The Pretty Ones (4 page)

Nell cleared her throat. She forced her gaze toward the girls again. “I was wondering . . .” Her words came out stammered, sticking to the back of her throat.

“About why you're so sweaty?” Mary Ann arched a skeptical eyebrow.

Miriam and Adriana tittered beneath their breaths.

“Yeah,” Mary Ann said flatly. “We were wondering about that too.”

“Um, about your hair?” Nell ignored the jab. The mention of Mary Ann's locks made the bottle blonde's expression harden to flat-out defensive. She shoved a handful of curls behind her left shoulder, exposing more of the embroidered collar that rimmed her billowing peasant blouse.

“I was just wondering how you did it,” Nell clarified. “What you used, I mean. I was thinking that maybe, because of the scare . . .” Her words trailed off as Mary Ann's guarded expression eased into a false grin. Nell looked away again, splashed some coffee into her mug to busy her hands.

Mary Ann exhaled a quiet laugh. “The scare?” she asked. “Trust me, Nell, if anyone has nothing to be afraid of, it's you.”

Nell swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat.

Bitch.

Adriana and Miriam snickered at their leader's witty quip.

Savannah stood with her head bowed, avoiding eye contact. “Jesus, Mary,” she murmured.

“. . . and Joseph,” Adriana tacked on—a shared joke, for sure.

Suddenly bored with her dessert, Mary Ann dropped the doughnut back into the box of pastries and shouldered her way out of the break room with a scoff. Savannah followed, but Adriana stalled her and Miriam's departure by nudging Nell with her arm as she passed. Coffee splashed out of Nell's mug. It sloshed onto her sweater sleeve, down the front of her blouse, across the lap of her slacks.

Nell gasped and took a backward step only to crash into the break-room counter. More coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup, scorching her hand, dulling the burn that was blooming along her stomach and thighs. Adriana pulled her face into a look of surprise, but it shifted into a full-on laugh when Miriam exhaled a dramatic “Uh-oh!” They skittered out the door, nearly knocking over Linnie Carter amid their schadenfreude.

Linnie was one of the different ones. She was a short, somewhat homely girl compared to the fashion models who stomped the call-center floor. But that didn't make any difference. Nell didn't dare look at her, regardless. Embarrassed, she turned away from the break-room door to keep Linnie from seeing the wet stain that now soiled her entire front.

Idiot
, she thought.
You're so stupid, thinking you could talk to Mary Ann. Thinking that you're
good
enough. You deserve it. You deserve it. You
deserve it
!

Her bottom lip quivered. She struggled to keep her composure, her stomach balling itself into a fist. People would stare at her dirty clothes on the train. The bicycle gang at her stop would use it as ammunition.

Hey,
bibliotecaria
! Next time, maybe try to swallow!

Nell shut her eyes.

Hey, Blanca!

She squeezed them tight.

Hey, Nell!

She was so stupid. Stupid to think that she could change her life. That she could be something she wasn't.

The headache that lingered at the back of her brain speared her through with a sudden jolt. Concentrated brain freeze. She grasped the break-room counter, gritted her teeth to dampen the pain.

“Hey, um . . . Nell?”

She jumped when a hand brushed her shoulder. Linnie snatched her fingers away and held them against her chest, as if escaping a bite.

“I'm sorry, I just . . .” Linnie blinked a pair of wide-set eyes. Her face lacked symmetry, as though she had been created by Van Gogh rather than God. And yet, despite her inability to compete in looks with the likes of Mary Ann or her friends, Linnie Carter wasn't an outsider. She smoked menthols on the sidewalk while watching taxicabs buzz by. She laughed and socialized by the water cooler with coworkers, all of them thin and tall, with glossy curls in their hair. They weren't the pretty ones, but they knew what to wear, what to say. Somehow, they still managed to fit in. Ugly ducklings disguised as swans.

“Are you okay? Your clothes, you . . .”

Nell twisted away from her, the throb in her brain still going strong. She didn't need fake sympathy.

