True Colors (2 page)

****

Ericka's mother picked me up at nine o'clock the next morning. The competition didn't start until eleven, but Ericka wanted to get there early in case there was a huge line. I always had to sit in the front seat of Mrs. Maines's SUV because even though Tori and I lived on the same street, Ericka always picked up Tori first. I think it was so they could sit together in the back. Ericka had spent extra time curling her hair, but it looked more like the “before” picture in a Bouncy Hair conditioner ad. I had put on makeup and curled my hair, but any illusions of being the next
American Ingénue
died when I saw my reflection in the van's visor mirror. The curl had fallen out of my hair, and I had a foundation streak on my chin. I scrubbed at the peach colored smear and wondered why I thought I could be a model in the first place.

It had only been an hour since I washed my hair, and already, my bangs looked greasy and I swore my chin was breaking out the closer we got to the mall. I thought about pretending to get explosive diarrhea (nobody would accuse me of lying if I admitted to something super gross), but I knew Ericka would get mad at me if I backed out now. Tori was super quiet, so I asked her if she was nervous, too. She looked like she was going to puke, but she straightened her back and said she was fine.

There was already a line when we got to the
American Ingénue
table. The organizers made us wait the full time before they had us fill out forms. Then some lady, who smelled like cinnamon and cigarettes, took a picture of each of us and gave us stickers with numbers on them.

“Great, I got unlucky thirteen,” Tori said. “Anyone wanna trade? Landry?”

I had number twelve, and I offered to trade with her since I knew I wouldn't get picked anyway. Besides, I didn't even know if I wanted to be chosen. I hated being singled out. I wouldn't even yell “Bingo” when we played in social studies. Ericka pulled out a compact and started pushing her finger against her eyelashes.

“Did you get something in your eye?” I asked.

“Duh, I'm trying to curl my lashes,” she said. “It opens up your eyes.”

Ericka wasn't allowed to wear eye makeup, but her mom had gotten her some medicated foundation to cover up her blemishes. Her makeup looked caked on as it tried to cover up her bumpy complexion. She was allowed to wear nail polish, although for some reason it was always chipped around the edges. It was weird, but I didn't think I'd ever seen her wearing fresh polish. Tori wasn't into makeup, but she already had rosy cheeks and lips and pretty gray eyes, so she didn't need much. However, I had skin the color of a dead goldfish, and my eyes were pretty uninteresting as far as blue eyes go. My mom said I was lucky to have such light blonde hair, but if you asked me, it was way too pale. Ericka called it “albino blonde.” I looked like I needed a blood transfusion without blush, and mascara kept me from looking like a newborn baby chicken.

“Okay, I need numbers one through twenty to line up,” the cinnamon/cigarette lady said, gesturing towards a big velvet curtain. More girls had begun showing up, and now the line stretched all the way down to the Mr. Fluffy Muffin Man counter. The Perry Mall probably hadn't seen so many people since they had “free donut day.” I asked the woman in charge when we got our tote bags. I did not get there two hours early to go home without a tote bag. She snapped her gum, and she said we could pick them up after our turn on the runway.

“What runway?” I asked. Tori pointed out they had cleared some tables off in front of the curtain to make a platform. I walked to the front and looked out from behind the curtain. The tables were now part of a runway, and there were folding chairs set up for the audience to watch. It was just mall walkers and parents, but they were still people who were going to watch me walk… in heels. The competition was for girls between the ages of thirteen and seventeen, but it felt like Ericka, Tori, and I were the youngest ones there. I only saw a couple of girls from school, and the lineup looked more like something you'd see on a music video set. All the girls were gorgeous, and they had these curvy womanly bodies. I looked like a skinny little kid next to them. The first girl walked out, and I heard the judges say she “owned the runway,” and, “walked like a gazelle.” I was starting to feel ill. I wasn't sure which way it was going to come, but I knew I had to find a bathroom — fast. I started to get out of line when Ericka grabbed my wrist.

“It's almost time,” she said. A tiny bit of spit flew out of her mouth and hit my cheek.

I wasn't sure why she was so intent on me going through with it, but she had a death grip on my arm, so I didn't have much of a choice. Her number was called and she walked out to the stage. One of the other girls said she walked like a kid with sand bucket stilts on her feet, but she came back with a smirk on her face like she knew she'd get chosen.

