The Art of Getting Stared At (27 page)

This time when Lexi laughs, it's for real. Something bursts in me and I start laughing too. But seconds later my laughter morphs to tears.

“Hey.” She touches my arm. “It's okay, Sloane. Really.”

“It's
not
okay.” My shoulders are shaking, I'm sobbing so hard. “I'm turning into a
freak
.”

“You are
not
a freak.”

“Says somebody who has all her hair.” I've never been a crier or a whiner, but I've cried more lately than I've cried in my entire life. Once again, I'm a mess of snot and tears and swollen eyes. I'm so embarrassed I want to slide under the picnic table and die. I wipe my face with the sleeve of my hoodie.

“Ew, gross. That hoodie might be ugly but that's no way to treat it.” Lexi digs into her purse and pulls out a tissue.

By the time I wipe my face enough to see clearly, Lexi is surfing on her phone. “I'm sure there are treatments,” she says. “Things you can do.”

For the second time today, I pluck the phone from
her hand, push end, and toss it down. “I've done a ton of research, I've lurked on chat rooms, and I've seen two doctors.” I outline what the specialist told me earlier, ending with, “There are a couple of different kinds of alopecia and they aren't sure what kind I have yet, so it's a waiting game and there are no guarantees.” Especially if it's universalis like the doctor thinks. But Lexi doesn't need to know that right now.

“You could always shave your head completely. Embrace your baldness.”

“Are you
nuts
? I don't want people staring.”

“Then you'll need a wig.”

“Says Kim. We went to this store and she ordered me one. But you should have seen them. They were so fake I almost threw up in my mouth. Can you imagine what Breanne would say if I showed up wearing one?”

“Forget that dumb-ass. Think about yourself.”

“I am. The wigs were way too hot. They just weren't me. Kim bought me this ball cap with attached hair too.”

Lexi wrinkles her nose. “That sounds even worse.”

“Actually, it wasn't so bad. At least it didn't make me look like I'm ready for a walker. I don't know if I'll wear it, but I do know I'm getting my brows tattooed back on.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, apparently they look so real it's hard to tell the difference. Kim gave me the name of someone. I called and made the appointment. I'm getting them done tomorrow morning at eleven. Right after my meeting with Isaac and Fisher.”

“Are you sure you want to?”

I'm not sure of anything anymore. “I have to go
on-camera for the laughter flash mob. I can't do it looking like this.”

“Could you skip the flash mob?”

“No. I'm leading it, remember? Besides, if I bail, that would lead to too many questions.”

After a minute, she says, “I'll make sure Miles gets lots of B footage. With any luck, you'll only be on at the beginning.”

“Just don't tell him!”

“I won't. I swear.”

Across the playground, the mom zips up one of the kid's coats. They're getting ready to leave. I grab my bag and root around for the brow pencil Kim gave me. “But I absolutely have to go to math this afternoon and there is no way I want Breanne saying anything about my brows again, so I need you to fix them so they don't look like ... you know.”

I scoot over until our knees are touching. “Don't do them as thick,” I say when she picks up the pencil. “And maybe feather them if you can. Short little strokes. That's what Kim does.”

I shut my eyes. I feel her wipe at the brows with the tip of her finger, and then I hear her pop the lid on the pencil. Her touch is light and tentative at first, but after a minute, both the pressure and speed increase. “There.” I open my eyes to see her frowning at my forehead. “I think that's better.”

“Do you have a mirror?”

She pulls a travel-sized mirror from her purse and flicks it open. It's so small I have to check one brow at a time. “Do they look okay?” It's hard to tell with these small mirrors.

“Yeah.” She hesitates. “I did the best I could.”

That's not reassuring. I check the right one again. “They're not too thick?”

“No. Trust me, Sloane, I think they look fine.”

My shoulder blades tighten. I lower the mirror. “Don't you get it? Fine isn't
good
enough!”

Her head rears back. Colour floods her cheeks. Shame stabs me. “I'm sorry, Lexi. It's not—” I swallow hard, will myself not to cry again. “It's just—I never thought I'd be this way.”

