The Story of My Face Page 6

  I get a sudden gut reaction of my own bias. Shit. “Point taken,” I say.

  “It will always be an uphill battle for us, I’m afraid,” Jade says.

  I take in this new information. “Do you come to these meetings regularly?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Every now and then. I’m not really a group therapy kind of girl. Like, yeah, our faces are fucked up, but at some point you just have to put on your pointy big-girl boots and kick life’s ass.”

  “I’m not there yet.”

  “How long ago, since the bear?” Jade asks.

  “Just over nine months.”

  “Not that long really. Totally sucks to be pretty one day and not so pretty the next, eh?” Jade unlocks her car and opens the door. “Good luck with everything. Maybe I’ll see you again.” She gets in and starts her car.

  I walk to my car. A slideshow plays in my mind of all the different faces I saw tonight.

  AA CUP

  The bio class lights are dimmed and a video plays on the screen. A cartoony male and female face each other. “Human reproduction involves sexual intercourse between a man and a woman,” the female’s voice on the video says. This gets hoots and laughs from the class, and a stern look from Jessop. Serena whispers something in Liam’s ear and they both chuckle.

  Mr. Jessop pauses the video. “Are you in grade five, or what? Grow up.”

  “Is this a grade five video, or what?” Paul says. Lots of nodding heads. When everyone settles down, Jessop restarts the video.

  “In this diagram, you will see the male reproductive organs.” A computer drawing of a naked male, waist down, side view, penis dangling, with all the parts named: vas deferens, urethra, ejaculatory duct…

  As the video plays, I look over at Liam, remembering the first time he and I stood naked in front of each other, alone at his grandpa’s cabin in Bragg Creek, where he practically lives on weekends, and sometimes even during the week.

  “The male reproductive organs operate together to produce sperm and other substances that are found in semen…” says the video girl.

  Liam and I just stood there for about five minutes and observed each other’s bodies, not in a sexy way. At least not at first. I took a close look at his penis. I’d never seen a real, live penis before. It just hung there all soft and shriveled. I remember thinking the skin on the end looked like Darth Vader’s helmet, but I didn’t tell Liam that. Remembering this, I cover my mouth with my hand to stifle a laugh, but instead I make a sound like I’m spitting water out of my mouth. People turn and stare at me.

  “Tissues in the penis fill with blood and the penis becomes rigid during sexual arousal...”

  In my warped brain, all I can see on the screen is Darth Vader’s helmet on one side and an arrow pointing to the tip of a penis on the other. Can’t help myself—I’m laughing so hard I’m gasping for breath. Now everyone turns around and looks at me, including Liam, which makes me laugh even louder. Others start to laugh, too.

  Jessop pauses the video again. “Abby.” He’s so not impressed with me. I pick up my books and purse and hurry out of the classroom, still laughing my ass off.

  ***

  “Mason has always creeped me out—even before you went out with him,” Grace says as we drive down the township road toward Calgary. “I could never really get what the attraction was.”

  “No one ever poured on that much attention and affection and compliments. I got totally sucked up in it. And the gifts—flowers, chocolates, dinners, movies, jewelry. I felt like some kind of goddess around him. That is, until it turned weird.”

  “Weird? It was Stephen King bizarre! He went mental whenever you ‘liked’ any other guy’s posts on Facebook. He hated it whenever you went to the mountains. You missed more than a few backpack trips because he couldn’t handle that you’d be with other guys for the whole weekend. Hell, he was even jealous of the time you spent with me and your other girlfriends.”

  “Okay, you’re right. It was messed up.”

  We arrive in the city limits. I look out the window at the cookie-

  cutter houses, one after another after another.

  “Shit, Abby. He’s not right in the head. I’m pretty sure he meets every trait of a sociopath—he probably even tortures small animals for kicks. I really think you need to tell someone what’s going on.”

  “I know Mason. It would just make things even worse.”

  “But this could easily go beyond bullying, Abbs. I’m worried for you.”

