Страница 9 из 51
idea what Glen Lake's standards were for hot, cute, sexy, or cool. At Wellington, everyone pretty much just wore jeans and T-shirts all the time. Even if there was a dance or something, people
dressed as casually as possible, like they would never in a million years do something as lame as
get dressed up for a school dance. I think the idea was to show up looking like you hadn't even
known there was a dance; you'd just gone out to walk the dog or buy cigarettes or something, and
the next thing you knew you were rockin' out with your classmates.
But people at Glen Lake dress up even for school. They wear outfits, color-coordinated shirts and pants and socks. I myself do not own any outfits. Unless you count jeans and a black T-shirt.
Which is my totally five-minutes-ago uniform.
No way was I going to wear jeans and a black T-shirt to the game after wearing it basically every
day of the year.
I finally decided to pair a tight, green scoop-neck
48
T-shirt with a little black skirt, black tights, and black boots with a low, chunky heel. Over the T-
shirt, I put on an old Stanford sweatshirt of my dad's. I looked at myself in the mirror. It wasn't
bad. The sweatshirt said, "I'm super caz," while the skirt said, "I'm super sexy."
Unless I was wrong and the whole ensemble simply said, "I'm super freaky." I stared at my
reflection.
"Hey, Co
on estrogen.
I cleared my throat. "Hey, Co
Now I sounded like Harvey Fierstein.
A car honked outside. My heart started pounding and I got a feeling in the pit of my stomach like
I was about to throw up.
Another honk. I took a deep breath and exhaled, slowly.
"Hey, Co
reflection. Something still wasn't quite right. I took off the sweatshirt.
The car honked again.
I reached up and pulled out the ponytail holder. My hair fell around my face and shoulders, a
wash of bright red.
I stared at myself, hard. With my hair down, I definitely didn't look like a female impersonator.
And the
49
green T-shirt looked good against the red. Not bad. Not bad at all.
I flipped off the light and raced upstairs.
"Sorry we're late," said Jessica, as she and Madison slid over to give me room next to them in the backseat. "This one here"--she pointed at Madison--"took about ten years deciding what to
wear."
Madison shrugged and pointed at me. "I like your skirt," she said.
"Oh, thanks," I said, relieved.
"Hey, your little sisters are in my sister's class," said Jessica. "They're totally sweet."
The Princesses? Sweet?
"Uh, yeah," I said. "I guess Je
"Yeah, but she's a total brat," said Jessica. "She drives me crazy."
I knew there was a bonding opportunity presenting itself here, but I wasn't sure how to proceed.
Did I say the Princesses were total brats, too, or would that make me look like a bitch? Maybe I
was supposed to defend Je
As I analyzed and rejected half a dozen platitudes, I realized six months in social Siberia had
taken their toll. I was no longer able to carry on even the most mundane conversation.
50
While I was busy trying to come up with a banal yet deeply significant observation about my
monstrous stepsisters, the conversation moved on.
"Are you totally psyched about Co
"Well, I--"
"God, this color is way too dark," said Madison, who had taken a mirror out of Jessica's purse to check her lipstick.
It was true; her mouth was stained a disturbing shade of purple. She rubbed at her lips with a
tissue.
Jessica took her hair out of its ponytail, turning toward me as she fluffed it around her face.
"Wow," she said, "your hair is really red."
Was she making an observation or an accusation?
"Um, yeah," I said. My hand flew up to my head as if touching my hair would make it less red.
"I'm using your lip gloss," said Madison, reaching into Jessica's bag.
"Yeah, sure. Go ahead," said Jessica. She was still looking at me. "Is it natural?"
"Um, yeah," I said for the second time as Jessica took her bag back from Madison and dug
around in it.
I should never have left my hair down. What had I been thinking? I felt utterly exposed, like I
was living out the dream where you're walking down the hall in school and you suddenly realize
you're not wearing any clothes. "My stepsisters keep telling me to dye it," I said, trying
51
to control my tone so it fell somewhere between statement and question. Was there a ponytail
holder in my bag?
"Why would you dye it?" asked Jessica, ru
me was one of honest confusion. "It's totally hot."
"Oh, thanks," I said, forcing a laugh. "I mean, I wasn't seriously thinking of dyeing it."
But, of course, for a second there, I had been.
I'd never been to a high-school basketball game before. Officially, Wellington has a basketball
team, but they're not exactly state champion material, and no one I knew ever followed their
record too closely. Glen Lake's team, on the other hand, is a juggernaut, something the bards are
expected to be singing of for the next hundred years.
As soon as we arrived I checked the score: 5-0, Glen Lake. The visiting team was taking a free
throw. I've always loved watching players set up at the foul line. The way they dribble slowly,
stop, dribble again. They're like religious figures working themselves into a mystical trance. The
guy making this shot was nervous, and he held the ball for a long time before tossing it toward
the basket. Even before it left his hands you could tell it wouldn't go in, but I watched it fall short
of the net any-way, feeling the combination of sympathy and relief I always feel when an
opposing team misses a shot.
The gym, which could easily have held several
52
thousand people, was about two-thirds full, and the crowd was enthusiastic enough for twice as
many people as were actually there. We climbed halfway up the crowded bleachers and sat down
with a group of sophomores I didn't know. While Madison and Jessica talked to their friends, I
looked down at the court and found Co
ball. Even from this distance he was beautiful. Unlike a lot of tall guys, he wasn't gangly and
awkward, and his thick, dark hair fell just over his eyebrows. While I was watching, he shook it
out of his face and then ran his hand through it. I felt a little jolt of electricity tingle in my own
hand.
The score quickly got crazy close. In the fourth quarter Glen Lake had a short run of making one
basket after another, but then the other team caught up and we were tied for a long time. I was on
the edge of my seat, especially at this one really tense moment when Co
shooting guard headed toward the basket like there was nothing that would stop them from