Lipstick Apology (27 page)

Tennisfan500
: I know, I want to believe it, but when I see them together in chem class, Ethan just doesn't seem that into her.

CutiepieG
: Maybe he's just not a public display of affection kind of guy.

Tennisfan500
: Maybe.

CutiepieG
: Gotta run. Love ya.

Maybe Georgia was right. Maybe Ethan was the kind of person that looked beyond the exterior and found the good inside a person. Just because he was the school basketball star didn't mean that he couldn't look outside his circle of attractive, popular friends to find true love elsewhere. It was possible that he had an awakening, twenty years earlier than Jolie did, and realized, as totally cliché as it sounded, beauty was only skin deep.

I glanced in the mirror. There were so many girls at Darlington that were as pretty or prettier than I was. I had to believe that Ethan could like Carly, because it gave me hope that Owen really liked
me
.

FRIDAY AFTERNOON,
I met Carly in the lobby after school let out. She was holding a black duffel bag, staring out the glass front door.

“Hey!” I called out.

She spun around. “Hey!”

“I was going to walk—is that bag heavy?” I asked.

Carly slung the wide strap over her shoulder. “Nah, not at all. Let's go.”

“Seriously, it's almost a mile. We can hail a cab.” I started to wave my arm out toward the street.

Carly swatted my arm down. “Really, I'm fine. Besides, I could use the exercise.”

Carly's implication of her weight made me uneasy. “Okay,” I said.

We walked for a few minutes in silence, just rhythmic inhales and exhales followed by small puffs of white steam coming from her mouth.

As we were approaching Father Demo Square at the corner of 6th and Carmine, Carly wiped the sweat off her forehead and smiled. “Man, that Anthony is a trip,” she said.

“Anthony? Really? How so?”

“He's in my gym class, and I don't know, he's always just cracking everyone up.”

The tiered fountain was bubbling and I thought maybe I heard her wrong. “Cracking everyone up?”

She nodded, smiling at some memory.

Hmm. Sure, Anthony teased me, but I had never seen him interacting with others that way. For some reason, I felt strangely jealous. I wanted to ask her to explain, for this idea intrigued me, but she seemed so winded.

“Here,” I said, offering my hand. “My turn.” I grabbed for her duffel bag.

“Thanks,” she said, rubbing her shoulder. “That's really nice.”

Now, back to Anthony . . .

“So what is it like living with your aunt?” Carly asked.

Oh, well. “It's different. I mean, she's cool. Fun. Stylish. But sometimes I just miss my parents.” I started to pant. What did she have in that bag? A body?

“Of course you do,” Carly said, breathing much easier now. “I miss my parents too—as a couple, I mean. They got divorced. That's why I moved.”

“Oh, I didn't know. I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, it sucks. Dad ran off with his secretary. I mean how stereotypical is that, right? I guess slutty secretary
Rebecca
must be a really good lay.”

“Carly!” I laughed.

She cracked a smile. “I mean, God! My parents were happy! Dad goes and bangs some size-two whore and my whole world falls apart. No offense, you're probably a size two.”

“None taken.”

Carly peered in the window of Bleecker Street Records, and I was grateful to rest and catch my breath.

“Of course Mom thinks it's all
because
the whore's a size two. Like, just because she put on a few pounds, their marriage fell apart.”

As we walked up to my apartment building, Carly stopped and stared out at the river. “Wow,” she said. “This is amazing—all the shops, the trees, the river—what an awesome place to live.”

I followed her gaze toward the dark water, and with the ripples of sun dancing on the waves, for the first time, the Hudson seemed to bounce instead of crash.

We walked into the lobby. The warm air engulfed me, and all at once I was sweating from the exertion. “What in the world do you have in here?” I asked, dumping the bag on the floor of the elevator with a loud plunk.

Carly reached over and took the bag. She grinned. “Shoes.”

“Huh?”

“Well, I'm not a big fan of clothes because . . .” She gestured toward her body. “But I love shoes. I thought you could help me pick which pair to wear tonight.”

