From Bad to Cursed (15 page)

I shouldn’t have let it spell that word. And I definitely shouldn’t have let it spell more words.

But I did.

I-W-I-L-L-H-E-L-P-Y-O-U-B-U-T-Y-O-U-M-U-S-T

“Stop!” I didn’t mean to say it. And I didn’t expect Aralt to do it.

But he did. He stopped. Just like that, because I asked, the pointer stopped moving.

I studied it, thinking that maybe…

Maybe Aralt
did
care what I wanted.

I mean, he
listened
. How many evil ghosts are good listeners?

“Aralt…?” I lowered my voice and let my fingertips brush against the surface of the board. “What? What do you want me to do?”

L-E-T-G-O

Megan and I spent the better part of Saturday at the mall, where everything I wanted miraculously came up on sale. We struggled through the town house under the weight of the bags, and Megan helped me get dressed for the party. I put on one of my new dresses, cornflower blue and flowing from a gathered neckline. At the waist was a simple band of black velvet. I put on a pair of three-inch velvety black heels while Megan looked on, like an artist studying a painting.

“Smoky eyes,” she said. “Pale lips. Hair up—but deconstructed.”

“Um…I don’t know what that means,” I said.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll handle it.”

Somehow she got my hair up, hiding about a hundred bobby pins in the process. I covered my face and she doused me with hairspray from all 360 degrees.

“See?” she said, like a sales pitch. “Looks natural, feels secure.”

“Feels like chicken wire,” I said. But it did
look
totally natural. “It’s impressive. I just can’t let anyone touch it.”

She laughed, and then went quiet. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m so proud of you,” she said. “You’re really going to do great things. Isn’t it exciting to think you’re going to have this amazing career?”

I looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

“With Aralt,” she said, sorting through the box of jewelry she’d brought with her. “You can do whatever you want.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

She laughed. “Because Aralt cares. He looks out for us.”

“I know he does,” I said. “It’s just…I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but…do you ever wonder what he gets out of it?”

Megan had found one earring, a big black pearl, and was looking for the match. “What do you get out of taking pictures?”

I thought about it. “I’m creating something.”

She looked at me, an expression of utter peace and trust in her eyes. “Maybe that’s what Aralt’s doing.”

“But he’s just making us pretty.”

She cocked her head. “What are you talking about, Lex? It’s so much more than that. Haven’t you noticed?”

More than that? I thought back over the week.

I’d aced the Young Visionaries interview. I’d gotten nothing less than a hundred percent on every quiz I took, including a chemistry quiz with material I wasn’t really familiar with. I’d quadrupled my speed in the library.

And the dress code thing. And Lydia’s lack of concern for parking rules.

Not to mention that when I got on the scale that morning, I found I’d actually lost three pounds.

“But he wouldn’t give something for nothing. You said so yourself,” I said. “That’s not supposed to be how it works.”

“But I was wrong, Alexis.” She leaned down and took my hands in hers. “I know you’re unsure. But you have to trust. You have to let him help you.”

“I’m trying!” I said.

“You’re not, though,” she said. “You may not even know you’re fighting it, but you are. I know you, Lex. I can see that you’re holding on to something. To fear.”

Then, without looking, she reached into the mess of earrings and pulled out the perfect match. She dropped it into my open palm and her deep brown eyes gleamed.

“
Let go,
Lex. All you have to do is let go.”

The mocktail reception was held in the main lobby of Farrin’s building. I walked in, with Mom at my heels, and stopped short.

Dominating the far wall was a giant print of my self-portrait-with-new-camera.

“Oh, Alexis!” Mom breathed. “Wow!”

I was slightly embarrassed but also pleased. Mom and Dad were always saying they liked my photos, but this was real—her gut reaction.

“Alexis!” I turned to see Farrin, in a drapey black dress. She leaned in and gave me an air-kiss on each cheek, like we were a couple of Europeans embracing at a fancy art gallery. “Let me look at you…how classic. Almost Grecian. I’m so glad you came.”

She shook hands with Mom.

“It’s down to five now,” Farrin said. “Would you like to meet your competition?”

