Diary of an Ugly Duckling Langhorne, Karyn (reading rainbow books txt) 📖

though. She

knows something’s up—that’s why she’s mad at me.

She’s been needling me with questions since I got

back from California . . . but all I do is smile.

Shamiyah and the camera crew will be here either

today or tomorrow, so I guess my days of silence are

about to end with a scene that would shame the

campiest dramatic moment in Hollywood. I wish you

were going to be here to see it!

It’s only been a couple of weeks, but people are

starting to tell me I look “different.” Of course, I’m still

losing weight, but they always say, “No, that’s not it,”

and just keep staring at me, like somehow continued

inspection will answer the question. Ma does it a lot. I

just stand there and smile. I don’t really see any

difference yet, if you want to know the truth. I scanned

a picture in—you can tell me what you think.

I hope your detail doesn’t have to make that supply

run you wrote about. Sounds dangerous. Really dan-

gerous. I know it’s what you’re trained to do . . . but

maybe you could call in sick that day? Just joking . . . J

Be careful out there,

Audra

“You want to bring some cameras into it, fine

with me!” Edith shouted, signing her name

in a broad flourish across the bottom of the paper

140

Karyn Langhorne

Shamiyah proffered, then slamming the pen down

on the kitchen counter. “Just don’t expect me to put

all my private business on TV just because she wants

to”—she gave Audra the kind of hard, gangsta stare

Audra saw all the time at the prison—“because that

is not the kind of woman I am!”

“No, no, of course not, Mrs. Marks,” Shamiyah

nodded as though she were in vigorous support of

Edith’s position, then gave Audra a quick wink the

second her mother turned her head. She looked ex-

actly like she had the last time Audra had seen her,

only now she wore a teal camisole in some shiny,

lingerie fabric over her demin jeans and seriously

pointy, black high heels. “We want your honest reac-

tion. That’s what makes it a reality show.”

“Oh, you’ll get my honest reaction,” Edith snorted,

glaring at Audra in disbelief. “And I honestly hope

you’re kidding about this whole idea, Audra. I hope

this is one of your weirdo jokes, right? That you

watched Now, Voyager again on TV, and now you’re

poor, put-upon Bette Davis, treated badly by her

family until she gets beautiful and runs off on an

ocean cruise with Charles Boyer—”

“Actually, it’s Paul Henreid,” Audra corrected, ig-

noring the wheeling, circling motions of the cam-

eraman as he angled himself into position just a foot

from her shoulder. Edith’s tone dug at her, tingling

her most sensitive spots and goading her toward re-

sponse. “I’m impressed, Ma. I didn’t know you

knew that movie—”

“Oh, stop it Audra!” Edith snapped, shaking her

head so hard, Audra knew she missed the exten-

sions she’d just taken out a few days ago. Now she

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

141

was experimenting with a look that featured heavy

bangs and razored short sides that Audra thought

made her look a little too much like a Marine. “You

can’t be serious, right? This is why you went out to

California? You aren’t actually going to—”

She stopped, staring hard into Audra’s face. “Oh

my God . . . that’s it. I knew there was something

different about you! You’ve already started it. What

did you have done to your face?”

“Laser treatments for the acne .. . though the

doc says I’ll need a few more. And . . .” She hesi-

tated, steeling herself for Edith’s next explosion, as

Shamiyah nodded vigorously, urging her toward

confession. “And a drug to lighten my skin tone.”

Edith’s mouth fell open. “Lighten your skin!” she

repeated, peering close into Audra’s face. “You’re

actually going to lighten your skin? Why? What’s

wrong with the color you are now?”

“Nothing . . .” Audra began slowly, “but . . .” Her

eyes swung toward Shamiyah, whose head was bob-

bing furiously with encouragement.

“Go for it,” she mouthed, silently stretching her

lips so that there was no mistaking what she was

trying to communicate. “Go for it!”

“Nothing . . . except that I’m darker than every-

one in my family,” Audra said quickly, pushing the

words out with more difficulty than she had antici-

pated. After all, she’d said them a thousand times

before. Only there hadn’t been cameras before. “I’m

darker than everyone in my family,” Audra repeated.

“Darker than Petra and Kiana. And you. Everyone

I . . . love,” she concluded, as unexpected emotion

sprang to her throat.

142

Karyn Langhorne

Edith frowned, then tried to turn away from the

cameras, but they followed her, recording both the

sudden softness and the fearful nervousness that

flushed into her face. She mastered them an instant

later, and swung on Audra, choosing once again

not to ignore the family resemblances—or the lack

thereof. Instead, she fired back with a sharp, “Are

you nuts?” And before Audra could respond, she

had launched into, “I’ve seen these shows. They

turn women into—into—Miss America look-alikes,

whether that suits them or not.” She eyed Audra du-

biously, shaking her head. “I should have known

something was up. I should have known when you

finally started getting serious about losing that

weight. But don’t tell me you’re this pathetic, that

your self-esteem is so low, you’d actually do some-

thing as crazy as this. That you’d be willing to put

yourself through all that.”

Audra swallowed back her tenderness in a single

bitter gulp.

“Oh, I’m absolutely going to put myself through

it, Ma.” Audra twisted her lips into a determined

grin. “I’m going to put myself through all of it.”

“But why, Audra?” Edith’s voice rose in exaspera-

tion, and if Audra wasn’t mistaken, she threw up

her hands as extra emphasis just for the benefit of

the cameras. “You’ve lost some weight and I think

that’s great. But surgery and—and”—she struggled

with the words as though they were choking her—

“skin bleaching. Why would you do something like

that?”

“To be something different, Ma,” Audra replied

calmly. “To see something different—something

DIARY OF