you think. Come on, check it out.”
I stood up and turned to look in the mirror. At first I was confused but relieved: there was no thick mask, no scary unrecognizable me. And no zit. But there were also no freckles; my skin looked smooth and soft. Really, it was kind of nice. If lab-coat lady had done something more like this, maybe I wouldn’t have taken such a hard stance against this stuff.
“So?” Mom asked. “Was I right?”
She knew how much I hated admitting it, but at the same time, she’d made it easier for me to decide what to do. I’d rather Becca and Isabel make fun of this makeup than the horrible monster zit. “Yeah, you were right,” I said. “Thanks.”
She kissed the top of my head. “Excellent. This was fun, wasn’t it?”
“I guess.” It actually had been. It reminded me of when I was little, when Dad’s first start-up had just taken off and he was at work all the time. Mom and I had spent hours at the kitchen table doing logic puzzles together. At first it had been great, having so much of her time and attention, when normally she was almost as focused on work as Dad was.
But then she’d figured out that I was really good at those logic puzzles, really good at math in general, and all of a sudden everything was about school. She started asking more questions about what we were doing in class, whether it was hard for me or whether I was bored, and when I made the mistake of admitting that I didn’t find any of it all that difficult, she started giving me extra homework. “You’re gifted,” she said. “Pushing yourself is the only way to get better.”
Better at what? I wanted to ask her, but I had a feeling I knew the answer. Better at everything. It would never end. At least not until I was perfect. Maybe that was why I was so freaked out about this one zit. I knew I wasn’t perfect, but I didn’t need my face to broadcast it.
“It’ll be nice to spend more time with you this summer, when we can relax,” Mom said.
There it was—my opening. But I felt bad trying to get out of the trip after she’d just finished helping me. There would be another time. I just nodded.
“I told Becca I’d go over to her house,” I said. “Can I?”
“Of course,” she said. “Let me know what the girls think about the makeup.”
“I will,” I said, though I hoped they wouldn’t notice it.
No such luck.
“Something’s different,” Isabel said as soon as I got to Becca’s house.
We were in her bedroom, where we always hung out. It was huge, almost more like a suite, and she’d set it up like a studio apartment: bed and dresser on one side, and a little lounge area on the other, with a love seat and two chairs. I sat in my usual chair and slung my legs over the side; Becca was in the other chair, her legs crossed. Isabel relaxed in the love seat like she was waiting for someone to feed her grapes. Becca had lit one of those big scented candles in a jar, so the room smelled like cantaloupe.
“I don’t see it,” Becca said. “T-shirt, Converse, cutoffs.” Just like hers.
“We really need to go shopping this summer,” Isabel said. “But seriously.” She tilted her head and looked at me more closely. “Wait, I know. It’s the freckles. They’re gone. What did you do, soak your face in lemon juice?”
“Don’t be mean,” Becca said.
“I’m not. I’m evaluating. Stand up.” I did, and she gave me the up-and-down look she was becoming notorious for. “Makeup,” she said. “Kara Winter’s wearing makeup.” She waved her hand in front of her face as if it were a fan. “My stars,” she said, in a fake Southern accent. “Our little girl’s growing up.” Then she collapsed back onto the couch. Always the drama queen. I sat down too.
Becca frowned. “I thought you hated makeup. You said you’d never wear it. What’s changed?”
“Nothing.” I hated lying to them, but if I told them about the zit, Isabel would make a Perfect Kara joke and Becca would feel bad for me, and neither one of those things was appealing. Isabel had a way of finding my most sensitive spots and poking them with a sharp stick, and I was getting tired of it. And Becca’s pity just made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to be her friend. I hated feeling like I wasn’t everything people wanted me to be. Better to hide the feeling with a little concealer.
“Was it your mom?” Becca asked. “Did she talk you into this?” She made it sound like my mom had tattooed my face while I slept.
“Smart to try to soften her up,” Isabel said. “Did you ask her?”
I shook my head.
“You missed the window,” Isabel said. “You have to just do it. Be bold!” She raised her fist in the air.
If only it were that easy. “I still don’t know what to say. They’re making such a big deal out of this trip.” No one knew how much my parents really needed this. They’d been fighting a lot lately; Dad was really stressed about finding a new idea, and Mom had taken on more work to make up for his lost salary, so she was exhausted. She’d been talking about our vacation for months.
“You just have to make it easy for them to say yes,” Isabel said. “Tell them you’ve already worked it out, that Becca’s mom already agreed to it.”
“Tell them you’ve got a lifeguarding job,” Becca said.
“I don’t want to lie to them.”
“You wouldn’t be lying,” she said. “My old camp counselor is in charge now, and she said we can work there if we want. We just have to go meet with her before camp starts in two weeks.”
“Becca, that’s amazing! Is there drama stuff there Isabel can do? Then we can all be together.” I was getting excited enough that the idea of asking to stay home seemed less scary than it had just a few minutes ago.
“I signed up for a drama camp in San Francisco,” Isabel said. “I’m not about to spend that much time in a pool with you losers. My hair will turn green.” She blew us a kiss, which took away some of the sting of her calling us losers, though I already knew she was kidding. Isabel said stuff like that all the time.
“We’ll just have to find a way to live without you,” Becca said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do before swim tryouts.”
I felt a wave of nausea. Swim tryouts. Becca and I had been practicing all year; keeping our schedule was one of the reasons I didn’t want to go on vacation. But I had no idea whether we’d be good enough. What if one of us made it and the other didn’t? I’d never been in that high-pressure a situation before, and just the thought of it made me anxious. The only way I’d feel better was if I spent the summer practicing, and for that, I had to be here.
And then a new fear kicked in. What would happen if they spent the summer without me? They’d been friends first; I’d met Becca through swimming, and Isabel through Becca. Though the three of us were close now, I’d always felt like it was temporary, like they could go back to being a twosome at any time. They’d done it before, after some stupid fights in middle school, and I remembered the ache of that loneliness. What if they had an amazing time with me gone, and didn’t want me back? My thoughts started
