The Ugly Stepsister Strikes Back (18 page)

I accepted the call. And my mother immediately said, "Is this some sort of joke?"

I wanted to play dumb, but couldn't. "No, it isn't a joke. I draw manga. Just wanted to let you know so your disappointment in me can reach new depths."

For the first time in forever, I rendered my mother speechless. She just stared at me, her mouth opening and closing over and over again like a fish gasping for water.

I watched the expressions flit across her face. I had seen her quiet, motionless manner before. It was the beginning of a tsunami-level of rage. I could almost see the waves of anger starting to gather and swell inside her. I didn't look forward to the explosion.

"Since you're already mad, I may as well tell you that I haven't submitted a portfolio to Wellesley and that I have no intention of going to school there. Ever."

"What?" she gasped in a deadly whisper. I could barely hear her. "Why not?"

"I don't know. I just don't want to go to Wellesley."

"Is it your father? Is he making you go to UCLA?"

I had to head that one off at the pass. "No, I'm not going to UCLA."

Her eyes narrowed at me. "Is this because of some stupid boy?"

"He's not…." I immediately stopped, but it was too late. Pearl had trapped me. Her face lit up with an angry smirk.

"Who is he?"

"No one. I don't have a boyfriend."

She turned away from me and started tapping on her keyboard. My stomach dropped. Whatever she was up to, it wouldn't be good.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking your Facebook page."

I didn't want to have her as a Facebook friend, but my dad had insisted. He thought it might give us a chance to interact more. Which up to this point, it clearly hadn't. I felt very grateful that there was no way for her to check my history to see whose pages I had visited. I didn't need her to know that I went to Jake's page several times a day. I wasn't cyberstalking him. I was just very, very interested in what he was doing online.

And as I thought of Jake, I remembered too late the post he had put on my wall.

"Jake Kingston?" It felt so surreal to hear my mother say his name. Like I had these two different worlds that suddenly collided and blew up into a million pieces. She looked at my face and apparently my new resolution to stop hiding worked a little too well.

I think she clicked on his profile and went to his page. She stayed silent for several minutes, and I contemplated hanging up on her and running out the door. But she would call my dad and make this into a bigger deal than it was.

"Is he why you look that way?"

"What way?" I asked defensively.

"Like a prostitute."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I had never even kissed a guy, and my mom thought I looked like a hooker.

Weren't moms supposed to lie to you? To tell you how pretty you were even if you looked like garbage? Weren't they supposed to build you up and think everything you did was wonderful?

"I'm going to a dance, Pearl."

Apparently, tonight the part of evil girl trying to wreck my life would not be played by Mercedes Bentley, but by her understudy. My mother.

She made a clicking noise. The one that signaled that I had reached a new level of shaming her. "This is not a boy who would want a girl like you. He would want only one thing from you. Don't waste your future on him."

My choices for my college and future literally had nothing to do with Jake. And as I sat there, I realized that I would never convince her of that fact. That I would never be good enough for her. That I would never, ever make her happy.

That made me sadder than I had been in a very long time.

"How much is my father paying you to talk to me?" It was a question I had always wanted to ask, and now there didn't seem to be any reason not to.

"What?" Pearl said.

"You heard me. How much?"

She confirmed my suspicions when she didn't deny it. She sat in front of me not because of concern, but for cash. Not only would I never be enough for her, she would never change. Despite all my hoping and wishing she was never going to magically turn into someone who loved or cared about me. I think all she felt for me was resentment. That she was forced to spend time with me. That I wasn't someone she could brag about to her snobby friends.

I couldn't ask her what I wanted to ask her. I wanted to ask if she'd ever loved me. I didn't ask because I already knew the answer. She might lie. She might not. Either way, I didn't want to hear what she had to say.

No wonder I was so messed up. I was pretty sure my mother didn't love me at all.

Ella stuck her head in my room long enough to say, "Time to go!" I heard her go down the hallway into the living room where my father told her how beautiful she looked.