“Who does? Nobody expects to be bald.”

“That's not what I mean. I never thought I'd care so much about how I look.”

She stares at me, a knowing look in her brown eyes. I expect an “I told you so” but she shrugs and says, “So you're human. Don't beat yourself up about it.”

But I am. This obsession over my appearance consumes me.

“Wearing mascara doesn't make you any less of a person,” she adds.

No, but I'd somehow thought not wearing it made me more of one. My shame deepens. I turn away. “I don't want people to stare,” I admit. “I hate the thought of going back to school and having other people thinking the same thing as Breanne.”
Isaac thinking like Breanne
.

“I get that.”

But she can't. Not really. And I can't expect her to. I put the brow pencil away and force myself to think of something else. What I'll say to Fisher tomorrow. How much more tape I need for the video. But a pair of crazy brown-gold eyes keeps floating across my mental hard drive, reminding me of the thing that scares me the most. “I'll never be able to date,” I blurt out as we get down from the picnic table. “I'll never have a relationship.”

Lexi stuffs the mirror into her purse. “There you go again, underestimating yourself.”

“Oh
come on.
I know you're trying to make me feel better, but now
you're
being the dumb-ass. Who's gonna hook up with a girl who has no hair?” If she says another freak, I'll deck her.

“Having no hair isn't a deal breaker.” She slings her purse over her shoulder. “Somebody who likes you is going to like you no matter what.”

I pick up my bag. “Yeah, like Matt did.”

“Let me rephrase that. Any
decent
guy who likes you is going to like you no matter what.”

We start to walk. Just before we reach the gate that leads to the street, Lexi turns to me and says, “You're not only underestimating yourself, you're underestimating him too.”

She means Isaac. But I refuse to go there. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh my God, you're a shitty liar.”

I open my mouth to protest but she holds up a hand to stop me. “You need to give him a chance. That's all I'm saying.”

Silently I follow her. Lexi is wrong. To give Isaac a chance, I'd need to tell him. And that's something I'll never do.

Seventeen

I
'll write the narrative Sunday night after we shoot at “ the Embarcadero, and I'll do the final cut Monday and Tuesday so it'll be ready to go to Clear Eye Wednesday for sure,” I tell Fisher Friday morning when we preview the footage in his classroom. “But those are the scenes I'm thinking of using and in roughly that order.” I shut the laptop.

I was up until after midnight, shifting scenes, playing with concepts, getting part of a rough cut done. I'm secondguessing myself and part of it is the time crunch. I hate that the flash mob shoot is only three days before the submission deadline. Rushing makes me nuts.

Fisher's chair squeaks as he tilts back. He looks at Isaac. “What do you think about Sloane's decision?”

Beside me, Isaac shifts. He's still pissed that I bailed on viewing the footage at his place the other day. He hardly said hello when he walked into the classroom this morning. It probably didn't help that I got to school early and was cueing everything up when he arrived. “I think it's a good one,” he says.

Voices float in from the hall. When I glance at the clock,
the hair fringe on the ball cap I'm wearing gently slaps my neck. Kim and Ella both swore they couldn't tell any difference when I put it on this morning, but it feels weird to suddenly have thicker hair.

“You look like you, only better,” Ella had said. Then she'd turned to Kim and asked, “Can I get one?”

Looking “like me, only better” is a necessary evil since there's no way I can avoid going on-camera. And the thinner my hair gets, the more the fedora slips. The ball cap fits better. Plus, as Kim pointed out, I need to get used to it—and get others used to seeing me in it—before Sunday's shoot. Today I've pulled out all the stops: new clothes, new hat, makeup.

Fisher turns his attention back to me. “Sloane, I realize this video is important to you and you have a large vested interest because of the possible scholarship, but this is a
joint
project. Isaac needs two arts credits and I expect him to do more than simply hold the camera.”

“He is. The laughter flash mob was his idea and he's done pretty much all the publicity for it.” Isaac nods. “Plus, he's gotten really creative with the footage, taking shots I never would have suggested.”

“You noticed.” He sounds surprised.

“Yes.”