  My self-loathing is alive and well. There’s not much Mason has said to me that I haven’t already said to myself. “We only have a few more months of school left and then hopefully I will never have to see him again.”

  “He’s obsessed with getting back at you. What if he never lets up?”

  “Then I guess I’ll deal with it then. Promise me you won’t say anything to anyone.”

  Grace looks over at me. I know this is a promise she doesn’t want to keep, but she nods.

  ***

  Grace and I meet Serena and Briar at Victoria’s Secret. As we approach them, they look at each other with wide eyes. It’s so obvious they don’t want the freak tagging along.

  “You didn’t tell us Abby was coming,” Serena says to Grace, giving her a WTF look. Briar mimics Serena’s look.

  “I didn’t think I had to tell you that I asked our friend to come along,” Grace says. Suddenly my skin feels all itchy and two sizes too small. I just want to bolt.

  “Well, we’re all here now,” Serena says as unenthusiastically as humanly possible. She turns and walks into the lingerie store with Briar close at her heels.

  Grace sighs, gives me an apologetic look, and follows. The three of them immediately start slapping the racks. I wander around not knowing where to start; I haven’t bought underwear in way over a year. Besides, in this store, I could totally blow my now meager clothing allowance that’s supposed to last for months. When times were better, I used to be so into all of this, used to love shopping with Serena and Grace. I pick up a red, lacy G-string thongy thing (Simon calls it butt floss). The triangle of fabric is so tiny I can’t imagine it covering, well, anything. Then there’s the Cheeky Panty. Cheeky indeed! A saleslady comes up to me.

  “Everything on the tables is half off.” She speaks loudly and slowly, as if I’m deaf and a dimwit too. “And the new items are on the far wall.” Now she’s right in my face, smiling weirdly. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.” In her Facing It talk, Heather mentioned sometimes being treated as though she has an intellectual disability because of her facial difference, but it’s never happened to me before now. Probably because I’ve pretty much sequestered myself at home for months.

  “No, thanks, I’ll be fine just looking around on my own.” The woman nods and looks surprised I can articulate a full sentence.

  Soon Grace, Serena, and Briar have armfuls of bras. “Grab a few to try on, Abbs,” Grace says and follows the others to the change room. I feel so out of place. I’ve become a bone rack over the past nine months. My breasts have shrunk into withered little prunes—I barely need a bra anymore. But to be a sport, I pull a few random AA-cup bras off the discount table.

  In the change area, Briar is already in front of the communal mirror wearing only panties and a heavily padded push-up on top. Her arms are dotted with freckles. She squishes her breasts together to make even more cleavage and looks at herself from all sides. Serena and Grace come out of their change rooms to check out their bras, which look identical to Briar’s. Grace’s white, lacy bra stands out against her deep-brown skin and jet-black hair. A stark contrast to Serena’s pale skin and white-blond hair. I look at all three of them. Perfectly symmetrical faces and flawless bodies. I notice the three have matching belly-button rings with a turquoise stone.

  Briar takes a long look at herself in the mirror. She turn
s around but still looks in the mirror. “My ass is getting so flabby.”

  “It is not,” says Grace.

  “Just look at it.”

  “Your ass looks just fine, Briar,” Grace says.

  Serena checks out her bra. “My mom told me she’d pay for a boob job as my grad present.”

  “What?” I say. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “She thinks my breasts are already starting to sag.” Serena holds them up with both hands. “Said that I should deal with the problem while I’m young, before I go to university, because it’s only going to get worse—especially if I ever have kids. She said breastfeeding is the worst possible thing you can do to your breasts.”

  “That’s such bullshit,” Grace says. “Your mom is projecting her own anxiety about aging, that’s all.”

  “Sounds like someone’s been watching daytime talk shows,” Briar says to Grace. “If my mother offered me a boob job I would jump at the chance.” Briar’s still checking herself out in the mirror.

  Serena looks at her beautiful self in the mirror. She looks down at her boobs, frowns, and sighs. Grace shakes her head. She and I share a look.

  “Your turn to try one on,” Grace says to me.

