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

to do.”

Chapter 22

August 30

Dear Petra,

Things have settled into a rather dull routine: workout,

sessions with Dr. Goddard and other experts, phone

conversations with Art, emails to you. Other than

that, I watch TV, work in my journal, try to get my

head around all the changes I can expect when I get

home.

I think I’m close to your coloring, skinwise. And I

know I’m pretty thin. Even without mirrors, some things

are hard to miss. I know I must look really different . . .

but I feel really different, too. I’m trying hard to “be

myself

” as they say. It’s surprisingly difficult. Who

knew? I’m still scared of all kinds of things—like

working it out with Ma, figuring out how to handle

Bradshaw face-to-face—but at least I know why I’m

afraid. The truth is Ma loves me and I love her, so no

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Karyn Langhorne

matter what, we’ll be okay. And if Bradshaw’s meant

for me, he’ll let me know. If not . . . I guess I’ll have to

dust off my evening gowns and make like a starlet until

I find Mr. Right.

No . . . that’s a lie. The truth is I’ll be crushed. I

really like him, Petra. I haven’t even been able to work

up the nerve to ask him if he likes me. And I never

told him about the skin lightening. I don’t think he’d

like it

.

.

.

and it makes me feel

.

.

.

ashamed of

myself.

I know I should tell him . . . but I can’t. I just can’t.

Anyway, it’s only a few weeks until the Reveal, and I

guess I’ll have to deal with all of these things soon

enough. I’m really hoping you’ll be able to be there—

that would be the best part. I can’t wait to see all of

you—even Ma. No matter how I look, it’s good to

know that I have you guys.

Be careful out there,

Audra

“Okay, I’ve got good news and bad news.”

Shamiyah bounced into the gym specially

set up for Ugly Duckling participants and stood near

Audra as she pounded out her second hour on the

treadmill in front of a dull gray, mirrorless wall.

“Which do you want first?”

“Good, always the good news first,” Audra

panted, grabbing her towel to wipe the sweat rolling

down her face.

“Okay . . . God, Audra.” Shamiyah leaned closer

to her. “You’re starting to look . . . really, really

good.”

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“Oh yeah?” Audra panted. “According to Julienne

I’ve got about fifteen more pounds to lose.” Audra

looked down at herself. The rolls of skin were long

gone, replaced by taut flesh. “Though I can’t imag-

ine from where—”

“I can,” Shamiyah said, peering toward Audra’s

rear end. “Let’s just say all of your troubles are

behind you.” She shook her mass of curly hair off

her face, dismissing the subject before Audra could

object. “Anyway, I’m talking about your face! I

mean . . . you look—you look—” The curls wagged.

“Gorgeous. I can’t explain it. Really different and yet

still you . . . and that’s before we even get to

makeup.”

Her face. Audra felt the sudden twinge of high

anxiety that any mention or thought of it always

brought these days. It was looking good, all the doc-

tors and experts kept saying. No, good wasn’t the

word they used. The words were usually startling,

beautiful, amazing. She had the feeling that the sur-

geries had exceeded their expectations by more than

the doctors were willing to admit.

“Well, that’s about what we were going for, wasn’t

it?” She glanced at the peanut-butter skin of her

hands and arms. “There’s still a lot of dark scar tis-

sue in some places, if you know where to look.”

“Your evening gown will cover it for the show—”

“And there are places where I’m a couple of dif-

ferent colors.” Audra huffed on. “I look like a patch-

work quilt on my stomach and legs—”

“The evening gown will cover it for the show.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Do you want to hear the good news or not?”

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Karyn Langhorne

“Fire away, Shamiyah.” Audra gave her a devilish

grin. “What’s stopping you?”

Shamiyah sighed frustration. “Audra, you’re a

piece of work.”

“Glad to hear it. I was beginning to worry my out-

side had changed my inside more than I wanted it

to.” She sighed in mock relief. “Now what’s the

good word?”

“I’ve gotten you Ishti!” Shamiyah said, doing a

happy dance around Audra’s treadmill. “Ishti! Ishti!

Ishti!”

Audra tugged on the pin in her sweatpants, mak-

ing sure they wouldn’t slide off her newfound hip

bones and give the world a free sneak peek of the

doctors’ and experts’ hard-won efforts. She wiped

her face with the towel draped over the handrail of

the treadmill and rubbed her head, feeling the wiry

springs of her too-long hair rough against her fin-

gertips. Whatever other changes, her hair was still

nappy as it ever was, and long, too. Too long for the

short Afro style she had been accustomed to wear-

ing it in. Thank God today’s schedule included fit-

tings for gowns and, at long last, a trip to a beauty

salon.

Audra stared at her companion. “Her name is

Ishti? What kind of name is Ishti? You expect me to

put myself in the hands of someone named Ishti?”

God help me, Audra thought, conjuring the image of

hair arranged like a tribal headdress, with a built-in

altar in the center. Doubt welled up in her heart and

mind as the memory of her many trips to salons

back in New York surfaced. Every trip began with

the hopeful promise of a “beautiful new Audra” . . .

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263

and every trip had ended with the crushing weight

of heavy disappointment.

Just because this was a ritzy salon in Beverly

Hills didn’t mean she couldn’t