Ugly, page 2
I stared at him. He stared at me. Say something. Anything. “Can I have my eraser?”
“Yeah.” He pushed the door almost shut and disappeared again. I stood there, dizzy with shame. His brother opened the door again, looked at me, shook his head in obvious disgust, and breezed off.
This was a fucking nightmare. I felt like puking.
Soon Carlos came back holding the stupid white eraser between two fingers like it was a stinking dead thing.
I stuck my palm out, and he dropped it in my hand, not touching me.
My tear ducts and cheeks were burning, and I knew it was a matter of time before I started crying, so I muttered, “Thanks,” and turned around. The door clicked shut.
I stepped back along the stones to the street. God, I was a fucking idiot. How could I have actually thought he liked me? I really, truly should have known better. Probably if I’d been remotely normal, I would have.
But I knew what it was. The problem was that I was an ugly freak. Everybody knew it, and I did, too, though sometimes I forgot. Apparently. I still had this traitorous well of hope deep inside me.
I clenched the eraser in my hand, wishing it could erase what had just happened.
I was not going to tell Sam about this. She’d probably pity me.
Chapter 4
Saturday was a new day. Time to forget Carlos and the eraser and my idiocy. It was 7:55 a.m. and Sam and I were waiting to board the school bus that would take us, Ms. Tolliver, and eleven other art club members to a couple of Tulsa art galleries.
Maybe I should tell Sam about Carlos. I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me, but what if she somehow found out at school? Carlos could tell people.
The idea made me sick. And Sam might be mad if she found out from someone else.
Ms. Tolliver and her wild hair were off to the side of the bus, where she was talking to a man, probably the bus driver. The yellow bus’s engine was already running. It was one of the smaller buses since there weren’t that many of us.
Sam yawned, which made me yawn, and both of us laughed.
Ms. Tolliver clapped her hands. “Alright, everyone, let’s go.” She followed the driver onto the bus and we all started filing on.
Sam and I chose the back seats, each of us taking one, but we both sat near the aisle so we could talk easily.
Once everyone was seated, Ms. Tolliver stood at the front of the bus. “I just want give you some info about the two museums we’re going to visit, in case you haven’t read up on them. The first is Philbrook, which has both a gallery and a lovely large garden with paths for roaming. It has a fairly diverse collection, with a lot of American and Native American art, and also some Asian and African pieces that are fascinating. It also has a decent amount of European art, including a work by the Renaissance painter Cosimo, and one by the French painter Bouguereau.
“The second is Gilcrease Museum, and it’s probably best known for its Western collection, especially the art of Frederic Remington.”
“Oh, boy, Western art,” Sam said.
That made me laugh. “Yeah, like we don’t get enough of cowboys every day.”
Ms. Tolliver was still going. “… many of his bronze sculptures and oil paintings. They are incredible. There are also a lot of Native American at pieces that are exciting to see. Another important thing to see is the new exhibit on the Tulsa Race Massacre, even though there isn’t a lot of art in that collection.”
She took a breath and continued, telling us about the schedule. We were supposed to eat lunch at Philbrook, either in the restaurant or ideally in the garden. She finished by saying, “Make sure to manage your time wisely at both places.”
She turned to the bus driver and nodded at him before sitting down in the front seat behind him.
“Speaking of not caring about cowboys, maybe you should put a cowboy in your dragon drawing,” Sam said.
“Ha.”
“Have you started it yet?”
“I did the complete preliminary sketch already, but that’s it.” She’d seen the various sketches I’d done in my sketchbook.
“Cool. I’m so excited to see it.”
The bus started moving, heading toward the exit of the empty parking lot.
The drawing was going to be so cool. In the foreground was the back of a dragon in flight. It was facing what was in the middle ground, which was the top of a mountain. Then, and this was the really cool part, another dragon was just emerging from behind the mountain to face off with the one in the foreground. I was doing it all in pencil. I wished I was better at colored pencil, but I wasn’t, so regular pencil it was.
I loved dragons. At least, the western version of them. Chinese dragons didn’t do much for me, but the kind you see on the front of classic fantasy novels—yeah, I was all over that. Probably because they were so inherently powerful, and I was not. I also loved that they came in bold colors.
The foreground dragon was in the bottom right while the other dragon was mostly on the upper left. And the mountain was a mess—it had snow-covered shrubbery but the fight the dragons were having had caused some collateral damage, and some of the shrubbery was burning. It would be hard to balance the fire with the snow, which would obviously be melting.
“I’m a little worried I won’t be able to draw fire,” I admitted.
The driver pulled out onto the main road, and we were off.
Sam laughed. “Just practice first. That’s what your sketchbook is for.”
“Yeah.” Sam was a better artist than I was. While we were both in art club, she took band instead of art for her elective.
“It’s like me with guitar.” She laughed. “I just need to practice more.”
“Whatever, you’re amazing at all your instruments.”
Sam shrugged.
