Beastly, Page 3

  “Roses are cheap,” I said.

  “A beautiful thing is precious, no matter the price. Those who do not know how to see the precious things in life will never be happy. I wish you to be happy, Mr. Kyle.”

  Yeah, and the best things in life are free, right? But what would you expect from someone who makes a living washing other people’s Jockey shorts?

  “I think it’s ugly,” I said.

  She put down the laundry she was holding and, quick as can be, snatched the rose away. “Give it to me, then.”

  “Are you on crack?” I knocked the box from her hand. It bounced to the floor. “That’s probably how you planned it, huh? Get the wrong thing so I don’t want it, and I’ll give it to you. I don’t think so.”

  She looked at the rose lying on the floor. “I pity you, Mr. Kyle.”

  “You pity me?” I laughed. “How can you pity me? You’re the maid.”

  She didn’t answer, just reached for another of Dad’s shirts, like she got off doing laundry.

  I laughed again. “You should be scared of me. You should be pissing in your pants. If I tell my dad you wasted his money like that, he’ll fire you. He’ll probably have you deported. You should be so frightened of me.”

  She kept folding laundry. She probably didn’t even understand English enough to get what I was saying. I gave up. I didn’t want to take the rose corsage because that would be admitting I was going to give it to Sloane. But what choice did I have? I picked it up from where it had bounced in the corner. The plastic box was broken, and the corsage was on the floor, a petal knocked off. Cheap junk. I stuck the loose petal into my pants pocket and put the rest of the corsage back in the box best I could. I started to walk away.

  That’s when Magda said—in perfect English, by the way—“I am not frightened of you, Kyle. I am frightened for you.”

  “Whatever.”

  6

  I had planned on picking Sloane up in the limo, giving her the corsage, and then reaping the benefits of all that advance planning by at least making out with her in the limo. After all, my dad had spent big, and it was supposed to be the most important night of my life. Being a prince had to be good for something.

  That’s not how it went down.

  First off, Sloane practically burst a vein when she saw the corsage. Or she would’ve, if there was any room for any bursting in that tight dress she had on.

  “What are you, blind?” she demanded, her already toned arm muscles sticking out more from clenching her fists. “I said my dress was black. This totally clashes.”

  “It’s white.”

  “It’s off-white. Duh.”

  I didn’t see how off-white could clash. But hotness had its privileges.

  “Look,” I said. “The stupid maid screwed up. It’s not my fault.”

  “The maid? You didn’t even care enough to go buy it yourself?”

  “Who buys things themselves? I’ll get you flowers another time.” I held out the corsage box. “It’s pretty.”

  “Pretty cheap.” She knocked it from my hand. “It’s not what I asked for.”

  I stared at the corsage box on the floor. I wanted to just leave. But at that moment, Sloane’s mom showed up with all the latest technology necessary to take both still and action photos of Sloane on my left side, Sloane on my right side, Sloane slightly in front of me. The camera was recording and Ms. Hagen, who was single and who probably wouldn’t have minded an intro to my dad, was cooing, “Here’s the future prince and princess.” So I did what the son of Rob Kingsbury would do. I kicked the cheapo corsage aside and smiled nice for the camera, saying all the right things about how beautiful Sloane looked, how great the dance would be, blah, blah, blah.

  And then, for some reason, I picked the corsage off the floor. Another petal had fallen, and I put it in my pocket with the first one. I took the box with me.

  The dance was at the Plaza. When we got there, I handed my tickets to the girl who was checking them. She looked at the corsage.

  “Pretty flower,” she said.

  I looked at her to see if she was kidding. She wasn’t. She was probably in my classes, a sort of mousy-looking girl with a red braid and freckles. She didn’t look like she belonged at the Plaza. She must have been a scholarship student because they made them do all the grunt work like taking tickets. Obviously, no one had asked her to the dance, or ever bought her flowers, not even a cheap, broken rose. I glanced at Sloane, who was having a joyous reunion with fifty close friends she hadn’t seen since yesterday, since all the girls blew off school the day of the dance to get pedicures and spa treatments. Sloane had spent most of the ride griping about the corsage—not exactly what I’d planned—and she’d still refused to wear it.

