Spot the Difference: World Book Day Edition 2016 Page 3

  A group of Year 9 girls gather around me. ‘Seriously,’ I say, relishing their adoring glances, ‘after the first week, I’d already started seeing results. You should get your parents to talk to Dr Hong.’

  A couple of them jot the name down.

  ‘Avery, you look so pretty!’ says a little girl I swear I’ve never met.

  ‘Thank you!’

  Even teachers have quietly taken me to one side and told me how pleased they are that my ordeal is over.

  Of course I’m loving it, although I have now started having a recurring dream where I wake up one morning and find that my skin has reverted to its former state. I always wake with a start and my hands fly to my cheeks to check they’re still clear.

  When you only have one proper friend, the worst thing in the world is when that friend is off sick. It’s day twenty-four of the trial and Lois has the flu, so I’m all alone. The day drags. In the afternoon I have double biology and sit by myself near the front.

  There is some excitement when Mrs Walsh enters wearing a white coat, which means we’re doing something practical instead of merely going through old exam papers. My excitement quickly dies when she says, ‘Can you get yourself into pairs, please?’

  Oh god no. I look around and everyone else is already sitting in pairs. I can feel panic rising – what if I have to join a three with Scarlett or something?

  There’s a tap on my shoulder. It’s Lucy.

  ‘Hi! Rufus is off sick, wanna be my partner?’

  Well, this is surreal. I look to the back row and see Scarlett paired with Tyler. She’s obviously given Lucy permission to join me.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lucy hops onto the stool next to mine. She smells of the DKNY perfume that’s a bit like apples. ‘I didn’t want to get stuck with Matthew Pinder. He’d just stare at my chest for the next two hours.’

  ‘No worries.’ I smile awkwardly.

  Mrs Walsh describes the practical. It’s pretty straightforward stuff. We’re comparing the vitamin C content of various fruit juices using a chemical called DCPIP – shouldn’t be too hard. We potter about, getting all the test tubes and pipettes and samples we need. Before we start we have to copy out a results table.

  Suddenly Lucy says, ‘Do you remember our detective agency?’

  ‘Oh, wow!’ I put my pen down. ‘That is so cringe, I haven’t thought about that in years! What was it called again?’

  ‘The Jade Dolphin Detective Agency!’

  I laugh. ‘Because you’re favourite colour was jade …’

  ‘And dolphins were your favourite animal!’

  ‘On reflection,’ I say, ‘it kinda sounds like a brothel in Chinatown.’

  Now Lucy laughs, freely and throatily, the way we used to. ‘To be fair, we did solve a fairly massive mystery.’

  ‘My grandma did indeed learn who had smashed her ornamental china rose. I don’t think my cousin Nick has ever quite forgiven me for ratting him out.’

  Lucy pouts. ‘It’s a shame we stopped hanging out. I miss you sometimes.’

  I wonder if I’m keeping the gobsmackedness off my face. I’m not the one who traded-up the instant we got to secondary school.

  I shrug. ‘One of those things.’

  ‘We used to have so much fun though! Don’t you think?’

  Her smile is so sweet and honest, I can’t help but wonder if she even knows the harm she does. Just by being she makes the rest of us feel terrible about ourselves. I don’t suppose she can help her fortune in the biological lottery, but like it or not, Lucy Manning is the standard by which the rest of us are judged.

  ‘We did,’ I concede. ‘I miss you too, but … things have changed.’

  ‘Well, they can change back! We’re not eleven any more, there’s no reason we can’t all be friends.’

  That earns a mighty eye-roll. ‘Oh yeah, like that’s gonna happen.’

  ‘What? Scarlett? She’s a pussycat! Come on, let’s go and work over there.’

  My heart almost cracks my ribs.

  ‘Lucy, no!’

  Too late. Lucy has already swept up our rack of test tubes and is heading to the back of the lab.

  ‘We’re gonna work here!’ Lucy announces.

  ‘This is so stupid,’ Scarlett laments. ‘When am I ever going to need to know how much vitamin C there is in orange juice? Do you ever just feel like you’re just totally wasting your time in a state-sanctioned holding pen?’

  ‘Scarlett.’ Lucy ignores her. ‘You know Avery, right?’

