The Pretty App (24 page)

Rage filled me as I watched Alec stride across the stage. His dark hair was shaved close to his head, and a thick beard covered the bottom half of his face like charcoal. He was inches over six feet and carried himself like he was the president of Public, the United States, and possibly the Universe.

He took the microphone from Pia and said, “Good evening, America. On behalf of Public Corporation and SBC Network, I’m honored to announce the winner of the first annual
The Pretty App Live
competition.”

I’d never seen eyes as dark as Alec’s, and when he stared at Amy and me I shivered. I wanted to hurl accusations at him, to tell the world what he’d done to me, to Leo, to Amy, to everyone else in the contest who didn’t know how rigged the entire thing was. I wanted to do something—
anything
—that would wipe the smirk from his face. But instead I just stood there frozen like an ice queen ready to accept my fate.

“Amy Samuels and Blake Dawkins exemplify everything the youth of our fine country have to offer,” Alec said. “Beauty, poise, charm. That’s exactly what we created the Pretty App to discover.”

What happened to kindness, wisdom, and grace? Amy had those, at least.

“But only one can accept the title of Prettiest, a title that bestows upon her one year of ambassadorship on behalf of this nation’s youth.” Alec’s black eyes narrowed on me for just an instant before he said, “This title can change her life for the better, if she chooses to accept it.”

My heart beat faster. Desire sparked within me as he said the words. I wanted so badly to travel the world as an ambassador and do something different with my life, to have people see me as someone special—someone good. It was all so close . . . right within my reach . . .

Alec motioned to someone offstage, and a skinny Trog-looking guy with black-framed glasses emerged. He wheeled a large white computer with the orange Public logo across the stage to Alec. The screen lowered again, but this time there was no video montage or contestant testimonials. Two vertical bars shot up, one captioned
BLAKE
, the other
AMY
. Numbers scrolled, skyrocketing into the thousands above each bar.

Alec grinned like his digital chart was a masterpiece. “Surprise, Amy and Blake! The voting continues!” He turned to the audience. “The race between our top two contestants has been neck and neck, and Public technology enables us to see the final sixty seconds of votes pouring in.”

Amy looked like she was about to throw up, and I suddenly didn’t feel so good, either. I squinted at the two bars on the screen. They jumped up and down, with each bar taking its turn at the highest spot. The audience murmured, and I could feel them eating out of Alec’s hand, like this little surprise was the most exciting thing to ever hit reality TV. I stared at the screen, and I couldn’t help it—I felt myself join in the anticipation, especially when my numbers started steadily climbing past Amy’s. I could feel it happening . . .

I was going to win.

Everything I thought I’d feel in that moment—the thrill, fear, excitement, pride, confusion, exhilaration—multiplied until I could barely stay standing. A part of me wanted it so badly. I wanted to be Prettiest. I wanted to hold on to everything that being at the top had always meant to me. I wanted to fill the part of me that felt empty, the part that needed to feel special and loved and beautiful.

The theater erupted with sounds from cheers to boos to screams to laughter. Blood whirled in my ears. Alec Pierce was smiling and the judges were standing—all except Leo. He was staring down at his phone, typing furiously. What was going on?

The vertical
AMY
and
BLAKE
bars raced higher up the screen. The space between them lengthened as mine grew stronger, and no matter how conflicted I felt, the sparkling gold crown in Alec’s hands was like a magnet, pulling me closer and closer until I could barely stand still. It all suddenly felt like instinct, like the moment was made for me.

Alec was grinning at me like a piranha now, acting impressed and surprised even though he’d rigged the entire thing. I looked into the audience and saw Leo make a phone call. He was saying something that looked like:
Do it now
.

“Twenty seconds to go!” Pia cried out.

My bar stopped moving.

I stared at the screen, and then at Alec. The look on his face told me he had no idea what was happening.

“Ten, nine, eight!” Pia cheered, motioning for the audience to join her.

Alec recovered and started smiling again. He started typing on the keyboard and my bar crawled higher again. It crept toward Amy’s and a sick feeling came over me: Alec was cheating on live television in front of the entire country, smiling fakely while he tricked millions of people. It struck me right then that the term
mean girl
didn’t only apply to high school girls.
Mean
was a way of being and thinking and existing in the world. It was taking instead of giving. It was bringing others down instead of up.

Could I really be a part of that?

“Seven, six, five . . .” the audience chanted.

