Models Don't Eat Chocolate Cookies (13 page)

“Honey,” Mom gasped, finally able to speak, “you look beautiful.”

“You like it?” Christian asked. “I was worried for a second.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said. Now I understood why people like Lively stared at their own reflections all the time. There was no way I was going to put that mirror down.
Maybe Mom would let Christian move in with us.

“You can do this at home,” he said. “It’s easy. Here, I’ll show you.” He reached into his Box of Beauty and Enchantment, but must have cast the wrong spell, because Frazzled Guide appeared.

“Celeste, you’re great,” she said, eyes on her watch. “It’s time for your shoot.”

“But I—but he was just—” I tried.
Please don’t make me leave the chair.

“But they were—” Mom began. She looked as disappointed as I felt.

“We’re on a tight schedule,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Christian gave me a grin. “I’ll show you next time. You’re assigned to me for the next two sessions.” As he was speaking, he scooted me out of the chair and over to the backdrop, where Bay-be was finishing her turn. She shot dazzling smiles and coy glances at the camera like a pro.

“Has she done this before?” I murmured.

A peck on the cheek and a “smile pretty!” later, I was sitting on the box facing a very large camera, lots of lights, and a dark shadow that was supposed to be a photographer named Nate. Christian made my mom disappear too. The giant lights blinded me, and I squinted into them trying to find her.

“Hold!” came from a figure behind the brightness. “Celeste, you can’t squint. Open your eyes, put your shoulders back, and turn to the camera.” It was close to the summer thunder sound of my dad’s voice when he’s upset, so I obeyed. Fast.

I guess Shadow Nate took a picture, because the next thing he said was, “Great. Tilt your head a little to the right. No, the other right. That’s it. Hold.”

What kind of pictures were these? I definitely wasn’t smiling for them.
Not that I was planning to anyway,
I reminded myself.
But if they don’t want me to
. . .

I flashed what Ben would call a “cheese-eating” grin at the camera. With my head tilted, I was sure it would come out goofy, not like Bay-be’s movie star dazzler.

The Shadow tossed directions at me one after the other—tilt this way, then that, lift this shoulder, lower that one—stuff that I couldn’t imagine turning out well in a picture. Each time he asked for a smile, I gave a big toothy one. When he said, “Serious now,” I tried my hardest to look super serious, furrowing my eyebrows and kind of frowning. There was no way those photos could be good, which was a shame considering Christian’s efforts to transform me.

If The Shadow was frustrated, though, he didn’t show it. After every shot he said the same thing: “Great.”

If my hair was on fire and llamas came to put it out, he’d tell me the shot was great,
I thought.

When I’d twisted, turned, and lifted enough, Shadow Nate told me I was finished.
Round one is done,
I thought.
Obligation over.
I slid off the box and walked into the light. Then straight through, into the darkness.

The spots were so bright, I couldn’t see anything after I passed them. Dots danced across my vision and starbursts replaced people. I should have stopped walking when I realized that I was blind, but I didn’t. I just wanted to find Mom and go home. So I took three more steps—right into someone small and bony. Who I knocked to the floor.

Then tripped over.

And fell on.

Contestants, moms, and stylists came running from all directions. I heard an angry “Get
off
me!” from somewhere around my middle. A sharp elbow or knee jabbed my belly. My vision hadn’t cleared, so I couldn’t tell which way to go, but I needed to pick a direction, quick. I rolled to my right.

“OW!”

Wrong way. Being round makes it hard to spring to my feet. Hands grasped my shoulders and heaved. I came to my knees and blinked hard. Below me, I could see Erika’s scowling face through a spotlight starburst.

Don’t have to try to throw the contest anymore,
I thought. Based on her expression, I had about the same chance of winning as Ben had of growing up without getting another bump or bruise.

MOM SPENT THE entire ride home from San Francisco chattering about how
great
the day was, and how
beautiful
I looked, and how
wonderful
the experience was. When I pointed out that Erika did not have a
wonderful
experience or a
great
day, she scowled and chided me for Focusing on the Negative. “Models have to look on the bright side of things,” she said. “Keeps them from breaking out. Besides, you looked so good, I think you need to go back for round two.”

“But we agreed!” I protested. I’d met my obligation. What more did she want from me?

