by Dayo Benson
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Special Thanks
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Reflection Questions
Back Matter
Links
BOOK ONE
Raw Deal
A Novel
By
Dayo Benson
Raw Deal: Beauty for Ashes Book One
© Copyright 2011 by Dayo Benson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission from the author. The only exception is brief quotations in a book review.
Some Scripture is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Cover design by Ade Benson
Visit the author’s website at www.dayobenson.com
Special Thanks
My Saviour, thank You for saving me. Thank You for this story and for giving me the commitment I needed to write it. Thank You also for the guts to publish. Please let people find their way to You through it.
To my lovely husband, what more can a girl want when she’s got a man like you? You are the love of my life, my sunshine, and my best friend; I wish we’d met sooner. Thanks for your encouragement, support and everything else. I love you more than I can put into words.
Rhema Benson, my beautiful daughter, I love you so much. You fill our lives with such joy and laughter.
My parents and my brothers—Rhema has the best grandparents and the best uncles in the world. Thank you so much. We love you!
Sara-joy, thanks for doing such a great job with proofreading, and for helping to make sure that I wrote in American English and not in British.
“He came to give beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning,
the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness”
(Isaiah 61:3).
This book is dedicated to you. Happy reading!
Chapter 1
“Girl, we have to look amazing,” Monica Williams said, as we exited the school building and made our way to the parking lot. “This ain’t no ‘dress from the mall’ kinda party,” she said, crooking her fingers. “This is a straight up, ‘spend five hundred dollars on a dress’ kinda party.” She eyed me with unsparing chestnut eyes. “And you are coming whether you like it or not.” She linked my arm as we cut our way through the parking lot. “Whether you want to or not,” she continued, “whether you feel like or not.”
I shuffled alongside her dully. “Monica, the party is three whole weeks away.”
“You mean two weeks and a few days.”
“Oh, pardon me,” I said, snorting my indifference, “but don’t you think we should start thinking about what to wear closer to the time?”
Monica looked incredulous. “Lexi, this will be our last high school Christmas dance!”
And…? I asked silently. The girl seriously needed to get a grip. “I just think that spending hundreds of dollars on a dress for a pathetic Christmas dance is crazy.”
“Okay, we won’t spend hundreds, I promise. I guess hundreds is for the prom.”
“Monica, at this rate, I won’t have any money left to go to college.”
“Stop being so dramatic,” Monica huffed, unlinking her arm from mine and sauntering toward her Lexus.
I couldn’t believe the school drama queen was accusing me of being dramatic. I moved toward my own car, a miserable looking Chevy that was mainly hidden by Monica’s Lexus. I always parked behind Monica, partly hoping that she’d one day reverse too far back and put me out of my misery. My car would be totaled, and Monica’s insurance would pay out for new one.
Monica gave me a weird look. “What are you smiling about?”
“Nothin’.”
“Are you coming to the game on Thursday, by the way?” she asked unlocking her car. “There’s an after party in the gym.”
“What if we don’t win?”
“We’re playing Los Lions. We’ll win.”
I pretended to consider it although my mind was already firmly made up that I wasn’t going. “I’m not sure. Probably not though.”
Monica glared at me. “Why do you never want to hang out or party, Lexi? You didn’t even come to the Thanksgiving dinner. You’re so miserable.”
“I already have plans for Thursday.”
Monica waved a manicured hand dismissively. “Save it, Lexi. Watching old soap opera re-runs and snacking on potato chips are not ‘plans’.”
Actually I had a fashion show, but I hadn’t told Monica that I was signed yet. I also had a fashion show the night of the Christmas dance. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.
Monica dumped her purse into her trunk and slammed it shut. “Besides, it’ll be bad for your diet,” she continued. “Whereas dancing all night with me at the after party, while looking hot, and being the center of attention and the desire of every guy in this skanky school is bound to make you lose at least a couple of pounds.”
“What makes you think I’m on a diet?” I pulled a sugar loaded cereal bar out of my purse to prove my point, and Monica slapped my hand like I was a naughty child. The cereal bar fell to the ground. “Hey!” I protested.
Monica swung her bunch of keys round her index finger unremorsefully. “That’s like the worst brand. I told you to get the ‘Lo to Go.’ They’re sugar free.”
“Yeah, but they contain other sweeteners that are probably just as bad as sugar or, in fact, worse; and on top of that, they’re pretty tasteless.” I was tempted to retrieve my cereal bar from the ground, but I knew Monica would have a fit. “What is up with you LA people anyway? Everyone is on a diet, having a nose job, or cleaning out their pores with horse manure.”
