Models Don't Eat Chocolate Cookies (19 page)

Once in Millie’s pink and white bedroom, we spread the makeup across her bed and cranked Theo Christmas on the stereo. She found a hand mirror, tissues, and remover, and we started our own primp session. I tried as best I could to explain what I thought Christian had done to me. I knew there was no liquid foundation involved, so we scooted that to one side. We used the big brushes, powder, blush, and eye shadow. Through trial and error, we discovered that certain shades of red didn’t look right on Millie.

“Your skin almost turns greenish when this stuff is on it,” I said, wiping a blush called Canyon Rose off her cheeks. Her bedroom door opened.

“That’s because her skin has yellow tones in it,” said Katy, followed by Couscous. “The yellow in the blush brings out the yellow in her skin. You’ll look better if your blush has more brown in it,” she directed to Millie. “Try another color.”

“Hey,” Millie said, and hopped off the bed to give Katy a hug. “I didn’t even hear the bell. When did you get here?”

“Couple of minutes ago. Your mom let me in. Celeste, scoot over.”

I cleared space for her on the bed. Although I liked Katy and was happy to see her, I was annoyed that Millie invited her without telling me.
Because Millie can only be friends with you now?
Red Bathing Suit Woman asked. I inhaled.

“We’re trying the stuff my mom bought,” I explained.

“Katy’s kind of a makeup whiz too,” Millie said to me. “I hope you don’t mind that I invited her over, but I thought she might be able to help out.”

“Really?” I couldn’t have been more surprised if I found out that Katy juggled knives and ate fire. “But you don’t wear any.” I couldn’t think of a time when I’d seen her in so much as lip gloss.

Katy shrugged. “When you have two older sisters who use you as their practice dummy before dances, dates, and proms, you learn a few things.” She picked up a tube of mascara. “Plus, there’s a science to this.”

For the next hour we dabbed, brushed, lined, glossed, and sang along to Theo while Couscous slept on a—what else?—pink pillow in the corner. One of Mom’s purchases turned out to be the perfect blush for Millie—Chocolate Berry—and the Granny Smith eye shadow made Katy’s eyes light up as green as the bottom lens in a traffic light. However, nothing seemed right for me. The black mascara was too dark, the Canyon Rose blush too bright, the Jack Frost eye shadow too pale.

“This stuff isn’t even close to the colors you need,” Katy said in frustration, tossing a brush onto the comforter. “You need to go shopping. Ask Christian what he thinks you should buy, then I’ll show you how to use it.”

I almost agreed with her, then stopped. “No way,” I said. “I’m done with HuskyPeach.” The shame and hurt from the week before crept back. To distract myself, I gathered the makeup they didn’t want and dropped it in the bag. The once shiny bottles and tubes were dull and used. Millie and Katy shared a glance. Couscous, awakened from his nap, stretched and trotted to the bed. I picked him up.

“Don’t squeeze him,” Katy reminded me. She didn’t have to worry.

“Celeste,” Millie said. “We know that what happened last week was really, really awful. But you look so good. It’s only one more time.”

Her words caught me off guard. Tears burned my eyes. I blinked and shook my head, afraid that I’d cry if I tried to talk. I stroked Couscous’s head instead. It wasn’t about looking good. After what Christian did to me, I knew I could look better. What was more important was that I wanted to look better—but on my own terms; not because I was fat or thin, but because I was me. This was about not wanting to be a HuskyPeach Chunky Teen Queen in front of the world. Before the contest, Fat Celeste had been left alone by almost everyone. Now, it seemed, no one wanted to leave me alone.

Or,
I thought,
they don’t want to leave the idea alone—this idea of me as someone I’m not
. A heavy blanket wrapped around my heart. Couscous licked my hand in sympathy, and Theo sang about love and loss from the speakers.

“Think about it,” Katy said. “And if you don’t want to finish it, that’s fine with us.” Millie nodded. “But if you want to, and you still want to work on Operation Skinny Celeste, we’ll help you out. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, staring at the dog. “Thanks.”

I knew they wanted to help, but the idea of being in front of all those people again made my belly flip. I’d finally convinced Mom to stop encouraging me to go back; I hadn’t expected Millie and Katy to say anything about it.

