My Big Nose and Other Natural Disasters (23 page)

"You're the one suffering from the
de
lusion that I have any so-called beauty to work with."

"Now, that's not the proper attitude." Mom pushed at my stiff-with-too-much-product hair, but it didn't budge. "This is a special day. You will look back on this photo with fond memories for the rest of your life." Mom smiled at me.

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure I'll have really fond memories of my mom trying to bring my nose down to an acceptable size with magical makeup."

"I guarantee you every one of your classmates is wearing makeup." Mom examined her well-manicured nails, frowning at a bit of chipped polish. "There's nothing wrong with trying to make the best of what you have."

"What I have is Great-Grandpa Lessinger's nose."

"Your face has such
character.
" Mom couldn't keep herself from dabbing at my nose again with her makeup brush. "Your great-grandpa was quite a man. He was a war hero, you know."

"Whatever." I should just go with the "Photo Unavailable" spot in the yearbook. I stuck a magazine in front of my face. Thin models with flowing hair and perfect little noses scowled at me. Only four more days until I presented my Nice Nose Notebook to Dr. Lawrence, plastic surgeon extraordinaire, and we selected a beautiful nice nose together. I did have to figure out the money thing, but they'd have payment plans, right? Maybe I could still baby-sit or something. Maybe model with my nice new nose. I'm tall. Maybe we'd get a group discount if I could talk Mom into getting her few remaining fat cells sucked out of her body. We'd all be one happy, beautiful family. My grades would improve; I'd have a fabulous new boyfriend, or several new boyfriends. Maybe Zane Zimmerman would want me to fly out and visit him at college. It all depended upon the nice new nose.

Inside the studio, the photographer ohhed and ahhed over his subject. "Gorgeous! You belong in the pages of
Teen Vogue.
" Was he lying to make some plain girl feel good, or did he actually have the next great teen model in his studio? Was I going to have to smile through a bunch of fake compliments?

"I think it's almost our turn." Mom attacked again with her brush. "Let's touch up a few spots." She crinkled her cute little nose and examined me like some kind of redecorating project gone wrong.

"Mom. You're going to make me look like a zebra! Stop it." I turned away. "I'm sorry I'm not the gorgeous daughter you want me to be."

"Why would you say something like that?" Mom set down her brush and looked at me with wide eyes, as if I'd actually hurt her feelings.
Give me a break.

"Because it's true. You think I don't notice the ratio of beautiful Adonis Finn photos compared to mine? It's obvious you don't want to have to look at me."

"I don't understand. What photos?"

"In the nice-nose hallway of fame. The gazillion photos of Finn?"

"What?" Mom looked totally confused. "Our hallway? I put all those sports photos up to be supportive."

"Face it. He's good-looking."

"Well, yes, but so are you."

"Yes, in my unique, special way. But what exactly is special about me? I don't do anything
special.
I'm not smart in any special way. I'm not pretty. I don't have anything that makes me unique. Except a big nose that you're always trying to hide."

Mom didn't have time to answer because Ashley Winters swept out of the photo room, beaming like she'd just won the Miss Reno High Best Senior Photo Session Ever Pageant. Her skeleton-thin mother followed behind her.

"Can you believe how grown up our girls are?" she cooed.

Mom transitioned right into aren't-we-all-having-so-much-fun social mode. "I was just saying the same thing to Jory," Mom gushed. "Next thing I know, Finn will be graduating."

"He's such a gorgeous young man," Mrs. Winters said. "Even the senior girls are after him." She tilted her head toward Ashley.

Ashley acknowledged me—for the first time
ever,
I might add—with a slight finger wiggle. "Can you believe that we're seniors? I don't even
feel
like a senior." She sighed and shook her long red hair around her shoulders, actually looking like someone who had stepped out of the pages of
Teen Vogue.
Great. Ashley Winters is going to want to be nice to me so I can hook her up with my little brother.

"Come on in," the photographer said.

"Guess I gotta go." I rolled my eyes.

"You'll totally feel like a supermodel." Ashley giggled. "Say hi to Finn for me."

"You betcha." Maybe I could run a dating service for my brother and make up my missing nose money. I could put an ad in the
Caughlin Rancher:
"Desperate super-schnozzed senior will rent gorgeous brother for reasonable fee. Call 5551891."

