Butterface

  Butterface

  by

  Gwen Hayes

  Butterface

  Copyright © 2010

  by Gwen Hayes

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Photo Credit to Expressive Stock http://expressive-stock.deviantart.com/

  Butterface

  Lucas O’Leary didn’t often question why his life always seemed to fall into place just right. He was satisfied with the outcome, after all, and it wasn’t like he didn’t work hard and give it everything he had. Just because everyone called him Lucky, didn’t mean luck really handed him everything.

  But sometimes, like tonight, part of him felt a little guilty.

  “Lemme guess. Pancakes, a side of bacon, and a large milk?” His waitress didn’t even pull out her pad. He’d also never seen anyone so bored. Or tired. She seemed like a robot tonight. Or maybe a zombie.

  “Long night, Liz?”

  “Working a double.”

  “That’s the third one this week.” God, she was only a year younger than him, but she looked closer to twenty-eight than eighteen tonight.

  She pulled the towel off her shoulder and dried the ancient Formica table next to him. “Don’t you think it’s kind of sad that you know so much about your waitress? I mean, you’re some kind of soccer god at the U. Shouldn’t you be at a toga party or something?”

  “I have to keep up my grades or lose my scholarship.” And if he stayed home, he’d know a lot about beer bongs and Halo and nothing about Chemistry 101. It probably wouldn’t have been any better if he lived in the dorms, but sharing a house with six teammates was proving to be more of a challenge than he anticipated. Luckily, Bing’s Diner was open all night and they served breakfast 24/7.

  He watched her behind the counter, filling sugar bottles while she waited for his order. It wasn’t fair. She was just a kid. High school classes hadn’t started yet, even though his college ones had. She should be out with her friends, living up the last few weeks of summer vacation. Lord knows that’s what he always did.

  “When school starts, who’s going to serve my breakfast every night?” Lucky asked when she set down his dinner.

  “Oh, it’ll still be me. I just won’t be here during the day.”

  “You work too hard.”

  She rolled her eyes and set his bill on the table. “You’re too retarded to be a soccer god.”

  She always made him laugh. She reminded him of his sister in a lot of ways. Smart, sometimes too smart, and lots of sharp edges. Not his type, though. He liked girls with rounder edges. Soft, round edges, preferably in the C range. Which made him think of Becky, the girl that sat across from him in Chem class. Now she was definitely his type. Becky was sunshine and bubble gum. Liz…well, Liz was like a thunderstorm and gummy worms. Maybe if she did something with her hair or make-up or whatever it was that girls did, she’d hook a guy.

  But he liked her.

  An hour later, a table of four scruffy guys came in. Lucky sent her a look of commiseration. For one thing, they’d been drinking. He’d seen enough drunk assholes in the restaurant to know that they usually made her life miserable. And it made it hard for him to study.

  One of them was particularly obnoxious. He kept asking what time she got off work…did she need a ride… When he asked if she swallowed, Lucky couldn’t take anymore. He got up and started clearing their table, handing plates to Liz.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “We’re not done eating, preppy,” said the asshole.

  “Oh, you’re done all right. Pay and leave.”

  The jerk stood up. “Or what?”

  He had the asshole on the ground with his arms behind his back in five seconds. “Hey Liz. Did I ever tell you I wrestle too?”

  “Um, no.”

  “What about that I taught self-defense classes twice a week at the Y back home?” he asked.

  “Nope. You’re an all around sporty guy, soccer god.”

  “My mom and my sister could take this guy down. I’ll teach you sometime too.” He backed off the weasel.

  Lucky hoped it would end there. He probably couldn’t take all four. Okay, he definitely couldn’t take on all four. Unless they stood in line and took turns.

  Thankfully, the morons left quietly. They weren’t afraid of him as much as they were bored. They forgot to tip of course, but at least there wasn’t a big scene. Still, he didn’t feel it was safe to leave Liz alone. The cook never even came out of the kitchen. Who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t been there.

  “That was pretty dumb,” she said.

  “Yeah, he was.”

  “I was talking about you, dreamboat.”

  “Excuse me?” Lucky hadn’t expected her to gush “my hero” at him, but insulting him was rude. “I saved your ass.”

  “You provoked them. Plus you jilted me out of my tip.”

  “You know, you shouldn’t work by yourself this late. And it’s not my fault they were jerks. You could thank me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “For making things worse and making sure I lost a tip. I really appreciate it, soccer god.”

  “Liz, you are a real—”

  “Beth.”

  “That wasn’t the B word I was going for.”

  “That’s my name, genius. My real name. Liz is my waitress name.”