I turned to Amy, hoping the sight of her would steady me, save me from the anxiety of this moment. I thought back to what she’d said in our bedroom:
How can everything this girl says about you be true when you’re the only person here who’s shown me kindness? Maybe that girl was writing about an old version of you, but the past is past.

And this was now.

I had to believe in
now
. If I was going to change, I had to have faith in the new me. And the new me started today.

I turned to Leo. I didn’t care that the cameras were on me. I didn’t care what they would see me say. I imagined America watching me, counting on me. I imagined Amy’s family at home, watching this all unfold. When Leo’s eyes caught mine, I said, “Stop him.”

Leo’s gaze dropped to his phone and confirmed exactly what I suspected: He was already trying to.

The bar with
BLAKE
emblazoned on it stopped again.

“Three, two . . .”

Amy’s shot higher. Alec Pierce was typing wildly now, his thick fingers flying across the keys.

“One . . .”

But Leo was better—the best, maybe. Just like Audrey had told me that night in the Grotto.

“Zero!” Pia screamed.

My bar stayed frozen as Amy’s moved higher. I bit my bottom lip as the audience climbed to their feet, most of them on their phones, presumably voting as they called out our names.

“Zero!” Pia screamed as Amy’s bar shot up off the screen.

“Amy Samuels, congratulations!” Pia shouted over the fray. “You’re the winner of
The Pretty App Live
!”

My heart felt like it might burst. I felt everything rush through me all at once—everything I’d lost, everything I’d given up, everything that had happened to me over the past few weeks. I could barely breathe as I turned to Amy. My entire body shook with everything the moment meant.

Amy’s face went into her hands. Trumpets blared and confetti swam through the sky, landing on Amy’s shoulders and bare arms as the crowd went wild. Screams and cheers came from every corner until I was sure the theater would burst at its seams. They loved her.

Amy stood still in her floor-length magenta gown. She lifted her head slowly from her hands. She looked so beautiful standing there—truly beautiful, inside and out. Tears fell over her cheeks, and when she smiled at me, I realized I was crying, too. Amy turned to face the audience and wave, free and wild, like I’d never seen anyone wave
before. The cameras swarmed us, and the judges moved up the side stairs of the stage to congratulate her.

I turned to see Alec Pierce, and when his eyes met mine, I didn’t blink.

“Are you okay, Blake?” I heard a woman’s voice say.

I turned to see the camerawoman. She filmed me head-on as I faced the millions of people who could see me—the
real
me—through their television screens. “I’m so happy for Amy,” I said into the camera, my voice shaking with emotion. “She deserves this title.” I took another breath, feeling myself come alive as I gave myself to them completely. “And I’m really proud of who I was in this contest.” My body relaxed, my lungs filled, and I realized in that split second how much more I had to give than my prettiness. I had vulnerability and openness. I had authenticity. I had the truth.

I shrugged a little, feeling sheepish, but strong, too. I caught Leo’s glance, and his gray eyes were bright.

“This is the new me,” I said, smiling.

I
t was Audrey who’d done it.

At five the next morning, we were in the bathroom of the JetBlue waiting area in LAX. Our flight wasn’t scheduled for a few more hours, but we’d been at the airport all night because neither one of us wanted to be on Public property in case they figured out what she and Leo had done.

Leo had come to find me early the previous morning at Audrey’s guesthouse, and when I wasn’t there, Audrey took a chance and confessed everything we’d tried to do to stop Public. Then they went to work like some kind of Trog double-team on what Audrey had called an SQL injection attack.

“I feel bad that I didn’t warn you,” Audrey said as she passed me a bar of lemon-scented soap. “But I was too paranoid that Public could monitor our phones.”

I gave her a small smile. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I said. I looked down at my hands holding the soap. “You saved me. And not for the first time.”

I glanced up and saw Audrey grinning. But then her face turned serious. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked.

“I’m sure,” I said, turning on the faucet.

A cleaning woman made clanking noises in one of the bathroom stalls as she replaced the toilet paper. She sprayed Lysol and made the air smell like chemical flowers.

I brought the soap over my cheeks and forehead, down the strip of my nose, across my chin. I watched my makeup smear and slowly disappear. I passed the soap back to Audrey and cupped my hands beneath the faucet. The cold water pooled in my palms and I splashed it onto my face over and over again until my skin was naked.

Clean. Fresh. New.

I looked in the mirror and stared at the girl gazing back. It was me, but I saw more to me than I usually did when I looked in the mirror to examine my skin, or my hair, or my makeup. I saw strength. I hadn’t seen it before, but now I was convinced it had been there all along, just waiting for me to notice.

