Models Don't Eat Chocolate Cookies (14 page)

By Tuesday I felt better. A good thing too, because Mom and I needed to meet Kirsten and Aunt Doreen at Angelique’s for another dress fitting. I packed my pockets with tissues and returned to where my Husky Nightmare began. Aunt Doreen and Kirsten were already waiting for us in the store.

“We had Angelique bring both dresses up so the girls could try them on,” Aunt Doreen called as we entered. “She’s getting them now.” She leaned over to give me a kiss and I sneezed.

“I’m sick, Auntie.” I snuffled.

“I can see that,” she said, backing away. She turned to my mom and they chatted about centerpieces.

“Hey,” Kirsten said, leading me a few steps away. “Heard that the first round of the contest went really well. Did you change your mind or something?”

I hadn’t spoken with Kirsten since my explosion in the kitchen two weeks earlier. My cheeks reddened to match my overblown nose. “No, but, um, I’m not going to win. I’m just, uh, trying to get it over with.”

Kirsten tried to hide her disappointment, but she didn’t do that good a job. Her face said “dishrag” all over it.

“Oh. Well, that’s cool, if that’s what you want,” she said with a small shrug.

My chest tightened. I wanted to explain my decision to her—to say that it just wasn’t that easy for me to tell my mom no, or about Operation Skinny Celeste, or that I kind of liked the person Christian turned me into—but trying to do that in the middle of Angelique’s when my mom and Aunt Doreen were nearby was too complicated.

Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything else. Kirsten changed the subject. “Listen, Celeste, can you remind Sandra and her friends to stop visiting her brother at work? Geoff’s going to get in trouble if his boss catches him with those girls one more time. They’re always at the McGees’ too. ”

Before I could tell her that
she
had a better chance of running into Sandra, Angelique appeared, two dresses in her arms and pins in her mouth, nodding in the direction of the dressing room. She gave me a puzzled look as I went by, glancing down at my pants and back to my face.

“Be careful of ze pins on ze bottom,” Angelique barked through the slatted door as I was changing. “Yours isn’t done yet.”

Not wanting to stab myself, I was extra-careful. As I was wriggling into the Monstrosity, I heard Mom and Aunt Doreen carry their conversation into the fitting room area. Kirsten’s door opened.

“It looks gorge-
ous,
” Aunt Doreen squealed. “It’s per-
fect
.”

It’s déjà vu,
I thought. Only this time, my dress fit better. I wasn’t sure if Angelique knew Christian, but there was magic going on in this bridal shop. The dress didn’t give me the tight, bunchy feeling that it had at our last visit, and it was approaching the right length. Even the sleeves were more comfortable. Before Aunt Doreen or Mom could start nagging me, I slipped out of the dressing room.

Kirsten stood on the carpeted platform, blond hair sweeping across the back of the dress, golden skin glowing through the lace overlay. Reflected over and over in the triple mirror, she was perfect in it. I imagined how beautiful she’d be with her hair done, holding her flowers . . . and then pictured myself, a peach blob on the altar next to her. I blinked the image away.

“Zis one is ready to go,” said Angelique, crouched and examining Kirsten’s hemline with a critical eye. “Everything is fine.” Kirsten stepped off the platform and gave me a wave before ducking into her dressing room.

Mom and Aunt Doreen turned.

“Honey,” Mom gushed, “it looks much, much better.” Her smile lit up the room. I hiked the trailing fabric and climbed up.

It did. Where it had been stretched and wrinkled, it was now smooth. For the first time, I saw how it would look when Angelique completed the alterations. And although I’d never wear it as well as Kirsten, its Monstrous Awfulness would be because of the dress, not me.

Some of Christian’s makeup magic wouldn’t hurt the results either,
I thought. Maybe I’d be a peach . . . well,
peach,
on the altar, instead of a blob.

“You are a miracle worker, Angelique,” Aunt Doreen said. She swiped a hand over my butt to smooth a stray wrinkle. I furrowed my eyebrows and scooted away from her hand.

“I don’t think it’s all Angelique,” Mom said, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “There have been a lot more healthy choices made in our house lately.”

I watched my face darken in the mirror.
Guess Mom’s been paying more attention to the apple vs. chocolate cookie consumption than I thought.
Aunt Doreen opened her mouth to speak.