“They said they had never seen such long legs,” she said.

Tori was next.

“She walks like a gorilla at feeding time,” said the girl behind me. I went next, and I tried to focus on not tripping over my feet. My mom's pumps had a rubber sole on the bottom, which probably wasn't the brightest idea seeing as my shoes were making squeaking noises as I walked. I was so nervous I couldn't stop smiling as I walked. I looked like the plastic clown who blows up balloons with its mouth at the Pizza Palace. When I got to the end of the runway, I tried to cross my feet to turn like the other girls had, but I over rotated and ended up doing a full spin which made my kilt fan out and gave the mall walkers a view of my blue underpants. I tried to act like it was intentional and did an extra turn. One of the judges put her hand up to stop me, and I held my breath as she started to speak.

“Nice improvisation,” she said. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself. Thank you, we'll let you know.”

I hoped it meant they thought I twirled like an idiot on purpose. Oh well, I didn't fall. I just hoped my panties didn't show too much. At least it was the good pair. I felt pretty good about myself… until I went backstage and Ericka said, “Real models don't smile.” I didn't know any better. I was just lucky I didn't wet myself or fall off the stupid runway.

We went back to the registration area and got our free tote bags and makeup samples, which were just little smears of blush, lipstick, and eye shadow on tiny cards. What a waste. There wasn't enough lipstick on the card to put on a doll. I was hoping we'd get to shop for a little while, but Mrs. Maines wanted to leave right away. I was home by two o'clock and spent the rest of the day reading my old copies of
Teen Vogue
and trying to picture myself on the cover. Somehow I just couldn't see myself on the cover of any magazine. At least I had something interesting to write about on my blog. Mine were always so boring the only person who bothered to comment on them (or even read them) was my dad. Nothing makes you look cooler than having “Way to go, kiddo! Love, Dad” in your comment section.

I had pretty much given up on any hope of having a modeling career until Sunday night when the phone rang. A woman named Celine Myeski called and asked for me. She said “Congratulations,” and I thought I won free muffins from the Mr. Fluffy Muffin Man stand because I always enter their “Win Free Muffins for a Month” contest, but she was calling about the
Ingénue
tryouts.

“You've been chosen to advance to the next round in the competition. The next segment will take place in Lansing,” Mrs. Myeski said. She told me there would also be an ad in the local newspaper with the Grand Rapids finalists' pictures.

“A lot of agents and managers participate in this competition, so even if you don't get picked for the show, there's still a good chance you might find an agent,” she said. She needed to talk to one of my parents to make sure I could continue in the competition, so I put my mom on the phone and I ran to get the cell phone. Tori wasn't home when I called, so I tried Ericka next.

“Guess what? I got a call from the show, and they're moving me on to the next level! Isn't it amazing?”

“Seriously?
You
made it?” Ericka asked. “I hope they don't call me. I would hate to have to go through more stupid auditions. I mean, I just wanted a tote bag, ya know?”

I wanted to point out she had been the one who had dragged me to the mall in the first place.

“The next round is in Lansing, and I'm—”

“—Landry, my mom needs to use the phone,” she said and hung up.

My mom came into the room. “Mrs. Myeski said we would get a discount on the hotel room since you're part of the show. If you want to go then I guess I could take off work the day before and we could drive to Lansing.”

I think Mom expected me to start jumping up and down, but instead I headed to the bathroom. I was going to have to bring some extra strength stomach stuff when I went to Lansing. I wasn't sure if I wanted to do it. It would be a lot easier to say, “My mom wouldn't let me go,” and have everybody wonder what could have happened than for me to go and fail… or worse, fall flat on my face on TV.

“Hon,” my mom said through the door. “Mrs. Myeski said if you advanced again then the next show would be in Detroit, and it would be televised in Michigan. If you move on again, then they'll fly you out to New York and you get to be on national television.”

Anyone who watched
American Ingénue
knew they didn't show the whole tryout process on TV, but they did show clips — like somebody falling or tripping or acting stuck up. I knew the chances of me making it past this round weren't good, but there was this little voice in the back of my head which made me wonder,
W
hat if this was my big chance?