Was “no” an acceptable answer? “I guess,” I said. “Mom, will you be all right…?”

“Of course,” Mom said. “I’ll go look around.”

In the middle of the room was a small clump of people. They opened up to make room for Farrin and me, and I recognized some of my competitors from interview day: the boy with the Mohawk; the boy who’d been wearing the purple suit; the ultra-preppy girl, in a blue-and-white sailor dress; and a girl with dark blue hair wearing a dress made out of a pair of overalls with a giant skirt made from the legs of other pants.

Clueless,
I thought, and then I realized with a start that, but for Lydia and my sister, that could have been me.

“Everyone, this is Alexis Warren. Alexis, this is…”

She went through all the names: Jonah. Bailey. Breana. My eyes stopped on purple-suit boy:
Jared
. Tonight he wore green.

He caught me looking at his suit and frowned.

“I’m going to go say hello to your lovely parents. I recommend that you all try to mingle a bit. Don’t forget, this is a party.” Farrin glided away into the crowd.

The five of us just stood there.
Mingling
wasn’t high on my skill set, but I knew enough to know we weren’t doing it.

I heard my voice before I knew I was planning to talk. “I guess I’ll go look at the pictures,” I said. “Excuse me.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sailor Girl—Bailey—said, cutting through the center of the circle.

Mohawk Boy followed us, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jared and Blue-Hair Girl turn away from each other.

We started on the far left side of the lobby, looking at a blown-up photo of a rock formation.

I stood back and studied it, trying to quiet the endless whir of thoughts in my brain. That was the only way I could really appreciate photographs. To let go of everything else in the room and lose myself in the stillness of the moment.

Let go, Alexis.

As I let down my guard, I felt a jolt—almost like something inside me woke up. Something I hadn’t known was asleep.

I closed my eyes, and suddenly, when I opened them, it was like seeing the world in color after growing up in black and white. I looked around the room and thought, I can do this. I know how to do this.

Next to me, Sailor Girl turned her head to the side. “This is…nice.”

The rock formation in the photo was striking, but the picture itself was off-balance somehow—the proportions were wrong.

A suitable reply popped into my head. “The way the cool and warm tones contrast is unsettling.”

“Is it one of yours?” Mohawk Boy asked.

We shook our heads.

“In that case,” he said, “it’s boring.”

“Okay, I’m not the only one!” Bailey laughed, and I found myself joining in, even though on a typical day, I wouldn’t find anything funny about a mediocre photo. “Let’s go before we get the uncontrollable urge to buy khaki pants.” As we drifted toward the next picture, she came closer to me. “
Love
your dress.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I like yours too.”

“It’s vintage,” she said. “From San Francisco.”

“Fabulous buttons,” I said.

Fabulous buttons?
Did those words really just leave my mouth?

Bailey gave me a friendly grin, which I returned. I could feel a connection between us—a spark of something that wasn’t quite friendship. It was more like she was taking notice of me—deciding that I was a person
worth
noticing.

It was so easy, I thought. I just had to take the way I looked at photographs and look at the rest of the world that way—climb into the passenger seat and let my instincts drive.

I turned to look for my mother. Instead of Mom, I saw Breana—Blue-Hair Girl—standing alone in the same spot where we’d left her. Her eyes jumped to the rock photo and then to the floor.

She couldn’t have heard us, I told myself. The lobby was like an echo chamber—it was hard enough to hear someone standing right next to you. But she’d been watching.

I felt a tiny tightening at the back of my throat, and I knew that if I stopped to think about it, I’d feel guilty.

So I didn’t stop to think. We moved on. Bailey stood up extra straight, and I knew the next one must be hers.

It was an extreme close-up of a brick.

I looked at it for ten solid seconds, trying to find something that made it more than just a picture of a brick.

Nope. Fortunately, my subconscious was prepared.

“It’s so static that it’s totally
dynamic
,” I lied.

“I know, right?” Bailey squealed. “It’s mine!”

Mohawk Boy kept walking.

The next photo was mine, the close-up of the grille of the car.

“Cool,” Mohawk Boy said, leaning in.