“It will be ready on the sixteenth,” Angelique said, heading off embarrassing questions and buzzing around my feet with her pins and tape measure. “The wedding is the nineteenth, no? Plenty of time. Turn,” she directed.

When I did, the color drained from Mom’s face. Her hands flew to the sides of her head in a way that would have been funny if her expression weren’t so horrified. “Oh no,” she murmured.

“Noelle, what’s the matter?” Aunt Doreen used her panicky voice. “Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

Mom shook her head. “N—no, I’m fine. I just . . . forgot that the wedding was on the nineteenth for a second there. I, um, was thinking about something else.” Her face regained its color, then passed normal pink and moved right to the popular shade of Embarrassed Celeste Red.

What’s with her?
I thought.
What could possibly—

Then I knew.

The final event for the Modeling Challenge is on May 19!
That’s what bothered me the night that I examined the brochure. I knew there was something important about that date. I couldn’t believe that I’d forgotten! For a second, I felt bad for my mom. Disappointment radiated from her. I mean, there’d be no way that I could do both, and Kathleen’s wedding was much more important. But then I realized,
I don’t have to worry about it anymore! No more Operation Skinny Celeste, no more interviews, no more Frazzled Guide, no more annoying moms. It’s over!

I wanted to jump down and do a Dance of Freedom and Joy right in front of Aunt Doreen, Mom, and Angelique—and Kirsten, when she finished changing. But I stayed put. Best to play it cool.

“What were you thinking about?” Aunt Doreen asked, eyes narrowed. “Because whatever it was gave you a bad spell.”

“Nothing, nothing,” Mom said. “I just thought there was a conflict with something else. That’s all.”

“But you’ve known about the wedding for
months,
” Aunt Doreen said, voice rising. “What could conflict?”

The tension between my mom and aunt was as thick as oatmeal.

Kirsten, I noticed, hadn’t come out of her dressing room. Smart. Meanwhile, Angelique did her best to stay invisible by hiding behind me.

“Well, um,” Mom began, glancing to me for help. Which she didn’t get. “I thought there might be a conflict with the HuskyPeach Modeling Challenge, but there isn’t,” she said, rushing her words.

“What do you
mean
?” Aunt Doreen’s voice was ear-piercing. “Noelle, you tell me
right now
if Celeste isn’t going to be at my daughter’s wedding.” Now
her
face turned red, although it was Crimson Fury as opposed to Celeste Red.

“Well, you entered her,” my mother snapped, face hard, “so don’t be upset that
I
didn’t remember the date.” I jumped and nearly fell off the platform. Mom never speaks that way to Aunt Doreen!

“Oh!” Aunt Doreen cried, and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe it. I was truh-
trying
to do something good for Celeste, and look where it gets me.” She sniffled loudly. Angelique reached around me, passing her a box of tissues.

Mom’s face softened. She put an arm around her sister and patted her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Doreen. I know you were just thinking of Celeste. And we’re grateful. She’ll be there. She will. There’s plenty of time,” my mother soothed. “The fashion show is in the morning, and the wedding doesn’t begin until five. We’ll be there in plenty of time. And,” she said, offering a super wide Smile of Desperation, “her hair and makeup will already be done.”

Oh,
I thought.
I can do both.
I slumped. Visions of the Oreos waiting for me when I got home disappeared. The Negative Twenty settled on my back like a cloak.

It went on from there. Aunt Doreen was In A State, shaking her head and flailing her arms, worried that I’d miss my cousin’s wedding. Mom pulled out every comforting word and calming gesture she knew to settle her down—probably wishing she’d never set her off in the first place. While they were distracted, Angelique nudged me and I slipped off the platform and into the dressing room. None too soon either, since I had to blow my nose and didn’t think my sniffles would hold it that much longer.

I took my time changing, and by the time I went into the main part of the store, Mom and Aunt Doreen had worked things out.

“You need to just go to that pageant and make us proud,” Aunt Doreen said, patting my cheek. “It’ll be a great day for you
and
Kathleen when you win.”

“No pressure,” I said, searching for an escape. Angelique came to my rescue.

“Ze dress looks good,” she said, gesturing to me. “It will be lovely when it’s done.”

Mom and Aunt Doreen nodded. “Beautiful,” Mom acknowledged. “And the sleeves fit wonderfully.”