The doorbell dinged. “That’s my dad,” I said, glancing at Millie’s bedside clock. I handed Couscous to Katy.

“Will you think about it?” Millie asked, walking me to the front door.

“Yeah,” I said. But I was thinking this:
Never again
.

 

“Were you expecting anyone?” Dad asked as we pulled into the driveway.

“Huh?” I said, still thinking about what Katy and Millie said. I followed his pointing finger. A blue mountain bike leaned against the side of the garage. Only one person had that bike and left it in that exact spot when she came over: Sandra.

What is
she
doing here?

“THAT’S SANDRA’S BIKE, right?” Dad said, shutting the car off. “Did you know she was coming over?”

I shook my head, stunned. A thousand scenarios blew through my mind: She was there to apologize, she heard about the Challenge and was there to make fun of me in person, it was someone else’s bike—and on and on. We hadn’t talked since that day in the bathroom four weeks ago. The fun I’d had with Katy and Millie disappeared and anxiety took its place. Instead of Three Musketeers, I was facing this as a Lonely Only.

“Let’s see what she’s up to,” Dad said. He opened the car door and got out. “It’s been a while since she’s been around.”

Glued to my seat, I didn’t move.

“Come on, Celeste. You can’t stay in there. Are you okay?”

I nodded. He was right. My brain knew I couldn’t stay there and I had to see what Sandra wanted. My insides, however, disagreed completely. As I stepped out of the car, my stomach churned, my palms started to sweat, and an old sock replaced my tongue. I forced myself to enter the house.

Sandra sat at our kitchen table, an open bag of chocolate chip cookies, a pile of crumbs, and a half-empty glass of milk spread in front of her. Those cookies were never so unappealing. Mom stood.

“Hi, honey,” she said. “Sandra stopped by to see you.”

“Hey,” I croaked through my dry throat. I cleared it and tried again. “Hey.” That time it sounded better. Mom didn’t think so. She gave me her Be More Gracious eyebrow lift, which is one step below the Behave Yourself, Young Lady glare.

“Hi, Sandra,” Dad said. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How’re things? How’re your brother and sister?”

“Good, Mr. Harris,” she responded, then swigged her milk. She was wearing a Lively Special: blue skirt, blue and white tank, blue sneakers, and—of course—sparkly blue earrings.
Did she pick her outfit to match her bike?
I wondered.

After a couple of minutes of small talk (during which I fought both my churning belly and the desire to grab the bag of cookies—more appetizing by the minute—and flee), my parents went upstairs, leaving only us and our awkwardness.

I leaned against the table, not ready to sit. Sandra finished her milk and pushed crumbs around.

“So, hey,” she said. She reached into her blue and white purse
(when had
Sandra
started carrying a purse?)
and retrieved a green Jolly Rancher. “Want one?”

I shook my head. Inside, I was shouting,
Why are you here?
My mouth didn’t want to make words, though, so I stayed quiet.

“I haven’t been over in a while,” she began. Maybe her mouth didn’t want to work either, because she stopped after that.

“No,” I managed. “You haven’t.” Once my lips moved, it was easier to continue. “So why today?”

Sandra shrugged, tilted her head to the ceiling, and fiddled with her napkin. “Just thought I’d come by. See if you wanted to do something.” The Jolly Rancher clacked against her teeth. Annoying. How had I listened to that for so long?

What?! Why would I want to do something with you? We haven’t spoken in weeks, and the last time we did, you were a total jerk.
That’s what I thought about saying. What came out was, “Where’s Lively?” My voice was rough sandpaper.

For a second, an expression of hurt crossed her face. She crunched the candy and I caught a whiff of fake apple. Then she went back to a neutral expression. “Away this weekend with her dad.”

So this is best friends outside of school,
I thought.
You hang out with me when Lively isn’t around and you have nothing better to do.
The dull ache I’d felt for so long was gone, replaced by a sense of calm. Like Lively, Sandra could only hurt me if I let her.

“So I was thinking maybe we could do something?” She swallowed the last of her Jolly Rancher.

“Can’t,” I said, not taking her bait. “I promised my cousin Kathleen that I’d help her with her wedding favors this afternoon.”

“Tomorrow, then? We could get caramel sundaes and go to Becker Books. I haven’t been there in ages.”

