Chapter 14
The Ugly Me
Clark
High school senior year, winter holiday…
This year is my last year at Whitehill Academy. Isn’t that great? I grin at myself in the bathroom mirror.
“Ouch!” The razor nicks my cheek. “Oh, no, no. Damn.” I grab a tissue and dab at the tiny line of blood spreading on my skin.
“Clark! Get the hell out of there! It’s almost seven!” My mom’s voice explodes through the door, sharp as ever.
“Yeah, Mom! One second! Just a little accident!”
“Hurry up and get dressed! We’re gonna be late!”
“Yes, Mom!”
I rush to finish shaving, pressing the cut now and then to stop the bleeding. When I’m done, I towel off, button up my shirt, and slide into my black suit, making sure my favorite red bow tie is straight.
“Ka-ching! You look good, man.” I shoot finger guns at myself in the mirror, grinning like an idiot. My red curls match perfectly with the bow tie.
“Clark! Down here, now!”
“Coming!”
Her voice booms again from downstairs, full of that impatient energy that means she’s either thrilled or furious, usually both.
I’m still not sure why she’s so hyped about going out for Christmas dinner.
Ever since Dad passed, it’s always been the two of us at home, low-key, no parties, no restaurants.
This is weird, but no complaints here if she really booked us a table in some fancy Italian place.
I hurry down the stairs and find her by the front door, glaring at me with her jaw tight. “You take forever like some kind of old man!” She snaps.
“Wow.” I stop mid-step, totally thrown. I’m used to her yelling at me, but not like this. She’s in a red dress with a low neckline, her hair pinned up with a few curls falling loose around her face, and she’s wearing red heels.
“Mom, you look… amazing,” I whisper, still staring.
“Save it. We’re late.” She huffs, slipping into her coat.
“Where are we even going?” I stride, following her out to the car, still confused.
“Oh, for God’s sake. I told you, we’re having dinner at a nice restaurant.”
“Wow, Mom. You win the lottery or something?” I tease. She’s never taken me to a fancy place before.
“Yeah, let’s just say that.” She chuckles, giving my shoulder a firm pat.
* * *
“Listen, don’t talk too much. Answer when asked, but otherwise, keep your mouth shut,” my mom whispers in my ear as we walk into the restaurant.
“Who exactly are we meeting?” I frown, already uncomfortable with her keeping this a secret.
“Oh, for God’s sake, just stop talking, please,” she groans. Then we reach the table the waiter has led us.
My eyes go wide. My mouth drops open so fast I hiccup instantly. “Amy?” The blonde girl’s eyes widen too when she sees me.
Next to her, an older guy smiles, stands up, kisses my mom on the cheek, and wraps an arm around her waist. What the hell is going on? My brain feels like someone just set fire to all my manga. Cold sweat slides down my back, but we move on and sit like this is just another cozy Christmas dinner.
“Clark?”
“Yeah? Hick.”
God, I can’t stop hiccupping. The steak is amazing—perfectly cooked—but I can’t even taste it because I keep dropping my fork and knife. My palms are so sweaty it’s ridiculous.
“You and Amy go to the same school, right? You’ve met her before?” Mr. Schmidt asks.
“Yeah, we’re in the same chemistry study group. Hick.”
God, this is torture. We’re in full Q&A mode, and I’m hiccupping through every answer. I gulp down water to make it stop.
“Clark got caught in a plagiarism case with one of my roommates on a final project, but I convinced the teacher to forgive them.”
What? I choke, water shooting up my nose, and start coughing, spraying half of it back into my glass. That’s not true!
“Ugh, gross,” Amy hisses, scrunching her nose.
“Clark, are you okay, honey?” my mom says, grabbing a napkin and wiping my chin and suit. She pats my back too. Since when is she this gentle? What the hell is happening?
“Yeah, Mom.” I wipe my face and cough a few more times before getting it under control. When I finally sit still, Mr. Schmidt smiles again.
“You okay, son?” he asks.
“Yes, sir. I’m good. Thanks.”
“See? He’s so clumsy and gullible. That’s why I always have to look out for him at school,” Amy says, sliding in to steal her dad’s attention.
“That’s good, Amy. That’s a noble thing to do. Everyone makes mistakes, but they deserve forgiveness and a second chance,” he says, patting her hand. “I’m really glad you two already get along. That makes things easier.” He laughs.
I sit up, sensing they’re about to drop something big.
“So… We met during your school’s early enrollment. Her high heels broke and she fell right in front of me in the principal’s lobby… one thing led to another, and… we fell in love.” Mr. Schmidt gives a small smile.
Oh my God. This is not happening.
“We’re getting married!” my mom blurts out, laughing.
“Oh, honey, you ruined the surprise.” He laughs too.
“It’s fine, dear. They probably figured it out anyway.”
I swear I’ve never seen my mom this happy. Her cheeks are pink, her smile wide, and she’s actually giggling. She’s fucking giggling.
My mouth hangs open. I glance at Amy. Uh oh. She’s not thrilled. Her eyes narrow, her lips press tight, but it only lasts a second before she suddenly coos, “Aww, that’s such good news. I’m so happy for you, Dad, Mom.”
She hugs her dad tight, then squeezes my mom’s hand, eyes shining like she’s the perfect daughter. I blink, wondering if I’m hallucinating.
“Clark, say something. Don’t just sit there after hearing good news like this,” my mom says with a smile, but her glare could stab me from a mile away.
“Oh—yeah. Congratulations. I’m… happy for you guys,” I manage to say, still stunned.
“When’s the wedding?” Amy asks.
“The first week of spring, right before you two go back to school,” Mr. Schmidt says, cheeks flushed.
