Unpretty: An Unloved Ones Prequel (6 page)

What surprises me most is my face. After my haircut, it looks even thinner. I take a step forward and peer at myself in the mirror, amazed and slightly frightened.

My skin is flawless. It is glowing, even. Nevertheless, I reach into my bag and find the makeup I’ve stolen from my mom’s bathroom. I put on dark lipstick, and give myself sultry shadows under my eyes. I’m just finishing when the door to the restroom opens, and two girls come in from school. They eye me up and down, but say nothing. I smile to myself. It begins.

I exit the restroom and start down the cement stairs that descend to the sand below. The sun is out, and puffy white clouds drift across the blue sky. There’s a low breeze from the ocean, misty and fresh. When I reach the sand, I stop and bend down to take off my sandals, and stuff them into my bag.

"Spare some change?"

I look up to see a homeless man sitting by the beach entrance. He's haggard and hunched over, with a sparse beard and leathery skin from too much sun. His breath smells like red wine and onions.

I've seen this guy before around town. He's harmless, but I feel oddly vulnerable being so exposed around him. I've never had to worry about dressing too provocatively before. I am also used to bigger than anyone who might try to mess with me. I guess those days are over.

"Sorry," I say, and I feel oddly guilty. Much guiltier than I would feel if I were still fat. I walk on, and he continues to hassle the other teens coming in.

I scan the beach crowded with half-naked teenagers. My eyes squint against the bright sunlight reflecting off the white sand, and I can feel my shoulders starting to burn already. It's been so long since I've had any skin exposed that I forgot I should have brought sunscreen.

I make my way across the sand, in between girls on their stomachs tanning their backs, and smell drifts of their coconut oil baking in the sun. There’s an old couple with a dog that is soaking wet from the ocean. And then there are the groups of teenagers, some laughing and throwing Frisbees, others drinking out of soda cans spiked with rum, and still more just standing or sitting and doing absolutely nothing. I breathe in their lusty insecurity, trying to focus through a thousand conversations whispering in my ear on the wind, and start forward again.

I’m not going to lie: I feel like a supermodel. When I walk, I strut. My body feels so different now, and without any clothes, my limbs are free to move fluidly, silently, like a jaguar through the night. This bikini makes me feel sexy, which is an entirely new emotion for me. It’s sort of the opposite of shame. Boys are watching me with their mouths open, and girls frown, hating me for making them feel worse about themselves. I know I shouldn’t enjoy that, but I have to admit it’s nice being on the opposite side of that exchange for once.

I am 115 pounds. I am thin now.

Everyone is jealous.

I spot Sarah on the beach, rubbing lotion on her arms. She’s sitting by herself under a beach umbrella, and frowning from behind her sunglasses. She’s brought a beach bag with what I am sure is a book and her cell phone: armor against seeming alone. She's faced not toward the ocean, but squarely toward another group of teenagers: Chad Harlow’s group.

No surprise there.

I roll my eyes, and make my way over to her.

When I walk up to her umbrella, she glances up and then looks away, going back to her lotion application. She’s wearing the red skirt. It’s too tight.

“Don’t act too happy to see me,” I say.

Sarah’s head whips back around. She glances at me, and then cranes her neck, looking around in confusion. Then she looks back up at me.

“Mind if I sit down?” I ask. “I’m burning up in the sun here.” It’s true. My shoulders are a deep shade of red already.

“Um, sure. I guess. Was this your spot or something?”

That’s when I see it in her eyes: she doesn’t recognize me at all.

“Sarah,” I say, and lean down so she can see my face. “It’s me.”

She takes off her sunglasses and squints up toward me. The skin on her face is pink, except for two white ovals over her eyes in the shape of her sunglasses. She’s wearing the fake lashes again. They look even worse in daylight.

“Do you go to Lincoln High?” she asks. “You look familiar.”

I sigh in exasperation. “It’s me:
Kathy
.”

I can see that her initial reaction is guarded, trying to determine if I’m joking, and if so, whether or not that joke is at her expense. Her features are fighting against each other. Then she opens her eyes a little wider, and her face goes from defensive to uneasy, as if the sight of me creeps her out.

My shoulders are starting to blister, so I sit down next to her and pull my legs all the way into the shade of the umbrella. Instantly I feel better.

“I thought you were sick,” Sarah says finally. It’s more of an accusation than a question.

“I was,” I say. “Sort of.”

“You look healthy to me.”

I smile. I can’t help it. I think this is the closest thing to a real compliment Sarah’s ever given me. “Thank you.”

She’s quiet and I look at her. Her face is twisted into a grimace, and I think she’s about to cry.

“Sarah!” I gasp. “What’s wrong?” I reach my hand out to comfort her, and she whips her hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” she growls. “I thought you were my friend.”

I’m so confused. “I was!” I say. “I mean, I am.”

“I can’t believe you would do this to me.” She’s crying now, and getting louder. People are turning around.

“What are you talking about?” I try to keep my voice low, but she shouts again, not taking the hint.

“What do you think!” she screams, pounding her fists into the sand.

I am flabbergasted. “I thought you’d be happy for me,” I say.

“Happy?” she shrieks. “You
promised!
You said—” she lowers her voice now, after looking around, “—you said we’d diet
together
. You knew
how I felt about my body, and instead of sharing what obviously worked for you, you
ditch
me, and
lie
to me, and save all your
secrets
about how to be thin for
yourself
!”

“Sarah, that’s not how it is.” I’m hurt, and angry, and maybe more than anything else, I’m caught off-guard by this attack. “I don’t know how I lost the weight. The doctors can’t figure it out. It just…
happened
.”

Sarah gives me a look of disbelief. It sends unflattering furrows onto her burnt forehead.