“Absolutely,” Aunt Doreen agreed.

Angelique smiled. From the front of the store, Kirsten called, “Mom . . . let’s go. I’ve got practice in an hour.”

The moms moved toward her voice. I started to follow, when I felt a bony hand on my shoulder and heard a low voice in my ear.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, girl, but I haven’t touched ze sleeves. You keep it up and zis horrible dress will be as beautiful on you as eet can be.” She released me and I left with a grin. The Negative Twenty felt lighter with every step. Maybe it was now the Negative Fifteen?

ONCE RECOVERED FROM my cold, I resumed Operation Skinny Celeste. And with Millie and Katy keeping tabs on my calorie-burning activities, it gave me extra reasons to stick to my plan. Unfortunately, it was harder than I thought. I played ball with Ben once or twice after dinner, but I tired quickly and couldn’t run for the ball fast enough to catch it if he tossed it over my head. It was like playing “pick up the ball” instead of “catch.”

“I give up,” I said to Millie at lunch one day. Sandra hadn’t been to see us since the BBQ Day Bathroom Talk a week earlier. I’d taken to sitting with my back to Lively’s table so I wouldn’t have to watch Sandra tossing her hair and laughing with the rest of the ant-friends. And so every time she did, I wouldn’t feel the stab in my heart. “It’s not working. Ben pretended he couldn’t find his glove last night when I asked him if he wanted to go outside.” I pushed salad around with my fork.

“Maybe you need to do something a little less . . . athletic,” she said, eyes on the table of boys across from us. She’d recently developed a crush on Mike Arroyo from our science class. He, at least, was much better than the so-called popular boys in our grade like Robbie Flan, Philip Mikowski, and the others who hung around with Lively. Mike was a great artist, and as far as I could tell spent most of his time drawing in a sketchbook—I’m not sure how Millie ever got a look at his face outside of classes, since all I ever saw was the top of his head or his doodles. But he never called me names, or pushed me in the hall. He usually ate with Alan Okuri and Brandon Cho, and all three of them were peering at his artwork.

“Like what?”

As though he felt her gaze, Mike shifted in his seat and glanced around the lunchroom.

“Well, my mom walks our dog with some of her friends,” she said, bringing her attention to me in a hurry. “Just around the neighborhood. We could do that, if you want. Walking’s not hard.” The bell rang.

Walking I can do,
I thought.
I’ll only puff a little bit.
I said I’d try it out, and we stood to clear our garbage.

“Oops,” came a snide voice from my left, and I was shoved toward the trash can. “’Scuuuse me.”

“Knock it
off,
Lively,” I said to her back as she wove through the end-of-lunch crowd. Sandra’s brown ponytail bobbed in front of her, mocking me. I shook my head and dropped my crumpled napkin and milk carton into the garbage.

“Jerk,” Millie muttered. “We should get Katy to figure out some fancy scientific way to get rid of her with no one knowing.”

Seemed there was hope for the Secret Plot to Destroy Lively after all. “Great idea,” I said, watching her bounce her way out of the caf with Philip Mikowski and her ant-friends. “Maybe she could put glue in Lively’s lip gloss.”

“Glue?” Millie asked.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder. “Yeah. It’s the only way we’ll get her to keep her mouth shut.”

Millie’s giggle followed me all the way to class.

 

When I got home from school, Mom was waiting for me in the kitchen with a cluster of brightly colored miniature shopping bags.

“I bought you some treats,” she said as I dropped my backpack and went to the fridge for my now-standard after-school snack of an apple . . . although I did give the pantry door a longing look.

What now?
I thought, imagining the horrible possibilities: an “I’m a HuskyPeach Teen Queen” T-shirt? A lifetime supply of chocolate cookies? Mom could do so much damage.

“Well,” she said, smiling, “I’ve noticed that you’ve been enjoying more veggies and looking better. What’s brought that on?” She waited for me to respond, but I didn’t. After a few seconds, she continued. “As a reward, I picked up a few things and thought we could, you know, practice a little before we see Christian next weekend.” She took bottles, brushes, and tubes from the bags.

“I was hoping you’d forget about next weekend,” I muttered. How could using those bottles and tubes be fun? Or a reward?
A new Theo Christmas download is a reward. A sundae is a reward. This is more Husky Torture
.