Mom pushed her nails into my back and scootched me into the photo studio. The photographer was mostly bald but had a long greasy ponytail slinking down his back, like a gray snake. He wore a black T-shirt that said "Photographers Do It in the Dark." So classy! Maybe I was kind of glad my mom tagged along. He handed me a little velvety shirt thing.

"For the formal shot." When he smiled, I saw that he had two gold teeth.

All the seniors had to match. In the photos, it looks like a glamorous evening gown; in reality, it looks like one of my grandma's sofa-armrest-protector thingies. And it was black. If there's one color that does not flatter my blond hair and freckled complexion, it's black. I went behind the little changing curtain, wondering if the guy had secret perv cams hidden in the walls. He looked the type. I heard Mom making small talk. "She's pretty nervous. Not very confident, you know. Also, we don't want any profile shots taken." I imagined her tapping her nose.
Great-Grandpa Lessinger,
she'd whisper in a low tone.

I flipped Mom off behind the curtain. Yeah, Mom, tell Perv Photographer that I'm an insecure big-nosed freak.

I walked out from behind the curtain wearing the velvety
little top thing over my jeans. The photographer pointed to a stool in front of a big camera.

"Now, relax. You're a beautiful girl." He winked at Mom. "One, two, three."

I stuck out my tongue.

"Jory!" Mom exclaimed. "I can't believe you did that!" She turned to the photographer. "I am so sorry. I'm simply shocked. She doesn't usually act like this."

"It was just a joke," I said.

"No funny photos. The yearbook editor made that very clear." The photographer stood behind his camera. "Now, smile like you're looking at the cutest boy in your class." This time he winked at me.

I leaned my head down by my shoulder, rolled my eyes up to the ceiling, and made a dreamy closed-mouth smile.

"Jory! What are you doing?" Mom stomped her foot. "You're embarrassing me."

"So what else is new, Mom?"

The photographer took a deep breath. "We'll try one more. Smile in the way you'd like to appear in the yearbook."

I put my hands over my face.
Click. Flash.

"That's great." I jumped off the stool. "Ready, Mom?"

"No, it's not great. Sit," Mom hissed. "This photo isn't just for you. It's for me. It's for posterity. It's for the whole community."

The photographer nodded. What did he know?

"Who are you trying to impress, Mom? Maybe you could just put Finn in my place. It's not like Jory is a real name anyway. Just pretend you have two
gorgeous
sons," I said, mimicking Ashley Winters's mom. "I can just go live in a cave and give you the real scoop on the Caveman Diet. I'll hook you up with some dead rabbits."

The photographer turned around and pretended to adjust his camera.

"I don't know what's gotten into you." Mom spoke low. "Where did all your self-confidence go?"

"Where did it go?" I spoke loud. "When did I ever have any? You've been slathering my face with nose-minimizing makeup ever since I was twelve. You think I didn't get the message?

"That's ridiculous."

"No, it's not. Obviously I'm a total embarrassment. I'm probably the reason it took so long for you to be invited to that stupid book club, and now I'm keeping you and Dad out of the Mullinses' snobby wine club. Maybe if I were a cute cheerleader or a studly jock, you'd get in. But, no, I'm a big-nosed freak with absolutely no talent whatsoever." I yanked the scratchy little top off and threw it on the floor, standing there in my bra. "I don't even want to be in the yearbook."

The photographer guy slinked out of the room.

"Too bad there isn't a Nose Shrinking Diet, huh, Mom?"

"Is this about my dieting?" Mom looked small as she crossed her thin arms. "I'm only trying to improve myself."

"Why? You're gorgeous. If you don't like the way you look, how am I supposed to like the way
I
look? I'm never going to be as pretty as
you.
Never!" I ran behind the curtain and threw my inside-out T-shirt over my head. "I'm never going to be good enough for you!"

I ran out of the room, then looked back at Mom, who stood there crying.

Wham!
I tripped over some guy's feet and went sprawling onto the dirty red carpet. I blinked back tears and pushed myself up to sitting. My elbow hurt and my knees felt raw. The guy pulled me up by my armpits as if I were a toddler learning to walk.

Gideon.

He didn't say anything, but his expression drooped like wilted flowers.

