Revenge of the Girl With the Great Personality (18 page)

“I didn’t …” I manage to stammer out. “I thought …”

“I guess it doesn’t really matter.” He gestures over my shoulder. “It looks like you got what you wanted.”

Did I?

Taylor walks away and I’m more confused than ever.

“Hey!” I hear Logan’s voice behind me. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He puts his arm around me. “No, seriously, I’ve been looking
everywhere
.”

I’m not sure if I should believe him, since I pretty much haven’t left the living room the entire evening. Presumably if someone is looking “everywhere” for you, the main room of the house should be included. But really, I’m just splitting hairs at this point.

“I’ve got something I want to show you.” He leads me past the living room — I shrug in response to Cam’s inquiring look — and then takes me upstairs to the second floor. He opens up a random door and leads me into what appears to be a spare bedroom.

My heart starts racing. What, exactly, does Logan want to show me?

He gives me a crooked smile. “Alone at last.”

He sways slightly, and then grabs me by the waist.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I reply, not knowing what else to say, or what’s going on.

“Hey,” he whispers earnestly in my ear.

Please do not tell me this is Logan’s way of flirting. It’d be such a disappointment.

He studies me for a few seconds and then moves his hands up and down my arm. “Oh, Lexi … I just can’t …”

I can’t tell if he’s drunk or flustered.

Or maybe a little of both.

He begins to shake his head back and forth. “Oh man, I never thought we’d get here. You know?”

Tell me about it.

“You …” He steps away and smiles as he looks me up and down. “You’re certainly full of surprises.”

Yeah, it seems like I’m not the only one.

“Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to keep my hands off of you when you came to school that day with the” — he gestures at my legs — “on.”

Is he talking about the first day I wore a dress? Because I’m pretty sure I always have my legs on.

He starts laughing. I can smell the alcohol on his breath. I close my eyes for a second, trying to collect my thoughts.

“You’re so amazing, Lexi. You’re, like, the coolest girl, and, like, we get along so well and stuff, and now you’re, like, hot all of a sudden.”

I try to smile at him. They say that alcohol can bring out the truth, so maybe it’s time I get to find out what Logan really thinks. To stop making up these fairy tales in my mind that he’s my Prince Charming.
Last time I checked, I’m pretty sure Prince Charming didn’t require a bottle of vodka to sweep his princess off her feet.

“It’s, like …” He bumps into the nightstand and nearly knocks over the lamp. In a flash, Logan’s right next to me. He puts his hand around the back of my neck. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

And then Logan kisses me.

Logan Reeves is kissing me.

It’s amazing what happens when your dreams come true. Instead of hearing music swell or seeing fireworks go off, the only sensation that’s overtaking me is the taste of cigarette smoke and alcohol that’s currently being shoved in my mouth.

I try to go out of my body. I refuse to acknowledge this, um, whatever he’s doing now (I wonder if he knows that’s my nose), as my first kiss with Logan.

It wouldn’t be right.

He finally parts from me and he’s got a huge grin on his face.

“Hey.”

I smile tightly, hoping that he sees it as neither disappointment over what just happened nor an invitation for more.

“Mmmm …” He comes back at me, but not for a kiss this time. His face is in my hair and he’s taking deep breaths. “Mmmm … you’re so hot.”

He starts kissing my neck, and then my ear.
Oh, please have him realize soon that’s my ear.

“Hey,” he whispers again. “You want to know what I think?”

For the first time ever, I have no desire to hear what Logan thinks. Unless it’s
I think I should go sober up.

“I think” — he plays with the strap on my dress — “that you and me …”

Logan stops cold. I notice a bead of sweat running down his forehead.

He starts to turn white. “I think …”

He grabs his stomach. My instincts kick in and I jump away from him.

“Oh God …” He runs for the bathroom and less than two seconds later I hear the über-romantic and oh-so-sexy sound of Logan retching.

I plug my ears in fear that I’ll start puking, too, although all I’ve had to drink tonight is water. I didn’t trust anything in the kitchen except for good ol’ reliable American tap.

I’m frozen about what to do. What I
want
to do is run out of here and pretend like the last fifteen minutes didn’t happen. But I guess I really should make sure Logan’s okay.

I take tiny steps toward the bathroom. I pause every time I hear him throw up all over the toilet (not to mention my dreams).

Even though the door’s open, I give a little knock.

“Hey.” Oh great,
I’m
doing it now. “Ah, do you want me to get you anything?”

I’m afraid to do it, but I look down and see Logan hugging the toilet like it’s his best friend. And at this moment, it probably is.

“Do you want me to get anybody?” …
to free me from this scenario.

He shakes his head.

After a few moments, he leans back and studies me for a second. He then gives a little laugh. “Dude, I
so
do not feel good.”

Yeah, he’s not the only one.

Once Logan’s safely passed out on the bathroom floor, I make a break for freedom.

A flash welcomes me when I open the door. After my temporary blindness wears off, I realize that Brooke’s standing there with Hannah and Taylor, her camera phone pointed at me.

