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Authors: Neal Shusterman
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just accept the invitation and leave it at that?”
Then I thought of Gerardo. I never even went so far as to imagine him inviting me to the dance, because I knew he was going with Nikki Smith. I tried to imagine myself with Marshall Astor, and I simply couldn’t. “Who says I even want to go with you?”
He laughed—as if any girl in the world would be a fool to turn down an invitation from him. “You know what they say, Cara. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” I thought he might make some crack about me looking like the gift horse, but he didn’t.
“I only promise you two things,” Marshall said. “One: This is not a trick. No one’s gonna do anything bad to you, or they will answer to me. And two: You will have a good time.”
“And how can you be so sure of that?”
Marshall smiled his winning smile. “Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to show a girl a good time.”
And then he strutted out like so much peacock.
After he left, I stormed into my room, slamming the door, even though no one was there to hear it. I just liked the sound ofhearing it slam.
Nice hands,
he had said. That was the best thing he could say about me, and even that was a lie. I was a nail-biter. More than that, I bit the skin around my nails, so both my hands always looked like a war zone.
But then I looked at my hands, and I realized that maybe Marshall was a bit more observant than me…because my fingertips weren’t gnawed on at all. My nails were smooth, my cuticles were smooth. It looked as if I had just had a hundred-dollar manicure. It was impossible, because I’d been biting my nails more than ever. And yet they were perfect.
Like magic.
I gasped, and reached into my pocket, pulling out the shimmering note. I had been running my fingertips over its soft texture day after day, and my fingers had been healed. Repaired. Beautified. It was definitely a hint of something magical and mystical, but how far it went—how
deep
it went, was still a mystery.
“I’m not going.”
“What do you mean you’re not going?”
My momma was practically on her hands and knees, begging. “He is the handsomest boy in your grade, and if he’s taken a liking to you—”
“He hasn’t taken a liking to me,” I told her. “Face it; there’s something else going on here.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Well, how do you know he isn’t into ugly girls?”
The very concept completely derailed my train of thought.
“In this world,” my momma said, “there is a man for every woman. You go to the mall, you look at people. Half the timethey look so mismatched you wonder what’s going on. But to them, they fit perfectly.”
Vance sat in the recliner just enjoying the whole thing. Dad was in the kitchen, pretending not to listen, but I know he was.
“What are you gonna do for the rest of your life, Cara?” Momma asked. “You gonna lock yourself in your room? You gonna climb out that window and go walk around the cemetery your whole life?”
I snapped my eyes to her.
“You think I don’t know you do that? I know every time you climb out that window, but I never say anything because I figure you’ve got a right to do the things you do.”
“Fine. And I have a right not to go with Marshall anywhere,” I said, but my resolve was failing. Then I got to thinking, if this whole thing wasn’t some scheme of Marisol’s, and if she truly didn’t want Marshall to take me, then how could I pass up this chance to make her miserable? I thought about Gerardo, too. He’d be there with Nikki. Certainly, she wouldn’t stand for him dancing with most other girls, but what about me? If Gerardo danced with me, would Nikki see that as him being noble? I could swallow my pride and pretend to be some social charity case if it meant Gerardo would dance with me. Then again, would he even ask? I’d never know if I stayed home.
I think Momma knew I was on the verge of giving in, because she got quiet.
Then I thought of Gerardo. I never even went so far as to imagine him inviting me to the dance, because I knew he was going with Nikki Smith. I tried to imagine myself with Marshall Astor, and I simply couldn’t. “Who says I even want to go with you?”
He laughed—as if any girl in the world would be a fool to turn down an invitation from him. “You know what they say, Cara. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” I thought he might make some crack about me looking like the gift horse, but he didn’t.
“I only promise you two things,” Marshall said. “One: This is not a trick. No one’s gonna do anything bad to you, or they will answer to me. And two: You will have a good time.”
“And how can you be so sure of that?”
Marshall smiled his winning smile. “Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to show a girl a good time.”
And then he strutted out like so much peacock.
After he left, I stormed into my room, slamming the door, even though no one was there to hear it. I just liked the sound ofhearing it slam.
Nice hands,
he had said. That was the best thing he could say about me, and even that was a lie. I was a nail-biter. More than that, I bit the skin around my nails, so both my hands always looked like a war zone.
But then I looked at my hands, and I realized that maybe Marshall was a bit more observant than me…because my fingertips weren’t gnawed on at all. My nails were smooth, my cuticles were smooth. It looked as if I had just had a hundred-dollar manicure. It was impossible, because I’d been biting my nails more than ever. And yet they were perfect.
Like magic.
I gasped, and reached into my pocket, pulling out the shimmering note. I had been running my fingertips over its soft texture day after day, and my fingers had been healed. Repaired. Beautified. It was definitely a hint of something magical and mystical, but how far it went—how
deep
it went, was still a mystery.
“I’m not going.”
“What do you mean you’re not going?”
My momma was practically on her hands and knees, begging. “He is the handsomest boy in your grade, and if he’s taken a liking to you—”
“He hasn’t taken a liking to me,” I told her. “Face it; there’s something else going on here.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Well, how do you know he isn’t into ugly girls?”
The very concept completely derailed my train of thought.
“In this world,” my momma said, “there is a man for every woman. You go to the mall, you look at people. Half the timethey look so mismatched you wonder what’s going on. But to them, they fit perfectly.”
Vance sat in the recliner just enjoying the whole thing. Dad was in the kitchen, pretending not to listen, but I know he was.
“What are you gonna do for the rest of your life, Cara?” Momma asked. “You gonna lock yourself in your room? You gonna climb out that window and go walk around the cemetery your whole life?”
I snapped my eyes to her.
“You think I don’t know you do that? I know every time you climb out that window, but I never say anything because I figure you’ve got a right to do the things you do.”
“Fine. And I have a right not to go with Marshall anywhere,” I said, but my resolve was failing. Then I got to thinking, if this whole thing wasn’t some scheme of Marisol’s, and if she truly didn’t want Marshall to take me, then how could I pass up this chance to make her miserable? I thought about Gerardo, too. He’d be there with Nikki. Certainly, she wouldn’t stand for him dancing with most other girls, but what about me? If Gerardo danced with me, would Nikki see that as him being noble? I could swallow my pride and pretend to be some social charity case if it meant Gerardo would dance with me. Then again, would he even ask? I’d never know if I stayed home.
I think Momma knew I was on the verge of giving in, because she got quiet.
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