Authors: Angela Morrison
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Dating & Sex
Sing Me to Sleep (5 page)
Meadow turns on Sarah. “Really? Are you sure?”
Sarah sighs. “Funny, we have to go all the way to Switzerland to meet them.”
Leah is in the pew behind us, sorting the rhythm instruments. She leans into the conversation. “Have you seen the latest pictures on their Web site’s gallery? The ones of their Christmas concert? I die for a guy in a tux.”
“Who can sing.” We all say it at the same time. Even me, Beth the Beast who never got a guy in her life, gets this.
Sarah kind of writhes. “Ooh, why does that make them so hot?”
Meadow narrows her contact-blue eyes at me. “So Miss Soloist, what are we going to do here?”
I look around for help. “Ummm.” Leah and Sarah stare, too. “Practice hard, like Terri said.”
“No, silly. Listen, I don’t know how you came up with that stunning voice completely out of the blue but,” Meadow shrugs and wrinkles up her whole face, not just her nose, “the rest of you is a disaster.”
I look down at the hole worn through the knee of my Levi’s, rub my hand over it. “I’m sure your mom will come up with some great looking clothes for us.”
“Don’t worry about the wardrobe. We’ve got that handled. Easy fix. At least you’re not obese, too. You’ve got a bust under there somewhere right? But—”
I drop my head and stare at her shiny black pumps. “I was thinking I could stand behind something. Flowers. Curtains.”
Sarah and Leah laugh.
I smile up at Meadow. “I’ll sing from backstage, and you can lipsynch.”
Leah says, “We’d so get kicked out for that.”
“No gold medal,” Sarah adds.
Leah snaps the lid closed on the instrument case. “No press conference.”
Sarah winks. “No finale singing with the Amabile guys.”
Meadow’s eyebrows tease up. “We wouldn’t want to jeopardize that.” She scrutinizes my face. “Drop your bag. Try to stand straight.” She walks around me. “Statuesque. Nice cheekbones. The jaw is a little heavy.” She grabs a chunk of my hair. “At least there’s lots of this to work with.” She pulls off my glasses. I can’t see much, but I can tell Meadow is in her element now—way more than when she’s singing. “We can do a lot with your eyes. Have you ever tried contacts?”
“Whoa. Hold on. You think you can Glinda me? It won’t work. I’m magic proof.”
“Oh, honey.” Meadow rubs her hands together. “Glinda’s got nothing on me.”
chapter 4
REMAKE
“What happened to your hair?” Scott flicks it with his finger and makes a section puff up as he sits down beside me in the caf.
“Being soloist has a price.” I feel naked. It’s still frizzy. No way am I going to add hours to my morning routine straightening my hair with that nasty tool of torture they gave me. It’s just school. But my hair is way layered and a good foot shorter. It looked fantastic at the salon. Today I’m the Beast on shock therapy.
“They made you cut your hair?” Scott shoves a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth. “I liked your hair.”
Only Scott could like my hideous hair.
As soon as our official invite to the fourteenth annual Choral Olympics arrived, Meadow got started on me. She called it a makeover slumber party and invited Sarah and Leah and the rest of the prettiest girls in the choir—and me. No bones about who was getting made over.
I put down my sandwich. “They ambushed me.”
“A bunch of skinny wimp choir girls ambushed
you
?”
you
?”
“Meadow sat me down in her glitzy bathroom.” She’s got a Hollywood-type vanity mirror. “And did my face—troweled it on.” All the girls gasped and said I looked beautiful. I put my glasses back on so I could see what they were talking about. Kind of ruined the effect. Then I had to tell them all about getting contacts when I was twelve, how excited I was, what a disaster it ended up being. I remember telling my mom that my fiery red hypersensitive eyes didn’t hurt at all. She flushed them down the toilet.
“Jeez, Bethie, that’s rough. Explains the new breakout.” He goes back to his spaghetti.
“So nice of you to notice.” Last month’s fading crop of hormone-induced zits are being crowded out by a fresh load of fine red bumps all over my face. Not just my usual zit zone.