  ‘Sure. How’s it going?’

  How can such a simple question be so hard to answer? I can’t work out if it’s a trick designed to make me look stupid somehow. When has she ever asked me how it’s going before?

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

  ‘Awesome. Do you actually know what we have to do?’

  ‘Vaguely …’

  ‘That’ll do. I was playing Candy Crush while Walsh was droning on. Someone wants to tell her that when there’s that much vodka in her orange juice, the vitamin C content hardly matters.’ (There are certain rumours about Mrs Walsh … )

  ‘Come on,’ Lucy steps in. ‘It’s easy. I’ll show you.’

  We follow the method closely, speaking only about the experiment. Scarlett is, dare I say it, friendly. I see other people looking over, and why wouldn’t they? It’s today’s episode of The A-List, and I’m making a cameo.

  Results recorded, I take our test tubes to the sink to be rinsed. I loiter behind Tyler and Seth while they wash up.

  ‘… I dunno, maybe,’ says Seth.

  ‘She seeing anyone?’ Tyler hands him some pipettes.

  ‘Don’t think so, but is it a bit weird?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Tyler shrugs his huge shoulders.

  ‘I guess I never really saw her before, but she’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Nah. Her skin’s better, but she still dresses like a dude.’

  With horror, I realise that they’re talking about me. Oh, this is awkward but … did Seth Curran just call me gorgeous? I start to skulk silently away.

  ‘Tyler, you sexist pig!’ I turn around and find Scarlett standing right behind me. ‘“Dresses like a dude”? What would you like her to wear? A bikini?’

  Tyler and Seth turn, caught red-handed. Seth’s face turns milk-white.

  ‘Were you standing there the whole time?’

  ‘Yep, and it was very rude of you to objectify poor Avery.’

  They stand before Scarlett like guilty little boys who’ve smashed a greenhouse window. OK. I’ve seen Scarlett’s Instagram and she’s more than happy to be objectified – more often than not she’s just a pair of dismembered bare legs – so her little diatribe is purely about letting Tyler know who’s in charge. Hierarchy-wise, I see now that Scarlett is the queen of the boys too – the supremest-being among the supreme.

  ‘Sorry, Avery,’ Tyler mutters. ‘Your clothes are … nice.’

  With Scarlett at my side, I feel brave and take a risk.

  ‘That’s OK, Tyler. I can get new clothes at the shops, but there’s not a lot we do about your face, is there?’ I say with a smile.

  Both Scarlett and Seth crack up, as even Tyler has to submit to ‘the bants’.

  ‘Oh, snap!’ Scarlett says. ‘You deserved that too! Here …’ she takes the test tubes out of my hand and gives them to Tyler. ‘He can wash up as punishment.’

  Scarlett hooks her arm around mine, and we walk back to the table. But Seth follows us, and gently pulls me to one side.

  ‘Avery, I’m so sorry, that’s properly embarrassing. I didn’t know you were there, honest.’

  ‘Clearly.’

  ‘Uh, cringe. I don’t know if this saves it, but I meant it. You look awesome … and not just your skin, although obviously that’s amazing. I’m babbling. Man! What I mean is, you seem … different all over. Sorry, I’m no good at compliments!’

  I feel my cheeks burn. ‘Well, thank you, Seth.’ I don’t know what else t
o say, so I busy myself sweeping things into my rucksack. The funny thing is though, I do feel different all over. It’s like the Sebavectum has changed my face and my brain.

  As the lesson ends, people frantically snatch the homework assignment off Mrs Walsh’s desk and make a run for the door. But three girls block my path: Scarlett, Lucy and Naima.

  ‘Are you doing anything Friday night?’ Scarlett asks.

  ‘Erm … why?’

  ‘My parents are going to this ludicrous wine tasting thing, so we’re having a pizza and DVD night at mine if you wanna come?’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  Scarlett smiles. ‘Of course I am. Avery, you’re like a beautiful-if-slightly-awkward caterpillar emerging from a chrysalis. Own it. You could totally be one of the hottest girls in the year. Whether you like it or not, your stock is about to skyrocket and you’re going to need people who know what they’re talking about to help you play the market. And let’s face it, we girls gotta stick together.’

