Нил Шустерман: Duckling Ugly

But there was that other side. The side that said, What's a few more days gonna hurt? Finish what you started. Get your revenge on Mar­shall and Marisol. Have that one night out with Gerardo. Twist them all around your finger until you're satisfied. And then you can go back to De León forever.

The war raged inside me, and with the hours counting down until I had to leave to meet my deadline, I had no idea which side was going to win.

I woke up the next morning and found myself standing in the corner, facing northwest. I had sleepwalked again. I was still drawn to De León. It was time to say that final good-bye and be­gin my journey back.

When I turned around, I saw Vance standing at my door, watch­ing me. He didn't wisecrack, he just watched me. He seemed al­most afraid to come in.

"The place you went," he said. "It's in that direction, isn't it?"

I nodded. First I was pleased that he had figured it out, then I got worried.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

He didn't answer me. "Are you going back?"

"Yes," I told him.

"Good."

Then he walked off. He would never understand-―and nei­ther would anyone else. That's why I had to get back to De León.

But did I have to leave right then? I could stay for part of the day, couldn't I? If I left after school, and came home to say good­bye, I could get a ride to the old billboard before dark. If I had a bright enough flashlight, I could walk through the night and shorten the two-day trek a bit. I still might be a little bit late in getting back to De León, but at least I'd get there.

I looked at the mirror above my dresser, studying my face. Right away I could see that I wasn't a hundred percent this morning. It was just bed hair, and the kind of droopy eyes and dark circles you have when you first wake up―but ever since washing in the foun­tain, I had never had messy hair or droopy eyes in the morning. I always woke up like they do on TV―looking perfect. It wasn't a big deal at all, but it bothered me... so I took a deep breath and shook my head so that my hair flung to the left and right.

And the strangest thing happened. My hair fell into perfect place―the rings under my eyes faded―and I swear to you, for the briefest instant, it was as if the sunlight in the room dimmed, and the colors on the wallpaper faded just the tiniest bit.

I decided it was just my imagination, but deep down, I knew that it wasn't.

The big news at school was that Marshall and Marisol had broken up last night. From what I heard, Marshall just couldn't keep himself from bragging about our upcoming date to his friends. It got back to Marisol. Word was they had a breakup so vicious, somebody should have called Animal Control. It happened at the bowling alley. Marisol confronted him, so he accused her of sneaking around with other boys. She chased him down lane twelve with a bowling ball, he slipped, went flying into the pins, and got himself a strike. Now he had a bruise on his forehead from where the automatic pinsetter kept coming down, trying to pick him up.

That should have been all the victory I needed, but I was now like a shark after smelling blood.

Marisol followed me before class started. She was trying to keep me from seeing her, but I knew she was there, so when the bell rang, I ducked into the girls' bathroom, knowing she would follow. Let her think she had cornered me.

Sure enough, she came in about ten seconds later. It was just the two of us in there, and Marisol had a look in her eyes that was as murderous as any I'd ever seen.

"Good morning, Marisol," I said brightly. "Having yourself a good day?"

Her hair was unkempt, a little straggly, like she hadn't been using her salon-approved conditioner. I guess she had more things to worry about now than just her hair.

"You listen and you listen good," said Marisol. "I know you are not who you say you are, 'cause I've been checking with folks I know, and there's no Linda DeFido from Billington High."

I calmly dipped my hands under the faucet and washed my face. Was that a zit I saw trying to come through on my left cheek? No―it couldn't be.

"You're right, Marisol," I told her.

"So you had better tell me who you really are."

I smiled and took my time. "Don't you know? I'm the girl who just stole away your boyfriend and made a fool out of you. Your reign as the queen of Flock's Rest High is over."

Then the fury in Marisol's eyes took a strange turn. "You know," she said, "we don't have to be enemies." It was the same expression she had on that day in seventh grade when she had asked me to take the fall for her cheating ways. "People don't un­derstand girls like us," Marisol said. "Not really. Why spend all our time tearing each other down when we could share everything?"

"I don't share anything with you, and I never will." I started to move toward her slowly, and she backed away until she hit the tile wall. She was still angry, yes, but fear was taking over.

"You still don't recognize me, do you? Maybe because you never really looked at me."

"I don't understand," said Marisol.

"You don't? Well, let me spell it out for you. G-R-O-T-E-S-Q-U-E."

And I saw in her eyes the moment she figured it out.

"No! It's impossible ... Cara?"

Her face began to stretch in horror and disbelief. I took an­other step closer.

"A-B-O-M-I-N-A-B-L-E."

She couldn't speak now. Her throat had closed up; she could barely breathe.

I grabbed her by her pretty little sweater, pushing her hard against the wall. And that's when things, as strange as they were, went to a whole new level, as I spelled one more word for her, looking her dead in the eyes.

"M ― "

The color of her eyes went from bright blue to a muddy gray.

"O ―"

Acne began to rupture forth from her skin like the earth pushing up mountains.

"N ―”

Her earlobes drooped, and one whole ear started to sink lower than the other.

"S ― "

Her strawberry blond hair with the pretty highlights lost its sheen and started to tangle.

"T ― "

Her pouty little lips drooped and cracked.

"E ― "

Her teeth began to fade to a sickly shade of gray.

"R!"

I let go of her, and stepped back to look at her transforma­tion. I should have been horrified, but all I could feel was satis­faction as deep as the Caldero cavern.

"My, my, Marisol―you're as ugly as ... roadkill!"

Marisol reached up, feeling the change as she touched her face, and she screamed. "What did you do?" she wailed. "What did you do to me?!" Even her voice had changed. It was the raspy screech of a hag.

She caught her reflection in the mirror, but only for an instant before the mirror shattered. Then she ran into a stall to hide, sobbing, as if it was the end of the world.

I stepped gently over the broken glass, feeling it crackle be­neath the soles of my shoes, and I picked up a mirror shard from the ground, catching a bit of my own reflection in it.

There was no zit on my cheek―not even a red spot. I must have been wrong. My complexion was creamy pure.

I was filled with absolute contentment as I strode out of that restroom. That was the moment I knew that I wasn't going back to De León. Not tonight, not tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. No matter what I had promised―no matter how much I would miss Aaron, what I had now in Flock's Rest was worth the cost.

Harmony had been wrong. She said there would be no place for me in my old life, but I now knew otherwise. In De León, I was one face in a crowd of beautiful people, but here I was the star. And I was going to enjoy it.