But she really was amazing. She played the oboe for band, but had played some other instruments in middle school—I could never keep up with what—and she learned keyboard last year. I was jealous of that one, because I really felt like I could learn to play that. And it might open up the social world for me. Music did that. But my parents wouldn’t just get me one without a reason. And although my birthday was coming up, I wouldn’t be getting anything except the car they’d promised. Which I wasn’t complaining about. Maybe I could put it on my Christmas list.
“Okay, so, OSIN,” Sam said. “We need to talk about this.”
“Right.” Operation Social Interaction for Nic. This reminded me painfully of Carlos and my stupid trip to his house, which made me feel sick again. Should I tell her?
“We need a plan.”
“Okay.” I had no ideas. My only attempt had been a crash and burn situation. I didn’t want to tell her, but a good friend would confide.
“We should start by looking at opportunities we already have. There’s Key Club and of course art club. You should try to talk to people today.”
“Yeah.” Problem was, I didn’t really want to talk to people today, to be honest. None of these people were as interesting as Sam was.
“People can be fascinating when you get to know them a little,” she said.
Like she could read my mind. This is why we were friends. “Are they?” I still wasn’t convinced.
She laughed. “Well, not all of them. But the ones worth meeting. And people are worth knowing, you know.”
We fell forward as the driver stopped at a red light.
I really needed to change my attitude. I was genuinely shy, but the years of friendlessness and bullying had made me distrust people in general. Sam and I knew each other in sixth grade, but we weren’t really friends until seventh grade.
“Okay,” I said. “You’re right. I mean, it’s probably not common that you find someone who agrees with you on everything. But I still can’t be friends with someone who thinks The Bachelorette is quality TV.”
“Ha. Fair enough.”
She was talking me into trying, but the old fear of rejection returned as I thought of Carlos. “What if people really just don’t want to be friends with me, though? I mean, everybody thinks I’m ugly. I’d be a liability to them.”
“Come on, you’re not ugly.” Sam rolled her eyes.
The bus got going again.
“I don’t know. People say that. You know they do.”
Sam frowned but didn’t say anything.
“I don’t really understand why, though. I mean, blue eyes are considered a plus, but not on me. My nose and mouth aren’t overly large. And pale skin and freckles are cute on some people. Why not me?” I had fine teeth after having had braces, and I didn’t even have an acne problem. I always had one zit that migrated around. Now it was on my left cheek. My brown hair was straight and halfway down my back. Boring, but I wasn’t sure why it made me ugly. Though, obviously, being fat was a big factor.
“I don’t know. It’s stupid. I think they just pick up on your shyness. Sometimes they misinterpret it, too. Like they think you’re stuck-up or something. I don’t think everyone really thinks you’re ugly. They’re just being mean. Some people just go in for the kill.”
“Maybe it’s the baggy shirts. My mom always says I’d look better in close-fitting shirts. They’re just not comfortable.” Actually, she said I’d look less fat in closer-fitting clothes.
“I know. My mom says the same thing.” Sam usually wore unisex t-shirts, herself. But not as loose as me.
“Izzy wants me to wear makeup.”
“I can’t see that ever happening,” Sam said with a laugh. “You wearing makeup before me? As if.”
“I know. I’m sure if I just slapped some makeup on my face and tried to dress cute, they wouldn’t pick on me so much. I just can’t.” It was hard to explain, but it felt deeply wrong.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t tried. I mean, there were pictures of little me with lipstick and eye shadow all over my face, but that interest was one I’d outgrown pretty young, like five or something. I’d started hating the way it felt—both in the physical sense and in the social sense. Everybody could see it and knew you were playing the game, and I couldn’t stand that.
“I know. It’s stupid.”
We were waiting at a light about to turn left onto the highway that would take us into Tulsa.
I scooted forward and put my knees up against the seat back in front of me. “It is.” I thought again about Carlos, and considered bringing it up.
Sam yawned and stretched out lengthwise on her seat, feet on the aisle floor. “I think I’m going to sleep.”
“Cool.” More time for me to think about trying to be more socially adept. And work up the nerve to talk about Carlos.
Chapter 5
Sam and I were waiting for our orders at the restaurant at Philbrook, standing at the counter at the side.
“So what was your favorite thing?” she asked.
“I liked The Little Shepherdess because it wasn’t ornate and overdone like most of the Renaissance work. I mean, there’s only so many religious figures you can look at.”
“True. For some reason, I liked the one with the sheep. It seemed peaceful.”
The girl at the restaurant called my name and I took my bag. Sam’s came right afterward, so we headed out to the garden.
We walked out into a large sculpture garden, but decided to skip it for the moment. There was a picnic area further on. We walked down these broad steps flanked by green lawns toward a large fountain at the bottom. Paths bordered by low hedges criss-crossed the lawns and garden areas. The whole way down, I tried to think of a way to bring up Carlos.
“Let’s sit over there,” Sam said, pointing to a spot close to the creek we’d just crossed.
It was a sunny day, still warm but not uncomfortably so, and the surroundings were nice and peaceful, even though there were other people around.
I pulled my sandwich out of the bag and started unwrapping the plastic wrap.
I decided to tell her. “So, Sam. There was something that happened Friday.”