  I go into the change room, whip off my T-shirt and sports bra, and put on a pink, lacy number. It looks ridiculous on me. My ribs ripple along my chest and stick out underneath the bra. “Abby, come out, let’s see it,” says Grace from outside my door.

  I self-consciously open the door to the change room. Briar takes one look at the scars on my chest.

  “Holy fuck!”

  “Geez, Briar!” Grace says.

  I don’t blame Briar—the dark-red scars don’t really match with light-pink lace. I quickly shut the door of my change room. Run a finger along the thick, ropy lines on my chest. Sink to the floor.

  I hear Briar talking softly, but not softly enough for me not to hear. “God, those scars. And she’s so skinny.”

  “Would you just shut up!” I hear Grace say in a loud whisper.

  “Wish I was that skinny,” Serena says, not quiet at all.

  “Stop trashing yourself, Serena,” Grace says.

  I try on a few more bras but give up. Nothing is going to help me look even the least bit sexy.

  ***

  We walk through the mall. Serena and Briar walk four giant steps in front of us. They stop at a juice bar and we wait in line. Grace nudges Briar. “Sorry, Abby,” Briar says sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to…it’s just…”

  “No worries,” I say. “It was an honest response.” But my heart still stings like someone poked it with a thousand needles.

  We get our smoothies and sit at a table.

  “It’s crazy that we’ll be done high school in a few short months,” Grace says.

  “What are you three going to do in the fall?” I ask.

  “Gap year,” says Grace. “I have no idea what I want to do, so I’d rather not rack up student-loan debt.”

  “Mount Royal University,” says Briar. “Nursing, if I can get in.”

  “UCLA, if my dad will pay for it,” Serena says. “Beaches, Hollywood, and hot guys. Oh yeah!”

  “What about you, Abbs?” Grace asks.

  “Foothills,” I say.

  “Foothills what?” says Briar.

  “Hospital. Foothills Hospital,” I say. “More surgery on my face.”

  “Oh, right,” Grace says. The three look at one another and all sip their smoothies at exactly the same time. It’s clear I make them uncomfortable.

  “Should we go to Blush and look for grad dresses?” Serena says, quickly changing the subject.

  “First tell me what I’m going to say to Brandon,” Briar says like a drama queen as she plays with her brown ponytail. “He asked me to grad,” she says looking right at me, because, of course, Serena and Grace probably found out a nanosecond after she was asked. “But I really want to go to grad with Keegan.”

  “Ask Keegan if he’ll go to grad with you. If he’s already going with someone else, say yes to Brandon,” Serena says. Her cheeks indent as she sucks on her straw.

  “I forgot to tell you, Grace.” Briar grabs her arm. “Mason told me that Dax wants to ask you.”

  Grace rolls her eyes. “Gawd. I’d rather go on my own.”

  “On your own? As if…,” Briar says, looking at Grace as if she’s lost her mind.

  “How about you, Abby? Going to grad?” Serena asks.

  “Yup.” Serena’s the last person I would tell about Liam and me. I can’t help myself. “What about you?” I ask Serena. “Who are you going to grad with?”

  The three of them share a look.

  “No one’s asked me, so I’m not sure yet,” she says. They share another look, and I know who the elephant in the room is. Everyone is quiet, but there’s something in the air that could be cut with a knife.

  In Blush, I sit on a velvety green chair while the three of them model grad dresses. All I can think about is being home, safe in my room with the covers pulled firmly over my head. I text with Simon.

  This is brutally painful

  Told u, u r a masochist

  Thanks for the reminder

  Tear yourself away from the sticky hive and save your soul before it’s too late

  U r such a drama king

  Grace, wearing a beautiful sapphire-blue dress, brings out something to show me.

  “Abby, this would look amazing on you. See the neckline?” Thoughtful Grace. The neckline’s high enough to cover my scars. In a previous life, I might have been able to pull it off.

  “Just not into it today.”

  Grace sits down on the matching green chair. “I know last year you and Liam talked about going to grad together. Has he said anything to you?”