The elevator door opened. “Jolie is going to love you. I think she mourns the fact that I prefer my Easy Spirit loafers to anything.”

“Please tell me you did not just say
Easy Spirit
,” Carly gasped.

I laughed. “I kind of have . . . restrictions about what shoes I'll wear. I have weird toes.”

“Weird toes?” Carly asked.

“Oh, they're a sight,” I said as I opened the apartment door.

Jolie was sitting on the couch, rubbing her toes, a pair of impossibly pointy black boots resting next to her. “Hey, girls. How was your day?”

We sat down on the couch beside her, taking off our jackets and dumping our school bags to the side. Introductions were made.

“Okay,” I said to Carly. “Show us the goods.”

Carly unzipped her black duffel bag and spilled about seven pairs of shoes onto the carpet.

Jolie reached down and grabbed a pair of boots. “Gorgeous,” she muttered, flipping them slowly in her hands.

Jolie and Carly swooned over shoes while I fixed us all a snack. Once they decided that Carly should wear a pair of brick red heels to offset her totally black outfit, the three of us ventured into Jolie's office for some makeup.

As Carly sat down in the chair, my phone rang. It was Lindsey. I walked out into the hall.

“So, how's it going with Carly?” Lindsey asked.

“Good. She's nice. And funny,” I said. We talked for a few minutes, then hung up.

I walked back toward Jolie's room. I could tell from the look on their faces that the conversation had drifted from jovial shoe talk to something on a more-serious level.

“Being thin is overrated,” Jolie said while using a brush to work foundation onto Carly's forehead. “I work with celebrities that sacrifice everything to achieve a certain size. It's not worth it.”

“That's easy for you to say because you're so skinny,” Carly said.

“Look.” Jolie pulled her brush away for a second. “Being thin does not equal being happy. I promise you that. You want to lose weight, fine. But do it to be healthy, not because you want to look like the girl on the cover of some magazine.”

It was funny, because most of the time I saw Jolie fluttering around talking about makeup and gossip and attractive men. But as I stood there in the doorway, witnessing her tenderness and compassion, all I saw was my mother.

“Hel-lo!” The front door slammed. Footsteps followed, then Trent was at my side, reaching down and caressing my textured tights. “Very gorgeous. Very red carpet. So much going on with the texture. Love it.” He walked behind me observing my short skirt. “Oh, that's problematic. What if you have to bend over? And don't think of putting your cell in those pockets; they'll hang lower than the hem.” He looked past me into the office. “What's going on in here?” Trent's eyes roamed from me to Carly, then to Jolie. He walked into the room, a scrunched-up expression on his face. He extended a finger toward Carly. “What's going on here, love? You've got this long, Laura Ingalls hairdo, total black, mall-rat ensemble, but then you're rocking a pair of Christian Louboutin red, knotted patent leather slingbacks. You're sending so many messages I'm getting a migraine.”

Carly looked down at her outfit. “I thought black was slimming.”

Trent walked closer. “Well, monochromatic color palettes typically are a good choice.”

Jolie looked over at Trent. “Carly and I were just talking about healthy ways to lose weight,” she said, giving him a serious look.

Trent crossed the room and rested his hand on Carly's shoulder, locking eyes with her in the mirror. “Somewhere in there is a fabulous little body just dying to emerge. Well, honey, I've got the answer for you,” Trent said, bending lower to Carly's ear. “RAUL.”

“Raul?” I asked. “What's Raul?”

“Not what, WHO,” Trent said, looking at me. “Raul is my personal trainer.”

“Really?” Carly asked, obviously interested.

“Oh, sweetie, the man's a genius. Look at me,” he said, gesturing toward his broad shoulders and tight abs.

“Yeah,” Carly said. “But I'm sure you had like five pounds to lose. Anyone can be a genius if they have good material to mold.”

“Ooh, aren't you a doll?” Trent said, tapping Carly's hand. “I know. It's a crime I'm not skinnier with all the exercise I do.”

“Waving a blow dryer around does not constitute a workout,” Jolie said.