"Was this her idea? Did she make you dress this way and tell you to go after this boy? She always was a stupid little thing, full of herself and her infantile ideas."

Red-hot fury exploded inside of me. "Do not talk about my sister that way."

Pearl looked shocked for just a second before she corrected me. "Stepsister."

"No, my
sister
. She's more family to me than you will ever be," I fumed back and slammed my laptop shut.

Let her call my dad or try to wreak whatever havoc she could.

I was done.
Done
.

I refused to cry and I refused to tell anyone what had just happened. I put on my happy face and my cold meds finally kicked in. My head didn't hurt and I wasn't congested, but my throat was still scratchy.

Ella directed my dad away from the valet parking. As we pulled into the hotel's parking lot, Ella handed me a ticket and told me to put my mask on. I held it in my hands for a moment before putting it over my eyes and tying it in back.

My conscience seemed to finally kick in. I had decided to be honest and stop hiding, and my first action where Jake was concerned? Pretending to be someone else.

"Isn't this like lying?"

"No. It's sort of like the truth, only better.

Then she told me to stay in the car for three minutes after they left. She didn't want people to see us together. Probably because, mask or no mask, there was no mistaking Ella for anyone else. She had put her hair up in a way that should have looked messy, but was instead elegant and perfect on her. Her bright blonde hair seemed to shimmer thanks to the silver sequin dress she wore. I watched as every guy in the parking lot turned to stare at her.

I waited five minutes to be safe. I so wanted Ella to be right and for Mercedes to be wrong. To find out that Jake wanted me and not Ella.

I got out of the car, closing the door quietly. Ella and her committee had chosen the Four Seasons Westlake Village Hotel. They'd had the event at a hotel in Beverly Hills last year, but some real desperate housewives from a television show tried to crash it, so this year they kept it closer to home. I could hear music and voices and in the distance, the sound of a waterfall. I worked hard to keep my ankles straight as I walked to the front entrance where a red carpet had been laid out under the archway. Large crowds of people had gathered outside, and I had to push my way through to get into the hotel.

The hotel had decorated the two-story lobby in neutral colors with dark, gleaming wood. A giant white rock sculpture stood in a rectangular pool filled with blue and gray pebbles. It felt a little intimidating. A lot of people stood around here as well, drinking and laughing. A clerk must have noticed my apprehension, because he hurried over to tell me that my party was in the Grand Ballroom. I wondered how he knew until I remembered my mask.

I didn't need the directions, though. I could have just followed the music.

I saw several Malibu Prep alumni in masks entering a different room. I thought I spotted my dad, and so went in after him. I needed something familiar in that moment. The lounge was far more impressive than the lobby had been. A giant skylight with an enormous chandelier filled the ceiling. I saw the same dark wood, expensive furniture and a grand piano in the corner. Music played as the adults shuffled around a series of tables. I saw Ella and she gestured to me to keep quiet. I made my way over to her and pretended to look at the table while keeping my back to her.

"What is going on?"

"This is the silent auction. It's how we make most of our fundraising money."

I had been right about seeing my father. He had his arm around Mrs. Putnam. They looked unnaturally happy. "Ugh. Isn't six ex-wives enough?"

Ella followed my gaze. "Maybe this one will stick."

"It's pretty sad when your dad is giving Henry the Eighth a run for his money."

"I think it's different this time. He married my mom to give you a sister and a stepmom."

"I'm sure the fact that she was a bikini model had absolutely nothing to do with it."

Ella ignored what I said. "Every woman he's married since then has been to give you and me a stepmother. He was trying to take care of us. But I think Mrs. Putnam is just for him. He doesn't have to worry about us anymore. We're both leaving in a year and he'll be alone. I think it would be nice for him to have someone."

How had I missed that? I had always blamed my father for his revolving marriage door. I'd told him many times how selfish he had been. I had defended women I didn't even like as some kind of retribution for his inability to stay married. But now I realized that he had sacrificed a lot for my and Ella's happiness.