  “Hey, you want it?” I said to the girl.

  “That’s not nice,” she said.

  “What?” I tried to remember if I’d ever picked on her. Nah. She wasn’t ugly enough to tease, just a total zero, not worth my time.

  “Goofing on me, pretending you’re going to give it to me, then taking it back.”

  “I wasn’t pretending. You can have it.” It was so weird that she even cared about a stupid rose. “It’s not the right color for my girlfriend’s dress or something, so she won’t wear it. It’s just going to die, so you might as well take it.” I held it out to her.

  “Well, since you put it that way…” She smiled, taking it from me. I tried not to notice her crooked teeth. Why didn’t she just get braces? “Thanks. It’s beautiful.”

  “Hey, enjoy it.”

  I walked away sort of smiling. Why had I done that? I for sure wasn’t in the habit of doing favors for uglies. I wondered if all poor people got that excited over stupid little things like that. I couldn’t remember the last time I was excited about anything. Anyway, it was fun, knowing Sloane would eventually stop whining and want the rose, and I’d be able to say I didn’t have it.

  I looked around for Kendra. I’d almost forgotten about Kendra, but my timing was, as usual, perfect because there she was, slinking into the front entrance. She wore a black and purple dress that looked like a costume for Harry Potter Goes to the Prom and she was looking for me.

  “Hey, where’s your ticket?” one of the ticket-taking drones said to her.

  “Oh…I don’t have…I was looking for someone.”

  I saw a flash of pity on the ticket taker’s face, like she knew exactly what was going down, loser to loser. But she said, “Sorry. I can’t let you in without a ticket.”

  “I’m waiting for my date.”

  Another pitying look. “Okay,” the volunteer said. “Just stand back a little.”

  “Fine.”

  I went to Sloane. I pointed at where Kendra was loserishly standing. “Showtime.” That was when Kendra spotted me.

  Sloane knew just what to do. Even though she was pissed at me, she was the type who’d never miss the opportunity to cause another girl permanent emotional damage. She grabbed me and planted a big kiss on my lips. “I love you, Kyle.”

  Sweet. I kissed her again, not repeating what she’d said.

  When we finished, Kendra was staring at us. I walked over to her.

  “What are you looking at, Ugly?”

  I expected her to cry then. It was fun to kick the nerds, make them cry, then kick them some more. I’d been looking forward to this night for a while. It almost made up for the corsage crap.

  But instead she said, “You really did it.”

  “Did what?” I said.

  “Look at her.” Sloane giggled. “She’s all dressed up in that ugly dress. It makes her look even fatter.”

  “Yeah, where’d you find that?” I said. “A trash heap?”

  “It was my grandmother’s,” Kendra said.

  “Around here people buy new dresses for a dance.” I laughed.

  “So you’re actually doing this, then?” she said. “You really did invite me to a dance even though you had another date, just to make me look stupid?” />
  I laughed again. “You actually thought someone like me would take someone like you to a dance?”

  “No, I didn’t. But I hoped you wouldn’t make my decision so easy, Kyle.”

  “What decision?” Behind me, Sloane was cackling, chanting, “Loser,” and soon other people started in until finally the whole room was buzzing with the word so I could barely think straight.

  I looked at the girl, Kendra. She wasn’t crying. She didn’t look embarrassed either. She had this intense look in her eyes, like this chick in this old Stephen King movie I once saw, Carrie, where this girl developed telekinetic powers and took her enemies out. And I almost expected Kendra to start doing that—killing people just by looking at them.

  But instead she said in a voice only I could hear, “You’ll see.”

  And she walked out.

