The Pretty App (3 page)

So are we partying tonight or what?

I sent the text to Xander, Joanna, and Jolene that night in my bedroom after dinner when I was finally alone. I needed to get out of this house.

Joanna: You know it! Me and Jolene have been waiting 4 this night 4ever. Come here at 8!

Xander: See u there

Jolene: We r so psyched!

I let go of a breath. Things would work out fine now. Even though most kids at Harrison feared Joanna and Jolene, they all knew the sisters could throw a good party. They would show up tonight. They had to.

I opened my makeup bag. Just seeing the contents made me smile a little: the shimmery blush, the tawny bronzer, the black-as-midnight mascara. My newest tube of lipstick was silver and modern, like a tiny spaceship. Sometimes
I pretended I was putting on makeup to get ready for the camera. I once told my parents I wanted to be a television host, but they laughed and called it “insubstantial.” The first notes to a sultry Emily Greene song came on, and I swiped a light pink gloss over my lips. Then I curled my eyelashes and brushed bronze powder over my face and collarbone. I dug into the back of my closet and found the tight black top I hadn’t worn since the Danny Beaton concert last fall in Indianapolis. It made a low-cut
V
in the front, and I saved it for special occasions, like tonight.

I crept down the hallway past Nic’s empty room. She’d taken off before dinner, and who could blame her?

My mother appeared at the top of the stairs. She touched a strand of pearls at her neck, looking me up and down. “What a darling sweater,” she said. Fine lines danced on her cheeks when she spoke.

I smiled. I’d covered up the low-cut top with a fluffy pink cardigan that I planned to rip off the second I escaped the house. My parents freaked when I wore anything remotely sexy. My dad told me over and over that I couldn’t be photographed wearing or doing anything risqué because it would ruin his super-conservative political platform.

My mom stepped closer. She seemed nervous, like she wasn’t sure if that was okay. Sometimes it felt like there was a force field between the two of us: Love pulled us closer, but all the ways we’d hurt each other pushed us apart. It was like we wanted to be in each other’s lives but didn’t know how. “Be back before ten,” my mom said.

“But it’s my—”

Her face scrunched. “Don’t test me, Blake,” she said. “It’s a school night.” I smelled lavender in the Ralph Lauren perfume she’d recently gone back to wearing. It was the same perfume she’d worn when we were little, and it made me nostalgic for when things were easier. I moved past her and pounded down the stairs. Relief washed over me as I stepped into the cold night air.

In my car, I blasted the heat and blared music all the way to the Martins’, trying to transform into
Blake Dawkins. Queen Bee. Glamazon. Prettiest Girl in Harrison. Bitch.

I’d earned that last title. And there were only three months of school left; I couldn’t change it, even if I wanted to. And why would I? I didn’t want to know what the kids at Harrison would do to me if they weren’t so afraid of me.

On the Martins’ street, dozens of cars were parked in front of random lawns. Everyone knew the routine for drawing attention away from parties: park far away and walk.

I cut the ignition. Joanna and Jolene’s house looked as rundown as ever. The wraparound porch held a splintery rocking chair and a metal watering can. Inside, the house was stuffed with dull brown furniture, tacky paintings, and religious statues.

I followed the perimeter of the porch. The sparrows lining the trees looked inky black in the darkness, and they made tiny squeaking noises as I crept over the lawn. The house’s secret treasure was the basement—it was huge and had mirrored walls, like something out of a seventies movie. The best part was the private entrance down steep
stone steps. I saw a glow emanating from the staircase and felt the first stabs of excitement.

Joanna and Jolene had been throwing parties since junior high. They posted the invites on a secret Public Party page so that everyone knew about the party without their parents being able to see the invite. They charged five dollars to enter, and more for food and drinks.

What really made the parties work was that Joanna and Jolene had the worst parents ever. And now it was just their mom, anyway, because their dad had run away to Phoenix with his new girlfriend, whose name was Daffodil or something equally disgusting. Mrs. Martin drank two glasses of red wine before bed and put in earplugs to sleep, so she had no idea what went on two floors below her bedroom. I don’t think she cared, anyway.

“Is the party already awesome?” I whispered when Jolene peeked her head out the door. Dim yellow light illuminated the staircase as I started down the steep, narrow steps.

