Duckling Ugly

a limp. 'If you want me to testify against Leticia Radcliffe, forget it.'

'What? Oh. No, I never told nobody about that.' I saw his toes wiggle in the tip of his shoes. He grimaced, and that just made me smile. I didn't usually enjoy other people's pain, but for Marshall Astor, I'd make an exception.

'Ruined your football season, I'll bet.'

He shrugged. 'I couldn't play anyway. I was already on aca­demic probation.'

I crossed my arms, making it clear I was done with the small talk. 'So what do you want?'

'There's no point in beating around the bush,' he said. 'I'll just say it straight out. I'm asking you to the homecoming dance.'

It caught me so off guard I just laughed out loud.

'I'm not making a joke,' he said. 'I'm serious.'

'You think I'm gonna fall for that? What are you gonna do, wait till I get all dressed up and pour a bucket of blood on me? Sorry, I saw that movie.'

'Nah, that's gross,' he said. 'I wouldn't do that.'

'Oh, but it's not too gross to fill someone's room with roadkill?'

'I had nothing to do with that!' he said. Then he hesitated. 'Well, okay, I did help Marisol scoop up the roadkill, but I didn't know what she was going to use it for.'

I just looked at him in disbelief.

'I didn't!' he said. 'I thought she had got it into her head that they needed a decent burial, or something. I didn't know she was gonna do what she did! I didn't find out until after.'

I wasn't sure who was more of a fool?him for saying some­thing like that, or me for actually believing him.

'So you're telling me Marisol has nothing to do with you ask­ing me to the dance?'

'No,' he said, 'it's not Marisol's idea at all. In fact, she's pretty mad about it.'

'Is that so?' Anything that made Marisol mad was fine by me?but I wasn't foolish enough to think Marshall was doing this out of the kindness of his microscopic heart. 'If it's not a Marisol scheme, then you must be doing it on a dare.'

He shook his head. 'You're so sure you're completely un­datable?well, maybe you're not. Maybe there are some decent things about the way you look.'

'Name one.'

He panicked for a moment, looking me up and down, trying to find something. Finally, he said, 'You . . . uh . . . you've got nice hands.'

Hah! Even if it were true, it wouldn't have made me believe his intentions. 'I see right through you!' I told him. 'You've got some secret reason for wanting to take me, and I want to know what it is!'

Suddenly he got all mad. He picked up a pillow and he threw it down hard. 'Why do you gotta ask? Can't you just accept the invitation and leave it at that?'

Then I thought of Gerardo. I never even went so far as to imagine him inviting me to the dance, because I knew he was go­ing with Nikki Smith. I tried to imagine myself with Marshall As­tor, and I simply couldn't. 'Who says I even want to go with you?'

He laughed?as if any girl in the world would be a fool to turn down an invitation from him. 'You know what they say, Cara. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.' I thought he might make some crack about me looking like the gift horse, but he didn't.

'I only promise you two things,' Marshall said. 'One: This is not a trick. No one's gonna do anything bad to you, or they will answer to me. And two: You will have a good time.'

'And how can you be so sure of that?'

Marshall smiled his winning smile. 'Because if there's one thing I know, it's how to show a girl a good time.'

And then he strutted out like so much peacock.

After he left, I stormed into my room, slamming the door, even though no one was there to hear it. I just liked the sound of hearing it slam. Nice hands, he had said. That was the best thing he could say about me, and even that was a lie. I was a nail-biter. More than that, I bit the skin around my nails, so both my hands always looked like a war zone.

But then I looked at my hands, and I realized that maybe Marshall was a bit more observant than me ... because my fin­gertips weren't gnawed on at all. My nails were smooth, my cuti­cles were smooth. It looked as if I had just had a hundred-dollar manicure. It was impossible, because I'd been biting my nails more than ever. And yet they were perfect.

Like magic.

I gasped, and reached into my pocket, pulling out the shim­mering note. I had been running my fingertips over its soft tex­ture day after day, and my fingers had been healed. Repaired. Beautified. It was definitely a hint of something magical and mys­tical, but how far it went?how deep it went, was still a mystery.

***

'I'm not going.'

'What do you mean you're not going?'

My momma was practically on her hands and knees, begging. 'He is the handsomest boy in your grade, and if he's taken a lik­ing to you?'

'He hasn't taken a liking to me,' I told her. 'Face it; there's something else going on here.'

She put her hands on her hips. 'Well, how do you know he isn't into ugly girls?'

The very concept completely derailed my train of thought.

'In this world,' my momma said, 'there is a man for every woman. You go to the mall, you look at people. Half the time they look so mismatched you wonder what's going on. But to them, they fit perfectly.'

Vance sat in the recliner just enjoying the whole thing. Dad was in the kitchen, pretending not to listen, but I know he was.

'What are you gonna do for the rest of your life, Cara?' Momma asked. 'You gonna lock yourself in your room? You gonna climb out that window and go walk around the cemetery your whole life?'

I snapped my eyes to her..

'You think I don't know you do that? I know every time you climb out that window, but I never say anything because I figure you've got a right to do the things you do.'

'Fine. And I have a right not to go with Marshall anywhere,' I said, but my resolve was failing. Then I got to thinking, if this whole thing wasn't some scheme of Marisol's, and if she truly didn't want Marshall to take me, then how could I pass up this chance to make her miserable? I thought about Gerardo, too. He'd be there with Nikki. Certainly, she wouldn't stand for him dancing with most other girls, but what about me? If Gerardo danced with me, would Nikki see that as him being noble? I could swallow my pride and pretend to be some social charity case if it meant Gerardo would dance with me. Then again, would he even ask? I'd never know if I stayed home.

I think Momma knew I was on the verge of giving in, because she got quiet. Serious.

'Honey, life does not throw you many opportunities,' Momma said. 'Don't go and squander the ones you get.'

'But I don't like Marshall Astor.'

'You don't have to,' Momma told me.

And the look in her eyes when she said it struck home, be­cause I knew she wasn't talking about me and Marshall. She was talking about her and Dad.

There were good things I could say about my momma and bad things. But the sadness I saw in her right then made me feel selfish thinking about myself.

'Go and be happy, Cara,' Momma said. 'I need you to be happy.'

That fence I was sitting on had become too uncomfortable, so I finally jumped off. 'Okay,' I said. 'I'll go.'

I didn't tell Gerardo. I had planned to, but then he started talk­ing all about how he and Nikki were going to the dance, and he asked me what I thought he should wear. After that, I didn't want to talk about it. No matter what awful fate awaited me at that party, it would be worth it to see the look on Gerardo's face when I walked in