  Lucky wasn’t always clear on girlspeak, but he thought she was trying to tell him something important. So he shut up. Because that is what smart guys do when a girl is winding up to talk about something important. If you interrupt with what you think might be a reasonable question like, Do all waitresses have pen names? She will shut down and say, Nevermind. And that word is the kiss of death to any make-out session you’d been hoping to have later that night.

  At all costs, when it comes to girls, avoid being told nevermind. Even if you weren’t planning on kissing them. It’s just good sense.

  “When I’m not here, I go by Beth. It’s kind of dumb, really.” She gestured to the baggy polyester dress she wore. “I just don’t want this to be who I am. So, when I’m slinging hash, I’m Liz. But my family and my friends…they call me Beth.”

  Lucky wasn’t dense. She’d never thank him for playing the hero because she wanted to believe she didn’t need one. But sharing her real name meant she didn’t just think of him as some clown who ate pancakes every night.

  And so they became friends.

  * * *

  Beth Anderson wished she were a lesbian.

  So many things would make more sense.

  If she were into girls, she’d have a niche, a label, something that wrapped up all the things that made her different and put a rainbow-colored bow on her life. She already had the right wardrobe, for God’s sake.

  It was just a shame, really.

  Most of the time, she was completely asexual anyway. Most of the time. But she was human and she did have hormones, and when those hormones got busy they were usually fueled by Channing Tatum and sometimes, to her dismay, the smell of the cologne they sprayed on the clothes at Hollister in the mall.

  Pathetic.

  Moving to a college town didn’t help Beth’s confusion much. She’d just finish talking herself into thinking the entire male species needed to go back to the primordial swamp when a really cute one would walk by and she’d get hot flashes. And in a
college town, there were really cute ones everywhere. All the time.

  And she could look all she wanted, but they would never look back.

  You see, that was the other thing.

  Beth wasn’t pretty. Not even a little bit. Part of it was her messy hair. A real lesbian would have chopped it off into to an easy to manage butch crew cut. Alas, life wasn’t that simple.

  The messy hair, while being annoying and hard to manage, was a curtain. It hid things. Things like scars. Scars from surgeries that almost, but not quite made her normal.

  She was lucky, they used to say. A lot of babies born with hemifacial microsamia had more distinct deformities. It was a stupid thing to say to a child. Lucky people won lotteries. Lucky people catch all green lights on their way through town. Lucky people don’t have facial deformities—less distinct or otherwise.

  Yes. She escaped the kidney and heart problems that plague some patients with the birth defect. And yes, the surgeons did fix her jaw. Mostly. But looking at her face straight-on was usually an uncomfortable experience for most people. For instance, her father, who took off when she was two and was never heard from again.

  Beth did her best to proffer the right side of her profile whenever possible. She had to keep her hair in a braid at work, but she pulled it to the side instead of behind. She often held her neck at an angle, tilting her cheek towards her shoulder. Anything to soften the effect of asymmetry. She hated starting senior year in a new place with a whole new cast of characters to affront with her abnormality.

  “Earth to Beth.”

  She blinked several times until she realized Lucky was standing at the counter. “Sorry for the spaceout. Is something wrong with your table?”

  He shook his head. “No, you just looked weird.”

  Her heart stopped and, for the first time since she’d met him, her stomach soured. Lucky was one of the few people she’d ever met who didn’t squint when he looked at her like he was trying to imagine what she should look like instead of how she did.

  “I always look weird. I was just standing here wishing I was a lesbian is all.”

  His expression went blank, like he lost the thread of where he thought the conversation was going and couldn’t figure out how to get back there. “I’ve known you for six weeks now, and half the time I don’t understand what you are talking about.” He took a seat at the counter, which was unusual. “When I came in, you were lost in thought. You looked like somebody kicked a puppy or something. I was concerned. Sue me. ”

  Quick to cover, she said, “Be still my heart, he cares.” Beth poured him a glass of water and checked her watch. The dinner crowd was finally gone. And it was a Tuesday. Tuesdays were quiet most of the time. “How did your test go, soccer god?”

  He pretended to look at a menu. It’s not like they didn’t both know what he was going to order. “Well, I can almost say with certainty that I didn’t fail.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So another ‘A’ then?”

  He laughed. “Probably. I’m just lucky I guess.”

  Lucky. There was that word again. Except Lucky O’Leary worked harder than most people she’d met. The guy studied all the time. And was always working out or running. He was one of the few beautiful people she didn’t begrudge. How could she? If anyone deserved to have it all, it was someone like him.

