stare at each other like they don’t know what to make of this info. “If this is true,” says Ninai. “It’s very serious. You better not be trying to scam us into doing something stupid.”

  “No,” I say. “I swear. After the dance is over, I’ll call you guys and tell you everything I heard. Seriously.”

  I watch Olivia scrunch up her face in confusion and Ninai shake her head. Are they getting this? Me? I’m not sure.

  Winslow waltzes up to me, giving me a withering look, like he’d like to turn me into a ghost in that stupid game of his and take all of my gold and suck up all of my life force. Winslow gazes back at Olivia and Ninai and then at me. “Do you have another test or something? Do you need to cheat off one of us?” Winslow pushes up his glasses. And he’s still, thankfully, himself. The T-shirt with a weird, funny saying, his chain jangling, duct tape still on his shoes. He’s sporting his usual ponytail and love patch.

  The same, but better-looking somehow, maybe just to me.

  Go Away!

  Olivia fiddles with the jingle bells on her skirt. She squints hard at me and Winslow sneers at me. I glance back and forth between Olivia and Winslow. They aren’t even standing remotely close to each other. “So why aren’t you guys dancing?” I ask.

  Winslow squints at Olivia and Olivia squints at Winslow.

  “With him?” she asks. “Sure, why not?” She shrugs.

  I thought she’d be more enthusiastic than that. I’m confused.

  Winslow scoots backward from me and throws his hands in the air. “Don’t worry, I’m not even near you, Taffeta,” says Winslow. “I won’t ask you to dance, ma chérie. I know how you feel about me. You made it perfectly clear when you reneged on the deal you made with me in social studies. You must have been desperate when you said you’d go to Winterfest with me if I let you cheat off me on that test. I get it. I won’t mess up le reputation. I am le mold and you are le royalty.” Winslow backs farther away from me, both hands in the pockets of his black jeans. Turning around, I can see SpongeBob underwear sticking out.

  “No. No!” I yell, but it’s too late. He disappears into the crowd.

  I glance at the wall of dance grams written on pink stars, snowmen, blue and yellow snowballs.

  Petra, I love you, Caylin!

  Hey Girls, Want to see my Snowflake?

  The Guy

  To Winslow, you’re the coolest. From Winslow

  A sea of faces. I close my eyes because it’s too much. I can only hear voices. I have no idea who is saying what to who or what it all means.

  I continue to read the wall of messages.

  Hey, chica, love you always and 4 ever. Thanks for being one of my best friends

  To my choochi

  One long message especially catches my eye.

  Taffeta,

  When you walk down the hall

  You look like le mall

  Your smile not so nice

  It must be frozen in ice

  You’re think you’re so hot

  Well, you can just rot

  So beautiful, so tall

  Are you human at all?

  P.S. Sure, Taffeta is considered high-end fabric but the word comes from Persian and means “twisted.”

  He Hates Me!

  Winslow! He hates me! I can’t believe I miss Ernestine. I want her back. I want her back with Winslow and Olivia and Ninai and…

  Tyler shuffles up to me and Caylin pushes me into him. “Go for it!” Maggie the Mushroom, who’s next to Caylin, starts giggling.

  “Stop it!” I say to Caylin. “And don’t even think about trying to set up Olivia with Tyler as a joke because it’s not really that funny. Okay?”

  “Whatever,” says Caylin, who rolls her eyes at Maggie the Mushroom. “You’re the one who wrote all of the e-mails.”

  “Olivia?” says Tyler, running his fingers through his green hair.

  “Yes, Olivia, the medieval Russian one with the hair in her face.”

  Pink bleeds into Tyler’s pale cheeks. “Oh, her. She’s kind of interesting.”

  Her? Kind of interesting. I’m shocked he’s said this out loud and I can see that Olivia and Ninai are too. They’re standing in the bleachers only a few feet away from us. And there’s a break between songs so it’s actually quiet. Maybe I’m really going to have change my opinion of Tyler.

