Positively Beautiful

by Wendy Mills

  He looks at me, and I can almost feel the touch of his eyes, like the tip of a dark feather drifting over me.

  “I think it’s cool you want to be an architect,” I say; “I’m sure you’ll get into an awesome school.” God, “cool” and “awesome” in the same sentence. He must think I’m an idiot.

  “What’s your deal?” he asks. “What do you do?”

  For a horrible moment, my mind is blank. What do I do? What could I possibly have to say that would interest him? My life is so boring, it’s surprising it doesn’t put me to sleep. “I write!” I blurt out. “I like to write.”

  He nods slowly and then says, “Anyway, there’s more to see. And I want a beer.” He leaves abruptly, and I scramble to keep up.

  It’s dark. Too dark. My breath is coming in quick pants as I follow after the shadow that used to be Michael. I can’t even tell for sure if it’s him or not anymore. My feet catch on planks of wood and metal bars, and an odd mewling sound comes from inside me. I stop and rummage in my bag for my flashlight. Once I flick it on I feel a whole lot better. Michael is at the top of the stairs by the puffer fish, waiting for me.

  I go toward him and he disappears down the dark stairway. By the time I get to the top, he’s gone. How did he get down so fast?

  The walls are crawling with mold and seem way too narrow. The stairs look unsafe. Did I really think it was a good idea to climb them? Really?

  Taking a deep breath, I start down. I hear a crack underneath my foot and throw myself sideways against the wall for support.

  The flashlight falls from my fingers and goes out when it hits the ground.

  It’s dark. Pitch-dark.

  I try not to scream.

  Then I do.

  Even with my eyes squeezed shut, I can sense the flashlight beam sweep over me, then I hear footsteps.

  I stop screaming, but only because I’ve stuffed my fist in my mouth.

  “Hey,” Michael says. “Hey, what’s up? Are you okay?”

  He crouches down near me, but not touching. I open my eyes, and I’m looking at an ant making its laborious way across a stretch of wall that must seem like a thousand miles to it. I stare at it, willing myself to calm down.

  “Breathe,” he says. “In and out.”

  I concentrate on breathing, in and out, and my heart begins to slow.

  Michael sits down on the step below me, stretching his legs out in front of him. He studies me in the gloom.

  “It’s the dark?”

  I nod, just barely.

  He touches my hand lightly, a quick stroke of his fingers on my palm, and I somehow sense he gets it, what the dark feels like to me.

  “What’s going on?” Chaz and Trina appear at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I thought she was right behind me, so I went on. I think she dropped the flashlight,” Michael says.

  “Oh no.” Trina comes thundering up the stairs and kneels beside me, throwing her arms around me. “It’s okay, honey, it’s okay.”

  I feel better, and stupid. I feel like a little kid, scared of the dark, but I’ve been like this since I was six. I sleep with the lights on, and even then it’s hard, because I know the darkness is pressing hungrily against the windows. I do a lot of reading at night. It gets me through.

  But this has never happened to me in front of other people, and my whole body is hot with embarrassment. I force myself to my feet, feeling Trina’s arm around me like a protective cloak.

  “I’m okay.” I try to laugh. Hollow and fake. “Sorry about that. I’m okay.”

  But I’m not. And I haven’t been for a long time.

  Chapter Eleven

  “This must really suck for you,” Mr. Jarad says.

  “Uh … okay?” I say.

  “Wow. Hey, are you into baseball at all?”

  I stare at him. My first session with the school counselor is not going at all the way I thought it would. I was expecting a woman in a sensible pantsuit and glasses taking lots of cryptic notes as she said profound things like, And how did that make you feel? Mr. Jarad, however, looks like he just came in from coaching football or baseball or something else sporty, and would rather have me do jumping jacks than talk.

  He reaches over, grabs a baseball, and swings his legs up onto the coffee table between us. He throws the ball up and down. I watch, fascinated.

  “No? Not into baseball? Okay, this kid, fresh from the minors, comes up to the big leagues. And to teach him a lesson, the pitcher throws one at him. Hits him square in the arm. So the kid, he takes his walk to first, and then makes it all the way around to score one for the team. Then he passes out, because the ball shattered his elbow.”