The next day I got up and, for the first time ever, I felt excited about going to school. For once I could be one of those girls who walked up the path at school and said, “Guess what?” and everybody would crowd around
me
for a change as I told them I was moving on to the next round of
Ingénue
tryouts. Of course it was all shot in the butt when I saw myself in the mirror. I looked more like the “before” picture in
Allure
than a model. My hair went flat after I attempted to curl it, and my skin managed to be both oily and peeling at the same time. Plus, my gross uniform colors didn't help matters. Meanwhile, those colors always made the two most popular girls at Hillcrest, Yasmin and Arianna, look like tanned goddesses. I tried putting moisturizer on my dry spots, but it just made me look greasy all over. I put powder on, but it made my skin look orange, so I had to rewash my stupid face again which, of course, made my dry spots drier.

“Landry, you've got to get moving in the morning,” Mom said as she swerved the car to dodge a trashcan in the street. “Ms. Ashcroft already gave you a warning and she's going to be on my neck if you're late to homeroom again.”

Mom gave me her new Franciszka T jacket to wear so I wouldn't freeze when we went outside at lunch. I made it to homeroom before the final bell. In English class I found out everybody had already heard about my audition. I wanted to tell people myself, but I guess Ericka had beaten me to it. I also found out another girl from Hillcrest, Devon Abrams, had been chosen for the competition, too. My English teacher, Mrs. Kharrazi, dropped musty smelling paperbacks of
The Ca
ll of the Wild
onto our desks. I hated reading old stuff. I didn't understand why we couldn't read something new and fun. I mean, how did dogs in the wilderness relate to my life? I guess it could be useful if I got stranded in Alaska or something, but it was not one of the places on my dream vacation list. I'd rather go somewhere warm where I could lie out and go shopping.

“Landry, please read the next section,” Mrs. Kharrazi said. My face got warm when I realized I had no idea which page we were on. She let me stutter for a second before calling on someone else. After class, Mrs. Kharrazi stopped me to ask if everything was all right. Most teachers would just humiliate you if you messed up in class, but Mrs. Kharrazi always told us we could come to her if we had a problem.

“I have this modeling audition coming up, and I'm kinda nervous,” I said.

“I'm sure you'll do fine, but don't put too much importance on a career based on appearance. You're a good writer. In fact, the short story you wrote last week was one of the best I've seen. I'd like to enter it in the Michigan Young Pens essay contest,” she said.

I could be a model
and
an author. I'd impress even myself. I couldn't wait until lunch to tell Tori and Ericka.

“What do you guys think I should wear to the audition?” I asked, sitting down at our usual table. “It's an overnight trip, you know.”

“You're actually going?” Ericka asked as she pushed her bushy copper hair out of her face.

“Well, yeah. Mrs. Myeski said if I move on to the next round then I might have a chance of getting signed with a modeling agent.”

“Models are always sick because they're so skinny and they have to get implants,” Ericka said.

I casually folded my arms over my flat chest and glanced over at Tori, but she didn't say anything. She just sat there chewing on the ends of her light brown hair. I knew Tori had wanted to get chosen for the modeling competition because she had to be the best in everything. She and Ericka were always competing for grades. Ericka was super annoying last week when she was the only one in the class who got a hundred percent on the history test.

After lunch, we always went outside and sat in the courtyard. A lot of people played soccer or kickball on the grassy part, but we usually just sat on the benches and talked. It was cold out so I put on my mom's silver jacket.

“Landry, I love your jacket,” Ashanti Russell said, walking over to us. A bunch of people had already told me they liked it, but neither of my best friends said anything about it. Ericka went crazy over Tori's hair thing yesterday, but my jacket didn't even get a second glance. Kyle Eiton walked over to us, and Ericka started elbowing me. She's been in love with him forever, and she always tried to get his attention. She started to say something to him, but he walked right past her… to me.

“Landry, are you going to be on
American Ingénue
?” he asked. I wanted to change the subject, so I said Mrs. Kharrazi wanted to enter one of my essays into a writing contest.

“Wow, good luck,” he said and ran off to join the soccer game.

“I didn't know you were entering a writing contest,” Tori said.

“Yeah, Mrs. Kharrazi said my story is one of the best she's seen in a long time,” I said.

“Well, I'll have to ask you for help next time I have to write something for class since you're such an expert,” Ericka said, rolling her eyes. The bell rang for us to go in, and Ericka linked her arm through Tori's as they hurried inside. I had to run to keep up.