  7

  Fast-forward through the evening. Picture a typical dance, lame music, chaperones trying to keep us from actually mating on the dance floor. All sort of a preparty for the real party to follow. But I kept hearing Kendra’s words, ringing in my ears: You’ll see. Sloane got friendly, and once we got crowned prince and princess, she got even friendlier. With some girls, popularity and the power that goes with it are some kind of aphrodisiac. Sloane was like that. We stood on stage, getting crowned. Sloane leaned toward me.

  “My mom’s out tonight.” She took my hand and put it on her butt.

  I removed it. “Great.”

  You’ll see.

  She continued, pressing closer, her breath hot in my ear. “She went to an opera—three and a half hours. I called the Met to find out. And she usually gets dinner after. She won’t be home until almost one…I mean if you wanted to come over awhile.” Her hand slipped down my stomach, edging closer to the Danger Zone. Unbelievable. She was groping me in front of the whole school?

  I moved away. “I only have the limo until midnight.” Brett Davis, who’d been prince last year, came toward me with my crown. I bowed my head to humbly accept it.

  “Use it wisely,” Brett said.

  “Cheap,” Sloane said. “I’m not worth taking a cab? That’s what you’re saying?”

  What did “You’ll see” mean? And Sloane and Brett were too close, cutting off my air. Things and people were coming at me from all sides. I couldn’t think straight.

  “Kyle Kingsbury, answer me.”

  “Will you just get away from me?” I exploded.

  It seemed like everyone and everything in the room stopped when I said that.

  “You bastard,” Sloane said.

  “I have to go home,” I said. “Do you want to stay or take the limo?”

  You’ll see.

  “You think you’re leaving? Leaving me?” Sloane whispered, loud enough for anyone in a ten-mile radius to hear. “If you leave here, it will be the last thing you’ll ever do. So smile, and dance with me. I’m not going to let you ruin my night, Kyle.”

  So that’s what I did. I smiled and danced with her. And afterward, I took her back to her house and drank Absolut vodka, stolen from her parents’ bar (“Absolut Royalty!” Sloane toasted), and did everything else she expected and I’d been expecting too, and tried to forget the voice in my head, the voice saying, “You’ll see,” over and over. And finally, at eleven forty-five, I made my escape.

  When I got home, the light was on in my bedroom. Weird. Probably Magda had been cleaning in there and forgot it.

  But when I opened the door, the witch was sitting on my bed.

  8

  “What are you doing here?” I said it loud enough to hide the fact that my voice was shaking, and sweat was dripping out of every pore, and my blood was pounding like I’d been running the track. And yet I couldn’t say I was surprised to see her. I’d been expecting her since the dance. I just didn’t know when or how.

  She stared at me. I noticed her eyes again, the same bottle color as her hair, and I had this weird thought: What if it was natural, the hair as well as the eyes? What if they’d grown that way?

  Crazy.

  “Why are you in my house?” I repeated.

  She smiled. I noticed for the first time that she held a mirror, the same one she’d had the first day on the benches. She peered into it as she chanted, “Retribution. Poetic justice. Just deserts. Comeuppance.”

  I stared. In the moment she spoke, she didn’t look as ugly as I remembered her. It was those eyes, those glowing green eyes. Her skin glowed too.

  “What do you mean, ‘Comeuppance’?”

  “It’s an SAT word, Kyle. You should learn it. You will learn it. It means well-deserved punishment.”

  Punishment. Over the years, lots of people—house-keepers, my teachers—had threatened me with punishments. They never stuck. Usually, I could charm my way out of them. Or my dad could pay someone off. But what if she was some kind of crazy psycho?

  “Look,” I said. “About tonight. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you were really going to show up. I knew you didn’t really like me, so I didn’t think you’d get your feelings hurt.” I needed to be nice. She was obviously crazy. What if she had a gun under those big clothes?

  “I didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “Like you. Or get my feelings hurt.”

  “Oh.” I gave her the look I usually used on teachers, the “I’m a good kid” look. When I did, I noticed something weird. Her nose, which I’d thought was long and witchlike before, wasn’t. Must have been the shadows. “Good. So we’re all squared?”