  Mr. Jarad stares at me expectantly. “Uh … bummer?” What a waste of freaking time is what I’m thinking but I try to look interested. This is getting me out of trig and I promised Mom.

  “What I’m thinking is you might be feeling a little like that kid.” He tosses the baseball up and down, concentrating on it, not me. “Not a lot of time under your belt, and here comes this pitch out of nowhere that knocks you into next Wednesday. But you don’t have much choice, do you? You have to keep on going, even though you’re hurting bad inside.”

  He stops.

  I am quiet for a minute, and then the words spill out, like verbal vomit.

  “Tomorrow is Mom’s appointment to find out how bad the cancer is. Mom won’t let me go with her to the appointment, and I don’t understand why not. She’s in a lot of pain, and you can tell she’s just waiting to find out what happens next, that she can’t think about anything else until she knows. It’s been ten days, and all we’ve been doing is waiting. And she wants me to go to school and act like everything is A-OK.”

  He’s looking at me now but the ball is still going up and down with a soft thwack, thwack, thwack. I stare at it for a minute and keep talking, barely aware of what I’m saying.

  “She doesn’t want me to help her, you know, to the bathroom, or change her tube thingy that’s draining all this yellow gunk from her chest. Then she starts crying, she’s in so much pain. I can tell she wants to be strong for me, but she hurts so bad she can’t help herself. Maybe she doesn’t want me home during the day. Maybe it’s so hard to be strong for me that I’m making it harder for her. Or maybe she needs me there so she can be strong. I don’t know. Either way I know I have to be strong for her but I’m not sure how long I can be and I can’t stand this waiting.”

  I’m breathing hard and I can feel him looking at me.

  “And I know I shouldn’t be thinking about this right now, but I can’t get it out of my head that I might have this gene mutation like she’s got and soon it’ll be my turn to be going through all this. I think of the waiting I’ll have to do until I finally get cancer and I’m not sure I can take it. I don’t even know if I have the mutation or not, but all this not-knowing is about to drive me insane. I want to scream and scream and scream.”

  “Why don’t you?” Mr. Jarad says. “Go somewhere where no one can hear you and scream to your heart’s content.”

  “What is this, primal therapy? I can’t go somewhere and scream. People would think I’m crazy. I would think I’m crazy.”

  He shrugs. Thwack, thwack, thwack.

  “I found a website where I can do a BRCA test online and no one would know about it. You’re supposed to go talk to a genetic counselor and Mom said I could go if I want to, but I know they’ll just tell me not to think about it and wait until I’m older. That’s what everybody has been saying. Do they really think I can not think about it? Really? Maybe some people can, but not me. It’s all I can think about. And, really, I’m still not sure whether I even want to know, and it feels stupid and selfish for me to be thinking about all this when my mom can barely pee by herself and she needs me so much. I’m just so afraid …”

  Mr. Jarad looks at me. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Huh?” I glare at him, but he’s not being sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m afraid
my mom is going to die.” My breath hitches just saying it. “Okay, I’m not always the best daughter, I forget to pick up my stuff and sometimes I’m bitchy to her, but … I can’t lose her. I can’t lose her too.”

  He’s quiet while I concentrate on not crying. And then I do, and he hands me a tissue.

  “Erin, when you’re feeling like this,” he says, “you need to be careful with yourself. Teens in your position have a tendency to engage in risk-taking behavior, like drinking and driving, and drugs. Here’s my tip for the day: go somewhere and scream instead.”

  I ditch school after my session with Mr. Jarad. I don’t really mean to. I tell Ms. Brown, the front office secretary, I forgot my trig homework in my car and she looks at me all pity-eyed.

  “Oh dear,” she says, her words fluttery. Ms. Brown is not that old, but everything about her shakes and quivers, from her flyaway hair to her trembling hands and voice. “I’m so sorry about your mother. We’ve let your teachers know, and please feel free to come talk to Mr. Jarad whenever you need to.”

