Smart vs. Pretty by Valerie Frankel Read Free Book Online Page B

much for the drama of the voting process.
    Clarissa waved for Amanda to give Charles “Chick” Peterson the scepter they’d made out of tinfoil. As she crowned him (headpiece also made of foil), Amanda stared into Chick’s eyes. He stared right back. They took hands. Frank knew Amanda wouldn’t be able to leave the contestants alone. In a mountain cave in the middle of the night, Amanda could zero in on the best-looking man in the room.
    Frank turned around to invite Benji to leave, but he was already making his way out the door. Frank redirected her attention to the thirsty customers—there was a fresh demand for coffee. Amanda pushed her way over to the counter to help. The tinkle of coins in the register now sounded hollow to Frank. What was she doing with her life? Was clawing and scraping for her dead parents’ business what she really wanted? At thirty-three, shouldn’t she have her own plans and dreams? Shouldn’t she be worried that she hadn’t had sex since she and Eric broke up over two years ago?
    Amanda said, “Is something wrong?”
    Frank said, “What could be wrong?”
    “The aura around you is positively black,” Amanda observed. “What’s wrong? You look deflated.”
    “Just count,” Frank said, passing her a fistful of quarters.
    Amanda insisted, “Tell me what’s upsetting you.”
    Frank looked at her sister. Amanda was so pink and fresh and unlined. Frank knew her sister cared more than anyone else on earth. But she could never understand Frank’s kind of loneliness, what it was like to feel misunderstood by every person in sight, even her own sister, despite trying, really trying, to connect—a condition that hadn’t changed much for Frank since adolescence. Clarissa barely tolerated Frank compared to chummy Amanda. Who wouldn’t? Amanda looked beautiful in that dress, her curly hair bouncing on her soft, white shoulders.
    “How come you get to wear red?” asked Frank. “What about the uniform?”
    “I figured for the launch, I’d dress for a party.”
    Frank raked her coarse black bangs off her forehead. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said. “Take over.”
    Frank pushed past Amanda, through the crowd, and out the door to the street. Sucking in the cold air, she felt somewhat better. A teenage girl walked by with a cigarette. Frank bummed one from her and sat on the bench in front of the shop, smoking, thinking, and shivering. She let her eyes wander toward the quiet Moonburst and imagined it blowing up in a fireball, chunks of glass and metal exploding into the air, Benji Morton’s severed limbs raining down on the sidewalk. She took one last drag and put out the cigarette under her black boot.

6
     
    C hick’s aura was purple. Whenever Amanda stood near him, she saw indigo flashes in her eyes. He made her feel small and helpless, intensely female. He smiled easily, sweetly, and naturally. When she placed the crown on his head, she felt his breath on her forehead. She couldn’t stop staring at him, hoping he’d hit on her, sending him the telepathic message that she wouldn’t say no. She took him for a risk taker, an adventurer, a selfless lover. And mountain climbers had such amazing thighs.
    Amanda waited patiently for Chick to make his move. That was her style since college. She had a long list of one-night stands (along with awkward mornings after) to show for her juvenile rushings into bed. Since then, Amanda discovered she had more second and third dates by slowing down the seduction, luring men inch by inch into her soft, gooey center. The longer she waited, the deeper the men sank into her like quicksand. It wasn’t a manipulation, nor was seduction a game to her. It was an art. She was determined to stick to her usual pace, no matter how tempting it would have been to go up to Chick and whisper nasty nothings in his ear.
    Besides which, the wait could be exquisitely tense. Amanda could taste her anticipation as she posed with Chick, Frank, and