My cell is still buzzing. “Hey, Meadow.”
“My mom says don’t forget the fitting tonight. Be sure to wear your new bra and put some extra in it.”
Judges mark down for cleavage. I don’t need that stupid bra or the padding. That thing’s a killer. Give me my sports bra any day.
“And how are you today?”
“Oh, yeah. How’s your face?”
“It was cemented to my pillow when I woke up this morning.”
“Ick. How does it feel?”
“Right now? Mostly numb. It’ll kill when the anesthetic in the cream wears off.”
“Try some aloe.”
I laugh.
“It’ll be worth it when you’re beautiful.”
“That may not happen in my lifetime. Maybe the mortician will finally get it right. Unless they bury me with my glasses.”
“Ugh. You are so morbid. Listen, you’ll never be beautiful if you don’t believe it.”
“I just want to get to the point where I don’t scare people when we walk out onstage.”
“My mom says you need to send yourself positive reinforcing messages every day. That’s how I made it down to a size one.”
“I’ll get right on that.”
She hangs up. More calls to make. More people to boss. She’s loving this, and she doesn’t have to sing. I get all the pressure now. All the pain. All the misery. All the work. But it’s going to be worth it.
Halfway through second period my phone vibrates. I slip it out, hold it under the desk. Meadow again. 2day’s affirmation: I am a nokout. Repeat 100X. Will send nu 1 2mor0.
Knockout? Goodness.
I make it through AP history. Everyone in class is staring at me while I present. I get in a panic that my face is oozing and mess up a little, but no one realizes that but my teammates. They know I got them their best grade of the semester, so they don’t dare complain. The joy of group projects. At least I never get stuck with guys in my group. Guys won’t work with me. I don’t mind carrying a few of the less talented girls. Even if they do sit around and talk while I do everything.
I dash down to the bathroom to try to repair whatever they’re staring at. But my face is fine. I’m actually almost okay looking today. My eyeballs are still magnified to freakish proportions, but the rest of me is presentable. My lips look especially nice. No wonder Scott got giddy like that. I’m a heck of a long way from a knockout, but not beastly. Maybe I can write a song about that.
I don’t manage a whole new song, but my old standby gets a new verse during econ.Changes.
Why do they surprise me?
Can everyone see
Inside
That I’m still the same girl?
Now who will she be?
Can she be beautiful?
Will she be blinded, too?
Why am I anxious
To leave my old shell behind?
Can it be possible?
Will all the people love me?
No hopeful chorus yet. Stay tuned, though. Maybe hopeful is around the corner.
chapter 6
RUBY
Leah makes me sign up for the online network they are all on. My page is pathetic. I don’t know what to do about a picture. That part is blank. Looks lame. The whole choir friended me—even Terri. That’s kind of cool.
I’m going down the list, clicking “Confirm,” and right in the middle of those smiling Bliss faces, there’s one from a guy.
It startles me. I didn’t think I’d have to deal with guys here. Maybe Scott, but not a real guy like this one. He’s beautiful. Unreal good-looking. Dark hair, pale skin, moody brown eyes a girl could get lost in. Derek. Sounds kind of phony. Maybe he’s the network host. Everybody’s first friend.
I click on the message attached to his request.
Good day, I’m one of the ABC soloists. Heard you on Bliss’s Web site. Welcome to the Choral Olympics. Chat with me?
ABC? Oh, crap. This guy is from the Amabile Boys’ Choir.
Stupid, Terri. She changed up Bliss’s Web site. I start singing as soon as the site launches. She must have put my name up there. Great. This babe of a guy thinks I’m some beautiful Blissette and wants to chat.
I move my mouse to “Ignore.”
I know what guys who look like this one are really like. Mean, nasty brutes. This guy sings, though. I adjust my glasses and lean forward—trying to see beyond the angel face to the demon it must hide. I need to call Sarah. She knows about guys. She’s a champion at guys.
No. She’d make me confirm, so I could pass him off to her. Too bad Meadow has her boyfriend. I owe her something like this. Her ethereal perfection matches this Derek guy exactly.
Leah? Naw. This is hardly official choir business.
I’ll just ignore. I like that feature. I click my mouse. Crap. The arrow wandered over to “Confirm” while I was ogling his picture. There’s got to be a block feature. While I’m hunting for it, the chat box pops up.
Derek: hi, Beth . . . thanks for confirming me
I type, “I didn’t mean to. Can you tell me how to block?” I erase that and send a cautious, noncommittal, What do you want?
Derek: I’m our choir’s designated spy
Beth: really?
Shoot. I should have called Leah. This is official choir business.
Derek: honest to gosh
Beth: you won’t get anything out of me
Derek: sounds like it will be fun trying
Beth: oh, please
Yuck. Now my hands are all sweaty. I dry them on my jeans while I wait for his next post.
Derek: it’s unusual for a choir to come out of nowhere like you guys did
Beth: you guys scared?
Derek: hardly
Beth: then why bother to spy?
Derek: are all your pieces as good as that one on your site?
I decide a strategic lie is necessary here—for the good of the choir.
Beth: better
Derek: hard to believe
Beth: it’s true
Derek: your vocals are beautiful on that one
Beth: really? you think so?
He’s making me blush. I’m such a wimp at this stuff. Crap. I need to concentrate.
Derek: if your other pieces are even half that strong, Bliss should do well in Lausanne
Beth: we think we can win
Derek: win? don’t get your heart set on that . . . you’re competing against us
Beth: and you don’t lose?
Derek: not lately
Beth: but you’re worried
Derek: not really
The cocky little Canadian snot.
Beth: then why spy on us?
Derek: spying on you
Me? What does he mean by that? I should just close the screen, but I don’t. I can’t help it. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I’ll play along. Just to see what it’s like.
Beth: that doesn’t sound like official choir business
Derek: you have such a lovely voice . . . I’m curious about the rest of you
Beth: this conversation is over!
Derek: don’t be like that . . . aren’t you curious about me?
Beth: no
Derek: really? are you serious?
Beth: why so surprised?
Derek: most girls are . . . curious
Beth: I’m not most girls.