Pretty Girl Thirteen

by Liz Coley

“Actually, not a lot,” Angie said. In fact, never. “But we’ll be fine. Mom’s just across the cul-de-sac if I need advice.”

  Mrs. Harris relaxed. “Oh, yes. You’re right. What am I worried about? And of course, if you were his big sister, I wouldn’t think twice. Your mom’s going to be so lucky to have you to help her out.” She leaned forward and kissed the baby in the middle of the towhead fluff standing straight up on his head. He made a grab for her hair, but it was safely pulled back in a sleek blond bun. “Be good, Sammy. Be good for your honorary big sister.” She chuckled.

  “I think he looks like you a little,” Angie said.

  “How sweet of you to say so, Angie. Of course, only a coincidence, after all. See you in a few hours.”

  Angie lifted a tiny fist from her hair and waved it. “Say bye-bye, Sam. Bye-bye, Mom.”

  “Ba-ba ma,” he said, waving. “Ba-ba ma.” He crowed with pride and buried his face in Angie’s neck, giggling. She cuddled him close, thinking for the first time that it might not be so awful for Mom to have a baby. Sam fit into her arms like he belonged.

  Next morning, when Kate arrived to pick her up, Angie was hollow-eyed and exhausted. She couldn’t explain it. It’s not like the Harrises had gotten home too late. And she’d slept in till after nine. Only one hint—her room was spotless, and her rocker was halfway across the room, facing the window, with the blanket neatly rolled like a mini sleeping bag. Looked like Girl Scout had gone into a cleaning frenzy and sat up the rest of the night, rocking. At her next therapy session she would ask Dr. Grant to please find out if Girl Scout was her mad rocker—so they could “communicate and negotiate.”

  “Shopping, shopping, shopping!” Kate sang to a cha-cha beat. “We are going shopping.”

  “Groan.”

  “What’s the matter, Ange?”

  “I am possessed by a rocking demon. She seriously gets me out of bed for hours.”

  Kate clamped her hands on Angie’s forehead. “Out. I cast you out, rocking demon,” she muttered in a deep voice. “Out!” She flung her arms apart. “There. Did it work?”

  Angie tossed her a twisted smile. “We’ll see tonight.”

  The hunt for dresses was frustrating at first. Kate wanted something not too short, not too strappy, not too plungy for Ali’s sensitivities. Of course, everything she discarded as inappropriate, Angie’s hands grabbed. At least Angie had a clue what was going on now. Slut wanted a party dress. Slut wanted a private party with Greg. Angie was having trouble telling where Slut’s feelings for him left off and hers started. Maybe they were the same, but she wasn’t sure.

  “Here, try this,” Kate said, thrusting a satiny dark blue thing at her.

  “It looks so boring,” Angie argued.

  Kate stuffed it into her hands. “Just try it.”

  Angie came out of the dressing room with a new appreciation for Kate’s taste. “Oh, girlfriend, just look at me,” she commanded. She twirled, full-skirted in front of the triple mirror, and the dress, which hung below her knees at rest, flared into a spinning shimmer. The sapphire color turned her skin milky white, her cheeks rose pink, and her gray eyes twilight blue.

  A dressing room at the far end opened and out stepped a girl in ruby red—Livvie, in a strapless crimson mini. Her cleavage was legendary. “I guess jewel tones are in,” she said with a tight laugh. “Nice dress. Who’s taking you?”

  Angie’s mouth dried up. A week away, and Greg still hadn’t straightened it out.

  Kate came out of another room to save her life. “It’s a surprise, Liv,” she said. “Apparently.”

  “Why, it’s Glinda the Good!” Liv commented.

  Not entirely fair. Kate’s dress was a pale blue gauze monstrosity with puffed sleeves, but not totally good-witch-in-a-bubble material. “I’m going to alter it.”

  Angie was impressed. “You know how to do that?”

  “Oh yeah. Piece of cake,” Kate said. “I like yours, too, Liv. You look like a Twizzler with tits.”

  “Oh, stuff it,” Liv said over her shoulder as she flounced back into her dressing room.

  “Is that her secret?” Angie whispered with a giggle.

  Kate yelled down the row of dressing rooms, “Don’t cut the tags off too soon.”

  Angie nudged her. “You are soooo bad.”

