Read Online Positively Beautiful by Wendy Mills - Free Book Online Page A

bunk with his elbows on his knees. Above him are several lines, crosshatched, as if he’s been marking the days he’s been imprisoned. A dialogue bubble reads “Mama Tried.”
    â€œI know that one,” I say. “My dad and I used to listen to old country-western music all the time. That’s from a Merle Haggard song. It’s about a kid whose mom tried her best, but he still ended up in prison when he was twenty-one.”
    Michael nods, looking faintly impressed. “I had to look it up. But yeah, that’s what it’s from.”
    I pull out my camera, but the cell is so narrow I have to back up close to Michael to get the shot. He could have moved, but he doesn’t, and I can feel the heat of him. I try to concentrate on the picture, but I’m distracted by his warm breath onthe back of my neck. I wish I got a mint from Trina. My skin buzzes from the closeness.
    After taking several shots, I have no more excuse to stand so close to him so I walk over to the back of the cell and examine the green flaky paint that looks like some sort of surrealistic painting, all swirly and textured.
    â€œMy mom never tried one goddamn day in her life,” Michael says suddenly.
    I turn to look at him, surprised by the bitterness in his voice.
    â€œMy mom never wanted me, I don’t think. I mean, it was cool when I was a kid—I was like an accessory—but once I got older, all she cares about is shopping and drinking wine with her friends. I don’t think she even cared that much when my dad died, ’cause she got to spend more time doing what
she
wanted.”
    Michael looks away. I wonder what it would be like to have your dad commit suicide. I still feel guilty about my dad dying, and I know it wasn’t my fault.
Logically
, I know that, but it still feels like maybe I did something wrong. But Michael’s dad killed himself. How hard would that be to take?
    â€œI’m going to get into a school as far away from here as possible, and after I graduate, I’m gone. I feel like that guy.” Michael points at the picture of the inmate. “I’m counting my time, waiting to get out of prison.”
    I don’t know what to say. I hate it when I can’t think of anything to say. He’s opening up to me and I got
nothing
.
    He looks at me, and I can almost feel the touch of his eyes, like the tip of a dark feather drifting over me.
    â€œI think it’s cool you want to be an architect,” I say; “I’m sure you’ll get into an awesome school.” God, “cool” and “awesome” in the same sentence. He must think I’m an idiot.
    â€œWhat’s your deal?” he asks. “What do you do?”
    For a horrible moment, my mind is blank. What
do
I do? What could I possibly have to say that would interest him? My life is so boring, it’s surprising it doesn’t put
me
to sleep. “I write!” I blurt out. “I like to write.”
    He nods slowly and then says, “Anyway, there’s more to see. And I want a beer.” He leaves abruptly, and I scramble to keep up.
    It’s dark. Too dark. My breath is coming in quick pants as I follow after the shadow that used to be Michael. I can’t even tell for sure if it’s him or not anymore. My feet catch on planks of wood and metal bars, and an odd mewling sound comes from inside me. I stop and rummage in my bag for my flashlight. Once I flick it on I feel a whole lot better. Michael is at the top of the stairs by the puffer fish, waiting for me.
    I go toward him and he disappears down the dark stairway. By the time I get to the top, he’s gone. How did he get down so fast?
    The walls are crawling with mold and seem way too narrow. The stairs look unsafe. Did I really think it was a good idea to climb them?
Really?
    Taking a deep breath, I start down. I hear a crack underneath my foot and throw myself sideways against the wall for