Angela Morrison - Sing Me to Sleep

She’s so sure—so cocky—exactly like him. They’ll be perfect for each other.

“I can send Teddy a text calling things off.”

“Won’t a long-distance relationship be difficult?”

“I’ll have the Porsche, silly. Maybe I’ll bring him to driving school with me. I better get Daddy to make a reservation for him—just in case. What do you think, Mom?”

Meadow’s mom absently agrees and sends Meadow up to get my purse and a couple more girls. They’ve got to get through eighty—and quickly so we can practice. The seamstress finishes and starts to unzip me.

“Not yet.” Meadow’s mom searches my bag, finds the untouched mulberry lip gloss—it’s way too dark. I stick to the watermelon. She smears the rich wine goo on my lips, touches up my foundation and blush, goes at my eyes like the pro she is. She stands back. “The girls have got to see this. And it’s only going to get better when your face finishes healing.”

“We’re going upstairs?”

“The girls need to see how our hard work has paid off.”

Our hard work won’t pay off until we’re on the stage in Lausanne singing way better than those Amabile guys ever dreamed they could. “I need my glasses.”

“No. I’ll lead you.”

“That’s okay. I’m not blind.” I hate that, though. Walking around in a blur. I wonder if they’ll let me put my glasses on the whole time we’re in Europe. The dress swishes as I mount the stairs. A few girls catch sight of me. “Look. Shhh. It’s Beth,” goes around the room. Meadow’s mom, with a hand firmly in the center of my back, guides me up onto the stand.

Meadow appears beside me. “Well, girls, what do you think of our soloist?”

I only see their blurs, but I can feel it. The awe.

The voice of a younger girl blurts, “Can I have your autograph?”

That breaks the silence, and they mob me.

“You’re beautiful, Beth.”

“Look like a model.”

“It’s amazing.”

I get giddy, overwhelmed, laugh and hug them, careful of the dress. Stressed that Meadow’s mom will yell at me if it gets crushed. They can’t be serious. Beautiful? Me? I really want to believe them. Believe this excitement that makes my heart go nuts in my chest. It can’t be true, but the girls keep coming.

“I didn’t know your eyes were that blue.”

“You’re going to be a star.”

“You should do pageants next year.”

Pageants? Get real. It’s the dress. Just the dress.

After about fifty girls tell me it’s true, I start to believe them a tiny bit. I just wish I could see the swan, too.

chapter 7

FIXED

Last night I had a nightmare. We are onstage in Lausanne. Everyone is stunning in her red choir gown, except me. All I have on is the satin slip. And Scott is in the middle of the audience, staring at me with that look on his face like last Thursday in the hall. If he doesn’t get a girlfriend soon, I’m going to go nuts and attack him in the music room—friend or not. The Beast legend would be out of control after that. Gather round little kiddies

And say your prayers.

Hike up your jammies

And skedaddle upstairs.

The Beast, she’ ll be prowling

All through the night,

Hunting sweet laddies

Who look just right.

I don’t know how I can feel like this. Scott is like a brother. We’ve been friends forever. I can’t like him romantically, but I find myself noticing strange things. Like the shape of his shoulder. It’s hot out this week, and he’s wearing a wifebeater today, and I can’t stop staring at his shoulder. It’s not zitty like it used to be. And there’s muscle on it.

He catches me in choir. “What?”

“Nothing.” I force myself to keep my eyes focused on the boring music we’re singing the whole rest of the period. Bolt at the bell.

“Beth.”

I don’t stop. “See ya, Scott. I’m kind of in a hurry.” He doesn’t know I’m sparing him a fate worse than death.

My cell vibrates, and I pull it out of my pocket, flip it open. “What, Meadow?”

“It’s your mother.”

“Sorry. I’m losing it today.”

“What gives? I thought your face was getting better.”

Like I’m going to tell my mother what’s on my mind right now. I’m sure she’d really appreciate a conversation about Scott’s sexy shoulders. “I’m just tired. Practice last night went late.” And then I had to drive all the way home from Ann Arbor—didn’t get back until one in the morning.

“Would you like to take this afternoon off school?”

“Yeah. That would be great.”

“Good. Walk to the office and pass the phone off so I can get you excused. I’ve got an appointment for you, and then you can sleep all afternoon.”

“An appointment? Not you, too.”

“It won’t take long. Meet me at home. I need to drive you.”

It must be major. She’s taking off work. “Mom . . . ”

“Please, Beth. Humor me on this one.” Her voice sounds excited—as bubbly as an accountant is ever going to get.

“What’s going on?”

“I thought of something they haven’t.”

“I feel like Frankenstein.”

“You mean his monster?”

“Yeah. You and Meadow’s mom can fight over the mad-scientist part.”

“You may not realize it yet, but what’s happening to you is big. I’m going to be a part of it.”

“Clapping in the audience isn’t good enough anymore?”

“I’m not going to be in Switzerland like them.”

“You’re jealous of Meadow’s mom?”

“She’s done so much for you.”

“How can you even compare yourself to her?” It’s tough to say this into a stupid cell phone while standing outside the office. “You’re everything, Mom.” My voice breaks and I have to whisper. “Where would I be without you?”

She sniffs. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you. The boys—you used to come home crying from grade school.” Until third grade. I had Scott to share it with after that. It made such a difference. “You hide it from me, but I can tell how they hurt you.”

If Mom knew about the near-nude boy chained to my locker, that mask, a whole hall of guys howling when I walk by, all the creative ways high school boys can remind a girl she’s damn ugly . Less than human. Worthless. The way the girls shun me, too. No one ever wants to get stuck with me. If Mom knew, it would destroy her. “I look fine now.”

“What about your glasses?”

“I won’t wear them when we perform.”

“Not good enough.”

“You find some space-age contacts?”

“Better.”

A huge billboard I’ve driven by hundreds of times on my way down to choir unfurls through my brain. “Oh, no. Not more lasers.”

“This will be easier than fixing your face. It just takes a few seconds.”

“No, Mom. Please. Burning off zit scars is one thing, but that thing in my eyes?”

Her voice gets firm. “Suck it up, girl. Just one more step toward your genetic independence.”

The hair. The acne. My awful eyesight. All from him. Now I see what she wants. No more reminders. No more guilt. Her daughter released from every curse he left behind. She wins. No way can I argue that one.

Monday I go to school for the first time without glasses. It’s like I’m invisible. No one notices. No one says anything. Not even a single bark. I’m nuts, but negative attention is still acknowledgment.

I don’t see Scott until choir.

“You trying contacts again? Not a good idea, Beth. You’ll end up blind or something.”

“Nope.” I try to smile. “This is something more permanent.”