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

should be

higher here—”

“There’s nothing wrong with your nose.”

Penny’s lips scrunched together in disagreement.

“I wish I were eighteen. Then I could send a tape to

Ugly Duckling and—”

Art Bradshaw emerged from the lavatory at that

moment and began making his way slowly towards

them. Audra smiled up at him, but he kept his

head turned in the other direction, taking a seat

ahead of them on the opposite side of the plane. He

slid close to the window and reached for a pair of

headphones, blocking the sound of Audra and

Penny as well as the sight.

“What’s wrong with your father, Penny?”

The girl shrugged.

“Is he feeling okay?”

Penny glanced toward the seat ahead, her eyes

sweeping over the man’s inert form as if looking for

danger signals. Finally she lifted her shoulder in an-

other shrug. “Looks fine to me. Why?”

“He’s barely said two words to me—or anyone

else, for that matter.”

Penny whipped a fashion magazine from one of

the pockets of the heavy-looking shoulder bag she

carried and began turning the pages quickly as if

looking for something. “I guess he’s pretty sur-

prised. I mean you do look a lot like her,” Penny told

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the magazine. She stopped abruptly, thumping her

finger against the image of an emaciated-looking

white woman modeling clothes in a high-fashion

spread. “I like her nose. Think it would look good—”

“Like who?”

“What?”

Audra made the girl look at her. “You said I look a

lot like her. Who’s her?”

Penny stared at her for a long moment as though

she were wearing a loincloth. “Who else? My

mother.”

Audra blinked at her, shock reverberating from

her ear drums to the tips of her toes.

“Your mother?” she sputtered. “B-but I don’t look

like your mother. I look like my sister, Petra—”

“And like my mother. Or like she looked the last

we saw her. At my sweet sixteen party.” She fixed

her eyes on Audra, running through a checklist

from top to toes. “I noticed it as soon as that curtain

lifted . . . and I’m sure he did, too. Whatever else she

is . . . or isn’t,” she said the words with a kind of

dark unpleasantness, “she’s always pretty. Always.”

She shrugged. “Of course, up close you can tell your

face is different. But the hair and the skin, and

you’re awfully skinny now. Really thin—” Her voice

had a tone of great admiration that made Audra

suddenly sick to her stomach. “Well, I think Dad

thought you would look like you did before . . . just

a little thinner and with prettier clothes and more

makeup, or something. I kept telling him this was

different, but . . . you know how men are,” she said

breezily, as though she’d had a lifetime of experi-

ence. “Even I was a little surprised by your color,

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though.” She touched Audra’s forearm gently, drag-

ging her fingers against the skin as though she ex-

pected something to rub off. “How’d they do that? Is

it some kind of makeup or—”

“Where is your mother now, Penny?”

The girl shrugged again, but her eyes hardened

and her lips seemed to disappear into her face.

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

“Is he . . . upset . . . ?”

“Dad?” Her lips collapsed onto each other in an

expression of teenaged disinterest. “Who knows?

Ask him.”

Ask him. Dr. Goddard was sitting on her shoulders

like the little Martian character in a cartoon she used

to watch on Saturday mornings many, many years

ago. I told you to ask him . . .

“No . . . not now.” Audra sighed, administering a

swift mental kick to her own taut, round behind. “If

I’d asked him when I should have, I wouldn’t be in

this mess.”

Chapter 25

Monday, September 24

Dear Petra,

I feel like I’ve been suddenly dunked in cold water. Dr.

Goddard warned me that coming home would be a

shock to my system after all these months. She said

I’d had an experience that no one back home had

shared, that no one would relate to. She also said

some people would be resistant to the change and

treat me differently. They’d project their own ideas

about what they believe is beautiful on me . . . and not

all of it would be positive.

Is that what’s happening with Bradshaw?

Ma is tiptoeing around me, walking on egg shells. I

know she hasn’t gotten used to looking at me: She

starts a little when I walk into a room, and I’ve caught

her just staring at me when I’m not looking. We still have

a lot to talk about, her and me. I’m just not ready yet.

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Kiana’s a little distant still. It’s okay: she’s a child.

But it’s almost like starting over with her from zero.

She’s called me “Mommy” a couple of times. I

consider that the highest compliment I can get.

I’m not any more used to “me” than they are. I keep

catching glimpses of my reflection and it always

surprises me. I have to remind myself that it’s me I’m

looking at and not someone else.

Today is my first day back on the job. I know it’s

going to be a little weird to take my new look and my

new awareness back to a place where people were

used to dealing with me as a totally different person,

inside and out. I have to say, I’m nervous. But I’m

pretty sure no one will call me a “dude with tits.”

Are you still on track to be home in November?

They’re not going to delay your homecoming again ,

are they? I hope not. You’ve done your time, now it’s

time for the Army to honor its end of the bargain and

bring you home. Michael, too. Enough is enough.

I’ve gotta go or I’ll be late. Not a good