  I’m still waiting for the punchline. This girl has called me Pizzaface for three years. Naima once coloured in a sanitary towel with red marker and stuck it to my back. I walked around with it attached to me for about an hour before a teacher rescued me.

  ‘I dunno …’

  ‘Come on! It’s Pitch Perfect and ice cream! What is there to think about?’ It’s as if the last three years have never happened. ‘And we can talk about you and Seth …’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘What am I supposed to do?’

  After school I go straight over to Lois’s. It transpires she doesn’t have the flu, she has a cold, and will probably be back at school tomorrow. She’s on the sofa watching Friends, surrounded by screwed-up tissues and mugs of half-finished Lemsip.

  ‘OMG! This is amazing! You have to go! You can spy on her and find out all her dirt so we can bring her down!’

  I sit at a microbe-safe distance, pulling my legs under me and onto the armchair. ‘I dunno. I keep thinking it’s all a trick and Scarlett’s gonna do something awful to me, you know like that thing with your hand in a bucket of water to make you wee yourself.’

  ‘That’s not Scarlett’s style. She’d get Naima to do it.’ Lois blows her nose. ‘I can’t believe how shallow she really is. She’s been nothing but horrid to us and now you’re a minor celebrity she’s inviting you over for a slumber party!’

  I haven’t told Lois the only reason I’m even considering accepting the invite is the vague possibility of a date with Seth. I don’t know what Lois would think about that. I mean, Seth has never directly said anything mean to me or Lois, but he does hang around with the very worst people in the world.

  ‘It’s so weird being around them. It’s like people off the TV have crawled into the real world, like that girl from The Ring. What do Scarlett, Lucy and Naima talk about in private? I dread to think.’

  ‘Ten bucks says it’s nothing but boys and make up.’

  ‘Oh, come on, what do we ever talk about? Nuclear fission?’

  Lois laugh-coughs. ‘Valid point. Actually we mostly talk about them, so you have to go. It’ll be awful, though.’

  ‘Well, obviously.’

  ‘Just don’t you dare dump me for Scarlett Drake …’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Oh, as if! This whole thing is a huge mistake. I must be mad.’

  ‘But you’ll go?’

  I think my mind is made up. I do want to go. I can’t not.

  I’m so overdressed. I spent hours labouring over what to wear to Scarlett’s house, in the end choosing a denim skirt and flannel shirt. But it turns out I needn’t have bothered. Scarlett welcomes me into her grand hallway wearing sweatpants and a vest.

  ‘Hi, Avery, come on in. We’re in the snug.’

  Scarlett’s home is beautiful, and just how I always imagined: white, pristine and like something from Real Housewives. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling and creamy roses spill from vases.

  It’s like being in a doll’s house.

  I follow Scarlett into a lounge with fat sofas and the biggest flatscreen TV I’ve ever seen. Naima and Lucy are already here, as dressed-down as Scarlett is.

  ‘Perfect timing!’ Lucy says. ‘The pizza just arrived.’

  ‘Oh, awesome.’ Boots removed, I join them in kneeling around a coffee table.

  ‘Diet Coke?’ Naima offers, still eyeing me up slightly.

  ‘Please.’ I notice there’s only one medium-sized pizza on the coffee table. ‘Is there more?’

  Scarlett looks at me warily. ‘Is there something wrong with this one?’

  It’s only two slices each, but I know better than to challenge her.

  ‘No, it’s great.’

  ‘It’s such a treat,’ Scarlett says. ‘We try not to eat bread.’

  ‘We don’t eat at all at school,’ Lucy says, somewhat grumpily.

  ‘What?’ I ask in mild horror.

  Scarlett sighs as if she’s bored of having to endlessly recite the same rules. ‘Eating looks disgusting. If there was a pretty way to eat, I’d do it. When people eat they look like animals, and how is that attractive?’

  I’m suddenly very aware that I’ve just shoved a huge wedge of pizza into my mouth.

  ‘Are you for real?’

  ‘I’m deadly serious.’

  ‘Are boys allowed to eat in public?’

