by Unknown
Ella had her credit card out and had already paid for the dress before I even changed back. I sort of didn't want to take the dress off, which felt strange.
Then something even stranger happened. I got a message notification on my phone. Jake had posted to my Facebook page. All he said was, "Looking forward to tonight." It made my heart do little flips. Jake Kingston wrote on my Facebook wall! It was out there for anyone to see. Not that I had many friends, but it felt…so…public. It made the heartache and hurt that I had just been feeling slip away.
Before I could tell Ella about what happened, she dragged me to an accessories type store, because they had specially ordered masks for our ball. Ella picked out a green one that matched my dress, with black and silver feathers on the edges. The mask itself covered not only my forehead and nose, but most of my face. Only my mouth and eyes were visible. "So he won't recognize you," Ella said.
"Isn't this fun?" she asked as the clerk handed her the bag. It was the opposite of fun, actually. I felt so totally stressed out. My head throbbed. This had become a very bad idea. Maybe I should skip the dance. Even if Jake was looking forward to it.
At the shoe store, I tried to stop her. "I'm pretty sure they don't make high heels in a size ten."
"Sure they do. They make heels big enough for Paris Hilton's huge feet." Her eyes got big. "Not that I'm saying you have big feet!"
Of course I had big feet. It was part of the ugly stepsister/way too tall thing. But Ella couldn't be convinced that high heels were a Bad Idea. I'd spent my whole life trying to be shorter, and now she wanted me to add a good three inches?
"Here," she handed me a pair of black shoes. We didn't have much color or style selection, but they seemed okay. I slipped them on, and the pounding in my head got worse.
"Stand up."
"I can't. I can't walk in these. I'm going to permanently maim myself."
"You will be fine."
"I'm going to break both of my ankles." I tried to take a few tentative steps and had to grab onto Ella to stay upright. "No way."
"We'll practice when you get home. It's not that hard."
Ella grabbed me some dark, sheer stockings and took me to a salon. I tried to tell her we would never get an appointment, but she steered me inside. Apparently, once I'd said yes, she'd texted her favorite stylist, Andre, and he had moved his schedule around to accommodate her.
I sat down hard in his chair, daring him to say something.
He picked up several chunks of my hair. "Oh my, it's very, uh, pink."
"I was thinking we'd do a deep red," Ella said. "I've always though Mattie would look amazing as a redhead."
"And you wanted some extensions too?" Andre asked while he looked at my reflection in the mirror.
"Yes, and waxing, of course."
"Oh, of course," he nodded, as if it were perfectly normal to use hot freaking wax to tear things off of your body.
"Wait a second," I said, but no one was listening to me. Next thing I knew, they were washing my hair and it took five shampooing sessions to get all the fuchsia out. That stupid sink nearly broke my neck. Andre took a paintbrush to my head while someone else showed him extension colors. He picked the one he wanted and they rushed off.
Once my head was a dark, gooey mess, they took me to this quiet little room with a bed. A machine played the sounds of waves crashing. It felt amazing to lie down, and I was so glad that part of this makeover involved me getting to sleep. I had just closed my eyes when the door opened. A woman who looked like she could fit in my pocket walked in. She had a cheery smile, and it made me instantly wary.
"Hi, I'm Raven and I'm here to do your waxing. We only have time for the face today."
The face? What were they going to do to my face? I started to ask her what was wrong with my face, but she started smearing hot wax on my eyebrow. She put some kind of cloth on top of it, patted it down and then ripped it off.
I let out a string of curse words that would have impressed Eminem. I had never felt anything so painful in my entire life. She immediately put a cold compress on my left eyebrow. "So sorry, some people are a little more sensitive than others. Be glad it's not a bikini wax."
I couldn't believe that people did this to their nether regions. On purpose.
Before I could tell her that she could stop, that I would be just fine with mismatched eyebrows, she already had the wax on my right eyebrow. I braced my entire body, waiting for her to yank it. The tension was nearly as bad as the actual event. I yelped again when she tore the cloth off.
Fortunately, she was finished with the melting wax torture and turned to the tweezers torture instead. It felt like she was pulling every single hair out of my brow bone. "There," she thankfully, finally, said.
"Can I see?"
"Sorry, your sister said not to give you a mirror. She wants you to be surprised."
That certainly sounded like Ella. I was escorted back to that painful sink to rinse the color out of my hair. Fortunately, I only had to endure one wash that time. Andre's assistant brought me back to his chair, and he turned me away from the mirror. I caught a fleeting glimpse of bright red marks above my eyes before he started combing out my hair. He blew all my hair dry. Then like an entire army of stylists surrounded me and everyone pulled and poked at my hair at once.
"I'm going to be using micro-cylinder extensions." Andre continued to explain something about not using glues or heat or chemicals and something about little tubes, but my head hurt too much to listen. My throat was starting to burn, and I felt lightheaded.
We were going through so much trouble for me to "pull an Ella," and I worried it would all backfire.
Ella smiled at me encouragingly.
I couldn't take it. "What if Jake knows it's me?"
She laughed. "There's no way he'll know it's you."