“What’s with the whole ‘you LA people?’ You spend a couple years in England, and you come back actually thinking you’re British! Plus, I told you I only did that once!”
I laughed. “Did you really think it would he
lp your skin? What happened to the good-old-fashioned cleanse, tone, and moisturize?”
“Hey, I already explained to you about my phony beauty consultant, and I’ve switched to someone else. Don’t you go telling anybody about that!”
I grinned, shaking my head. I loved Monica, but she was so vain.
Monica’s key swinging stopped abruptly, and she squinted up at the sky. “Hey, it’s raining.”
I felt what must have been the minusculest of rain droplets hit my nose. “Yeah.”
Monica’s hands went to her hair in alarm. “I gotta get into my car, Lexi, before my hair goes berserk.” Monica dove into her car and rolled the window down. I walked over, and she smiled up at me. “Think about the party, okay? I really want you to come with me.”
“Won’t you be going with Liam?”
“Yeah, but I need you to come too. Who knows, you might meet someone.”
I rolled my eyes. “Like who?”
“Oh please, Lexi, don’t give me the ‘there are no hot guys in this school’ business. Two words: Jace Washington. He’ll be there. He just joined the team.”
“Jace? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Whatever, Lexi.”
“No, seriously. I know I said he was cute, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“I hear ya.” Monica dug around in her purse and located her sunglasses.
“Roberto Cavalli?” I asked.
Monica looked proud. “You know, Lexi, when I heard you were coming back I was worried that you might be overweight, or have no style, or something. I was worried that you might have changed, and we wouldn’t get on anymore. But you continue to impress me.”
“You need to get a grip.”
She laughed and started up her car. “See you tomorrow.” She rolled her window up, slowly emerged from her parking spot, and then honked twice as she sped out of the parking lot. She always drove way too fast; I just knew she’d missed her calling as a Nascar driver.
I got into my own car and started making my way home. I considered canceling my fashion show on Thursday so that I could go to the game. It wasn’t like it was fashion week or anything. It was just a show for local designers, but I really wanted to do it. The ‘no pressure’ jobs were the most fun.
Plus, I had pretty much groveled to get into this show. I’d gone to see Vinnie Hoffman myself with my portfolio, and I had insisted that he let me wear his clothes. Luckily, he’d liked me. I couldn’t cancel on him a few days before the show. I’d been to two fittings and a rehearsal!
I drove home gloomily. The only other option was to just tell Monica that I’d gotten signed while I was in England. That didn’t appeal, because if people found out they might Google me and pull out pictures of me on the runway in a bikini or something.
I stopped at a red light and exhaled. It was late November, and the trees were bare. A pale, wintry sun shone lazily upon the city, and the streets were bathed with a surreal golden hue. LA was home, and although I was glad to be back, I hated the reason that had brought me back. This time last year I’d been in England, walking the gray streets of Liverpool, and my dad had still been around. Now, he was gone, and as a result, we’d moved back here, just when my modeling career was taking off—just when my mom’s career was blooming, just when we were getting pretty settled.
Sometimes, I couldn’t believe that he was actually gone forever. I’d never been a ‘life of the party’ kind of person, but my dad’s death had driven an already reticent turtle deeper into her shell. And it didn’t help that all everyone had been talking about since I got back to Kingston High in September was the Christmas dance and Michelle Carey’s birthday party that was coming up in January. It was like TV Land. I really did feel like I was living in the celebrity entertainment channel, and Michelle’s was the Hollywood party of the year.
And to top it up, I’d come home to a completely different Monica. She’d become so shallow, and she was now friends with Michelle Carey and Sandy Hutton, who’d been our archenemies back in freshman year! Nevertheless, she was still good to hang out with, and school was generally okay(ish). But I just couldn’t cope with the hyperactivity and the way everyone seemed so highly strung about the most trivial of matters. Some people had real problems. Not being able to find a lipstick to match my nail polish was not that much of a crisis in the grand scheme of things.
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel impatiently as the light stayed red. The after party on Thursday would probably be good, but I’d have to act all happy and giddy like Monica and all the other Kingston High queens, and the thought of that was exhausting. Also, Monica had made me really conscious of the way I spoke. I didn’t think my accent had changed, but she kept accusing me of trying to sound British, when I really wasn’t. If I went to the party, I’d have to be aware of that and make an effort not to sound pretentious by mistakenly calling a cell phone a mobile or something. I hadn’t realized it, but I had picked up a lot of UK vernacular from designers and other models. I needed to get back into LA mode.