“But Isaac also needs to demonstrate an ability to tell a story through the video,” Fisher says.

“We plan to weave the Embarcadero footage through what we already have,” Isaac explains. “That was my idea too and Sloane seems happy with it.” When he glances at me for confirmation, it's my turn to nod. “And we'll be doing that part of the editing together,” Isaac shoots me another look. “Right?”

Crap.
“Right.” But not in his basement.

“We could also write the narrative together,” he says.

Oh no.
I went through that with Matt and Breanne and it was a disaster. Isaac is way more easygoing, but still. This is supposed to be
my
video. “I'm not sure that would work.”

“Frankly, neither am I.” Fisher's chair emits another squeak as he shifts again. “Clear Eye will be judging voice as part of their scholarship criteria, and for that reason, it's important that Sloane's voice comes through.” He looks at Isaac. “But I cannot, in all fairness, let you off the hook on this. So I'd like you to do the final rough edit together, weaving in the Embarcadero footage. After that, I'd like you to dub two copies, with each of you doing your own narratives. It'll make the marking process fairer.”

After murmuring our agreement, Fisher gives us a few suggestions on the kinds of shots we should try for at the laughter flash mob—both close-up shots from Isaac and wide shots from Miles, who's running backup.

By the time we leave the classroom, the halls are full of students hurrying to second block. I pick up the pace; I'm meeting Lexi at the front entrance in about two minutes.

“Watch it!” Isaac grabs my shoulder and steers me around a band geek who almost decks me with his saxophone.

I go to shrug him off but I'm pinned on that side by three freshmen giggling over something on an iPhone.

“Isaac!” A familiar voice calls out. “Wait up!”

Breanne. I stiffen. Isaac's grip on my shoulder tightens. She's with Matt and the Bathroom Brigade.

Great
. An ice pick of panic stabs the back of my throat. I try to ease myself out of Isaac's clutch but he won't let me go. My body tingles at the feel of his leg pressing into me.
Ignoring it, I plaster a smile on my face and pretend not to see Kohl Girl mouth “tranny” at me.

A toxic cloud of sweet perfume fills the air when Breanne stops in front of us. “Perfect timing!” She flips a chunk of blonde hair over her black tank, gives me a critical once-over, and then beams at Isaac like he's a demigod or something. Matt glares at Isaac's hand on my shoulder. My smile deepens.
Bite me, Matthew.

“We're organizing rides for Sunday's flash mob but it turns out we're short of cars 'cause Matt has his in the shop and everybody else is full so we were hoping we could go in your van.”

“Sorry,” Isaac says. “I only have three seat belts and I'm taking Sloane, Lexi, and Mandee.”

What?
News to me.

Matt looks clearly relieved. “I told you.”

I open my mouth; Isaac pinches my shoulder. Kohl Girl giggles, and whispers something to the girl beside her.

“We'll figure something else out,” Matt says. “Come on, Bree.” He reaches for her hand. “Let's go.”

She pouts. “But we
can't
figure anything else out. We've already tried.”

“There's always public transit,” Isaac suggests.

Breanne recoils like he slapped her. “I
don't do
public transit. It smells.”

I stifle a laugh. Given the amount of perfume she wears, I'm amazed she can smell anything.

“Oh well.” She shrugs a perfectly tanned shoulder. “If we can't get a ride, we won't be able to go, and if we don't go, that means most of my friends will bail ...” The Bathroom Brigade nods like choreographed groupies. Breanne flashes a
piranha-like smile in my direction. “And that will suck for you guys because hardly anybody will show up then.”

Breanne's ego is so big it deserves its own zip code. Still. Nerves flutter in my stomach. I know a warning when I hear one. I understand the power she has over the girls who follow in her wake. “You can take my seat.” I talk over Isaac who starts to say something. “Lexi's too.” Misery flashes in Matt's eyes.
Library stall
, I remind myself. “I insist. We've got an alternate organized.” I turn to Isaac. “You need to take them,” I say. “Please.”

His eyes lock with mine and I can tell he wants to argue, but something stops him. “Sure,” he finally says to Breanne. “No problem.”