Jolene slithered onto the stone landing and shut the heavy door behind her. “We told everyone it was a surprise party,” she hissed.

I smiled. That was better, because it would look like I didn’t care about having a party, in case not a lot of people showed up. I wanted to thank Jolene, but I didn’t want to make it seem like a big deal. I descended the final step and stood close to her. When I slipped a twenty into her pocket, she said, “You shouldn’t pay, Blake. It’s your party.”

“Whatever,” I said quickly, and hoped she wouldn’t notice it was more than a five.

Jolene blushed a little, but then she shrugged it off. “Let’s go,” she said, pushing open the door. Warmth rushed toward us. The basement was packed, and I felt so happy looking out at all of the faces. Even if most of them didn’t like me, at least they’d come.

“Surprise!”

Everyone screamed and clapped, and so did their mirror images reflected in the walls. They doubled the size of my party. A life-size Brett Favre poster stared at me like a guest about to throw a touchdown. I made out Kevin Jacobsen and Greg Sorin (co-captains of the potheads) standing with two theater girls next to a pole wrapped in pink tinsel. A guy named Marcus stuck his hand into a bright blue cooler. His boyfriend, Tim, yelled, “Happy eighteenth, Blake!” Even Goth Girl Greta Fleming clapped. For a few perfect seconds I could pretend everyone liked me. But then they went back to whatever they were doing so quickly that I barely had time to act surprised.

I looked closer. Most of them were snapping photos of each other. Not that it was unusual to see phones angled up taking pictures and video . . . but it seemed like
everyone
was doing it. Maybe they wanted to post proof on Public Party that they were invited to my birthday party? Or maybe that was wishful thinking. The end of senior year meant no one seemed to care as much about social status, and I wasn’t really sure where that left me. With two friends and a school filled with kids who wouldn’t think twice about me after high school was over?

I scanned my party. Debate team captain Sean DeFosse
held a professional-looking camera. He zoomed the lens on a girl who frequently wore crowns and liked to be called Princess Di. “Let’s just do my face in this one,” Di said, running pink lipstick over her mouth. “But make sure you get my tiara, too.”

Carrie Sommers posed next to a green-painted pole. “Does standing next to this thing make me look more curvy?” she asked her cheerleading co-captain, Martha Lee.

“Lady lumps!” Martha yelled over the music. Then she took Carrie’s photo.

Sara Oaks stood a little too close to Martha, like she hoped Martha would take her picture, too. Her light brown hair was braided in a fishtail that draped over her shoulder and looked like a dead possum, but I liked the way she’d paired chandelier earrings with a boyish white tank. Martha ignored her.

Joanna pushed through the crowd and wrapped her arms around me. “Rocking party, right?” she asked. She followed my stare to Carrie Sommers and laughed. “Public Pretty Pics are making everyone insane,” she said. “Want me to take yours?”

I almost said
not here.
But what better place? All of Harrison was in this room. I scanned the faces. Audrey and her friends were absent. Probably hacking away at their computers or playing video games. But almost everyone else was here.

Xander was suddenly at my side holding a red plastic cup. “Drink?” he asked. I shook my head. I wasn’t a big
drinker; I was too scared I’d say or do something so dumb that I wouldn’t be able to recover from it. “You look nice,” Xander said. His blond hair was backlit by a blue glow from a lava lamp. I felt every inch he put between us.

“Do you want to hang out this weekend?” I asked him. “Maybe film some stuff?” It came out a little desperate, but Xander didn’t seem to notice. He was staring sideways at the basement door. “Indoor lax tournament both days,” he said, shaking his head. He finally looked away from the door and back at me. He must have read my expression because his face went guilty. “Wanna come to the tournament?” he added.

“I’d rather read
Anna Karenina
in Russian,” I said, rolling my eyes. I pushed past Xander and grabbed Sean DeFosse by the elbow. “You. Me. Photo shoot. Now.”

Sean collected himself and hustled after me. I moved through the crowd toward the back wall, where a yoga mat rested against a costume chest. The tip of a witch’s hat protruded from the wood. I flung the chest open and dug my hands inside.

Rubber noses . . . fleshy wrinkled face masks . . . a purple velvet cloak . . .