“Try fixing some of these models with their foot-long extensions—it's quite a bicep challenge.” Trent turned back toward Carly. “But the truth is, before Raul, I was soooo untoned. Tell them, Jolie:
flab-a-lab
.”

Carly and I laughed.

“You've gotta see it to believe it,” Trent said. “You want to come to a session with me?”

Carly's head whipped around toward Trent. “Oh my God, yes.”

“Great,” Trent said. “Jolie, give her my digits. I'll call you from the tree stand in an hour. Gotta pick out the perfect one!” And with that, he was gone.

Carly was beaming so much I thought her glasses might pop off of her face. Trent had appeared and promised to turn her life around like he was her fairy godmother or something.

And for the first time, I envied Carly.

AS I WAS DOUBLE-CHECKING
Ethan's apartment number, I saw Lindsey emerge from a taxi. She paid the cabbie and waved wildly, running toward us.

“Hey!” Lindsey yelled, leaning in to give me a hug. “You look so pretty! Ooh, awesome tights! Love the texture!” Lindsey was dressed in an adorable deep blue shift dress with a white wool coat, and I noticed her legs were bare despite the cold.

“Have you guys met?” I asked, turning toward Carly. “This is Lindsey.”

Lindsey smiled, shaking her dark tousled hair. “Hey, great shoes.”

“Thanks. I got them on sale last week.” Carly beamed. Her face really did look sophisticated with Jolie's makeover. Her eyes looked brighter than ever, even behind her glasses—which Jolie had insisted she wear.

“Nice,” Lindsey said, walking toward the doorman, who was giving us the once-over with an acerbic look.

The mirrored elevator doors opened and a group of scantily clad girls stumbled out, smelling of smoke and stale beer. They had their arms slung over each other's shoulders and were laughing loudly.

“Looks like the party is well under way,” Lindsey said, walking into the elevator.

I looked over at Carly. She was nervously tapping her hands against her legs.

“You okay?” I asked her.

Carly nodded but looked like she was about to throw up.

“It's just a party,” I said. “It's fun. Don't worry! Remember, Ethan wanted you here.”

Carly inhaled and seemed to relax a little.

Lindsey smiled at Carly in the mirrored elevator door.

As we walked into the hall, the reverberations of the loud music shook the floor.

The door to Ethan's apartment was propped open by two unfamiliar people leaning against the door, kissing.

“Get a room,” Lindsey said, pushing past the couple.

The girl, without unlocking her lips, pointed up toward mistletoe hanging above the doorjamb.

“Since when does mistletoe involve the exchange of bodily fluids?” Lindsey scowled.

Carly took my arm. “I think I need to find a bathroom.”

“Are you okay?” I asked, worried.

“It's just nerves,” Carly answered. “Sometimes I get an upset stomach.”

“Okay,” Lindsey said, taking Carly's hand and steering her toward a door against the far wall. “You'll be fine. Just take a few deep breaths. Emily and I will be right out here when you're done.”

Carly slid into the bathroom.

“She doesn't look good. Her face is practically green,” Lindsey said.

“I think she's really worried about making a good impression for Ethan,” I said.

“Well,” Lindsey said, pushing past the mobs of people huddled in the living room. “If she pukes, it's total social suicide.”

I grimaced, knowing it was semi-true. I looked across the living room into the kitchen, where I saw Owen, Ethan, and Aidan flipping coins into cups. I waved my hand in the air and Owen saw me. He smiled his thousand-watt smile and waved me over.

“He's so hot,” a random girl said to me.

Lindsey and I turned to look at the girl, who had her chestnut hair pulled into two ponytails.

She continued. “I mean Owen is like a god. How did you get him?” She pulled her one ponytail around to her mouth and chewed on her hair.

Lindsey gave me a look and mouthed,
Whatever.
We left the ponytail girl without answering and walked toward the kitchen. I looked back over my shoulder. She was still watching us, chewing her hair. So, I thought, to the outside world it seemed outrageous that Owen could like me. My spirits slumped. I followed Lindsey into the kitchen.