The Rites and Wrongs of Janice Wills by Joanna Pearson Read Free Book Online Page A

flushedand looked a) older b) happier c) innocently eager for approval d) pretty. Really, really, teeth-clenchingly pretty.
    “Wow,” my mom said. “Margo, you look great. Like someone from a makeover show.”
    “I’m not sure that’s a compliment, Mom.”
    “She knows what I mean, don’t you, dear?” my mom said — my mom, who is a great fan of makeover shows and anything else with a “before” and “after” image. “And it’s very much a compliment.”
    Margo nodded. “You two really like?” she asked, eyeing the lovely architecture of her own ankles as she arched and flexed in the new kitten-heeled sandals she wore.
    My mom and I nodded, still staring at her. She was experiencing all the benefits of The Cinderella Effect. The transformation. I should confess that I felt a familiar feeling creeping up into my throat, a feeling perhaps best labeled “jealousy.” I nudged my mom, and she gave New and Improved Margo a little hug, waved to us both, and then went back upstairs.
    “Margo, what happened?” I whispered now that it was just us. I thought about TR’s schizophrenic-homeless-woman comment earlier in the day — but no, surely that wasn’t it. TR said stuff like that all the time.
    “I needed a change,” Margo said. “I figured, Janice, if you’re going to work on your seeing-the-pageant-from-the-inside anthropology project, then I need to work on something too — like maybe actually putting some effort into the pageant, just tosee if I could place, you know? I’ve been working on a solo part for the next chorus concert anyway … and I could really use the scholarship money. So I told my mom I was gonna try to ‘look more presentable,’ as she calls it, and she let me borrow her credit card. And I was kinda sick of wearing those ugly clothes. Becca’s old shirts and stinky thrift store pants and whatever.”
    I returned to speechlessness, staring. It was great. Great for Margo. Not my style exactly, but it was the transformation I envied — a transformation I might secretly write into the movie version of my own life:
Janice Wills: Story of a Young Anthropologist
.
    I think Margo realized I was mesmerized by her new appearance.
    “Uh, I could help you too, Janice,” she said. “I mean, I know it’s not really your thing or whatever, but since we’re both gonna do Miss Livermush now … It’s not really that hard, with just a little makeup in the right colors and —”
    “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said. It’s less humiliating to fail at looking pretty when you weren’t trying to look pretty in the first place. Easier and safer not to try. “I keep it scientific. Dian Fossey didn’t need mascara when she was out studying gorillas. That’s how I roll.”
    During my brief Dian Fossey obsession, I’d made Margo watch
Gorillas in the Mist
with me four times in a matter of weeks. “Um, okay,” Margo said. “But isn’t that a weird reference since Dian Fossey got macheted by poachers, and she was studying gorillas, not people?”
    I wasn’t sure how to answer. So instead, I said, “Wow. You know TR’s going to freak out, right? She’s going to realize that you’re serious competition.”
    She smiled slightly, shrugging.
    “Wait a second,” I said. “Does this have something to do with Secret Boyfriend?”
    Margo examined the toe of one of her dainty new shoes without answering me. I kept staring at her, waiting for her to look up. Secret Boyfriend was the lone element of tension between Margo and me. Basically she had a Secret Boyfriend but didn’t want to tell me about him. It was weird because a) neither of us had really ever had boyfriends prior to this and b) neither of us had really ever had secrets prior to this. If I’d had a boyfriend, I certainly would have told her. (Heck, I would have told everyone, while of course pretending that I wasn’t. Like, my boyfriend would be in an awesome band, and I’d wear the band T-shirt all the time, and then people