“Honey, you aren’t seriously considering quitting now,” she said, surprise in her voice. “Didn’t you see yourself? You were like a different person in there.”

Yeah . . . Miss HuskyPeach-person,
Red Bathing Suit Woman snickered. I did my best to ignore her, but she was right.

“Why do I have to be different?” I barked. “Why can’t I just be
me
?”

“Sweetie, you’re wonderful just as you are.” Mom’s eyes slid from the road for a quick glance at me. She gave me a warm smile. “But like Christian said, this was you—enhanced. Confident, beautiful . . . radiant. You were a star. Don’t you think that’s what you deserve? I do.”

“I said I’d only go once,” I muttered.

“But didn’t you like Christian? And those girls in our group seemed nice. Plus, you could learn a lot from watching Violet Page in the next round.” Her tone switched to neutral, but her hands gripped the steering wheel hard.

She can’t be serious,
I thought. She sounded like the other pageant moms. I made a mental note not to let her talk to Ashley’s mother ever again, then kept my mouth shut and fumed during the rest of the ride. No matter what I said, I knew I’d be sucked into going back for round two. My non-interview and steamrolling of Erika had to be enough to make me lose the contest, but Christian’s magic brush worked some serious charm. Operation Skinny Celeste would have to continue for another two weeks. The Negative Twenty
had
to come off.

By the time we pulled into our driveway, thanks to Mom’s endless conversation and my anxiety party, I was wound as tightly as a jack-in-the-box. I popped out of the car and scooted inside, hoping to go straight to my room, change, and return to my old life (well, maybe after I got another look in the mirror at Model Celeste).

Ben was sitting on the stairs, threading laces into a pair of sneakers. “You look different,” he said as I stepped over him. “What’d they do to you there?”

“Hair and makeup,” I muttered, heaving myself up the steps, puffing.
Certainly don’t feel any different.

“Some girls are waiting for you,” he called after me.

I froze.
Some girls? Who? Couldn’t be Sandra, could it? Who would be with her?
The answer came instantly.
Lively.
Sandra and Lively were waiting for me. Maybe they were sorry. Maybe Sandra felt bad about what happened in the bathroom, and was bringing Lively to apologize about the cafeteria.

“Hell-ooo, spacey,” Ben sang. “Are you going up there or what?”

I turned to the sound of his voice. “Who’s waiting?” I forced out through my dry mouth.

He shrugged and finished lacing. “Dunno. Some girls. I can’t remember their names.”

Ben’s known Sandra since he was three. He’d tell me if she were in my room. Relieved that it wasn’t Sandra, I continued up the steps.
Has to be Katy and Millie,
I thought.
But why would they be here? They don’t know about the HuskyPeach.
Then I froze again. They
didn’t
know about the HuskyPeach. What was I going to tell them—“Oh, I just get dressed up like this on the weekends”? I groaned.

My bedroom door was closed, but laughter seeped from its cracks. I tried to swipe my hair back in its usual messy knot, but Christian made my hair clip disappear too. Giving up, I grabbed the knob with a slick hand and twisted.

Katy and Millie were perched on my bed, each holding one of my yellow and green plaid throw pillows in their laps and wearing matching startled expressions. Even Theo Christmas seemed surprised. It felt like I interrupted a private conversation, which was weird since the private conversation was going on in my room.

“Hey,” Katy started, “hope it’s okay.” She gestured with the pillow to encompass the whole room. “Your dad said we could hang out until you got home.”

“Yeah,” Millie added. She tugged on a pink earring. “We wanted to hear about what happened with Sandra, ’cause you seemed really upset yesterday, so we came over.”

“And your brother told us where you were, so we decided to stay until you got back,” Katy finished. “Celeste, you look
amazing
.” Her eyes were wide.

My face warmed.
I could murder Ben,
I thought.
Should’ve told him not to tell anyone about this.
But until now, it hadn’t occurred to me that I
had
anyone to tell. Millie and Katy were worried about me, and came over to see how I was doing—which was more than Sandra had done in weeks.

They made room on the bed. Millie patted a patch of green comforter. I sat, legs dangling over the edge, and picked at the fringe on one of the pillows.