"But what if he doesn't like me? I mean Mattie me, not mystery girl me."
"Just trust me." Ella pulled out her phone and started typing.
"So, what if you're right and he does like me and we start dating and then we just break up?"
She stopped typing. "What if you don't?"
"Please. Be realistic."
She dropped her arms to her side. "Okay, even if you do eventually break up, wouldn't it have been worth it to be Jake's girlfriend?"
Jake Kingston's girlfriend. My heart sped up at the thought. Oh my Buddha, it really, really, really would have been worth it. I would gladly sign up for any future heartache to have that small chance at bliss.
"But what if…"
Ella let out a loud sigh. "What if, what if, what if? You know, no amount of preventative worrying is going to help you out here. It's not like you can get the right dose of angst and protect yourself. Just calm down and go with it. See where fate takes you."
I nodded meekly, which had Andre telling me to keep my head still. So many hands on my head all at once. I was being tugged in a hundred different directions. Everything today had been painful and boring and long.
"I know I'm new to getting ready for a date and all, but surely it's supposed to be less painful and stupid than this."
"No, this is about right," Andre informed me.
Finally, all the extensions had been put in, and the other stylists left. Andre used a big curling iron on my hair, and I could feel him pulling the hair around my face back and keeping it in place with pins. He misted over everything with hair spray.
He stepped back and looked at me. "Sometimes, I even amaze myself."
"You look awesome," Ella breathed.
"Do you want me to get someone to do her makeup?"
"Do you have time for that?"
He smiled at Ella, in that way that all adults did. "For you, anything."
I was in another chair, turned away from the mirrors again while Ella described my outfit and mask to the makeup artist. "Something dramatic on the eye," she said.
"What about my glasses?" I asked.
"They're not prescription so you d
on't need them, and they're a dead giveaway. Give them to me." I took them off and handed them over. Ella stuck them in her purse.
I looked down at my watch. The dance was supposed to start in an hour. "We're running out of time. You still have to get home and get ready too."
"We'll be fine," Ella said. "Stop worrying."
But I couldn't stop. What if this all blew up in my face? What if everyone made fun of me for trying to be pretty when I was still just plain old Mattie Lowe? What if Jake laughed at me? That thought made my stomach hurt.
The makeup part was over faster that I had imagined it would be. When I said as much, Ella just shrugged and said, "It's because you're already naturally beautiful."
I didn't have time to argue with her, because she started walking really fast. As we made our way through the mall, I could feel people staring at us. I crossed my arms across my chest. "Why are they looking at us?"
Ella smiled again. "They're not looking at me. They're looking at you. Jake's not going to know what hit him."
She talked the whole way home, which was good because I felt worse and worse. In addition to my head hurting and my throat burning, I had become completely congested. I had to get tissues from Ella's purse and blew my nose several times.
I had totally forgotten about my cold, and had forgotten to take medicine to keep these stupid symptoms at bay. My stress seemed to exacerbate everything.
Which was good, because now I had my excuse for staying home. "I can't go," I croaked.
"What happened to your voice?" Ella asked. "You sound terrible."
"I'm sick. I can't go to the ball. I'm probably contagious."
"They're all rich. They can afford doctors. You're going." She had that new determined sound in her voice.
I knew there would be no arguing with her. She'd roll me there on a hospital bed if she had to.
"You don't understand," I said as her phone rang.
"Can you answer that for me?"
I picked up the phone and looked at the display. Trent. "Hey."
"Ella?" he sounded confused.
"No, it's Mattie."
He paused for a long time. "You sound weird."
"I'm getting a cold."
"You sound like that chick in that one old movie you made me watch with the jewel."
This is how well I knew him. "You mean Romancing the Stone?"
"I have to get off the phone now because you are weirding me out. Tell Ella I got her text and I'll see her at the dance."
He hung up before I could say anything back. I turned toward Ella. "How did you get Trent to go to a dance?" In our four years of high school, he had never once gone to a dance.
She gave a secretive half-smile. "I have my ways."
We got home, and she hustled me into my room, making sure to whisk me past the mirrors. She made me put my dress and everything on, except for the mask. She had bought the lipstick they used at the salon and was using a little brush to put it on my lips.
She stepped back to look at her work. "Great. Now I have one more thing to be jealous of you for."
"Jealous of me? Why?"
"I never see you doing your homework and you still ace all your classes. I have to work so hard for everything and you're just smart. You stand up for yourself and you go after things even when you're scared to. You're so talented and gifted with your art. And now, you're definitely prettier than me."
In no known universe was that even possible. "But I've always been jealous of you," I confessed. No need to list the reasons why I was jealous—they were pretty obvious.
She smiled at me before giving me a hug. My hair was so long, it tugged at my head when she hugged me.
"No more jealousy. I know it's normal for sisters, but I love you and I'm excited for you and for tonight. So come here, Cinderella. You need to see this."
"I think you're confused which one of us is which girl in that story."
"I don't think I am," she said as she pushed me in front of the mirror.
I knew it was me. Because I could see Ella standing there in the reflection. I knew it, but my brain couldn't accept it.