  “Ridiculous,” Kate replied in a high voice. “Don’t you know I’m Glinda the Good?”

  By Wednesday, it was getting completely irksome. Greg hadn’t called her, hadn’t changed his lunch-with-Liv routine. She finally had to break down and stalk him to get him alone after school. When he opened his car door to leave, she was in the passenger seat, waiting. “You never lock, do you?”

  “Safe part of town,” he said. “What’s up?”

  Ugh. How awkward. Again. “I—you haven’t—I haven’t heard from you,” she said lamely.

  “What do you mean? I see you every day. I haven’t heard from you, either.”

  Angie frowned. “I mean, I—you—have you talked to Livvie yet?”

  A shadow of annoyance crossed his face. “It’s only been a few days. I will. Hey, don’t nag me about it.”

  Angie shrank into the seat. “It’s just, I was thinking, with the formal coming up and …” She trailed off.

  His jaw tightened. He exhaled loudly. Angie stopped breathing.

  “The formal. Oh. Right.” He turned back to her and rested his hand on her arm. “So, like, Liv and I already had a date for the formal. I made dinner reservations a long time ago. She already bought an expensive dress and everything.” He smiled apologetically. “I knew you’d understand.”

  Angie started, “I bough—” and stopped herself.

  “But right after that, I’ll tell her, I swear. It’s bad timing now, is all.” He took her face between his hands. “I still … you’re still really important to me. God, don’t look at me like that. You make me crazy for you.”

  He glanced at the windows and sank his lips into hers like a bee diving headfirst into a flower.

  You opened your mouth and invited more. Behind your eyelids, sparkling patterns danced. Oh yes, he wanted you. You could taste it, smell it. His urgency made you tremble. But this was good, right? He had to want you more than Livvie. We had to win. That was vitally important. You could hear the pounding of his heart, feel his pulse race against your chest. A deep voice in your head said, Step aside, Pretty Girl. I’ve got this covered.

  You tried to hang on, but the messages from your lips, from your skin, got fainter and farther away. You were pulled away from them, dragged back to the old, derelict porch. Some faint sounds reached you—sighs, groans, zips, clicks. You turned your head away. You had no part to play. You sat in darkness and wondered and rocked until …

  “So that’s okay, then?” Greg’s voice.

  Angie was home, standing by the rolled-down driver’s window of his car.

  He tugged a strand of her hair to pull her face in close and kissed her with his tongue. He tasted weird. “But after the dance, I promise. I’ll tell her then.”

  Angie nodded numbly. What had happened? And what had she agreed to? Clearly, he wasn’t taking her to the dance. He was still taking Liv.

  She had to call Kate.

  “That cowardly bastard,” Kate declared. “Sorry. I guess you still want him?”

  Angie shrugged, then realizing that her gesture didn’t transmit well across the phone, added, “I think so. I mean, all I can think about is kissing him.”

  “Oh, great. That’s your libido talking, not your brain. Sure, he’s a hottie with a body, but how does he treat you?”

  Damn, she wished she could answer that question firsthand.

  “Silence?” Kate commented. “Excuse me for being a buttinsky, but here’s how I see it. You guys have a history, of a mild sort. Now you’re like the all-American cover girl, and he wants to keep you in reserve for when he gets tired of Livvie and her attitude. So he’ll do just enough to keep you enthralled, and I do mean enthralled
like enslaved.”

  “I’m not his slave,” she said indignantly.

  “No? You’re not his slave, but you’ll just … just hop into his car and do him in the parking lot without a commitment?”

  All the blood drained from Angie’s head. She collapsed back onto her bed, phone pressed to her ear. She whispered, “How, uh, why do you think …”

  “I saw you, crazy girl. I can recognize the back of your head.”

  “Oh my God. That’s impossible. I’ve never … I wouldn’t even know how!”

  “Ange. Apparently you do.”

  Or someone did. That damned Slut. It was definitely time to pull the plug on that part of her brain before she got her into deeper trouble.

  Angie breathed hard, no answers coming. “Kate, what do I do now?”

  “Ask yourself if a guy who’d use you like that is worth it and come to the obvious conclusion.”

  “You don’t mince words, do you?” Angie said, a small piece of her innocence in tatters. She didn’t want to give him up. He was a link, a bridge across the lost time.

