Positively Beautiful
Read Positively Beautiful Online
Authors: Wendy Mills
This one's for you, Mom
Part One
Chapter One
Three reasons you don't want a crystal ball:
1. They're a pain to dust.
2. To look into one you really should dress like a medium. Enough said.
3. Sometimes it's better not to know.
Because once you know something, you can never not know it. Your life becomes
before
and
after.
The mountains you thought were important become barely noticeable pebbles, and things you hadn't even known existed become the Himalayas of your soul.
The next time someone tries to read your future in a crystal ball, just say no.
I wish I had.
It is an ordinary Tuesday morning. I was late to school because Trina had trouble with her garter belt (don't ask), Ms. Garrison is hopped up on an energy drink (as usual), and I had so far managed to go the entire day without saying a word in class (par for the course).
“We did well on this paper, but I think we can do better,” Ms. Garrison says, leaning her cushy hip against the side of her desk and tapping her foot to the rhythm of her caffeine buzz. “I know we can!”
Ms. Garrison sometimes speaks in the royal “we,” as if there are a couple of personalities in her head and she is speaking for all of them. I think it is her way of connecting with us, to let us know she is
one of us
, that
we are all in this together.
I begin doodling around my notes on Amy Tan, making the
A
in
Amy
a diamond and shading it in. I'm thinking about my physics test tomorrow, wondering if I should study some more tonight or go do a photo shoot with Trina.
“Erin? Erin Bailey?”
I look up. Ms. Garrison is smiling at me. Everyone else is packing up.
“I said, Erin, would you stay after class for a minute?”
“Absolutely,” I say, and someone makes kissy-kissy noises. It isn't mean-spirited, just Herbert Wallace trying to be funny, but it still makes me blush.
After everybody clears out, Ms. Garrison comes around to the front of her desk. She looks me in the eye, all serious. She used to be a professor at Columbia or Harvard, but decided to give up the big city so she could come mold young minds in
the sticks. She takes her job seriously, and I have to admit she's one of the best teachers I've ever had.
“Your writing is impressive, Erin.” She stares at me expectantly like I'm going to clap like a seal or something. I restrain the urge.
“Ah â¦Â ,” I say. “Thank you?” When my sophomore English teacher suggested I take advanced English this year, I was less than thrilled. Especially when I found out it would be heavy on writing. I've always loved words and the way they make sense, and make you feel, make you understand things, but I just never saw myself as the person
writing
those words.
“The whole essay about parents needing to take ginkgo biloba so they can remember what it was like to be a kid ⦠It made me laugh. Your paper was hands-down the best in the class.”
I tilt my head to the side so my hair sweeps over my flaming cheeks.
“You know I'm the teacher adviser for the school e-zine, correct?” she says. “We think you would make a great addition to our little crew. I wanted to talk to Faith about this before she leftâ Oh! There she is. Perfect. Faith, can I talk to you a moment?”
I turn and see Faith Hiller, her shiny black hair cut in bangs across her forehead, her eyes a startling blue. She's smart and pretty, president of everything from the debate club to the student council, and editor of the school e-zine. I'm pretty sure she works on world peace in her free time. She is going places and makes sure everybody knows it.
I get the distinct feeling she's maybe been standing outside the door listening.
“You know Erin, right?” Ms. Garrison puts her hand on my back and I wonder if I'm supposed to curtsy.
Faith walks slowly toward us, and I can feel her cool gaze slide over my dark, jumbled curls, my decidedly-not-designer jeans and gray T-shirt, down to my rotten old tennis shoes. I wish I'd worn the new ones, but they hurt my feet. Faith is tiny and perfect in cute red-and-white-checkered capris and a white peasant blouse that sets off her olive skin.
“Erin?” Faith says, and it's a question.
“I sat behind you in history last year,” I say quickly, and wish I hadn't.
When all else fails, keep your mouth shut, Rinnie
, my memaw used to say. Good in theory, damn near impossible to implement. At least I didn't say,
And we were in homeroom together our freshman year and you asked to borrow a pen and didn't give it back.
Or, even better,
Remember in the cafeteria last month when you asked your friend if that girl bothered to look in the mirror before she left the house? That girl was me.
Faith cocks her head at me, her sleek, black hair swinging. “Oh. Sure. Hiii, Erin.” She smiles all bright and big, like a shiny white balloon filled with nothing but air. She's saying,
I have absolutely NO idea who you are, nor do I care. We both know that, right? But let's play nice-nice for Ms. Garrison, shall we?
Ms. Garrison, bless her Ivy League little heart, is completely clueless.
“Good! We were talking about what a marvelous writer Erin is. What do you think about having her join the e-zine?
We need another reporter now that Trina's left us. What do you think, Faith?”
I try to look all
Trina? Trina who?
, hoping they don't realize Trina is my best friend. It's not that Trina doesn't
feel
bad when she abandons clubs, plans, and projects midstreamâshe's even bailed in the middle of a haircut because I texted her a picture of a killer rainbowâit's just hard to explain to other people.
“Oh ⦔ Faith smiles that empty smile again. “Well ⦔ She manages to sound charming and embarrassed at the same time. She's neither. She doesn't want me. Now I know she heard what Ms. Garrison said about my paper being the best in the class, better than Faith's. She may not have known who I was before, but she knows now.
“Erin's really a very talented writer ⦔ Ms. Garrison is puzzled by Faith's yawning interest in her idea. Yes, Faith is actually yawning, cute and kitteny, showing a lot of teeth.
“Really, it's okay,” I say. “I've got a lot going onâ”
Lie, lie, lie â¦
“Please think about it, dear, we'd be thrilled to have you,” Ms. Garrison says, shooting Faith a questioning look.
I flee for the door, feeling Faith's gaze like two sharp knives in my back.
I leave Ms. Garrison's room and Trina grabs my arm in the chaos of the hallways between classes.
“What's up, bee-aaatch,” she says, falling in step beside me. Today she's got some sort of Pippi Longstocking thing going
on, with a short orange dress, striped leggings, and a cape. And, of course, the purple garter belt.
“I honestly don't know,” I say. “I feel like I just left the Twilight Zone, where Ms. Garrison thinks I'm some sort of prizewinning journalist and Faith Hiller wants to decapitate me slowly and painfully.” I explain what happened.
“Don't let her get to you. Faith thinks she's all that and a bag of chips,” Trina says, patting my arm sympathetically. “Her mom is some corporate hotshot, and Faith thinks that makes her
Ms. Thing
. When I was on the e-zine staff, she acted like I was some sort of servant girl who was supposed to kiss her feet. One day, I even dressed like Nelly Dean, the maid from
Wuthering Heights
. She didn't get itâand she's supposed to be
smart
âbut at least I got an excuse to wear that cute lace bonnet.” People either love Trina or hate her. She doesn't seem to care either way. “
Anywho
, I've got
NEWS
. Chaz, adorable, smart, going-to-be-Mark-Zuckerberg Chaz ⦔