“You ready?” Audrey asked.

I passed her my phone. “I’m ready.”

Audrey snapped a bunch of pictures, most of me staring into the mirror at my makeup-free face. “I think I have the one,” Audrey said, showing me a shot. I was wearing her gray hoodie with the black wings on the back, and my
hair fell long and loose over my shoulders. My dark eyes weren’t as dramatic looking without the eyeliner and mascara I usually wore, but they were peaceful.

“That’s the one,” I said. “Do it.”

Audrey downloaded the Get Real Beauty app onto my phone and created my account. She showed me the screen with my photo and my handle:
@ExBeautyQueen
. I smiled, but Audrey looked kind of stoic. “How does it feel?” she asked.

“New,” I said. “Everything feels new. And I feel a little nervous, too, and kind of naked and vulnerable, but in a different way. A good way.”

Audrey grinned. “Awesome,” she said. “Now let’s get out of this disgusting bathroom.”

We pushed through the door and Audrey linked her arm through mine. We crossed the shiny airport floor, settling on two chairs near a vending machine.

The loudspeaker crackled with a delay for a six-thirty a.m. flight to JFK, and a crowd of people grumbled, “God, no!” and “Why me?”

Audrey ran a crinkled dollar bill over the side of her Vans. “Want a Snickers?” she asked. I shook my head. “Suit yourself,” she said. She hopped up and stuck the dollar and some quarters into the machine.

I tried to relax, but my nerves were still too frayed from last night. We hadn’t slept, and I’d been waiting for my dad to call for hours.

Audrey came back with soda and candy as a flight attendant rolled her navy suitcase over the floor. Gold wings
were pinned to her collar like an award. She considered us with our bags splayed everywhere and gave us a disapproving look, like we were vagabonds camping out at the airport. Audrey popped the top off her Mountain Dew and the soda fizzed beneath her fingertips. “It’s never too early in the day for an MD,” she said to both of us, and the woman hustled away. Audrey sat between me and a plant and took a sip. The smell of lemon-lime filled the air. “You okay?” she asked for the hundredth time.

“I’m okay,” I said. “Just nervous about my dad.”

Audrey pursed her lips. “That’s something you can handle,” she said. “I mean, think about it: You’re
usually
nervous about your dad at any given moment.”

“That’s true,” I said, not sure whether to think her logic was funny or profoundly sad. “Do you think I should call him?”

Audrey nodded. “I do,” she said. “I think you should take the first step.”

I leaned back against the window and pulled my knees to my chest. I thought about how Audrey would probably give anything to be able to call her dad just one more time. No matter what my father had done, Audrey was right: He was the only dad I had. And unlike Audrey’s father, he was
here
, in my life, and there was time for us to make amends, or at least try.

The glass was warm on my back. “I promise I’m going to try with him,” I said, and Audrey smiled.

I had so much further to go with my parents before we had anything resembling a healthy relationship. But look
how far Nic and I had come, and look how good it made me feel. It was worth trying with my parents, too. That I knew.

Audrey’s bony elbow jabbed my side. “Let’s get back to the emails, shall we?”

I opened my inbox and Audrey and I scrolled through the emails from New York, LA, and Chicago film and TV agents, all of them asking to have a meeting with me to talk about
future television possibilities.
Audrey and I had searched their names, but we needed Nic. She was the one who would know which agents were the real deal. I couldn’t wait to obsess over this with her. I felt the spark of possibility, like I could see all the good stuff in front of me. I took a breath as I reread the emails I’d already practically memorized. I’d have to hold on tight to the person I wanted to be. In a few years, when I went back to Hollywood, I’d hold on even tighter. I’d lost myself during my climb to become Harrison High’s queen bee. I wouldn’t lose myself on my climb to become the next Pia Alvarez. (A kinder, more genuine version, that is. With bigger boobs.) I smiled just thinking about it. It was going to happen: I could feel it deep in my bones.

“Oh boy,” Audrey said. I thought she was talking about the email from the head of the hosting department at Abrams Artists in New York, but then I realized she was pointing down the long hallway past the kiosks and magazine stands. I followed her gaze and saw Leo coming our way with a backpack slung over his shoulders. His eyes were on me, and the way he was purposefully walking made me sure this wasn’t a coincidence. He was here to
talk, or maybe just say good-bye. Nerves shot through my body, followed by the heat I felt every time Leo was near. I watched him slow his steps as he got closer. He gave both Audrey and me a small wave, and then he set his bag down by ours. He extended his hands and we each took one. He pulled us to a stand, never taking his eyes off me.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked him.