He swallows. “Stupid brats. Who do they think they are?”
“Beautiful. They don’t understand ugly.” I tear my sandwich in two.
“You’re not ugly, Beth.” He opens his milk.
“I just wanted to go home and scrub.” I take a bite and chew. “They made me sleep over.”
Scott puts his milk carton back down. “They waited until you fell asleep and then whacked your hair off?”
“Does it look
that
bad?”
that
bad?”
“It’s all uneven.”
“Layers. Supposed to be stylish. Meadow got us up early, and we went to a salon.”
“Crap, Beth.” He picks up my hand. “You’re wearing nail polish.”
“I know. I can’t get it off. You should see my toes.” They waxed my bushy eyebrows to a thin line. I’m not telling where else they waxed. They tried to glue fake eyelashes on me, but after the waxing, I got a bit hysterical, put my foot down.
“You should get your money back from that haircut.” He guzzles down his carton of milk and eyes my apple.
“Meadow’s mom paid.” I roll my apple over to him. “She’s the mastermind behind the madness. She got her stylist to fit me in.” He washed, conditioned, hot oiled, relaxed, and dumped an entire bottle of detangler on my hair—like I’m a bag lady who never brushed it. Then he ironed it flat, cut long layers, and a “fringe” that I can’t keep out of my eyes. “Meadow’s mom wanted him to dye it, but they ran out of time.”
“What color?” Scott takes a big bite of my apple.
“Maybe blonde.” I shove the bangs out of my eyes, but they fall right back into them. “I stormed out of there in the middle of the debate. I don’t want to be blonde. Can you imagine me blonde?”
“No.” He reaches over and slides my bangs out of my eyes for me. “Your hair color is nice.”
“Mousy brown? Kiss it good-bye. How do you think I’ll look with highlights?”
He puts the apple down, gets serious. “Just like the rest of them.”
“That’s the idea.”
“But it isn’t you.” He stares hard right into my hyper-magnified eyeballs. “I thought they wanted
you
.”
you
.”
“They want a star. Meadow’s mom says my nose is okay. We don’t have time to change that, anyway.”
Meadow gave me a bag of bra inserts. Since her surgery, she doesn’t need them anymore. Gross. I’m not using her cast-off inserts. Next Saturday we’re all getting measured for our new performance wardrobe. Then Meadow’s mom, Meadow and I—I begged Leah and Sarah to come along to keep it sane—are going shopping for the perfect push-up bra, designer jeans, and scoop-neck tops that show off my “striking clavicle.”
Scott puts his hand on my arm. “Will I recognize you when they’re done?”
“Just look for the tall girl with highlights bumping into things.”
“No plans to cut your legs off?” He glances down at my jeans.
“Shhh. She’s got spies everywhere. We don’t want to give her ideas.” My cell buzzes. I jump.
“Poor Bethie. I’ve never seen you like this. Are you sure it’s worth it?”
“To sing on the world stage? What do you think?” I pull my cell out of my Levi’s pocket and glance at the screen.
“Is it her?”
I nod. “Her mom’s cosmetic team can see me Thursday morning. Want to come? Hold my hand?”
He takes the cell from me and studies the screen. “What’s this about lasers?”
“Erases the scars.”
“You trust these guys?”
“Meadow’s mom could pass for her sister. They must be pretty good.”
“You really want me to come?” His hand slips down my arm to squeeze mine. The sweet side of him oozes out. I like it today. I need some honey.
“No. That would make it worse.” I pull my hand out of his and take back my cell. “They aren’t doing anything drastic. Just the laser treatments on the scars. Something new for the zits. No collagen shots for my lips or anything like that.”
“Your lips are really beautiful.” He stares at my mouth, kind of hungry. “They are so expressive when you sing.” He traces my lips with the tip of his finger. His voice gets husky. “Don’t let them touch your lips.”
I’m stunned speechless.