“Oh, hey,” Sam said, which made me look up.
Lily, the president of the club, stood in front of us. “Hey, guys. Are you having a nice time?”
“Yeah,” Sam said.
I nodded stupidly, struck dumb for no reason. I just hadn’t been expecting a social interaction.
“Good. Just wanted to make sure. Also, don’t forget we’re doing the fundraiser next month.” She looked at me and my half-unwrapped sandwich and smiled before leaving, heading towards some of the other kids from our group.
“That was sort of passive-aggressive,” I whispered.
“Oh, I don’t think so. I mean, we do need to raise money for stuff like this.”
“She acted like she cared just so she could remind us about the fundraising.”
Sam laughed. “It’s normal to say something nice before asking someone to do something.”
“True, I guess.” I finished unwrapping my tuna salad sandwich with sprouts and realized I was pretty hungry. So much for telling her about Carlos right now. I took my first bite as Sam opened her wrap.
I looked over and saw a calico cat sauntering our way. “Look,” I said, pointing.
“Oh, cool. That’s Perilla, I think,” Sam said. The garden had three friendly resident cats that helped with pest control and entertained visitors.
Sam waggled her fingers. “Come here, kitty.” She whistled a little. The cat slowly approached, smelled Sam’s fingers, and turned away.
I laughed. “She doesn’t like you.”
“I’m so hurt.”
Perilla wandered off toward other people.
“She didn’t even bother to sniff your fingers,” Sam teased.
“Cats kind of weird me out. Maybe she could tell.”
“Usually those are the very people they gravitate toward.”
We finished up our lunches and lay back in the grass.
Eventually, I checked my phone. We had twenty-five minutes. “We’d better get going if we want to look through the gift shop.”
“Let’s go the back way,” Sam said.
We headed the other way and crossed a nearby bridge before heading up some steps to a small house and fountain. Once we’d dumped our sandwich wrappers in the trash cans and found the store, we only had fifteen minutes. That was enough time for some browsing.
As soon as we got inside, one of the other club members, a stocky girl whose name I didn’t know, said hi to Sam. “Are you going to Nate’s tonight?” she asked.
I was instantly worried. Was this girl friends with Sam? She already had enough other friends, with all the band kids.
“No, I don’t think I can,” Sam answered.
The girl looked at me before saying, “Cool,” and heading out of the shop.
“Why didn’t you say anything, Nic?” Sam asked.
“She was just talking to you.”
“No, she wasn’t.” She sounded kind of annoyed. “You’ve got to try harder.”
I felt like a dumbass. I’d just assumed. That’s how it had always been. When I was younger, I frequently mistakenly believed I was being addressed, only to get told off for responding. It stayed with me.
We split up and I looked at the art books and some of the art supplies they had.
“Look, they have a Philbrook garden cats t-shirt,” Sam said from the other side of the store. She didn’t sound annoyed anymore, thank God.
I moved over to the rack she was looking at. It was a heather gray shirt with three cat faces on it.
“I think I’m going to get it. It’s kind of cool.”
I laughed.
“Come on, it’s a fun idea. I like cats. And I want to remember this trip. It’s nice to spend time with my best friend without parents or brothers around.” She smiled at me.
That warmed my heart. “Me too.”
What would I do without Sam? I was a social disaster. But I had to have faith in OSIN. It had to make a difference, with Sam on the case.
Chapter 6
Monday morning I slept past my alarm, so I was running late. Caleb was in the shower and I had to wait for him, but I really needed a shower. So I was sitting with my stack of clothes on my bed when my phone dinged.
A message from Sam. —there’s something I need to tell u—
—ok. what?—
This didn’t sound good. My stomach made this noise and I couldn’t tell if it was hunger or sudden nerves.
—not over text—
—call me then—
The shower turned off. Caleb should be done any minute. But I still had time for a quick call.
—can’t. have to talk to one of my teachers. see you at lunch—
She wouldn’t have her phone in class and I never saw her in the mornings because of where our classes were. I would have to wait until lunch.
My stomach twisted again and I suddenly wondered if she was going to friend-break up with me. Everything had been fine Saturday, but I’d experienced things like this before.
But no, that couldn’t be it. Maybe she’d started dating somebody and wouldn’t be able to do lunch with me anymore.
What if it was something bigger than us? About her family? Oh God, what if she was moving?
I heard the bathroom door squeak open and raced across the hall to shower, all the bad thoughts swirling in my head.
Chapter 7
There was only one more class before I would meet Sam for lunch. I’d been stressing all morning over what she was going to tell me.
Of course, I also had to face Carlos before that. In minutes. I was sweating again.
I rifled through my locker trying to find my English notebook, which was buried under my backpack and some other random papers. I always managed to turn everything into such a mess so fast—it was just the third week of school. Then this group of juniors walked past, and one of them held his fist up to his mouth and cough-said, “lesbian.”
I turned back into my trash pit of a locker, and my face burned.
More kids were coming and going and as they disappeared into the crowd, one of the other two laughed and said, “She’s so fugly.”
