The Pretty App (15 page)

O
ut the heavy wooden door, down the white-stone walkway, and across the grass I flew. My tears came fast and furious now, and I nearly stumbled over some sort of intricate stone labyrinth at the edge of the lawn.

I heard the camera people barreling behind me, one of them shouting, “Go right! I’ll circle around!”

“Blake!” Marsha’s voice. A near-wail. “Blake! Stop!” I turned to see her trying to keep up with the cameras, and I made out Amy, Betsy, Mura, and Sabrina standing on the front porch of the house, watching the commotion with their hands over their mouths.

I ducked my head and kept going. Faster and faster I ran, wishing I’d tried harder in gym class so my legs wouldn’t already be burning with the exertion.

There were a bunch of cypress trees straight ahead of me. I didn’t know where Audrey was staying, but it seemed
like a safe guess that she’d be somewhere past the woods. It was the same direction her safari-man driver had taken her in the Jeep. Worth a shot.

I barreled through a cluster of trees, wincing as their branches scratched my arms. I heard a crash behind me and realized the camerapeople were closer than I thought. I tried to follow what looked like a dirt trail, but suddenly I was face-to-face with a wall of trees and no sense of which way was the right direction. “Crap,” I said beneath my breath. My lungs felt like they were on fire.

“Blake!” Marsha screamed again. The director in his army-green vest and black cargo pants emerged through the trees first. When had he joined them?

“Hi, Blake, it’s me, Rich Gibbons.”

No shit, Rich. “I don’t have amnesia,” I said.

The camerapeople shoved through the trees, followed by Marsha, and then all five of us were standing on a small patch of dirt. A gray-haired woman held the camera closest to me. I hadn’t seen her back at the house. The cameraman was panting, but the woman had barely broken a sweat. The cameraman adjusted his lens and crouched to film me from a different angle. The woman wasn’t staring through her lens. Her camera was on, and it was pointed in my direction, but she was staring at me, considering me.

“Blake, tell us what happened back there,” Rich Gibbons said, his voice filled with concern, like Maury Povich.

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. I’d been tricked enough, and I wasn’t about to fall for this.

“Tell us how you’re feeling,” Marsha said.

Don’t say anything.

I stared down at my
What Would Heidi Klum Fly In?
ankle boots. If I quit the show now, Audrey and I could jump on a plane tonight. I could show my father that I was in charge and that I wasn’t some meaningless player in one of his power games.

The camerawoman broke the silence. “Let me talk to her alone,” she said. Rich Gibbons looked annoyed at first, but then he glanced from the camerawoman to me and nodded. He beckoned Marsha and the cameraman back toward the trail. I watched as they retreated, the branches
swish
-
swish
ing in protest as they pushed them aside.

The gray-haired woman turned off her camera. She peered over her shoulder like she was trying to make sure they couldn’t hear her. Gold studs dotted her earlobe. She turned back to me, staring with clear blue eyes. She reminded me of a tough grandmother.

“Look, Blake,” she said. “They’re maniacs, obviously. But they can use any of the footage we’ve already shot. They can show you crying in the house, and then bolting into the woods like Little Red Riding Hood.”

I smiled a little, and then so did she.

“So if you want to say something,” she said gently, “you may as well do it. It’s just me and the camera. At least we can show you how you really are.”

I sniffed. She seemed honest. “Okay,” I said, nodding.

She lifted her camera gently and then gestured with her hand to let me know we were rolling.

“Hi,” I said softly, my voice raspy from crying. A part of
me wanted to blurt out that my father had deceived me and arranged for me to be here. But Public was still in charge of what aired—they’d never show it. And even if we were live, like the show would be tonight, could I really do that to my father? No matter what he’d done to me, he was still my dad. I loved him no matter how broken our relationship was.

“I guess I just got a little overwhelmed in there, seeing all of those girls,” I said. I took a deep breath. The woods smelled smoky, like there was a barbecue nearby. “They’re all more beautiful than I am. And I suddenly felt sure America would see that I didn’t belong here, that I’m just ordinary. And that’s the thing: I
don’t
belong here.” It was the truth, at least. “I guess that’s why I’m so upset.”

The wind blew a dark strand of hair across my face, and I didn’t bother fixing it. I wasn’t the most beautiful anymore. What did it matter?

“I know this is a pageant to be a Citizen Ambassador and a spokesperson for my generation,” I went on. “And I really want that. And maybe I don’t deserve it, because I haven’t always been a good person. But I’m trying harder now.” It felt strangely good to admit my vulnerability. Painful at first, and scary, but then satisfying. Like a bikini wax. “And I thought that being an ambassador would be a chance to set a good example. So I guess when I was sitting in that room with all of those beautiful girls, I realized that I was the odd one out, and that meant winning this contest was further away than ever.”

I let go of a breath. I looked away from the camera at
a spot over the camerawoman’s shoulder, feeling my gaze relax. A moment later, I turned and looked into the camera again. “But I’m really appreciative that I even got this opportunity,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to see LA. And now I have. So I’m grateful.”