And what
was
she supposed to do about her clothes? Ask Lamont for the rest of the day off after arriving late? No. Nell would be forced to endure another four hours at her desk, wearing that coffee stain the way Hester Prynne wore a scarlet letter.
L
for loser.
O
for outcast. An
N
, like her name, but rather than standing for Nell, that
N
would stand for Nothing.
Nothing Sullivan.

“Hey . . . I'm just trying to help,” Linnie said from behind Nell's shoulder.

“Help.” Nell croaked out the word. Like anyone would ever help her.

Except sometimes people do help,
the second voice inside her reasoned. The kinder voice, the optimist that occasionally drowned out her self-disdain.
What about Lamont? What about your second chance?

“Here.” Linnie held out a wad of napkins in a fisted hand. “I'll run across the street to the deli, get some seltzer water.” Nell slowly turned toward the extended arm, then eyed the girl it was attached to. Linnie gave her a pitying, crooked smile. “My mom swears by seltzer water for any stain.”

Mom.

“That and lemon juice. Maybe they'll have some of that too, but I don't know.”

Nell took the napkins, still unsure of Linnie's intentions. ­“Really?” The question was one referring to Linnie's kindness, to the fact that Linnie was willing to run across the street just to help Nell out. But Linnie mistook the question.

“My mom used to work for a dry cleaner.”

Mom
.

“I'll meet you in the bathroom,” Linnie said. “Back in a flash.”

Nell stuck close to the wall as she made her way to the restroom, trying with all her might to blend in against a stark beige wall. She held her arms across her front in awkward angles, tugging at her sweater hard enough to make the weave creak. Attempting to hide the wet spot that stretched from the top of her bra down to her crotch, she was suddenly sick with a memory: Barrett hiding from their mother after having an accident at school.

Her brother had been six years old. Gathered with his class on the floor, they were seated in a carpeted area of the classroom for story time. It seemed like an abnormally long story that afternoon, and Barrett needed to pee. But it was an inopportune moment to raise his hand. He'd interrupt the whole class, all to embarrass himself by asking permission to use the little boy's room. His friends would gape at him. They'd laugh.

He tried to hold it.

The story dragged on.

His teacher's tempo slowed to maybe one or two words a minute. One sentence per hour. One page per day.

Barrett held his breath.

Clamped his teeth.

Nearly gasped when warmth enveloped him from the waist down, only to grow cold and wet seconds later.

After story time ended, he shimmied back to his desk along the wall just as Nell was doing now, ignoring the teacher's questions to the class about the wet spot on the floor. He spent the rest of the day thinking up an elaborate excuse for why his overalls were soaked. During recess, he “accidentally” tripped and fell into a rain puddle—a perfect cover. But it was an excuse that hadn't worked on their mom. No excuse ever did. As soon as she saw him, she'd twisted both his
and
Nell's arms behind their backs and marched them outside, where she barked:

Filthy pig.

Stupid kid.

She sprayed them with the hard jet of the garden hose to wash away the stink. It was just after Halloween. Cold. Windy. They nearly froze where they stood. Anytime Barrett did something wrong, Nell got punished for it right along with him. Anytime
she
did something wrong, their mother would spare Barrett the rod. That was just the way things were.

Nell didn't look up as she crossed what seemed like a mile of office space between the break room and the bathroom. But she could feel eyes crawling across her skin. No doubt that Mary Ann and her gang were biting back Cheshire Cat–grins. Nell imagined herself above her shoddy little apartment stove, a pot of water bubbling to a boil. And there, tied to her red diner-style table, would be Mary Ann, Adriana, Miriam, and Savannah. They'd blubber instead of giggle, their pretty faces swollen with tears, ugly from all the crying. Their knees would be raw and bloody from hours of kneeling on grains of uncooked Uncle Ben's rice. They'd look at her with pleading eyes.

Please, Nell, let us go.

Please, Nell, we love you so.

But it would be too late. Too goddamn late. Nell would stick her hands into a pair of oven gloves. Pluck the pot of boiling water from the stove. And with a pirouette as graceful as Eva Evdokimova's, she'd spin around and splash the water out of the pot in a ribbon of liquid and steam. They'd scream. Their flesh would turn to soft wax. She'd pry their mouths open with kitchen tongs and pour liquid fire down their throats, scorch their faces, and, with her bare fingers, peel back their blistered skin.