Leo shrugged with one shoulder. “Public usually flies people on this airline,” he said. “Plus they have good snacks and extra leg room.” He smiled at me, and this time I didn’t try to stop myself from melting.

Audrey cleared her throat. “I’m going to take a walk and get some coffee,” she said. “Catch you later, Leo?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Catch you later, Audrey.”

They didn’t hug or anything, but they did some kind of handshake that struck me as Trog-like. When they smiled at each other, it was like they got each other, like they understood what made the other one tick, and like maybe what Leo had done to help us had set things right between them.

Audrey took off down the hall, and Leo and I were left standing alone. His blond hair was a mess, but his gray eyes were bright. He was wearing the same dark green thermal shirt that he’d worn the night I met him at Joanna and Jolene’s party. So much had happened since then, and there was so much I wanted to say, but I didn’t know where to start.

Leo stepped closer, and then I did, too, until we were inches apart. I put my hands on his chest. I didn’t want to
hold back anymore. Whatever this was between us was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. No matter how short-lived it might be, and no matter how scared I was of getting hurt, I didn’t want to waste any more time hiding how I felt.

“I’m sorry for accusing you of releasing that video about my sister,” I said. “I know you’d never do that.”

Leo shook his head. “I gave you every reason to distrust me. I’m sorry for that.” When he dropped his hands to my waist, his touch was careful, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay. “And I’m sorry that I didn’t realize until last night how much more important it was to care about myself and someone else rather than some company I owed.”

I smiled, and we were quiet for a minute. “There’s a lot more to you I don’t know,” I finally said. “And a lot of things I wish I had the time to find out.”

Leo pulled me closer until there was no space between us. I could feel his confidence in us grow as we talked. I wanted to stand on my tiptoes and kiss him, but there was more I needed to tell him. “No one’s ever done anything like that for me before,” I said, emotion filling my voice. “What you and Audrey did last night was . . .”

I couldn’t finish my sentence. I didn’t have the right words.

Leo shrugged. “It was no big deal,” he said.

“It was everything to me,” I said. I squeezed his shoulders and narrowed my eyes on him. “How much trouble are you in?”

A devilish grin spread across Leo’s face, making me smile, too. “Not too much, actually,” he said. “Public
can’t exactly sue me for using their own strategy against them. And I told them it was all me, to keep Audrey out of trouble. They made me sign a nondisclosure agreement in exchange for everything they have on me to be kept private. A fair trade, I guess. Plus, it gets me out of working for them anymore. Now I’m free.”

“So what
did
you do to get yourself in so much trouble?” I asked.

Leo’s cheeks flushed. “No more secrets between us,” he said, nodding his head like it was important.

“No more secrets,” I said.

Leo ran a hand through his hair. He looked conflicted. And then he blurted, “I hacked into a prime minister’s cell phone.”

My hands covered my mouth. “The prime minister of a
country
?” I asked through my fingers.
“Why?”

“Because I could,” Leo said, and I started laughing.

“It’s not funny!” Leo protested.

But the way he’d said it was so funny, and it just seemed so ridiculous, and I hadn’t laughed like that in so long that it felt too good to stop. Leo finally laughed, too, and then he leaned down and kissed my forehead. He glanced away from me for a moment before he said, “Maybe there’s time for you to get to know me better, like you said, because there’s this tech firm in Chicago that’s been trying to recruit me for a while now. And this morning I told them I’d like to sign on and start working for them. I know you’ll be busy finishing up Harrison, and then at Notre Dame you’ll be meeting tons of new people and everything, but I still
thought we could see each other on the weekends sometimes. It’s just two hours away,” he said shyly. “I mean, only if you wanted to.” He looked away again like he was worried I’d say no.

But I wasn’t going to say no. I wasn’t going to say anything at all. I leaned forward and kissed him—letting all the emotions I’d been trying to hold back flood through me.

“Blake,” he said. And then he lifted me up off my feet and into his arms. I pressed my lips against his, feeling just how much he’d wished for this moment, too. When I finally pulled away, I teased, “Are you sure you don’t only like me because I’m a beauty queen?”

“I like you in spite of the fact that you’re a beauty queen,” he said, smiling.

“
Ex
–beauty queen,” I corrected him. “And an ex–queen bee, too.”

“A queen bee in recovery,” he said. “I think it makes me like you more.”

“Funny,” I said, leaning in for another kiss. “I like me more, too.”