“I thought we should document this moment. I figure this is your first time, since I can’t imagine anybody would want to touch you sober.” She has a self-satisfied grin on her face. It’s really the first time I realize that Brooke is ugly. Sure, she’s pretty to look at, but no amount of primping can hide an ugly person. And that’s what she is. Ugly on the inside.

For the past few years, I’ve kept my comments to myself when it comes to Brooke and her ilk. I’ve stayed silent. In the process, I’ve done nothing but torture myself. And for what? To have nights like this?
No, thank you.

Real Lexi is not going to let Brooke treat her like a second-class citizen anymore.

“So am I a slut or a prude?” I ask her. “You really need to make up your mind — it’d really help me with my college applications.”

She laughs at me. I ignore the fact that she’s with my somewhat ex-boyfriend, so decide against the easy sloppy seconds comment.

“Logan’s really sick,” I say to an incredibly uncomfortable Taylor. “He’s in the bathroom.”

Brooke blocks him from checking it out. “Oh, sure,” she says, “
those
were the noises we were hearing.” I hear a few more laughs and turn to see that a crowd has gathered at the bottom of the stairs.

“Look, Brooke, I don’t know what kind of wild sex you’re having that sounds like someone projectile vomiting, but what you do in your free time is really your business. I really couldn’t care less about anything you do.” I push her aside so I can go down the stairs and get as far away from this party as possible. I’m so tired trying to fit in with them. Why would anybody want to live like this?

“Yeah, like you haven’t tried
to be me
these last few weeks,” she calls after me.

I hear some “oohs” in the crowd. I catch Cam’s eyes and she gives me a supportive nod.

“You know what, Brooke. You’re right.” Her mouth drops open slightly, surprised at my confession. I turn toward the crowd. “I have tried to be like you guys, to be
liked
by you. And say what you want, but I did it. You all didn’t have time for a loser like me unless I was entertaining you or doing something for you. But then I put on some makeup and became one of you. So I guess deep down, we’re all losers who have something we want to cover up. Like an eating disorder.” I shoot a glance at Brooke. “Or a parent that neglects you.

“We’re all the same. So you’re not better than me, Brooke. You just like to pretend that you are. Why? To make you feel better about yourself. You know what that makes you? A bully. And in my opinion, bullies are the worst kind of people. Because the people who feel the need to bring others down to feel good about themselves are the ones who need help. And not the help that can be found in the beauty product aisle.

“So I can take off the makeup, but I’m still a good person.” I’m now only a couple inches from Brooke’s face. “But there’s no such thing as bitch remover.”

I walk quickly downstairs and push my way to the front door.

Josh’s mom’s eyes are wide as she opens up the front door for Cam and me. “Lovely party,” I say. “You must be so proud.”

I
’m shocked awake by my alarm clock after only a few hours of sleep, and the entire evening starts flooding back to me. There was always a part of me that knew that if Logan and I were ever to get together, it wouldn’t be exactly like I always hoped.

However, I never thought it would be the exact opposite.

As far as I’m concerned, the only bright spot of the evening was telling Brooke off to her face. Although I sincerely doubt that any of what I said got through to her. Despite recent behavior, I can recognize a lost cause.

I try my best to push it all aside and focus on getting Mackenzie to her pageant. I pull up in front of Mac’s friend’s house and she’s already
waiting for me outside. I glance at the clock; I’m three minutes late. Hopefully this won’t set her off.

“Hi.” She gives me a smile and hands me a list Mom gave her to make sure I had everything she needs for today.

I take inventory of the trunk and backseat; all costumes, hairpieces, sugar fixes, etc., are accounted for.

“How was the dance?” Mac asks as she buckles up.

“It was fine.” I’m grateful that I don’t have to deal with Mom this morning. I’m sure she’d have a lot more questions. “Ready for the pageant?”

She shrugs.

I’d thought Mac would be more excited for the state pageant. If she wins here, she qualifies for Mini Miss Texas, or something like that.

“Actually …” Mac starts to fiddle with her newly French manicured fingernails. “Anne and a few other friends are going swimming today, and I wish I could go with them instead.”

“Well, there’s only one Little Miss Dallas pageant.”
Yikes
. Who do I sound like?

“I guess.” She starts to sulk and I’m in no mood for it today. Not like I’ve ever been in the mood for it, but today is not the day to start anything with me.

“You know, Mac, we all put a lot of work and effort into taking you to these pageants. It would be nice if you didn’t complain about it constantly.”

She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, so I think that maybe I talked some sense into her.

“Lexi, what if I told you I don’t want to do pageants anymore?”

I quickly glance at her to see if she’s trying to pull something over on me. She looks sad.

“Well, do you?” I ask.

“No. I don’t like them. I don’t know if I ever did. It’s just something Mom and I would do together, and they make her happy. When she asks me if I want to do them, I say yes because I’m afraid of letting her down.”

