Ugly, p.1
Ugly, page 1
UGLY
KELLY VINCENT
KV Books LLC
Copyright © 2022 by Kelly Vincent
All rights reserved.
Cover by Fiona Jayde Media
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
To everyone who struggles to figure out who they really are in the face of constant judgment and criticism—I see you
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Acknowledgments
Thank You and More
Chapter 1
The school hall was as packed as ever, but one boy was weaving through kids, heading right toward me. He shouted, “Give me five, bro!” and slapped another boy’s raised hand.
I needed to stay out of his way, so I leaned against my locker and waited for him to pass.
Then he careened toward me. “Put five right here!” he said, hand in the air and grinning like a maniac.
I tentatively raised my arm, and then his face fell.
“Oh. I thought you were a guy.”
Someone else barked a laugh behind him.
The high-fiver dropped his arm, and I realized I was still holding mine half up like an idiot, so I let it fall, just as the laughing guy said, “She might as well be a guy. She’s a big lesbo.”
I blushed fiercely, and they both cracked up and moved on like it was nothing. I stood there stupidly, wanting to sink into the floor. I looked around and heard a couple of snickers.
I grasped my books to my chest and headed toward class.
Why did everybody have to say all that stuff? I was aware that I didn’t dress all girly—it just felt wrong, and I couldn’t have done it if I’d tried. What was wrong with wanting to be comfortable? So what if I liked jeans and unisex t-shirts. So-freakin’-what?
I lifted my head to navigate around a corner, squeezing past a group of girls who didn’t mind at all doing their makeup and wearing cute clothes. I made sure not to look too closely, lest I get some kind of snark.
God, I hated this shit.
And I didn’t think I was a lesbian, anyway. But everyone acted like I was. How could everyone else know something about me that I didn’t know myself?
Chapter 2
Later, in math, Mr. Martinez was going on about algebraic expressions, an x here, a y there. He was writing on the whiteboard in blue. I was trying to pay attention because I was actually interested. I’d hated geometry freshman year and was glad to get back to algebra. I had my notebook out and was copying the latest expression down when I saw Carlos’s hand shoot over and grab my white eraser.
I looked at him. His fingers closed around the eraser, and his eyes twinkled.
He was cute. He had light brown eyes and wavy dark brown hair that sometimes got a little long, but it wasn’t now.
I reached for the eraser, invisible in his big hand, and he pulled away, a mischievous look on his face. He was goofing around with me, something that most people didn’t do.
Wait—was he flirting with me?
I couldn’t believe it.
I didn’t know much about this stuff, but I did know you weren’t supposed to seem desperate, so I turned back toward Mr. Martinez and started taking notes.
Carlos set the eraser down on top of his notebook. I reached for it, and he grabbed my wrist firmly, still grinning. “I don’t think so, Nic,” he mouthed.
Okay, flirting, definitely. He’d touched me on purpose. The heat in my wrist where he was holding it felt new and exciting.
Kyle was on the other side of him, watching this, clearly amused.
Carlos was strong. I could see the muscles flexing in his forearm.
Is it weird that I thought that was kind of cool? I’d never thought about how boys were stronger than girls before, except in the they-can-beat-you-up way, but it was right there. General male strength. And I liked it.
He still had my wrist. What should I do? Tug it back? But then he might let go.
My heart sped up, because no boy had touched me in an inoffensive way since elementary school. I stopped reaching for the eraser, and he let me go with a sidelong glance, so I got back to taking notes. Not that I could concentrate.
Lately I’d been thinking if I could get a boyfriend, things might be better. Maybe people would treat me less like a freak—and more like a normal person. Carlos would be perfect because he was so normal. I loved the idea that a regular guy was flirting with me, even if I’d never thought of him that way before.
If he liked me, I wouldn’t turn him away.
Although I eyed the eraser several times through the rest of class, when Mr. Martinez let us go, Carlos snagged it and tossed it in his backpack. He and Kyle grinned at me, and I followed them out, getting squeezed out by another couple of girls in the class, who gave me one of those all-too-familiar looks. The down-the-nose look, followed by the dismissive head turn away. I told myself I was numb to it.