Even with Pearl my dad had just been trying to do the right thing. He'd wanted us to have a relationship, no matter what it cost him. He adored me and probably couldn't imagine that she didn't feel the same way. He put up with her and paid her for me.

He noticed us and gave us a small smile. Ella had filled him in on the situation, so he made a point of looking everywhere else in the room except at us. He came over to a piece of paper near me and signed his name.

"What's that?" I couldn't help but ask under my breath.

"Jennifer's auctioning off one of her pieces." He put the pen down as he quietly answered. "She thought no one would buy it. And she doesn't care whether or not it sells. She creates just to create."

I could hear the amazement in his voice. He'd had too many competitive relationships. But my dad never cared about the money or the fame, even though everybody else did. He wouldn't care if he never sold another piece, either. He also created just to create.

He looked over at Mrs. Putnam and I recognized the look on my dad's face. He felt about her the way I felt about Jake. Only it looked like he didn't have all the drama and what-ifs.

I glanced down at the paper and nearly choked when I saw he had personally driven the price up to twenty thousand dollars.

I realized that Ella was right. He must really care about her. I made a silent promise to back off and to stop giving him a hard time. He could sing all the boy band songs he wanted. If he had another wedding, I would be a bridesmaid again and smile in the pictures and do my best to welcome her into our family. Maybe the seventh time really would be the charm.

Dad went back to Mrs. Putnam and I discovered that Ella had slipped away.

I wandered around the tables, looking at the prizes being offered, glancing at the names of the people bidding. But I didn't care about the sailboat or dream vacations to Europe or the luxury spa packages for Ella's save-the-whatevers cause. I was just trying to delay the inevitable.

I decided to woman up and head over to the ball. I turned in my ticket to the students working the door. They stamped my hand and waved me inside.

A rush of hot air and music slammed into me as I opened the double doors. The dance was in an enormous room, filled with ornate crystal chandeliers and red and gold carpeting. The wall had gold and dark wood paneling, and the red chairs with gold print matched the tables. A large place had been cleared for a dance floor, which was full of my classmates. The thumping bassline from an Usher and Justin Bieber song shook the walls. It felt like a sign, like Justin was cosmically telling me to go for it; to find somebody to love. Yes, I was grasping at straws, but give me a break. This was hard.

The theme of the dance apparently was, "We have a lot of money." The centerpieces and decorations made the room look like the inside of a French castle.

Ella and her committee had outdone themselves.

I scanned the room for Jake. I wanted to find him while I still felt courageous. Jake was the only one who could make me feel so off kilter. In most of the other areas of my life I said what I thought and did what I wanted and didn't worry about the consequences. But it was different with him. Because now I had something major to lose. It was different when he didn't know I was alive. I could live in my little fantasy world and never worry about losing him because I didn't have him. But now I could possibly have him and it made all the stakes seem so very high.

I reminded myself of what Ella had said. I couldn't preventatively worry about losing Jake.

Out on the dance floor, most of the boys had taken off their jackets to dance and everyone moved in a giant, pulsating group. I saw Ella and Trent on the dance floor and did a double take. Not only had she got him to come to a dance, she had him dancing to pop music. Oh, the mocking would be merciless and endless. I found it lifted my spirits. If Trent could dance to The Biebs, I could talk to Jake.

The lights were low and every guy looked alike. Black masks with tuxes or suits. Having failed to spot him among the dancers, I opted to check out the tables. I tried to stay in the shadows as I looked over each one.

I kept expecting someone to recognize me. To point me out so that I could be mocked. People looked at me, but no one said anything.

I walked toward the back, near the bar. They always had bars at these fundraising events. The alumni and parents seemed to give more money the more liquored up they got. They always carefully monitored the students to make certain that no one drank at the dance. Which never seemed to work given that most of them would just leave and go get smashed somewhere else.