I put my hand up to say good-bye. Then I turned and walked deeper into the woods, away from the camera, away from the contest.

A
udrey’s guest quarters weren’t hard to find. Half a lacrosse field later, I emerged from the woods onto a bright green lawn. Sprinklers misted crystal sprays of water with rhythmic
pfffst
noises. A more normal-size house with red shutters sat perched on a hill. The Jeep that had picked up Audrey was parked next to two town cars, and the safari-man who had driven her stood at the top of the driveway holding a clipboard. He was talking to two middle-aged women. One looked exactly like a forty-five-year-old version of Sabrina Ramirez, the contestant who wore the tight red cocktail dress and made fun of Amy. It had to be her mom. The other woman didn’t look familiar, but her white T-shirt with
TEAM MURASAKI O
’
NEIL
on the back gave her away as Mura’s mom, or legal guardian of some sort. The safari-man looked up as I crossed the lawn, but he didn’t
seem concerned. If he’d been alerted about my escape, he wasn’t acting like it.

“I’m looking for Audrey McCarthy,” I said, trying to sound like everything was fine.

The two women sized me up as the man gestured with his pencil toward the house. Sabrina’s mom said to Mura’s mom, “Blake Dawkins,” in the tone you’d use to say you’d caught chlamydia.

“First room at the top of the stairs,” the safari-man said. Then he tipped his wide-brimmed hat like he was a cowboy and we were in the Wild West instead of LA.

I bolted up the steps. I swung open the first door without knocking, and Audrey whirled around. The room was painted sky blue. Posters for SBC’s latest hit series lined the wall:
Igneous Rock Man, A Tale of Two Hookers, Four Guys Being Really Funny
. A small window looked out onto the pristine green lawn, and Audrey sat at a chrome desk in a futuristic-looking ergonomic chair. The same slideshow of random female faces I’d seen on the plane paraded across her laptop.

“We’re getting out of here,” I said. I was done being weepy; now I just wanted to get this over with. “If we go right this second, there’s a chance the cameras won’t get it on tape.”

Audrey didn’t move. She stared at me like I’d suggested we’d run off to Vegas and marry each other. “Audrey,
come on
,” I said. I grabbed her gray hoodie and a leather-bound journal from the bed. Rainbow Brite’s worn round eyes stared up at me as I stuffed Audrey’s things into the duffel
bag. “Blake,” Audrey said, rising from the ergonomic chair. “What happened?”

They hadn’t made Audrey sign anything, so even though we were subject to being filmed if the cameras followed us, I didn’t think there were hidden cameras or recording devices in the guesthouse. But I still shut the door in case anyone was listening.

“My
father
,” I whispered.

Audrey cocked her head. “
What about him?
” she whispered back mock-dramatically.

“He did this,” I said. “He was the one who got Public to pick me. He’s the reason I’m here.”

I expected Audrey to draw back in shock, or swear, or act in any way that expressed horrification. But she just pursed her lips a little. Blood rushed to my face. “
You knew
,” I said.

Audrey threw up her hands in surrender. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t know anything. I swear, Blake. But after what happened last fall between your dad and Public, how conniving they were together . . .” She paused, staring hard at me. “I suspected.”

I held my breath as I considered Audrey, standing there in her tattered gray tank top dotted with tiny skulls. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake that I did when she tried to tell me about Leo. I wasn’t going to assume she was trying to do something behind my back. That wasn’t Audrey.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked instead.

She shrugged her slender shoulders. “It was just a hunch,” she said. “I didn’t have any proof.” She toyed with
a white rope bracelet on her wrist. “And I didn’t want to hack emails to find out,” she said. “I got myself into enough trouble with Public doing that before.” Her green eyes blinked. “Plus, I guess a part of me thought that maybe your dad did it to do something nice for you.”

I let out a strained laugh that sounded like a cackle. “Yeah, right,” I said.

Audrey shrugged again. “I’m not saying it was right. But maybe in his own strange way, a part of him thought he was giving you something you’d want.”

It felt weird standing there in the middle of the floor, having a conversation like this when all I wanted was to bolt. But I had a feeling she wanted to tell me something. The air between us felt heavy with it.

“My mom did that once,” she finally said. “Right after my dad died. Do you remember those art classes I took?”

I nodded. They were on Saturday mornings at the South Bend Museum of Art. I always asked her to show me what she’d made, but she never did.

“My mom was desperate to get me out of the house,” Audrey said, “and she knew I’d never take art classes, so she told me that she and my dad had talked about how fun it would be to take art classes together as a family. She and I took a few classes, and then later I found out that they were taught by this art therapy counselor who specialized in grief. I was so pissed I didn’t speak to her for days. But then I finally realized she was doing it because she honestly thought it would be good for me.”

I stepped closer to her. I wanted her to know I understood, but this was different. “My dad isn’t like your mom,” I said carefully.