  “I didn’t get my feelings hurt because I knew you’d blow me off, Kyle, knew you were cruel and ruthless and that, given the opportunity, you would hurt someone…just to show you could.”

  I met her eyes. Her eyelashes looked different. Longer. I shook my head. “That’s not why.”

  “Then why?” Her lips were bloodred.

  “What’s going on here?”

  “I told you. Comeuppance. You will know what it is like not to be beautiful, to be as ugly on the outside as on the inside. If you learn your lesson well, you may be able to undo my spell. If not, you will live with your punishment forever.”

  As she spoke, her cheeks reddened. She shed her cloak to reveal that she was a hot—though green-haired—babe. But something was weird—how could she transform like that? I was getting freaked out. But I couldn’t back off. I couldn’t be afraid of her. So I tried again. Where charm didn’t work, bringing my dad in usually did.

  I said, “You know my dad’s got a lot of money—connections too.”

  Everyone wants something, Kyle.

  “So?”

  “So I know it must be hard being a scholarship student at a school like Tuttle, but my dad can sort of grease the wheels, get you what you want. Money. College recs, even a shot on the evening news if I asked him. What, did you have on a disguise before? You’re actually pretty hot, you know. You’d be good on TV.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Sure…I…” I stopped. She was laughing.

  “I don’t go to Tuttle,” she said. “I don’t go to school at all or live here or anywhere. I am old as the ages and young as the dawn. Otherworldly beings cannot be bribed.”

  Oh. “So you’re saying you’re a…a…witch.”

  Her hair flowing around her face seemed now green, now purple, now black, like a strobe light. I realized I was holding my breath, waiting for her answer.

  “Yes.”

  “Right.” I said, understanding. She was truly crazy.

  “Kyle Kingsbury, what you did was ugly. And it wasn’t the first time. All your life you’ve gotten special treatment because of your beauty, and all your life you’ve used that beauty to be cruel to those less fortunate.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Second grade, you told Terry Fisher that the reason her head was lopsided was because her mother had slammed it in the car door. She cried for an hour.”

  “That was kid stuff.”

  “Maybe. But in six
th grade you had a party at Gameworks and invited the whole class—except two kids, Lara Ritter and David Sweeney. You told them they were too ugly to be allowed in.” She looked at me. “Do you think that’s funny?”

  Yeah. Kind of. But I said, “That’s still a long time ago. I had problems then. That was the year my mom left.” Kendra seemed inches taller now.

  “Last year, Wimberly Sawyer had a crush on you. You asked for her number, then had all your friends torment her with obscene phone calls until her parents got the number changed. Do you know how embarrassing that was for her? Think about it.”

  For one second I imagined it, what it would be like being Wimberly, telling my dad that everyone at school hated me. And for one second I couldn’t bear to think of it. Wimberly hadn’t just changed her number. At the end of the year, she’d left Tuttle too.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I was an asshole. I won’t do it again.”

  I almost believed it. She was right. I should be nicer. I didn’t know why I was mean and cruel sometimes. Sometimes I’d told myself I’d be nicer to people. But always, in an hour or so, I forgot it, because it felt good to be on top of them all. Maybe a psychologist, one of those guys on TV, would say I did it to feel important, because my parents didn’t pay attention to me or something. But that wasn’t it, not really. It was just, like, sometimes I couldn’t help it.

  In the living room, the grandfather clock started to strike midnight.

  “You’re right,” the witch said, spreading her now ripped arms. “You won’t do it again. In some countries, when a man steals, they cut off his hand. If a man rapes, he is castrated. In this way the tools of crime are removed from those who commit them.” The clock was still striking. Nine. Ten. The room was glowing and almost spinning.

  “Are you crazy?” I looked at her hands, to see if she had a knife, if she was going to try and cut something off me. I thought I must be really drunk because this couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be doing magic. That’s it. It had to be a drunken hallucination.