The Pretty One by Cheryl Klam Read Free Book Online

the usual?”
    â€œUm…” The words I know she wants to hear pop into my head, one right after the other: Nice. Enjoyable. Entertaining. Amusing. “Lousy.”
    â€œWhat?” my mom asks.
    Oops.
    Now I have no choice but to lay my cards on the table. “I so obviously annoy him.”
    â€œYour father?” she asks, like I just told her I had proof I was born with three heads. “What would make you think something like
that
?”
    â€œIt’s the way he looks at me. Like I’m repulsive or something.” I know I should’ve stopped at lousy, but I’m overwhelmed by my own laundry lists of complaints as well as a veritable avalanche of self-pity.
    â€œThat’s ridiculous. He adores you.”
    â€œSo why is he always making a big deal about what I’m eating and stuff?”
    â€œDoes he?” she asks, in a kind of you-must-be-mistaken sort of way.
    â€œCome on, Mom,” I say, zipping up my hoodie even though it’s about ninety degrees in the restaurant. “Every time he can’t find the cookies or something he always asks
me
where they are—not Lucy, not you. He’s always comparing me to Lucy and I’m always coming up short.”
    â€œHe doesn’t compare you to Lucy!”
    I can see that my normally calm, cool, collected mom is getting more horrified by the second, and I’m really wishing I hadn’t brought all this up. In an effort to make things better, I keep my mouth shut. I just heave a dramatic sigh and roll my eyes.
    â€œLook,” my mom says finally. “He just…he sees Lucy going out to all those parties and, well, having fun, and he just wants the same thing for you. He worries about you, that’s all. He wants you to be happy.”
    â€œHappy?” I snort, in a not so attractive way. (Not that snorting is ever attractive. Or sexy, for that matter.) “You can tell him it doesn’t matter how many cookies I eat or don’t eat. It’s not going to impact my social life one way or the other.”
    â€œI know how you feel. When I was in high school I was kind of quiet, too, and my brother was tremendously social. He was always going out and doing things…”
    â€œThis doesn’t have anything to do with whether or not I’m
social
. I could be the friendliest most
social
girl in the world, and it wouldn’t make any difference.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” my mom says quietly.
    The waiter arrives with my plate of fried calamari and a salad (with the dressing on the side) for my mother. I suddenly realize my thumb is almost in my mouth. Damn again! I take one look at my appetizer and push it away.
    â€œLook, Mom. I’m not blind and I’m not dumb.
I
know,
you
know, and quite frankly,
everyone who has ever laid eyes on me
knows why I spend my Saturday nights with you while hoochie-mama sister is out partying her butt off. We all know why, even though I’m a
sophomore,
I’ve never been invited to a single party, why I’ve never once had a boy like me…never had a boy try to kiss me…never even had a boy notice me…nothing!”
    My mom is staring at me. She opens her mouth as if to say something and then shuts it again. Not that I blame her. What can she say? What can anyone say?
    â€œYou’re beautiful,” my mom says adamantly.
    I sigh.
    â€œYou are,” she says, taking my hands, “a beautiful young woman with big brown eyes and long, curly hair with natural streaks that I would just kill for.”
    I can tell she’s serious, that she really does like the way I look. And for that I love her even more. But even a mother’s love isn’t enough to change the fact that I’m ugly. And to be honest, I could probably afford to lose a few pounds, too.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    Monday afternoon. Fortunately for me there is one cure-all for depression: Drew Reynolds. And he just