My fingers found raspberry-colored Mardi Gras beads. I layered them around my neck and then found a soft pink feather boa to go on top of the beads. I glanced in the mirror to remind myself:

I am the prettiest person here. No one can take that away from me.

I climbed onto the costume chest just as
“
SexyBack”
blasted over the speakers. I’d do anything to shake this feeling—this loneliness. But it wasn’t really working. My birthday hadn’t exactly been anything special yet. Nic forgot it; my dad was awful at dinner;
Audrey isn’t here.
I hated myself for thinking about her, but every time something important had happened during the past few years, I felt her absence like a piece of me was missing.

“Photograph me!” I shouted at Sean. I started to dance and felt kids turn and stare. I swayed my hips, stopping every so often to strike a provocative pose for Sean. His flash attacked me, and soon practically everyone was watching. I ran the pink boa behind my neck, feeling the feathers tickle my skin. I bent forward and blew Sean’s camera a kiss. Then I got a little carried away and shimmied the boa over my chest. Everyone started clapping. I swung my hips so hard I almost pulled a muscle. I wrapped the boa around my neck and twirled so my backside was facing them. Everyone cheered as I shimmied my butt. I was about to take a bow when the basement door flung open.

Audrey.

She came?

Mindy Morales trailed behind her. I caught Xander craning his neck to see who was coming in. His mouth curled into a smile. Traitor.

The Justin Timberlake song petered out, and I was left standing all alone on the stupid costume chest with no music to dance to. I tried giving Jolene a dirty enough look to make her fix the music, but she was too wrapped up in whatever Woody was saying. Everyone turned back
to their conversations and photo-taking. The silence was deafening.

Get them out of here.
I suddenly didn’t want Audrey here, seeing all of this. She always knew how I was feeling—sometimes before I did. I didn’t want her to sense my sadness, my loneliness, my fear over losing Xander to her best friend.

I stalked across the room. Most of the kids weren’t taking pictures anymore. They were staring in the direction of Audrey and her friends and then back at me. I made out Lindsay and Nigit holding hands and waving like they were the South Bend Snow Queen and King on a float. Aidan held Audrey’s hand and said something in her ear. She looked kind of miserable, like my party was the last place she wanted to be. Obviously she only came because Mindy wanted to see Xander. I felt angrier by the second as I pushed through the crowd. My mind played options of what I should say when I got there:

You shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong. You ruined my life.

I was closer and closer, and then I was there, opening my mouth to say all of it.

But then words didn’t come. Because
he
was standing there. This
guy
. This really tall, really,
really
hot guy.

My breathing came faster as I stared at him standing next to Aidan. He was even taller than Aidan—well over six feet—and his massive build made Aidan look scrawnier than ever. He had broad shoulders and big hands, and his forearms were muscular but not veiny. (I hate veiny forearms. So many girls overlook them, but I just can’t.) His dirty-blond hair was thick with exactly the right amount of
wave. He wore a hunter-green North Face vest over a long-sleeved thermal T-shirt pushed up to show off his forearms. His jeans were low-slung, and his blue Nikes were beat-up. There was a layer of blond stubble over his face.

My insides went funny when he turned to look at me. His eyes were dark and gray like a rainstorm, and they made his stare unlike anything I’d ever seen before. I felt my mouth drop but I couldn’t help it. “Who are you?” I asked, my voice giving away how unsettled I was. I cleared my throat and tried to act normal.

His lips curved, but he didn’t say anything.

Audrey eyed me. She knew me way too well.

I cocked a hip forward. “I have a right to know, because it’s my birthday party.”

The guy laughed. It was a low, deep rumble: a real laugh, like he thought I was funny. No one thought I was funny.

“I’m Leo,” he said, extending his big hand. I didn’t move. He laughed again and grabbed my hand with his. It was warm, and his grip was strong.

“I’m Blake,” I said. “Blake Dawkins.”

“Happy birthday, Blake Dawkins,” he said.

Audrey shifted her weight. Aidan and Lindsay were watching us. Nigit was busy telling Mindy that Sepiroth would drive a hybrid car, and Mindy was telling Nigit that Sepiroth wasn’t real. Was Leo friends with these people? Did they bring him?