  One of Faith’s friends, a blond clone in super-skinny jeans, has come into the office, and she leans on the counter, unabashedly listening.

  “I can’t imagine how you must feel,” Ms. Brown goes on, her voice sounding as if it is being fed through a high-powered fan. “If it were my mother—”

  “Thank you, Ms. Brown!” I say loudly, interrupting her. “I’m just going to go get my trig homework, okay?” Shutupshutupshutup.

  “Of course, dear,” she says and turns to the clone, who is eyeing me thoughtfully.

  I go out to the parking lot and sit in my car for a while.

  Then I drive away.

  I don’t know where I’m going. I just drive. I end up at Stone Mountain Lake at this cool spot Mom used to take me and Trina when we were kids, right by a decrepit old rope swing. I stare at the lake, glimmering blue like the sapphire ring I’m still wearing. After a while I get on the swing and go back and forth, back and forth. I kind of want to jump in the water but I have all my clothes on. I swing higher and higher thinking I might fall in by accident, but I never do.

  I stay at the lake for a while. I try to scream a little bit but it comes out a weird squawk, like a duck fart, so I close my mouth and just scream in my head some more.

  I have to go back to school to get my books, and it’s strange walking the halls without the yelling, jostling mass of people. There’s still a few kids hanging out, waiting for various after-school clubs to start, and I nod at a couple people I know as I hurry to my locker. As I grab my books, I see Michael coming down the hall out of the corner of my eye. Without thinking, I slam the locker shut and rush the other way. It’s been four days since I broke down at the abandoned prison, and I’ve been avoiding Michael. I feel bad I ruined everybody’s night when they had to take me home early.

  I can hear his steps behind me, but he doesn’t call out. It will be hard to avoid him in the parking lot, and I’m starting to feel shaky and weepy. I don’t want him to see me like this.

  I see the double doors to the auditorium and I slip through them, wincing as they clang shut behind me. The auditorium is dark except for a few dim lights spotlighting chairs and tables on the stage. I hurry toward them, my heart pounding.

  Just as I reach the stage, I hear the door open behind me and I turn to see Michael standing in the doorway. He’s in the shadows, but I know it’s him as he walks slowly toward me down the long aisle. I stand beside the stage, holding my elbows, feeling stupid and young.

  “What’s up?” he says as he nears me. “I got the feeling you were running away from me.”

  “What? No, no, no,” I say, trying for, Are you kidding, me run from you?

  “Look,” he says, “about the other night. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Plenty of people don’t like the dark.”

  “Not everybody’s such a freak about it though,” I say.

  He shrugs. “Then they have other things to be a freak about.”

  I look at him, because his tone is peculiar. “What are you a freak about?”

  He comes up beside me and leans against the stage. I turn, and I’m too close to him, but I don’t want to back up. I’m practically standing between his legs, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “I stay up all night drawing plans and then building them as models,” he says. “That’s my dirty little secret. I’m so tired by the time I get to school, I can barely stay awake, but I can’t seem to stop. It’s all I want to do.”

  He grabs my hand and pulls me closer so now I’m not practically standing between his legs, I am standing between his legs. I feel like I can’t breathe. His eyes are dark and shadowed in the dim light.

  “See,” he says, “everybody’s got their thing …” He almost whispers it though, because he’s pulling me even closer as he says it and I know, I know we’re going to kiss and my head is going crazy with ohmygodohmygodohmygod.

  The door bangs open and a group of chattering people enter the auditorium. They go silent when they see us, and I jump away from Michael, feeling my cheeks flare.

  Faith stands there with the rest of the debate club, and her face is pale white.

  “What’s he doing with her?” someone says, not trying to be quiet.

  “Wow, Faith, who knew your replacement would be a dork,” someone else says, and it’s hard to miss the glee. These friends of Faith don’t mind seeing her brought down a peg.

  Before anybody else can say anything, I flee down a side aisle and escape out the back door into the parking lot.

  This is bad, very bad.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mom is awake, doing arm exercises, wincing as she does them. If she doesn’t do the exercises, her arm will swell up like a balloon, but you can tell it’s excruciating.