"What are you looking at?" I ran out, even though my scraped knees hurt. I dug in the bottom of my purse for my set of keys. Ha! She hadn't thought to confiscate them. After I jumped into the minivan, I looked back through the window of the photographer's shop. Helen embraced Mom in a big hug. Gideon watched me. I lifted both hands up high and flipped them all off where they
could
see it. I was sick of soaking up everything like a sponge cake! I sped away from the curb. Where should I go? No way would I go home to Mr. So Gorgeous All the Senior Girls Go Wild for Me Finn. Plus, I didn't want to see Mom again until all her hair turned gray and her perfect nose disappeared under a million wrinkles.

Maybe the plastic surgeon would see me today? I pulled into the plastic surgeon's parking lot over by the hospital, but I didn't have my Nice Nose Notebook and I didn't want to appear insane, with tears down my face and my hair all stiff and crazy. I yanked at my hair. Stupid hair. That's all anyone ever complimented me about. Anyone could grow hair!

I spotted Mom's beading accessory box. "I'll show them!" I rummaged through the various beads and wires until I found a pair of tiny scissors—and snipped away at my hair, one chunk at a time. My hair floated all around me in little wisps. I cut one side, but then my fingers got sore, so I stopped. I looked at my reflection in the rearview mirror. Ugly. My minimizing makeup smeared all around my nose like fudge marble cake batter. In the light I looked like some hideous old showgirl trying to look young again. Or one of those sad old prostitutes they interview on the local news sometimes. I wiped the makeup away with the wet wipes Mom kept in her ultimate soccer-mom minivan, scraping at my face until it hurt. And drove again.

I ended up at Virginia Lake, watching pairs of geese float around in the murky water.
Would anyone ever want to mate for life with me? Not the way I am now.
Only a new nose could rescue me from my miserable life.

I got out of the van and ran around the lake, once, twice, three times. Wouldn't Mr. Jock PE Teacher be proud? Jory Michaels ran three miles. I bent over, breathing hard. A mom with a double stroller pushed her children to the very edge of the sidewalk to avoid the crazy girl with half long, half short hair. Maybe if I ran long enough I'd just die.
Such a tragedy,
people would whisper at my funeral.
She destroys her best feature then dies.
Kids would ask,
Can people die from being ugly, Mommy?
I ran around a fourth time, finally stepping into the van with quivering legs. I didn't have the energy to cry.

I drove home to an empty house and cut off the rest of my hair.

NOSE DOCTORS, WITCHES (ME), AND BIG TROUBLE

I smoothed my prickly short hair while looking at a blurry version of myself in the shiny elevator doors. My backpack with my Nice Nose Notebook hung heavy on my shoulder as I tried to calm my breathing.
Don't look like a crazy teenager who just cut off all her hair,
I told myself. I fanned my shirt over my stomach to dry off some of the sweat from biking all the way to the doctor's office—my armpits weren't exactly fragrant either.

I should've begged Mom for the minivan, but she wasn't talking to me. I did find the phone book open to "Psychologists," though, and I was pretty certain that she wasn't finally seeking help for her social-climbing, a-diet-will-cure-anything attitude. Plus, I'd overheard several hushed conversations between Mom, Dad, and even oh-so-sane-and-beautiful Finn. That's okay. Me and my new nose will go tour the world as a fashion model, purchase some private island inhabited only by gorgeous musclemen—who also have great personalities—and live happily ever after.

The doctor's waiting room smelled like alcohol wipes. Clean. Several large photographs of mountains decorated the walls. An older woman sat in a chair, reading a fat paperback novel. Face-lift? A younger woman flipped through magazines across from me. Definite boob job; she had a great nose. Everyone could tell what I was there for, right? Super Schnozz. I sat down in one of the plush little chairs and picked up a
Business Weekly
magazine; I wanted to appear older and mature.

The receptionist peered out at me from a little window in the corner. "Are you here for an appointment, miss?"

"Oh, yes." Boob-Job Woman glanced at me as I stood up and walked over to the little window. I felt really stupid. Whenever I went to the doctor, Mom did this part.

She handed me a clipboard of forms. "Fill these out."

I sat back down in the little cushy chair. High blood pressure? Does right now count? I checked
no
to everything, lingering on "Sexual Dysfunction" for a moment. Does being ugly and completely unattractive to boys count? I put a big fat
X
in the "no" box next to "Sexually Active" and brought the clipboard back to the receptionist.