My mind starts to race through different memories of the pageants. Mackenzie did spend a lot of time complaining, but she seemed happy. But that was usually when Mom was happy.

Mac starts quietly crying.

“Mackenzie?” I ask quietly.

“I don’t want Mom to hate me.”

“Mom won’t …” I pull the car into a shopping center parking lot. I turn off the engine and spin toward her. “Mackenzie, do you still want to do pageants?”

“No.” She starts sobbing.

“You don’t have to do them anymore. We can talk to Mom.”

She shakes her head fiercely back and forth. “She’ll be mad.”

“Well, she’ll get over it.” I don’t doubt that Mom will be furious. “Have you told her how you feel?”

Mac nods. “But she doesn’t listen.”

Tell me about it.

“Lexi?” Mac opens up her bag and hands me a photo. It’s of me when I was her age. I’ve got a yellow sundress on, my hair in two braids, and I’m giving the camera a big, goofy smile. I’m holding someone’s (probably Dad’s) hand off-camera. “Were you happy when you were my age?”

“Yeah. Being seven’s awesome, Mac. You work way too hard. You need to have more fun and play with your friends.”

“I don’t have a lot of friends, not good friends like you have. And most of the friends I do have make fun of me for being in pageants. All the boys in class call me Miss Ugly America.”

“Well, boys are stupid.” This makes her laugh. “And the other people who say that aren’t really your friends.”

Mac takes the picture back and studies it. “Were you happy because I wasn’t born yet?”

“Oh God, Mackenzie, don’t ever think that. Was I a little upset to have to start changing diapers and be a babysitter? Yeah, maybe. And, well, I know we sometimes have our issues….”

I start to think about my attitude from Mac’s point of view. I can see how she thinks I hate her. I mean, it’s not like she’s been completely innocent in all of this, but she’s just a kid, after all.

“We argue, but we’re sisters. That’s a bond that nobody can ever break, even crazy pageant moms.”

I don’t blame Mac for being scared of telling Mom. I speak slowly and carefully so Mac absorbs every word. “She has to respect your decision, and we can tell her together.”

“But it’s our thing.”

“Well, you guys can get another thing. Like, I don’t know, walking or reading, or, um, other stuff.” Mom and I haven’t had a normal relationship in years, so I have no idea what mothers and daughters are supposed to do together. “You can’t keep doing it just because it’s what Mom wants.”

“But you have Dad.”

“So do you.”

Fresh tears start trickling down her face. “Not like you.”

“You’ve been so preoccupied with pageants, Mac. You’ll get there. We’ll spend more time with him on weekends.”

It’s true, Mac and Dad have a slightly estranged relationship. He doesn’t have any clue how to handle Pageant Mackenzie. I think he’s still emotionally scarred from attending one of her pageants years ago at Mom’s insistence. He was horrified at the transformation of his then four-year-old daughter into the equivalent of a living doll. He thought it “took away her innocence.” I can blame my dad for many things, but I can’t blame him for that.

“Yeah, but if I stop doing pageants, what will Mom have?”

I’m speechless. That’s too big of a burden for any child to have, especially one so young.

“Oh, Mac, you don’t need to worry about that.”

“But she only cares about me when I’m on stage.”

“That’s not true.”

Poor Mac. What must it be like to think that neither of your parents cares about you? I spent the first ten years of my life relatively happy, and look at the bitter person I ended up being. What hope does Mac have at happiness if this isn’t fixed now?

“Listen, we’ll figure something out. I promise you this: You won’t have to do pageants anymore. And we’ll find out a way to make Mom listen.”

“But it’s the stage she cares about. That’s it.”

“Well …” An idea flashes in my head. Maybe Brooke isn’t the only person who’s going to hear me finally tell the truth.

I turn on the ignition. “Buckle up, Mackenzie. We’re in for a wild ride.”

Miss Lauren’s waiting for us when we arrive. “Hey, y’all!” She greets us both with a big hug. “Miss Mackenzie, are you ready for your hair and makeup?”

Mac and I exchange looks.

“Uh-oh.” Lauren laughs. “Why do I sense trouble?”

“Hey, Lauren, you remember that big, like
big
hair they had in the eighties with, like …” I take my long bangs and stick them straight up.

She eyes me suspiciously. “I’m aware of that decade.”

“Do you think you can make my hair look even worse than that? And do you have any fluorescent makeup? I’m thinking neon pink for my eyes.”

“Wait, I’m doing
your
makeup?” She looks between Mackenzie and me, wondering what’s going on.

Mac jumps up and down. “We’re taking a stand!”

“A what?”

I keep my voice low. “I know that the pageant world’s important to you, so I don’t want you to do anything that’ll get you in trouble, but …” I quickly look around me so nobody can overhear. “We have a plan and we need your help. I need you to make me up, but not as a pretty beauty queen, but picture a beauty queen from a Stephen King novel and you’re halfway there.”

To be honest, a small part of me is hoping that she’ll object.

But after a few seconds, she nods her head and begins.

It’s on.