I was pretty much used to it. I was sort of a last-picked-for-the-team kind of girl here at Emerson High School. I didn’t know who they thought they were, though. Everyone knew it took forever for trends to make it to Oklahoma. We were forty-five minutes from Tulsa, and it wasn’t like that was culturally cutting edge, either. All the things kids here thought were so cool were probably totally passé in places like New York or L.A. by now.
Whatever. Just three more years here, and I was gone. I couldn’t wait, and wondered how I was going to weather it.
Chapter 3
All afternoon, I obsessed over the whole Carlos thing. Could he really like me?
Admittedly, it could have simply been that I was there, and he was bored. But I didn’t think so. I had a good feeling about this.
About time.
I missed having my eraser in chemistry because I decided to sketch out the periodic table while the teacher rambled on about something or other, and I messed it up counting out the transition metals. Plus, I’d need it over the weekend. Once I was on the bus, I put my headphones on and cranked up some Killers.
My asshole brother Caleb flicked me on the head when he passed me, heading for the back. He was such a douche now.
Still, the only thing in my head was Carlos, and how he maybe liked me.
My best friend Sam—short for Samantha, but she’d die if I called her that—was always getting on my case about not being brave enough socially, so I tried to think of what I could do that would be proactive and maybe even bold. We had a plan, called Operation Social Interaction for Nic—or OSIN for short—to wrangle some friends for me. She’d be proud if I did something on my own. I just had to figure out what.
It would be hard to talk to Carlos the next day with Kyle there, so it wasn’t like I would be able to ask him out or anything. The idea that I’d just go up to a boy and be like, “Hey, wanna go out some time?” was sheer insanity anyway. It would be much better if he would ask me.
We rolled over a speed bump heading out of the parking lot, and a light bulb went on in my head. I knew where Carlos lived, after all. We’d ridden the same bus since elementary school, even though he’d stopped at the beginning of this year.
I’d be avoiding the bus soon, too, because I was getting a car when I turned sixteen next month. Thank God. It would be nothing fancy. We’d already agreed on a budget of $5000.
This idea—this was an awesome idea. I could walk over there and ask for my eraser. Maybe he’d invite me in, and things would go from there. Good things.
After forty-five minutes of bus torture, because I was the second-to-last-stop on the route, I finally was able to get off into the late summer heat. My forehead beaded with sweat before I even made it to the yard.
Caleb—just ten months younger than me and a brand-new freshman—went in the front door ahead of me. I stopped to get the mail from the dented mailbox and headed up the walk to the front entrance. We had a nice covered stone porch that Mom had put a white bench and several plants on.
Of course, Caleb had shut and locked the door so I had to use my key. He was such a dick now. To me, to Izzy, our little sister, to Mom and Dad, to everybody.
I grabbed a pack of off-brand berry fruit snacks and headed up to my room.
My room was completely ridiculous. The walls were pale peach. The double bed had an antique metal frame painted white and sat centered on the wall so it seemed to take up the whole room, especially because it was tall. There were white hooks in the ceiling that drapery used to hang from because Mom had thought I needed a canopy bed.
Me, a canopy bed.
Just no.
At least she had Izzy to be her little princess of a daughter.
Not that I had a problem with Izzy. She was my favorite family member. But her princess-ness was impossible to deny.
Fortunately, my room also had a little built-in desk and shelves in an alcove. I’d been able to make it my own by claiming it for my Testors paint bottles and the little metal fantasy character figurines Sam and I painted.
I climbed onto the gray and peach bedspread because I needed to think a bit. Make a plan.
Okay, so I’d walk over there. I’d knock on the door. Carlos probably wouldn’t answer—maybe his mom would. I’d just ask her if he was home, and she’d get him. No big deal. Normal people did this kind of thing all the time, I was sure.
Sam would be so impressed. I’d have engaged the en … not the enemy. No. I’d have initiated a potentially risky social encounter on my own.
