Making Pretty by Corey Ann Haydu Read Free Book Online Page A

Text me when you want, okay?”
    I haven’t texted yet. Karissa said to wait a few days, but I don’t think my fingers will let me hold out much longer.
    I start up at a normal gait again and think about words I could text him. I come up with hi and pretty much short out after that. I could ask him how his hair’s holding up. Or if he’s liking the weather. I make a pact with myself to say something by the end of the day.
    Preferably something not about the weather, because I’m not fifty and I’m not boring.
    When I’m past the benches, on the far side of the park near the arch, I see a flash of neon pink.
    It’s him.
    He’s far enough away that he won’t be able to see me, especially since my hair isn’t so spectacular. I don’t stand out like him.
    I don’t call out. I watch him from here.
    He’s running. In circles. Like a pink dog. His striped scarf flies out behind him, and man, Arizona would hate that he’s wearing a scarf on such a warm day.
    Then there’s what he’s running from: little kids. Little Bernardo look-alikes, two boys and two girls who I assume are his siblings. They scramble and kick up grass and cigarette butts and pant behind him. They screech and swat at his torso.
    When Janie lived with us, she brought her two tiny sons, Frank and Andy. Arizona and I taught them to play Chutes and Ladders and how to speak in pig Latin. Bernardo’s family looks like that but better. More real. Something that lasts.
    Whatever Arizona and I get never lasts. We have it for a few years and then are asked to adjust to something else. And at the end of the day, even Arizona and I didn’t last. Not the way I thought we would.
    There’s a woman with dark hair and a kind smile watching. His mother, I’m sure. I almost can’t bear the sweetness. She has probably never gone anywhere, never changed anything. Her shirt looks like it is from ten years ago. Her haircut too.
    I wonder what it would be like to have the same family your whole life. Or to even have one person who is always yours. Always close and connected and familiar.
    Today Arizona is going to something called Pure Barre class with a girl named Esther, and afterward they’re going to make dinner together. Every bit of that sentence sounds strange and imaginary. We’ve never made dinner together. We order dinner. The only things we make are sandwiches.
    I’d assumed Bernardo was like me—lost and from something off and unsettled.
    I don’t send a text. I don’t linger to watch the whole perfect family summer scene or wonder whether he’s already regretting his hair. It’s obvious, when he pulls a ski hat out of his pocket and puts it on, that he is. It’s June, after all. And he already has a scarf on. Weirdo.
    I try Natasha, because a few hours with her makes me feel like I’m not as messed up as I feel when I’m at our apartment with Dad and all the things his ex-wives left behind. She doesn’t answer. She’s out with her real family and I’m not part of it, no matter what she says, no matter how vehemently she insists I am always going to be her stepdaughter.
    No one wants to always be a stepdaughter.
    Roxanne is with her parents for the day, so that leaves Karissa. I probably should have started with Karissa.
    She gets back to me right away and tells me to meet her for pickles and wine at her place.

    I run home to change at my apartment, and by the time I’m ready to head over to hers, my hair’s in knots, pink and blond wrestling in and out of lazy curls. I throw on blue leggings and a black T-shirt and enough deodorant to not have to shower. I wonder what Karissa will think of the new look.
    Before I get to Karissa’s place, I give in and text Bernardo.
    I’m texting you. So you know where I stand too . ☺
    Karissa’s all over me when I get to her place. A few drug-skinny friends are sitting on