  “I don’t have to,” Kate replied. “I’m already a leper. Gives me the freedom to be honest.”

  Angie sighed deeply. “Nope. You’re a friend. Gives you the responsibility to be honest. Damn. You’re right, of course.”

  “Come with us,” Kate suggested. “Happiness is the best revenge. Double-date with me and Ali. You’d actually be doing me a favor, since Abraim was going to tag along with us anyway. He can be your escort. Two problems solved, since you already have a dress.”

  “Okay,” Angie said. “Since I already have a dress.” And although she knew she shouldn’t go there, part of her wondered how jealous Greg would be seeing her with another date. “Talk tomorrow. Bye.”

  She lay back on the pillow and experimented with her emotions. She tried to be deliriously happy that she had a friend like Kate. She tried to be furious with Greg. She tried to cry. A tear or two squeezed out, but mostly she felt numb. Shell-shocked. God help her if any of this got back to Livvie. She’d tell the world.

  Friday morning, she told Dr. Grant she had absolutely, positively decided. No take-backs. She was ready to go ahead with the procedure. While she waited, Dr. Grant called and confirmed arrangements with Dr. Hirsch for first thing Monday morning. Angie’s head pounded through the rest of the school day and all night.

  Saturday afternoon, Kate drove over with a set of hot rollers to do Angie’s hair. “You are going to need major makeup,” she said. “More mad rocking?”

  “That, and headaches, too,” Angie said. “I hope I make it through the evening tonight.”

  Kate smiled. “Once the party starts, you’ll be great. The boys are picking us up here at six.” She found an electrical outlet. “And now, let the magic begin.”

  She rolled Angie’s long hair and went to work on her nails and makeup. By the time she’d finished, soft blond curls of hair framed the face of a porcelain doll with wide gray eyes. Angie stared in the mirror at the beautiful girl who supposedly was her.

  While Kate did her own final tweaking, Angie tore herself away to dress. She had figured out the hideous scar issue, she thought, crossing her fingers that Kate would approve.

  She twirled in front of Kate in high-heeled ankle boots and sheer black stockings. “Okay?”

  Kate tipped her head, giving her the once-over. “Yeah. Different, but kind of sexy. That’ll work. Here, let me show you mine.”

  Kate tossed her shirt and jeans aside, slid her own dress out of the garment bag, and wriggled into it.

  Angie was amazed at the fashion makeover. “How’d you do that?” Gone were the puffy sleeves and gauze overlay. The pale blue under-sheath was now a strapless, backless satin dress. Kate had turned the blue gauze into a wrap that concealed her back and shoulders in a way that was both mysterious and hot.

  “Get this,” Kate said. She reached into the bag and pulled out a long, silvery scarf, which she draped over her dark hair, crossed under her chin, and threw back over her shoulders to hang down her back like a pair of silver wings. “Think he’ll like it?”

  Angie giggled. “Chah. Though if that’s supposed to make you look modest, I bet all he’ll think about tonight is how to unwrap you.”

  Kate gave a smug smile. “Good.”

  “I so can’t believe Liv called you a prude,” Angie said. She clapped a hand to her throat. “Oops. Sorry.”

  Kate shrieked with laughter. “Livvie kills me. She’s the one who needs a couple of shots to loosen up enough to let a guy near her.”

  Angie had an aha moment. She chuckled low in her throat. “She’s not a hot, fast Porsche?”

  “Huh?”

  “Something Greg once said. Explains a lot. No wonder he’s obsessed with my inner slut.”

  Kate’s jaw dropped. “You have an inner slut?”

  Angie rolled her eyes. “Surely you remember the wardrobe sabotage? The black lace? Et cetera?”

  “The fire-red lipstick? Cleopatra eyes?”

  “Oh yeah. That’s her.” Angie snorted.

  “The no-bra white stretch top?”

  “Oh, no. Please tell me you’re making that up,” Angie begged.

  Kate’s mouth turned down. “Sorry. You didn’t know about that?”

  “That was definitely her.” Angie sighed. “Anyway, she’s totally history Monday morning.”

  “Wait, what do you mean? Are you getting cured?”

  If only it were that easy. “Well, there’s this experiment—” Angie started.

  “Hang on. An experiment? With your brain? But I love you the way you are!”