“Really?” Becker Books was one of Sandra’s favorite places.

She shrugged. “Lively likes to hang out at Catch ’N’ Kick in the mall. Or at my house.” She kept her eyes on the table.

Until she mentioned Lively again, I was tempted. The Old Celeste—the one who had never met Model Celeste or worked on Operation Skinny Celeste—would have said yes right away, would have leaped tall buildings to have a sundae with her former best friend. Even New Celeste felt the urge to go, but New Celeste also hadn’t eaten an Oreo or had a sundae or root beer in over a month. New Celeste knew how to deal with temptation.

“Uh-uh. Can’t.” My heart beat harder.

“Are you busy?” Sandra asked.

“Not really,” I said. “I’m just not into that anymore.”
Thunk, thunk, thunk
went my heart.

“Sundaes?” Sandra said, confused.

“Those too,” I responded.
I can’t believe I’m saying this!
A blend of pride and fear spread through me.

“Can I get a clue, please? What else aren’t you into besides sundaes?”

I took a breath. “Being friends with someone who wants to hang out with me only when she has no other plans.”

Sandra’s mouth opened so wide I could see the green stripe the Jolly Rancher left on her tongue. But there was nothing more to say, and she knew it. She closed it, swallowed a few times, and pushed back from the table. I stepped aside as she left the kitchen. The front door banged shut behind her.

That felt better than any sundae or cookie ever tasted,
I thought.

Red Bathing Suit Woman cheered.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Mom dropped me off at Kathleen’s apartment for Dinner and Decoupaging. The ride came with a price, though: extensive questioning about What Went On in the Kitchen With Sandra. My answers were simple. “We talked. I told her I was busy. She left.” That didn’t satisfy Mom at all.

“I don’t know why you won’t tell me the truth,” she said. “Something’s gone on between the two of you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I responded, annoyed. “What difference does it make? We talked. She left. That’s it.”

“I just want to make sure you’re not upset,” she said. “You’ve had a tough week.”

“I’m fine, Mom, really. Not upset.”
A few weeks ago? That’s another story,
I added to myself. And it was true. I no longer needed Sandra to stick up for me, or make me feel good about my life. Realizing that was like losing a couple of pounds just from breathing. I felt lighter.

“As long as you’re sure.” She sighed. “I just wish you’d reconsider finishing the Modeling Challenge. There’s only one more event.” Could you get whiplash from a subject change? My stomach squeezed into a ball.

We’d stopped in front of Kathleen’s building.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I said, focusing on the dashboard in front of me to prevent the tears that filled my eyes from falling. “Please don’t ask me again.” Then I got out of the car. I closed the door and didn’t look back, fighting the newly created anxiety in my belly.

Kathleen buzzed me in. To calm down, I walked up the three flights to her apartment. When I reached the top flight, without thinking about it, I paused to catch my breath. After a second, I realized that I didn’t have to. I felt winded, but not nearly as much as I would have a few weeks earlier.

You sure it’s still the Negative Twenty?
Red Bathing Suit Woman asked. I didn’t answer, but my chest puffed with pride.

Down the hall, Kathleen’s door opened. “Hey,” she called, “what’re you doing down there?”

I smiled and waved. When I reached her, she gave me a big hug. That day she was wearing one of Paul’s UCLA T-shirts and a pair of jeans, and she still looked like a model. Her hair twisted in a knot at her neck.

“Celeste, you look fantastic,” she said, leading me into her living room. I knew she wasn’t referring to the wrap shirt I’d changed into while riding my good mood after Sandra left. “What’ve you been doing the past couple of weeks?”

My face warmed, and I shrugged. “You know, the usual. School . . . stuff like that.”

She nodded.

“Are you getting excited for the wedding?” I asked to distract her.

“Can’t wait, but we still have lots to do. I’m glad you’re here to help.” She smiled.

When I stepped into the apartment’s small dining room, I could see why. It was Arts and Crafts Central: A plastic sheet covered the table, dozens of boxes of clear votive candle holders piled on top of it. Several packages of multicolored tissue paper, sponge brushes, and a big tub of glue were in the mix as well.

“The votives are going on the dinner tables,” Kathleen said. “We’re going to cover the holders with tissue paper, so when the candle is lit, they’ll glow through the colored paper.”