“But he’s the only dad you’ve got,” Audrey said.

I let go of a breath. Maybe she was right, but I still didn’t know how to make it okay. “So I’m just supposed to be all right with the kind of stuff he does?” I asked, feeling my chest tighten.

“No,” Audrey said. “But you can’t change him, either.” She shrugged. “Parents are flawed. Maybe it’s just about loving them anyway.”

I’d never heard anyone say it like that, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. “But
I’m
still allowed to hate your dad,” Audrey said, smirking.

I laughed. “Yeah. You are,” I said. I collapsed onto the bed and patted the spot next to me.

When Audrey sat, I gestured to her laptop. “I want to know what that is.” The screen had gone dark, hiding the slideshow of women.

“That’s a computer,” Audrey said.

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been working on something.”

Audrey’s cheeks went red. “If I tell you about it, you can’t tell anyone,” she said.

I crooked my pinky into a hook. “Pinky swear,” I said, just like we used to.

Audrey sat up straighter on the bed. She was cross-legged, and her hands grabbed her knees. “It’s an app,” she said. “I think I’m gonna call it Get Real Beauty. It’s a
photo-sharing app, like Instagram or Flickr, but you post photos of yourself where you
feel
beautiful, like, say, if someone took a picture of you helping an old lady cross the street.” Her cheeks flushed even brighter. “Obviously that’s cliché, but you get what I mean. And you’re supposed to post photos of yourself without makeup on, so the focus is on real beauty. I mean, of course the no-makeup thing is on the honor system, but the test group of people are really responding to it so far and sending in a ton of pics. It’s supposed to be a way to show what we all really look like. Real beauty, not this fake crap where people get all dolled up or use the Pretty App’s filters and post their prettiest profile pic. It’s kinda my answer to the Pretty App,” she said. Her shoulders tightened and shot up close to her ears. I could tell how nervous she was. “What do you think?”

“It’s freaking brilliant,” I said.

Audrey clapped her hands together. “I’m so glad you think so. Infinitum knows about it. And if it gets enough traction, they’ll put money into it.”

“Can I help you?” I asked. “I could do anything.”

Audrey shrugged. “Sure,” she said. “Maybe you can do PR with Lindsay or something.”

This was perfect. It wasn’t a reality show on national television, but it was worth something—something
good
. I could feel it.

I checked my watch. “We should get going,” I said. “If we change our flights, we could get home tonight. And then tomorrow I can get started helping you with your
app.” I could barely contain my excitement. For Audrey to let me in on her app and accept my help meant she trusted me again. This stupid trip had been worth it even if that was the only thing that came out of it.

“
Sit
,” Audrey said as I started to climb off the bed.

I did what she said, and Audrey curled her knees to her chest. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“You weren’t there, Audrey. You didn’t see these girls. They all look like models. Like Miranda Kerr when she was young, but better. There’s no way I even make it past the first round.”

“So you’re gonna give up? Just like that?”

“I’m not giving up,” I said. “I’m not even supposed to be here.” But even as the words came out of my mouth I knew that what I was doing was the definition of giving up. Audrey didn’t say anything, probably because she knew it, too.

“Don’t make me do this,” I said. “Please.”

Audrey considered me for a little while, and then looked down at the alternating black and silver polish on her nails. I waited for her to say whether or not she’d go with me, but she didn’t. Instead, she said, “Last year Lindsay told me she wanted me to have a chance at something big. For me, that was the Boyfriend App.” She looked up. “Maybe this contest is yours.”

“Even if my dad bought my way in?”

“Even if your dad bought your way in, it’s still up to you what happens here.”

I ran my fingertips over the corduroy patches on my leggings. “Maybe it’s a chance for me to lose everything,” I said.

Audrey shrugged. “I think that’s the way it goes with big chances.”

“So now you’re like a motivational speaker?”

“I’m basically Lindsay,” she said, smirking.

“Your outfits aren’t as good as hers.”

“No one’s outfits are as good as hers.”

“True.”

“Look,” Audrey said. “All I’m saying is: You’re Blake Dawkins. Blake Andrea Dawkins. Even your initials spell
bad
. Since when do you back down from a fight?”

I sat up a little straighter on the bed. Maybe she was onto something. Just because my selfish father tried to throw me to a den of reality television show wolves without caring what a fool I might look like didn’t mean I had to give up. And I was good at TV—I could use that to make up for what I lacked in looks.

“You think I have a chance?” I asked her.

“I
know
you have a chance,” she said.

I steeled my shoulders. Then I lifted my chin and pursed my lips just like I did each and every morning on my walk into Harrison High School. At the end of the day, I was still
me
. And maybe I’d become more of a softie over the past week or two, ever since Leo showed up, ever since Audrey and I made up, ever since Nic revealed her secrets and pulled me back in, but Audrey
was right. I was still Blake Dawkins.

Blake Andrea Dawkins.

And maybe that meant there was only one thing I could really do.

Win
.