  “How are you doing, Rinnie?”

  “All good,” I lie.

  The phone rings and we both jump, and then break out in half-hysterical laughter.

  It’s the school. I can tell right off because Mom goes from a hiccuping “H-h-h-ello?” to “Yes?” in a stronger voice and she’s eyeing me. I squirm. I really didn’t think through this whole ditching-school thing.

  Mom hangs up and looks at me. She doesn’t say anything.

  “Okay,” I say. “Yes, I ditched school. I went to see the school counselor, I want you to know. I did that. And then I was sort of … upset, I guess. So I left.”

  Her face crumples a little, and I wish I told her there was this movie I just had to see. Then she wouldn’t think it was her fault I am becoming a juvenile delinquent.

  “I should put you on restriction or something, shouldn’t I?” She starts doing the arm exercises again, her face sweaty with the pain.

  “Probably.”

  She sighs. “Look, this is hard on both of us. Promise you won’t do it again and we’ll leave it at that. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I say.

  She looks away. “I know this is hard for you … especially after what happened with your dad. You seem so lost to me sometimes.”

  “I’m right here,” I say. “Didn’t need bread crumbs or anything to find my way back.”

  “No …” She shakes her head and concentrates on her arm exercises for a minute. Up, over her head, down by her side. “Are you sure you don’t want to join the school e-zine? I think it’s very exciting that they asked you. And it would be a good way for you to engage.”

  “Engage in what?”

  “In the world, Erin,” she says because she knows I know what she’s talking about. It’s not the first time we’ve been on this conversational merry-go-round. Usually it’s because I read so much. The e-zine thing is just a new twist.

  “I think I’ll go engage in a graham cracker,” I say. “Do you want one?”

  School the next day is a nightmare. First of all, Mom’s appointment is today, and as much as I begged, she wouldn’t let me go with her.

  Second, I find out in third period when someone says, “Hey it’s V
a-jay-jay Girl!” that everybody thinks I got caught in the girls’ locker room looking at my own vagina in the mirror.

  It is just bizarre enough to be believable.

  People believe.

  Unfortunately, I know exactly where the rumor came from. Yesterday, during gym, I started my period. I stood on the bench in the locker room so I could look at the back of my pants in the mirror to make sure I hadn’t bled through. Missy Keller came in about that time and saw me. Later, I saw her whispering to Faith, looking at me, and laughing.

  It’s all Faith needed.

  I can feel the eyes on me as I pass and hear the whispers that follow in my wake. I’m sweating as I make it through the salad-bar line and look around for Trina. She is sitting with Chaz and a crowd of his geek friends, and she waves me over. I can hear the snickers as I walk across the cafeteria and I hear someone say, “There goes Va-jay-jay Girl!”

  Chaz’s table gets quiet as I approach. Trina is too busy trying to move people over so there’s room for me to notice the eye rolling and smirks going around.

  “Scoot,” Trina says to Chaz. “Make room for Erin.”

  “Hey, no, don’t move,” I say. “I was just coming over to say hi.” Which I totally wasn’t. “It’s such a pretty day I thought I’d eat outside.”

  “Are you sure?” Trina asks. “You want me to come? I’ll come. Hold on.” She grabs her tray.

  “No, no, I’ll be fine. Need to get some sun, right?”

  As I walk away, I hear someone from the redneck table say, “She’s trying to get sun where the sun don’t shine,” and everybody laughs. I pass Molly Jenkins and her crew, kids I used to hang out with in elementary school, and she gives me a sympathetic shrug. Everyone’s heard. Everyone.

  I’m hoping Trina will come sit with me, but she doesn’t. Only seniors are allowed to sit outside, but there are too many kids for the monitors to know who is in what grade, so as long as you don’t look like a giggly, clueless freshman, you’re okay.

  I wonder if Trina has heard the rumor and my new nickname. I still haven’t told her about the BRCA gene. I feel mean and small, treasuring my secret and my resentment. If she loved me she would know something’s wrong.