  “Not yet, but he will.”

  “What if he doesn’t? What if he forgot, or if—”

  “We vowed to go together, Grace, even if we were broken up. If there’s one thing I know about Liam, he’s a man of his word. Even if he doesn’t want to go with me, I know he will.”

  “I doubt anyone’s going to ask me to grad,” Grace says. Dear, sweet Grace. At this very moment some hunky rugby guy is nervously rehearsing an asking-Grace-to-grad script.

  As we walk through the mall, a group of four guys about our age walks toward us. Everyone slows down. The guys first check out Serena. She smiles at them coyly and flips her long blond hair back. Then Briar flips her ponytail. Big smiles on the guys’ faces. When they see me, they look a bit shocked, nudge one another. One guy makes barfing sounds.

  “Beauties and the beast,” one of the guys says and the others crack up.

  “Assholes,” Serena says as we walk past them, but I see her and Briar trying to hide their flirty smiles.

  “Don’t listen to them,” Grace says, linking her arm in mine. In front of us, Briar whispers something to Serena and they both laugh. “Any of them.”

  In my mind, I keep repeating “it’s all about symmetry, it’s all about symmetry,” but tears well up in my eyes and everything looks blurry.

  TALISMAN

  It’s the highest mountain on Earth, but what’s the height of Everest?” Dad says to Jeannie, as we drive along the Trans-Canada Highway toward Banff to have Easter with my grandma, my mom’s mom. She’s usually away traveling the world—hiking, sailing, volunteering—but she’s finally home for a month or two to regroup before she heads off on her next extended trip: Bali. She flew home from Argentina to be with me while I was in the hospital. But as soon as I was released, she was on the next plane out. I need her around and wish she would just stay home.

  “You’re asking me?” Jeannie says. “This is your weird little game with Abby.”

  Dad and Jeannie are in the front seat of the truck, I’m in the back. Ruby is curl
ed up on the seat beside me sleeping, her head on my lap. Out my window, the rolling foothills zip by.

  “Twenty-nine thousand and twenty-nine feet,” I say.

  “How can I compete? You two are such geography nerds,” Jeannie says.

  “Your turn, Abby,” Dad says.

  “Easy one for Jeannie. What’s the highest mountain in Canada?” We’re getting close to the mountains and it’s making me dizzy. I rest my forehead on the cool window and close my eyes.

  “Even I know this one,” Jeannie says, “Mount Logan.”

  “Wow, soon you’ll be joining the geography nerd club,” Dad says.

  “Doubt it. But if you want to talk carbohydrate metabolism and glucose homeostasis, I’m your girl.”

  “How are your courses going?” Dad asks her.

  “So bloody hard. I feel like such a loser in the science faculty, competing with students like Baljinder, who is absolutely brilliant.”

  “Still aiming for med school?” Dad asks.

  “If I can keep my head above water.”

  The closer we get to the mountains, the more claustrophobic I feel. Like the mountains are going to fall on me. My head’s still resting on the window and my eyes are still closed. I ask, “Is Caleb as smart as Baljinder?”

  “He’s pretty darn smart, too,” Jeannie says.

  “Who’s Caleb?” Dad asks.

  ***

  Jeannie, Dad, and I sit around my laptop at Grandma’s kitchen table, scrolling through photos of Dad.

  “This is a great picture of you, Dad,” Jeannie says. “Makes you look outdoorsy, but not like some weird hermit mountain man.” The photo was taken near the Fairmont Banff Springs hotel, with Rundle Mountain towering in the background.

  “I like this one better,” I say of a photo of Dad sitting on our patio in Springbank. “Gramz, what do you think?”

  My grandma puts on her thick reading glasses and looks at the computer over our shoulders.

  “He looks like a garden gnome,” she says.

  “Thanks a helluva lot, Audrey,” Dad says, chuckling. Dad seems lighter, more content than I’ve seen him in months. Maybe it’s because we’re all together for a change. Or maybe he’s finally excited about online dating.