“It happened really fast,” I started, “and I really didn’t want it to, and with everything else going on, I just never said anything.”

“It’s exciting,” Millie said. “You’re a model.”

I shook my head. “Not exactly.” I sighed. “It’s kind of a long story . . .”

“All your brother said was that you were in the city for a modeling shoot,” Katy explained. “So fill us in.” She settled back against the headboard.

Millie said, “Is this the contest they’re advertising at the HuskyPeach store in the mall?” A weight settled in my stomach. I nodded.

“I’ve seen some signs for it,” she said.

“You shop there?” I asked, so surprised that my anxiety lifted.

Millie laughed. “Of course! Where else am I going to find pants to fit my stubby legs? Mom gets them shortened.”

“Oh.” It never occurred to me that Millie might be a HuskyPeach too. Her admission made it easier for me to start.

“First, you have to swear not to tell anyone else.” They promised, then I told them everything, beginning with Aunt Doreen and Mom seeing the flyer at Angelique’s, to Operation Skinny Celeste and nearly squashing Erika. They asked one or two questions, but just listened for the most part. When I told them who the celebrity judge was, Millie squealed.

“No way! Did you get to talk to Violet Page?”

I admitted that I had, but hadn’t known who she was before starting the contest.

“You’re missing out, Celeste. She’s amazing,” Millie said, squeezing my hand and bouncing on the bed with excitement. “She does all these cool photo shoots, gets invited to celebrity parties, and has some mystery boyfriend.”

“Really?” I responded, then went on with my story. The more I spoke, the lighter I felt inside. Once or twice I even laughed. At the time, I hadn’t thought any of it was funny. Now that it was over, I felt different.
Maybe different enough to go back?
Red Bathing Suit Woman asked. I pushed the question away.

“And then we came home, and you were here,” I finished. While talking, I braided the fringe along one edge of the pillow. I held my hands up, palms to the ceiling, and shrugged. “That’s it.”

“Whoa,” Millie said. “That’s crazy. So you have to go back again?”

I nodded. “Mom wants me to. I can’t say no. She’ll be disappointed.”

Katy wore her Thinking Face: eyes narrowed, forehead scrunched. “And you’ve been dieting this whole time?”

My face heated up again. “Well, only since I found out I was a contestant,” I said. “Just a couple of weeks. I’ve been writing everything down since we got the nutrition information in gym class. I took extra food logs.”

“How much weight have you lost?” she asked.

I shifted on the bed, uncomfortable. “A couple of pounds, maybe,” I said, lying. I had no idea. “I haven’t actually weighed myself.” Truth. I’d been avoiding the scale. I was afraid that not an ounce of the Negative Twenty had come off. “But I’ve been eating lots of fruit and vegetables, and not as many cookies.”
And I really miss them,
I added in my head.

Katy nodded, still concentrating. “Scientifically, the only way to lose weight is to burn more energy than you consume. All food is energy. Eating less—or better stuff—helps, but you need to burn more energy.
If
you still want to lose the contest,” she said, looking at me. “But you look really good.”

I smiled. “Trust me, I still want to lose. Just think of what Lively and everyone would say if I were Miss HuskyPeach.” They nodded.

“We can help you, if you want,” Katy said after a moment.

“You can?” I asked.

“We can?” Millie repeated, as curious as me.

“Sure. Keep eating what you’re eating, and just do more stuff: Go outside, exercise. We can go with you.” Katy shrugged. “It’s easy.”

“For you, maybe,” I said, remembering how I lost my breath just going up stairs.

“It’ll be fun,” Millie said. “Besides, with Christian’s help, you’ll be the best-looking non-model the HuskyPeach has ever seen.”

I smiled again. With all the grinning I’d been doing, my face might freeze that way.
Not that that would be a bad thing,
I thought, looking at Katy and Millie. “Sounds good to me.”

 

I wasn’t able to put Millie and Katy’s plan into effect right away. Operation Skinny Celeste was replaced by Operation Sniffly Celeste, because for the next two days I was stuck inside with a cold. I sniffled my way around the house and to and from school, so the only energy I burned was from blowing my nose. On the bright side, the only food I wanted was soup. If Oreos leaped from the package and danced into my room, I wouldn’t have cared.