Scott really needs to get a girlfriend. I should tell him that. He’s a heart melter. Mine is doing strange things. I should encourage him to find somebody, but I don’t want to mess up this moment. I’m sure he doesn’t realize what he’s doing to me. How effective that wispy wave of blond hair over his left eye is.
I should tell him. He needs to know. He’ll never figure it out on his own, but I’m going to need him over the next few weeks. Something real to hang on to while Meadow’s crazy mother hacks away at the rest of me. If Scott gets involved with a perky short girl, what happens to me? Disgusting. Selfish. I know. He deserves to be happy. Get a little lip action for once in his life. If he pulled this move on any other girl, she’d be making out with him by now.
But I need him.
He cares about me. One of the few people who does. He wants to help me—wants to be my friend. Is that using him? Unfair? Don’t I deserve something? Somebody to be my best friend. To know me inside and out and still like me. Everybody else has someone who loves them. All I’m asking for is this nice boy to keep being my friend.
Until I’m ready to fly.
Sounds like a pop song, huh?
Lift me up until I fly. On your shoulders I’ ll touch the sky
.
Lift me up until I fly. On your shoulders I’ ll touch the sky
.
A creepy pop song.
I need to tell Scott he’s a babe. I need to tell Scott not to worry about me. He can have a girlfriend and a girl who is his friend. I need to tell him.
I don’t.
I lean over, kiss the top of his head, and clear his tray for him. Least I can do.
A day later I’m lurking in the shadows, trying to get from the front door of the school to my locker. I tamed my new hair cut with an elastic this morning. We have to wear our hair up when we perform, so the stylist left the layers long enough for updos and ponytails.
“Hey, Beast.” Colby steps in front of me. “What happened to your mane?”
I don’t answer, keep my eyes down. I study the new Nikes he’s wearing. They zip. No laces. Hideous, but on Colby they’re cool. Everyone will want a pair.
“It’s not fair, Beastie.” He pounds a finger into my shoulder. “You shouldn’t make us look at that face. Here.” He shoves something cold and rubbery at me.
I don’t grasp onto it. The thing falls to the floor. A green witch mask with hairy warts and cracked lips lies at my feet.
“Put it on.”
I’ve got to get away. I start to step around the empty mask and Colby’s shoes.
He blocks me, grabs my arm. “That’s no way to treat my present.”
I struggle to wrench my arm out of his grip. He squeezes hard. I look up at him. He’s laughing, loving this. His eyes go past me, signaling. Travis and Kurt appear—grab my arms with their clammy hands and pull them back, hold me pinned, smashed against them. I can feel the heat from their bodies, smell their sweat.
I try to shrink into myself away from them, but I can’t hide. They have me.
Colby nudges the mask with his toe. “Make her pick it up.”
Travis and Kurt force me to bend down—hold me there until I open my clenched fist and curl my fingers around the mask. The vinyl is slick and cool—elicits an urge to scream and run. They force me to my feet.
Colby, who is the only guy in school taller than me, takes the mask from my hand and forces it over my head, knocking my glasses and pinning them crooked underneath it. “Wear it until your hair grows back.”
I can’t breathe in there. Can’t see. My glasses are jamming into my face. I’m dying to rip the mask off, but my arms are still pinned.
Colby bends over and whispers, “Perfect,” in my ear. He’s got hot, sensual breath that invades my head and sends bolts of unwanted desire like interior lightening strikes into my gut. That creeps me out worse than the mask.
His body is touching me.
I go nuts, fight to get free. Can’t scream. Why can’t I scream?
They laugh at that. “Don’t worry, Beast. You’re too ugly to want to mess with.” Colby backs off, and the guys behind let me go.
I run toward the girls’ restroom—crash into a wall of people watching. Laughter. A hand grabs my butt. I rip the mask off, grab my glasses, and let it fall. Head down, arms wrapped around myself as if that will keep me from falling apart, I scuttle down the hall.
My face is wet. Crap. I’m not supposed to let them do that. I crash through the restroom door—startle some smokers. I lock myself in a stall. Colby’s truth beats inside me.
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