  “How about it, Taf?” Tyler says, “Wanna dance?” A song starts up again.

  “No, Tyler.”

  “‘No, Tyler?’”

  “I like someone else.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “It’s not cool. Not everything’s cool, impervious.” He looks shocked and I’m happy. There, I did it. I used a big word publicly, and I feel exhilarated.

  And, suddenly, I’m noticing that Tyler is sidling over to the bleachers toward Oliva—like, he’s standing so close his arm is brushing hers.

  And Olivia is staring directly into my eyes and then glancing at Tyler like she’s seeing a mirage.

  Then Ninai strides over to me, cupping her head so she can be heard above the music. “I believe you. About Mrs. Barnes, I think. During break, let’s meet at my house. We’ve got some letters to write.”

  “I think Caylin will want in on this too,” I say.

  Ninai lifts her eyebrows. “Caylin? But Mrs. Barnes is her mother. Are you serious?”

  I bite my bottom lip. “Uh-huh.”

  Ninai glances over at Olivia and Tyler, who are now playfully hip-bumping each other. “Apparently, miracles are happening everywhere tonight.” She lowers her voice. “Olivia has had a secret crush on Tyler for about a year. I know that’s like a joke to you. She’s been trying to get over Tyler and convince herself it’s Winslow she really wants, but I don’t think it’s really working.” Whoa! Rock my world! So my fake love e-mails from Tyler to Olivia must have made Olivia’s day. Our joke on Olivia is seeming even less funny.

  I suddenly need to change the subject. “You know I really actually like algebra. And I’m thinking about volunteering in the library with you Book Worms after school. I like unicorn books.” I go for blurtation. “Especially Ann McCaffrey. But The Last Unicorn by Theodore Sturgeon is a masterpiece.”

  Ninai grins and I smile back at her.

  “Me too. I love unicorns,” parrots Maggie the Mushroom, and I have to say, some things never change.

>   Last Dance?

  I march up to the DJ and whisper to put on a slow song. He listens to me. Everyone listens to Taffeta. It’s a slow song. I peer through the crowd, desperately searching for Winslow. He doesn’t seem to be anywhere on the dance floor. It’s hard to miss Winslow because he’s pretty much taller and wider than anyone at school, except for Mrs. Gibbons, one of the gym teachers. I stand up on my tiptoes, craning my neck. Finally, I see a large hulking figure on all fours in front of the sound system. Typical techie, of course. As the bass from the amps booms in my ears, I sidle right up to Winslow. “Want to dance?”

  “Very funny,” he growls.

  “No, I’m serious. We have a dance to finish…start.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Limo girl.”

  “I don’t care about the limo.” I turn around and commence blurtation: “ANYONE WHO WANTS A FREE RIDE IN A LIMO, GO TO THE PARKING LOT.” (I seriously see Ms. Stuckley and Mrs. Grund rush for the limo.)

  Winslow hoods his face with his hand like he’s looking at me from across the sea. I know he’s not getting anee-thing.

  “I’m a girl who’s seen another world,” I desperately explain. “Another possibility. And it’s made me realize things about me that I don’t like and realize that I’ve made some mistakes…and I apologize, Winslow. Really. I…I was an idiot. I want to be your friend. I’ve learned all kinds of things about you. Like you’re a black belt in tae kwon do and use your notebook to help when you assist the dojo. In your house, on your kitchen island you keep a butcher block of knives that isn’t exactly stable, and your first pet was Fluffy, and the first street you lived on was on Harrington Place. And you have a tendency to go after girls who look good from far away, but if you look on the inside I’m not so sure. But then again your mom is ‘corporate hot.’”

  Winslow closes his eyes and opens them again. “Okay. That’s weird. I’m not going to ask because…” He gazes over to where Tyler and Olivia are actually talking, her hennaed head close to his albino green one. Her blouse billows like a cotton cloud. I can see her crooked-toothed smile. Once again Winslow’s eyes dart over to Tyler and Olivia. “Did you…are you responsible for…?”