  “How is your senior year so far?” he asked

  “Well, I haven’t killed anyone yet.”

  The bell above the door rang, and her night took a bad turn. Two really good looking college guys sauntered in like they owned the world. And they probably did.

  “O’Leary,” said one the one with floppy hair.

  “Hey guys, what’s up?” Lucky stood and they all did some complicated non-hug thing. Testosterone was strange. And also very enticing. God. College guys were hot.

  Lucky grabbed some menus and the water pitcher off the counter and pointed his friends to a table like the restaurant was his kitchen at home. “Sit guys.” Then he grabbed her order pad right out of her hand and told her to take a break. He’d give the order to Marty, the cook, when they were ready to eat.

  What a strange guy. It was weird enough that he hung out there so much. But now he was going to pseudo-work there too?

  Whatever. Her feet hurt and she needed to study. If he wanted to play restaurant, he was welcome to it.

  * * *

  His friends were jerks.

  He really didn’t want to subject Beth to their douchiness, so Lucky tried to run interference. At least they hadn’t been drinking. Sometimes they were really embarrassing.

  “So this is where you come every night instead of partying with us, O’Leary?”

  Lucky shrugged at Taylor. “If I lose my scholarship, I don’t get to play soccer. I need the grades.”

  “Who’s the chick in the corner?”

  “The waitress?” Lucky asked.

  “Yeah, dude. You should bring her next Friday.”

  He looked over his shoulder at Beth. She was wearing her iPod and writing that paper she’d told him about. Lucky shook his head. “Nah. We’re just friends. Were you guys going to order something?”

  “She’d be perfect,” Dell said.

  Taylor added, “If you don’t bring her, I will.”

  “Why?” That was all Lucky could think of to say. I mean she was a neat girl, but really not the type they went for. She was smarter than both of them put together for one thing.

  Dell leaned in. “I’m glad I don’t have to participate this year, but I would have been all over that last year. She’s exactly what you want. Most guys make the mistake of going over the top, but subtle is the key. You don’t really want to win—only the truly desperate go for the win. You just want to make a good show.”

  Lucky didn’t get it. “What the hell are you guys talking about? Win what?”

  “Next Friday is the Dog Dinner, dude,” Taylor answered. As if that solved anything. He must have realized that Lucky still didn’t understand. “Dog Dinner—all the rookies have to bring ugly dates to the party. Whoever brings the most hideous rover wins. But like Dell says, you aren’t going to impress anyone by actually winning. Guys who try too hard look like losers. It’s all about finesse. She’s perfect.”

  Taylor nodded. “She is classic butterface.”

  Lucky couldn’t wrap his mind around anything they said. “Butterface?”

  “Yeah. You know…smokin hot bod…but her face…”

  Lucky’s stomach churned. Jesus. They really were assholes. “You guys, she’s my friend.”

  Dell laughed. “Even better. She won’t expect you to slip her the tongue then, because that would be a tough sell to Mr. Happy.”

  Everything about this conversation made Lucky want put the hurt on both of them. Beth was a great girl. She may not be a knockout, but she was funny and smart and he really liked her. “This conversation is done. I’m not bringing anyone to a Dog Dinner, especially not a very sweet kid. The whole thing is immature.” He wanted them to stop looking at her. It was like they were tainting her with their eyes.

  “You need to rethink your attitude, O’Leary.”

  “It’s not my attitude that’s the problem, Taylor.” His heart was pumping rage instead of blood into his veins. If he didn’t cool down, there was going to be a problem. He could put up with a lot of crap when it came to himself, but he really hated it when innocent people got hurt.

  “You know, your spot on team isn’t all that solid. You were top shit at your high school, but we all were, man. Your skills aren’t enough anymore. You want to be on the team, you have to be the team.” Taylor nodded to Beth, still oblivious to it all. “Girls like that don’t get invited to college parties very often. You’d be doing her a favor.”

  “You’re saying I’ll lose my spot on the team if I don’t bring a date to a party next weekend.”

  “I’m saying we’re a family and you need to start acting like you want to be part of it.”

  A dysfu
nctional family.

  A couple came in the door, so Beth got up to seat them. She stopped back at their table to see if they needed anything.

  “We’re fine,” Lucky answered.

  “Hey Liz,” said Dell. “You a freshman at the U?”

  “Senior year, high school.”

  “How many girls in your class get invited to college parties?”

  Someone struck a match to Lucky’s gut while he watched Dell turn on the charm and smile at Beth like she mattered to him. Sparks of acid churned as she blushed so sweetly and told him she really didn’t know. She was new this year and didn’t know a lot of the kids yet.