“Oh, that’s so unfair! You get a honeymoon while we’re stuck in school.” Amy pouts, and everyone laughs, while I just sit there, trying to keep the panic from showing on my face.
Oh my God. Amy and I are gonna be step-siblings this spring.
“Hick.”
* * *
High school senior year, spring break…
The glow from my laptop screen fills the dim room, showing a video I shouldn’t be watching. The woman in it looks a little like Fenella, brown hair, sparkling blue eyes, confident, the kind of beauty that makes my stomach twist.
I know I shouldn’t. But the house is quiet. Mom and Dad are on their honeymoon, and Amy’s been out with Chris since the morning. Only Mrs. Greta is outside, sweeping leaves on the front lawn. It’s safe.
I pull off my headset, rubbing the side of my neck where the wire tugs.
The sound still spills faintly from the speakers—soft, rhythmic, too real.
I glance out the window again, then back to the screen.
My chest tightens. Part of me is scared someone will walk in, but I can’t look away.
I’m getting to the first moment of my life.
Then the door slams open.
“Clark! Where’s my wallet, you bastard?!”
Amy slams the door open. Behind her, Chris follows her in. I scream in shock and grab my pants to cover myself. My dirty, wet hands hastily pull my pants back up.
“Oh, yeah, this is gold!” Chris pulls out his phone and starts recording me.
“What the hell?” Amy also screams in shock before bursting into laughter.
In my panic to cover myself, one of my feet gets caught in my shorts. I fall hard to the floor with a loud thud.
“Eww! What’s that on your hands? Is that your cum? Gross!” Amy laughs again while Chris keeps recording me.
“No! Stop recording!” My face flushes in every scream I breathe. I try to catch the phone, but Chris is faster and Amy is blocking him.
“Don’t touch me, you freak!” Amy yells, jumping back to avoid my dirty hands.
“That must be fun, dude.” Chris is still laughing while he keeps filming me in my half-naked state.
“Get out! Get out of my room!” I cry and shout at them while pulling on my shorts. My body hunches over as if they can still see everything, even though I’ve put my pants on.
“What’s your problem? I just want to know where you hid my wallet.” Amy snaps at me.
“I don’t know about any fucking wallet! Get out of my room!” I yell back through my tears.
“Then tell me where my wallet is,” she snaps, folding her arms. “Or maybe I should just show everyone this little video.”
“Please, don’t!” My heart race ridiculous speed. “I swear I don’t know anything about your wallet. I swear! Please… Check Mrs. Greta or maybe Mom. Please…” I stutter between sobs, groveling on the floor for her mercy. My heart sinks, and panic floods over me.
“Look at him begging. Oh, you poor son of a bitch.” Chris mocks me while his phone is still up.
Amy looks down at me, cold and sharp. She crosses her arms over her chest and glares. “What a loser. Next week when school starts, don’t you dare tell anyone about our family. You got that? You don’t mention you’re my stepbrother. Ever.”
I nod, trembling. My chest feels tight, my vision blurring. I can’t even look at her.
“Good,” she says flatly, and turns to leave. Chris follows, still laughing. They don’t even bother closing the door.
I curl up on the floor, shaking, staring at the open door long after they’re gone. The laptop screen is dark now, but the ringing in my ears won’t stop.
* * *
High school, a week before graduation…
“Clark.”
My body jolts when that voice comes from behind. I turn around, and there she is—Amy, standing right in front of the soda vending machine, blocking my way.
“What do you want?” I say flatly.
Ever since we came back to school, Amy’s never once acknowledged me. She just keeps picking on me every chance she gets. It’s obvious she doesn’t see me as her brother at all.
At the house, though, she’s a whole different person. She plays the perfect sister in front of Mr. Schmidt—all sweet and caring. But the second his back’s turned, she goes right back to tormenting me in her own way.
I begged Mom to get divorced so we could move back to our old house, but of course, she refused. She got lucky, won the jackpot, while I’m the one stuck living through hell.
“You wanna hear something about Fenella?” Amy asks, smiling like she’s got a secret.
The second she says that name, my chest tightens. Of course I wanna know.
“What?”
“She said she’ll accept anyone who confesses to her tomorrow night at prom, during that special confessional stage thing.”
“You mean the truth-or-lie session?” I blink, trying to make sense of it.
“Yeah. She said she likes seeing people who have the guts to confess in front of a crowd.”
“Really? Why’d she say that?” I frown, still not buying it.
“Because she’s jealous of me, Clark. I told her I’m gonna confess to Chris during the session, and we’ll start dating on prom night. Then she said she wants someone to do the same for her.” Amy grins wider. “I’m pretty sure if you step up there, she won’t turn you down.”
“What about Laird? Don’t they like each other?” I ask quietly. They’ve been close forever.
“That’s the real problem here. Laird told me he doesn’t like her. He just likes the attention. You know, baseball star, school celebrity, keeping his fans attached, all that crap.” Amy shrugs, pouting like she actually cares.
And she’s probably right. I’ve seen Amy and Laird talking plenty of times in class. Maybe she’s close enough to know what he really thinks.
“I feel bad for Fenella. Don’t you?” Amy says, blinking innocently, her tone dripping with fake sympathy.
“Uh, yeah, Amy. Must suck hearing stuff like that about your best friend,” I mumble.
“Exactly. Fenella’s too nice. Too soft. She needs someone who’ll really take care of her.”
“Yeah, I can try. Wish me luck, I guess.” My tone’s casual. Maybe too casual. I turn around and start walking toward the prom committee room.
Finally, the moment I’ve been waiting for is almost here. I’m gonna be Fenella’s hero again. She’s gonna be surprised and thrilled. After prom, she’ll say yes, and we’ll finally be together, the way it’s supposed to be.