My cell phone beeped as the light changed. No one was behind me, so I answered and put Monica on loudspeaker before moving off. “What now?”
“What now? Is that any way to answer the phone?”
“I’m driving.”
“Well, you can multitask. What are you a woman for? Anyway, I’ve got a really hot Ricci dress that you can loan if you’re worried about what to wear for Thursday. I can bring it over for you to try on now if you want. I can just see you in it—”
“Monica, I’m not ‘not coming’ because I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Not ‘not coming’? Good grief, Lexi, you’d expect a girl to speak better English after four years in England!”
“Monica, I’ll think about the party, okay? If I come, though, I’ll probably be a bit late.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got to go somewhere else first.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere.”
“Secret boyfriend?”
I laughed. “Yeah.”
“I’ll find out, you know?”
“Are you home already?”
“No, I’m at the Salad Bar; just picking up a cress salad.”
I couldn’t think of anything more tasteless and unsatisfying than a cress salad, especially without any dressing, which I knew Monica’s would be. “Coolio.”
“Please come on Thursday, Lex. I really want you to come.”
“Why?”
“Because it’ll be fun, you antisocial recluse. Just come and forget your troubles! Drink some punch, dance, and kiss a few guys.”
“Okay, now you’ve really turned me off this party.”
Monica laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Later.”
I grinned at myself in the rear view mirror. Was I really being miserable? I knew I wasn’t mixing much at school, but I had Monica so I didn’t need to.
“It’s just the thought of having to chat about mostly random and irrelevant things that bores me,” I said aloud. “That doesn’t mean I’m miserable.”
By the time I got home I was starting to feel a little worked up. Who was I kidding? All I ever did was sit in my room, moping, eating, and feeling sorry for myself. And, now, I was even talking to myself out loud like some kind of lunatic. I was miserable, antisocial, and reclusive.
I’d been homeschooled by my dad while we lived in England because of my modeling and all the associated traveling. Maybe I’d lost my social skills as a result.
I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat. So what! I didn’t have to party if I didn’t want to. That didn’t make me miserable. I just preferred to be by myself. Plus, the ‘politics’ at school were crazy, and I wasn’t getting involved in it. Okay, it was normal to have cliques and some sort of social hierarchy, but Kingston kids, especially the girls, were just ridiculous. It totally sucked!
I smiled at my American ‘slangage.’ The lingo was coming back pretty fast.
***
“What’s the deal, Lexi?” Monica asked, following me to my locker the next day. “Are you definitely coming to this party?”
“Huh?” It was nine thirty-five a.m., and I was late for class. I’d slept through my alarm, and had just about managed to have a quick shower and throw some clothes on. It was a good thing I lived close to school, or I would have been seriously late. I dialed the combination for my locker and tried to open it. It refused.
“Lexi, talk to me. I’m late for biology.”
I frowned. “What’s the number of my locker again?” I squinted at the metallic box in front of me. I was sure this was my locker. “One-two-two,” I muttered, dialing the combination again.
“You know what, Lexi? I should be in class, but I waited for you. And you stroll in half an hour late with your head up your backside. Move!” Monica shoved me aside and opened my locker for me. “Are you coming tomorrow or not?”
“To the after party?”
“Yes, Lexi.”
“Oh, right. What time?”
“Well, the game starts at six. Are you coming to watch that?”
“I can’t.” I looked into my locker. It was empty. I groaned and slammed it shut. I’d left my books at home. Argh!
“Okay, well, the party starts at seven,” Monica said.
My fashion show finished at eight thirty. “Yeah, I’ll come, but I’ll be late.”
“Cool, shall we go shopping after school?” Monica asked, hopefully.
“No, I think my wardrobe can handle a basketball after party. Am I supposed to go crazy and dress up?”
“Wear a dress, but don’t go crazy. I’m wearing this hot blue dress from Bebe.”
Just then, the basketball team returned from their morning training session.
“Hey, Craig,” Monica sang.
Craig Bentham squeezed Monica’s shoulder as he walked past. “Hey, Monica.” He looked at me and smirked.
I wanted to hide. I’d dated him when we first started high school. How embarrassing. He’d dumped me for Ashton Leyland, and Monica had told me they were still together.