“I’m not into cars,” Bailey said, stifling a yawn. “I’m going to get some food.”

Mohawk Boy followed her away.

Happy to be left alone, I moved on to the fifth photo, which had to be Jared’s.

As soon as I raised my eyes to look at it, I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach—hot and cold all at once, and slightly dizzy.

“That bad?” came a voice from behind me.

It was phenomenal. Better than phenomenal, actually. It was one of the most haunting photographs I’d ever seen.

It was a little girl in a hospital bed. She was hooked up to about fifteen monitors, with tubes and hoses and electrodes snaking off every visible part of her body. The background was flatly lit by fluorescents, green and dull. But the little girl was lit with a spotlight that made her look like she was onstage. And she wore a superhero cape and mask.

“Where is this?” I asked.

“I did some work with a children’s hospital,” he said. “A fund-raising thing. This is Raelynn. She has—uh,
had
—stage four leukemia.”

Even before he told me, I felt the entirety of the little girl’s struggle. You could see it in the shallow exhaustion of her eyes.

I was afraid that nothing I could say would convey how I felt. So I looked at Jared and nodded.

He looked at the floor, trying not to smile. “Thanks.”

We walked on, wordlessly examining the pictures. When we got to my self-portrait, he turned to me. “That’s you.”

“Yep.”

He stared up at it, and then at me.

Feeling self-conscious, I opted for some lame photography humor. “Take a picture,” I joked. “It’ll last longer.”

“No, I’m…comparing. You, and that person.”

“It’s not ‘that person,’” I said. “It’s me.”

“I know,” Jared said. “That’s what intrigues me.”

I guess that was better than being called a Barbie doll. “I know it’s really different, but—”

He squinted. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation. People change.”

I looked at his face, sharp angles and dark brown eyes behind a hipster pair of tortoiseshell glasses.

People change.

They do, don’t they?

Maybe I was
allowed
to change. And maybe it wasn’t the end of the world, even though Carter seemed to think it was.

Jared stuck his hands in his pockets, still looking at the picture, like he was trying to decipher it. Then he turned and looked at me the same way. “Want to go out some time?”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Would you like to…have coffee, or…bowl, or something?”

“Um,” I said. Wow. I’d never actually been asked out by any boy besides Carter. It was strangely unnerving, and yet, part of me was curious to know what it would be like to have coffee with someone who took such incredible photos.

“You have a boyfriend.”

“Yes,” I said, relieved that I didn’t have to say it. “Kind of.”

“Let me guess: big man on campus. Captain of the football team? Student Council president? Eagle Scout?”

I shot him an irritated look, but he just laughed.

“Well, if
kind of
ever turns into
kind of not
, let me know,” he said. He looked around. “I’d better go make sure my father isn’t telling the story about me riding my tricycle naked to the grocery store.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be doing that?” I asked.

Jared smirked. “Funny girl,” he said as he walked away.

“Dad,” someone said. “She’s right here.”

Bailey was dragging a man over to me. I recognized his face, but couldn’t place it.

“He likes your car picture,” she said. “He wants me to take pictures like that of our cars. But that’s not really my style.”

“Do you work on commission?” The man stuck his hand out, and I shook it. “Stuart Templeton. Nice to meet you.”

And I realized how it was Bailey could afford a dress with such fabulous buttons. Her dad was a gazillionaire software mogul.

Which also explained how a close-up of a brick could make it to the final five.

Don’t mess this up, I told myself. Say something. And then the words were just there.

“I’d definitely be open to an arrangement,” I said. “Depending on the size of the finished prints and how many you wanted.”

He nodded and passed me his business card with a friendly smile. “E-mail my office.”

“We should hang out,” Bailey said to me, fishing the cherry out of her mocktail and sticking it in her mouth. “I’m so bored with the losers at my school.”

But I’m just like the losers at your school,
I wanted to protest.

But—people change. Maybe that wasn’t the case anymore.

Bailey and her father wandered away and I was left standing alone, wondering how all of a sudden it had come to pass that I, Alexis Warren, was one of the pretty people.