The AC kicked on with a groan and whoosh. The air was freezing because my skin was already wet from sweat—from the heat and what I was thinking about doing. But I could do it.
I headed out. No need to leave a note since I’d be back before either of my parents got home, unless things went really, really well. I didn’t want to jinx myself by assuming the best-case scenario.
I shut the door and crossed the street. Most of the houses on this long street were two-story, in various colors. Normal, boring house colors. I’d always thought it would be interesting to paint our house bright blue, but it wasn’t allowed. Not that my parents would do something so unusual, anyway.
It was a long walk down to get to a cross street. I started thinking maybe I should have left a note. What if things did go really, really well?
I replayed the scene from math class in my head. The looks Carlos had given me. He had to have been flirting. Why else would he have done all that? I mean, we’d known each other for a long time, since third grade, when he’d moved here from somewhere. Tennessee, I thought. I’d always thought he was cute. Because he was. He was a little awkward, but kind of tall, so he was still hot. He played baseball, too.
I was about halfway down toward the side street and I was drenched in sweat. I might not have thought the whole thing out all that well. My face was bound to be pink from the heat, and I’d be halfway to a sunburn.
It would have been so much better if I already had a car.
I passed the house that gave out celery sticks with peanut butter on Halloween. It was a friendly Black lady, but celery? Seriously.
I trekked further, sweated more.
There was the biggest sycamore in the neighborhood, in front of a white house with gray stonework. Finally, I reached the corner and turned, walked past the two corner lots, and turned again down Carlos’s street.
Was this really a good idea? Would I look a little desperate? That was probably bad. But I had no experience with boys. I’d never been invited to those middle school spin-the-bottle parties I knew went on. I’d never sat around with a bunch of girls talking about boys and doing each other’s hair or painting each other’s nails. And it wasn’t like I’d ever wanted to do those things, either.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead. Was it getting hotter or was it all nerves? I tugged my short sleeves back down where they’d ridden up my arms. Too fat. Which was too bad, but I didn’t know what to do about it. I didn’t think I had a worse diet than anyone else.
It was okay. If Carlos was interested, it would be good. I liked him.
Okay, there it was. It was a one-story on a block of mostly two-stories. But the front yard had loads of bright and warm-colored flowers—red, orange, yellow—and I guess some would say it was well-manicured. There was a set of stones that led to the mailbox, so I followed them to the door.
I stood on a small covered porch, surrounded by walls painted a dull gray that seemed in contrast to my intense emotions.
This was it, the moment of truth. I took a deep breath and knocked. Sam would be so proud of me when I told her.
After a short delay, during which I did not even ponder running, an older boy opened the door. Oh, shit—I hadn’t thought of this. His eyes widened into that judgy look I was all too familiar with from school. Lip slightly curled.
Oh, God. My stomach plummeted.
“What?” he asked.
Okay, at this point I faltered. I hadn’t been expecting someone else from school. “Um.”
His deadpan expression didn’t change.
I swallowed as a droplet of sweat trailed down my forehead. “Does Carlos live here?”
“Hold on,” he grunted.
He left the door open and disappeared behind it. After a moment, Carlos appeared. He was looking off to the side when he stepped into the doorway. His brother was saying something from inside the house, though I couldn’t make it out.
So for a millisecond, I got to admire his profile and be glad I’d come. He had a nice nose and full lips. I imagined what it would be like to kiss him and run my fingers through his soft-looking hair. What would that feel like?
I had never kissed anyone yet. Which was pretty embarrassing at fifteen, but maybe that was all about to change.
He turned toward me and his eyes widened in alarm, and then got wider.
Oh, God. This was worse than his brother. He was horrified to see me. I needed to crawl into a hole and die.
It was like I’d stubbed my toe, except it was my heart. The heat flared in my cheeks as a humiliating blush exploded onto my face.
He still stared, his hand on the door—knuckles white—and I swear the door moved like he was thinking of closing it. In my face.