Because the girl looking back at me was not Matilda Lowe.
She was some tall, fiery haired goddess. With my makeup I looked soft and fierce at the same time. I didn't know I could look like that. I leaned in. My skin looked flawless and my eyes were bright and green. It was amazing what makeup could do. I always wore my hair down, but Andre had put half of it up and left the back down, and had filled all of it with tousled waves.
It was like the after had taken the before out into the back alley and beat the crap out of her.
It was a Masquerade Ball Miracle.
Maybe I was the one who had been confused about what character I was supposed to be. Maybe instead of the ugly stepsister, I had actually been the ugly duckling all along.
I gave in to the urge to twirl around, like a little girl trying on her first party dress.
"I can't believe it."
"Believe it," Ella said. "Now the outside just matches the inside." She smiled at my stunned reflection. "No more hiding, Tilly. Just be you. And now I have to go get ready."
She was nearly out the door when I called out, "Ella?" She stopped to look at me. "I love you too."
She grinned at me then. "I know. Don't mess anything up before we leave."
I decided to sit on my bed and wait. My dad was going to drive us there and meet Mrs. Putnam. He apparently had volunteered as a chaperone. Which was, of course, totally embarrassing. Thank heavens I'd be wearing a mask.
I looked over at the mirror again, toying with the mask in my hands. I thought of what Ella had said, and how even now, I was still hiding. Not letting people see me. I didn't even let my dad see who I really was.
My sketchbook lay on the nightstand next to my bed. Without thinking about what I was doing, I walked across the house to my dad's art studio, and only stumbled about three times in my new shoes.
I was tired of hiding. Hiding what I loved, hiding who I was, hiding what I wanted to become. It was time to stop.
My dad glanced up from his easel and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Tilly, you look…"
"Dad, I draw manga." I dropped my sketchbook down on the table in front of him and opened it to the middle. "That's my stuff. I needed you to see it."
He blinked at me a few times, looking bewildered. He picked up the sketchbook and thumbed through it, carefully evaluating each picture before turning to the next.
"How long have you been doing this?"
"Years."
He looked up at me. "Why haven't you ever shown this to me before?"
"I thought you wouldn't like it."
"Why?"
"I thought you would want me to do more serious stuff, like you or Pearl."
He carefully put the sketchbook down, and turned to face me. "Tilly, the only person I want you to be is you. The only art I want you to draw is your art. I don't want you to become me or your mother. I want you to follow your own path and be happy. That is all I've ever wanted for you."
"Okay," I replied. My eyes filled with tears, and I wondered why I had spent most of my life not crying and now was ready to cry at any given moment. It was like being with Jake had unlocked my hardened heart and I had all these emotions wanting to burst out all the time. But I couldn't cry because I'd ruin my expensive makeup and then Ella would kill me.
"I'm so proud of you. Look at these. You are an amazingly gifted artist. You obviously get that from me."
That made me laugh through my unshed tears. "If you're interested, you and I can sit down and work on some techniques together. Your innate style is right on, but maybe your old man could teach you something that might help you improve."
"I'd like that."
He kissed me on my forehead and said he needed to get ready for his "hot date." I only gagged a little.
I took my sketchbook back to my room, throwing it on the bed. I felt lighter, freer. It had
been such a relief to finally tell my dad about my drawing. It was so good to get it all out.
Unfortunately, he wasn't my only parent. I glanced over at my laptop. I needed to tell Pearl. Then all the hiding would be done.
I plugged my scanner into my computer and started scanning pictures. I sent them as attachments to Pearl in an email. She didn't seem to spend much time online, so I would probably have a few days before I had to deal with her screaming.
You can imagine my surprise when the Skype tones started playing, letting me know I had an incoming chat request. I didn't even know the program had been running.
The request was from my mother.
Chapter 16
I sat there for a minute, wondering whether to click the answer or decline button. I wanted so badly to click the red one and make her go away. But she obviously knew I was online since I had just sent her an email.
I accepted the call. And my mother immediately said, "Is this some sort of joke?"
I wanted to play dumb, but couldn't. "No, it isn't a joke. I draw manga. Just wanted to let you know so your disappointment in me can reach new depths."
For the first time in forever, I rendered my mother speechless. She just stared at me, her mouth opening and closing over and over again like a fish gasping for water.
I watched the expressions flit across her face. I had seen her quiet, motionless manner before. It was the beginning of a tsunami-level of rage. I could almost see the waves of anger starting to gather and swell inside her. I didn't look forward to the explosion.
"Since you're already mad, I may as well tell you that I haven't submitted a portfolio to Wellesley and that I have no intention of going to school there. Ever."
"What?" she gasped in a deadly whisper. I could barely hear her. "Why not?"
"I don't know. I just don't want to go to Wellesley."
"Is it your father? Is he making you go to UCLA?"
I had to head that one off at the pass. "No, I'm not going to UCLA."
Her eyes narrowed at me. "Is this because of some stupid boy?"
"He's not…." I immediately stopped, but it was too late. Pearl had trapped me. Her face lit up with an angry smirk.