  A rush of happiness flowed over Angie. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll be—”

  The doorbell rang, and Kate scrambled for her shoes. “Oh kill me. This is so to-be-continued …”

  Ali’s eyes nearly dropped out of his head when Kate answered the door in her sparkling, homemade head scarf. At least, Angie hoped that one was Ali. She didn’t want her date ogling her friend instead of her. Of course, his eyes went straight to Kate’s neckline after that. Boys will be boys.

  Angie watched for Abraim’s reaction. Would he approve of his blind date? He gave her a shy smile as he stepped forward with a corsage box, the twin of the one in his brother’s hand. “You look pretty, Angela,” he said. “Thank you for saving me from being such a hanger-on.” He had the slightest hint of British in his diction. “I hope roses suit you?”

  Angie held out her wrist without thinking. She was completely used to the scars, but she saw them again through the boys’ startled eyes. Abraim hesitated just a second too long with the corsage elastic.

  Kate plunged to the rescue. “Old Girl Scout hunting accident,” she improv-ed on the spot. “Ran into a bear trap. She had to gnaw her own hand off to escape.”

  Angie picked up her cue. “That’s where the doctor sewed it back on.” She gave a light laugh.

  Abraim gently took her fingertips and bent her wrist back and forth. “Fascinating. I didn’t know microsurgery had reached this advanced level.” He adjusted the trio of roses on her arm, just hiding the strip of scar tissue. “I am planning on medical school. After college.”

  “Where are you applying?” Angie asked.

  The boys chanted in unison, ticking off the colleges on their fingers as they went: “Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Tufts, and Hopkins.”

  Angie’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. Quite a list. “What are you going to do if you get into different ones?”

  The boys looked at each other like they’d never considered that possibility.

  “How about you?” Abraim asked Angie. “What are your plans?”

  “To get through Monday. I’m kind of living a day at a time. Long term? No clue.”

  “Hungry here,” Kate said. “Shall we?”

  Abraim put a hand under Angie’s elbow in an old-fashioned, gentlemanly way to lead her to the car. “How about college?”

  Angie shrugged. “That’s a long way off
. I’m only in ninth grade.”

  Abraim’s hand abruptly dropped from her arm. “So young?” He looked frantically at Ali.

  “Sixteen,” Angie said quickly. “I’m sixteen.”

  It was strange to hear herself say the words, and stranger still, for the first time she actually meant it. She was sixteen. She was moving forward. “I, uh, was abroad for a couple of years. I didn’t go to school. So now I’m catching up.” Yeah. She was. Catching up. The unfamiliar emotion of sheer happiness made her light-headed.

  Dinner was amazing, a Middle Eastern all-you-can-eat buffet. It was a long drive to get there, but the guys promised it was totally worth it. They were right. Angie rolled the new foods around on her tongue, trying to guess the spices. Help me out here, she thought deep into her brain. She imagined the creak of wood on wood, the sound a porch rocker might make.

  A tentative thought came back. That’s cumin. Turmeric. That sweet one is cardamom. Garlic, of course.

  “Thanks,” she said, filing the tastes away in her own memory.

  “Thanks for what?” Ali asked.

  “Oh, uh, for passing the water,” Angie improvised. Talking to herself was “a new hazard of the thinning walls,” as Dr. Grant had informed her. Great. It could be awkward if she didn’t watch herself.

  On the long ride back to school for the dance, Kate and Ali chatted in the front seat, loudly enough to make up for the slightly delicate silence in the back. Angie studied the stars through the window until a touch startled her.

  Abraim held her hand gently in his. “Did it hurt? The surgery?” he whispered.

  Angie’s eyes filled unexpectedly with tears. “Yes,” she whispered back. “I believe it did.” Abraim lifted her arm to his lips and kissed her inner wrist, his dark eyes soft and compassionate. Then, as if shocked by his own actions, he jerked his head away to look out his own window. But he never let go of her hand.

  The decision was made. There was no going back now. Angie sat motionless in the surgical suite, her head secured in place with cushioned clamps. The room was very, very white, and the lights hummed at a high pitch that didn’t seem to bother the doctors and nurses.

  Dr. Grant’s eyes poked over the top of her surgical mask. The corner crinkles suggested she was smiling underneath. She gave Angie two thumbs-up.