“It’s true!” I protest, although I realize how unbelievable the whole thing must sound. “I’ve never been able to control my weight; you know that. Only this time, after the last time I saw you, that lack of control started to work in my favor. I just lost the weight. I don’t know how. I promise.”

She’s staring at me, taking this in. The wrinkles on her forehead smooth, but there’s still fire behind her eyes.

“You just lost the weight?” she asks. Her voice is monotone.

I nod.

Her hand flashes forward and grips my wrist. She pulls me toward her, so that she can stare intently into my eyes.

Her voice is low. “You have no idea,
none
, how this happened?”

Her eyes are on mine. I am about to answer, when I remember my wish and look away for a fraction of a second.

She throws my wrist down and starts to pack up her things.

“Sarah, wait!” I don’t know what to do. She’s never been mad at me before. “Don’t end it like this.”

She pauses and turns back to me. Her face is a mask, and I hear her heartbeat increase even though she’s incredibly still. I know this is my last chance.

“You’re my best friend. I’d tell you if I had a secret, but I don’t. I simply wished to be thin, and then it happened.”

For another half-moment, she stares at me, and I can’t tell what she is thinking at all. Then I hear her inhale quickly, as if to say something.

But instead of saying something, she spits in my face.

The warms saliva hits me in the eyes, and I recoil, feeling it drip down as my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I know everyone has just seen this, even if they can’t hear it. Before I can open my eyes, I am forced to wipe my face with my hands. I see Sarah walking away, her round bottom stretching against the confines of her red skirt. Her spit is on my palm, and I am not wearing anything I can wipe it off against.

She’s left her beach umbrella. I am grateful for that, because I can’t bring myself to move. I am frozen to the spot, and I can hear as whispers and giggles begin around me. Everyone loves a scene. And with my increased hearing, I can make out each individual jab.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to follow Sarah—that’s obviously not a good idea, and I’m not really sure I want to be friends with her right now anyway—but I don’t want to just sit here on the beach after that. I want to get away. I also don’t want anyone to see me get away, which would be very difficult under the circumstances.

I am sitting there, unable to move and unable to stay, when I hear footsteps behind me. A shadow falls over the sand, and I turn around.

Standing shirtless behind me in his red swim trunks is Chad Harlow.

Chad Harlow, otherwise known as the cutest boy in school.

Chapter Seven
 

“What was
that
all about?” Chad asks. His voice is friendly.

I’m too dumbstruck to answer. I can only shrug.

“Well,” he says, “you’re welcome to come join me and my friends.” He gestures toward a group of perfect-looking teenagers standing in a circle on the edge of the water.

“Um.” I look down at the sand under the umbrella. “Okay.”

He reaches out a hand and helps me to my feet. The skin of his hand is surprisingly soft. He must not have to do chores. Even his family must think he’s too pretty for hard labor.

I expect him to walk forward for me to follow, but he walks at my side, as if we’re a couple. No one has ever wanted to walk next to me before.

“Are you new here?” Chad asks as we walk.

"Not exactly."

He doesn't ask me what I mean. I’m still shaken from my fight with Sarah, and I feel especially vulnerable as we approach his circle of friends. They all look incredible. I feel like I’ve stepped into an episode of
Gossip Girl
.

Chad nods hello to a few of the guys in the group. They are all perfectly fit, with dark sunglasses, and each with a chiseled arm around the waist of an equally perfect girl. The girls have sunglasses and vacant expressions. It takes me a moment to realize they're all looking at me.

"Hi," I say, and do a small wave. "I'm Katherine."

A few of them give small nods toward me. This is all the greeting I get. Then a skinny girl starts complaining that there isn't a band at the beach, and that if there were, it probably wouldn't be a good one. She looks at me and drawls, "This town never gets the good ones."

I really have no idea what to say, so I just smile and agree. No one makes any attempts to start a conversation with me, and I feel myself growing tense. I feel hot all over with embarrassment.

Worse yet, I find I don't know what to do with my hands. I start to do my normal gesture of resting them on my stomach, but I don't have a stomach anymore, and so I start swinging them at my sides instead. Then I feel stupid doing this, and clasp my hands tight behind my back.

Chad must realize what I’m doing, because he puts an arm around my waist. "It's okay," he whispers into my ear. "You're here with me. You can relax."

Wow. I know I shouldn't feel so special, but I do. I smile back at him and for a moment we look into each other's eyes. I'm willing to forget for this perfect moment that a week ago, Chad didn't even notice me. Popularity in high school isn't like in the movies. It's not the jocks beating up the nerds. It's more like the popular kids are the celebrities of the school, and like celebrities, you know who they are, but they don't know who you are. Until I was thin, I didn't exist to these people. I realize this, and tell myself this is important to remember, but looking into Chad's dreamy blue eyes, I allow myself to forget.

We look back to the group, and another pretty girl smiles at me. "I
love
your hair," she says. Her tone is so dry I can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not. But then she asks me what salon I used, and I realize she's sincere.

"Um, it's a small place called Kim's," I say.

She nods. "Kim's." I can't imagine these girls going to my mom's stylist, a little old lady who cuts hair in the backroom of a converted bungalow.

There's a moment of silence, and I'm not sure if I'm being rude. The girl is still looking at me. "Oh, um," I say, "your hair looks really good, too." Is that what she's looking for? "I like your top. Where did you get it? I looked at all the swimsuits at the mall, but most were surprisingly expensive for so little fabric. I mean, who's going to pay forty dollars for what is essentially a large eye patch?"

I'm babbling, but all of the eyes on me is making me nervous. They are all looking at me so strangely. One of the girls slides down her sunglasses, and Chad takes his arm off of me, and steps back to stare.