Nell ducked into the office bathroom, blinked at herself in the mirror. The polyester blouse she'd plucked off the JCPenney sale rack was ruined, but whatever. She hadn't liked it much anyway. Her sweater, however, was a different matter. The right sleeve of her cardigan was soaked. It was doubtful she'd ever manage to get the stain out.

Stupid cow.

Her skin burned beneath the wet blotch that had grown cold and a deeper shade of brown. It was almost pretty, like drying blood.

A few minutes passed before Linnie returned with a bottle of seltzer water in hand. “They didn't have lemon juice,” she said, breathless and red-cheeked from her run across the street. “But this should help at least.” She tore a handful of paper towels from the roll on the bathroom counter and soaked them in water that fizzed against the white porcelain sink. Nell watched wordlessly as Linnie began to blot the hem of her shirt, ignoring the wool weave of her sweater to focus on cheap polyester instead. When Linnie leaned in close, Nell breathed deep, inhaling the shampoo scent of her hair. She wondered if Linnie had a boyfriend; if, outside of the office, she was more dangerous than demure. Nell imagined her gasping in the shadowed stairwell of a decrepit apartment building, her face twisted in a mask of lust as she huffed
Nell, oh Nell . . . oh Nellett . . . oh Barrett, yes.

“You know . . .”

Snap.

Nell could just about hear the sizzle of her own nerves.

Linnie paused, as if disturbed by Nell's dazed expression, then cleared her throat and looked back down to the hem of Nell's shirt. “You know,” she repeated, her voice soft, her eyes averted, “you shouldn't let them treat you like that. They think they're pretty great, but it isn't right, the way they act. That Mary Ann . . . she's a bully. They all are.”

Nell worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Barrett had teased her about that very thing once.
Lucky you don't wear lipstick, sis, or you'd wolf down half a tube every day before lunch.
Linnie wore lipstick, her mouth frosted pale pink, reminiscent of Mary Ann's forgotten doughnut. If Barrett had the chance, would he run off with a girl like Linnie Carter? Would he leave Nell behind for the girl with a cotton-candy mouth and a cubist face?

“Do they bully
you
?” Nell asked. Linnie glanced up, seemingly surprised by the question, then shook her head in the negative.

“No, but I don't think they'd bully you either if you stood up for yourself. It's a matter of self-respect.”

Nell glanced down to the bit of polyester held between Linnie's fingers. She reached out, allowing her hand to brush against her newfound friend's. That's what Linnie was now. A friend. It hadn't been what Nell had intended, but somehow, in some way, her plan to change her future had worked, and it hadn't even been that hard.

Nell leaned in. She wanted to thank her new friend for her help, to brush her lips across Linnie's cheek.
I'll never forget this . . .

But Linnie pulled away.

She cleared her throat. Flashed a nervous smile. Offered Nell the wad of wet paper towels, suddenly uninterested in offering her help.

“Anyway, just keep patting at it until it comes out.” An uncomfortable pause. “I should get back to my desk before someone notices I'm gone.”

Nell took the towels. She was ready to speak, to thank Linnie for her kindness, but before she could say a word, Linnie fled the bathroom quick as a thief.

Nell stared at the bathroom door for a long while, then looked down the front of her ruined shirt. A proper thank-you was most certainly in order. After all, she and Linnie were friends now, and friends always showed their appreciation.

.   .   .

By the time Nell returned home, she had pushed Mary Ann's cruelty to the back of her mind. Even the Puerto Rican boys hadn't riled her. Her lack of irritation made them back off. Her upright stature and quick steps down East 16th made it clear she had better things to do.

She ducked into her building, sidestepped a homeless man sleeping just shy of the stairwell, rushed up two flights, and unlocked the apartment door. Once inside, she beamed at her lazy brother. Barrett was sprawled across the couch, his arm thrown over his eyes to shield himself from life's many cruelties, or maybe just from the brightness of the room.

“Hey, Barrett. How was your day?”