  ‘Boys don’t need to look pretty, do they?’ Scarlett says defiantly. ‘It’s about having a little self-control. I’m not saying don’t eat – boys don’t like bony girls …’

  ‘Like Esme Peterson,’ Naima says, casually picking a mushroom off the pizza. Esme is a very anorexic girl in the year above us.

  ‘… I’m just saying maintain an air of feminine mystery. If you have to eat in public because you are, for example, on a picnic with a boy, then eat small finger foods that don’t need much chewing.’

  ‘Like a grape,’ Lucy offers helpfully. Her training must have taken.

  ‘It’s common sense. Anyone can be gorgeous. It just takes hard work and self-discipline.’

  ‘Otherwise,’ Naima says with a grin, ‘you end up like that fat beast Jessica Wright.’

  I almost choke on my pizza.

  ‘God,’ Scarlett says, suddenly wide-eyed. ‘How can she have let herself get like that? I blame the parents. She should have been taken into care as a child.’

  Lucy tuts. ‘Scarlett, don’t be …’

  ‘Don’t be what?’ Scarlett discards the one slice of pizza that she’s half-eaten. ‘Mean? I’m not, Luce, I’m being honest. Are you denying that Jessica Wright weighs roughly the same as a minibus full of baby hippos? Avery.’ She turns to me. ‘Do you think I’m evil?’

  Dear Earth, please swallow me up.

  ‘Erm … minibus? That’s kinda harsh.’ Kinda harsh? I am a coward. A terrible coward.

  ‘I’m the voice of the big, bad world, Avery. Ain’t nobody got time for nice, and if you think that pretending Jessica Wright isn’t a mammoth is doing her a favour, you’re crazy. If a teacher at primary school had told Jessica to drop about ten stone, that would’ve be the kinder thing to have done. I mean, what hope does she have? Honestly? She’s doomed.’ Scarlett pauses to sip her Diet Coke elegantly through a straw. ‘Here’s a scenario for you: if Lucy and Jessica turned up to work at your … let’s say restaurant, as a hostess, which would you employ? Honestly.’

  All three girls look at me, and I feel like one of those divers in a shark cage.

  ‘I guess … Lucy?’

  ‘Of course you would,’ Scarlett says triumphantly. ‘Because who’s gonna wanna eat watching lint collect in Jessica’s back-rolls? And it’s the same thing with your skin. Now you’re gorgeous, the world is your oyster. Seriously, I figured out, like, when I was about six, that you get special treatment when you’re pretty. Work it, babes. Facts of life.’

  The problem is, her voice has also been the little voice in my head for a long, long time.

  I hate her, but I agree with her
, and now I hate myself.

  She’s cruel.

  She’s a monster.

  She must be stopped.

  Coming here was a terrible mistake.

  ‘I’m not gorgeous,’ I mutter.

  ‘You will be after I’ve finished with you.’

  ‘What?’

  Scarlett shares a sly smile with Lucy and Naima. ‘We have a little surprise for you … Tyler and Seth are coming over at nine!’

  I almost hurl the pizza right back up. How ‘pretty’ would that be?

  ‘For real?’

  ‘I wouldn’t lie, babes. As soon as Seth knew you were coming over, he asked if he could come too. So, we need to get you ready …’

  ‘Makeover!’ Lucy declares, clapping her hands.

  ‘Avery Morgan.’ Scarlett smiles. ‘Welcome to the A-List.’

  Chapter Eight

  In literary terms, ‘uncanny’, derives from the German phrase Das Unheimliche, and translates as ‘the opposite of what is familiar’, or, in other words, a strange and peculiar mixture of the familiar and unfamiliar.

  Sitting in front of the mirror at Scarlett Drake’s dresser, ‘uncanny’ hardly did the weirdness justice.

  While Scarlett worked on my face and Lucy fixed my eyebrows, Naima took curling irons to my hair, each lock sizzling and steaming, and then falling into relaxed ringlets. Now she instructs me to bend over, shake it out and toss it back. I sit back down and look at the finished effect.

  OH MY …

  I look like me but not me.

  Now, I’ve always avoided make up like the plague as I was convinced it would make my skin worse. But with a little, Scarlett has created a lot. She’s totally transformed my face. This doppelganger’s eyes are framed with black kohl and smoky eye shadow. Foundation covers any final pink acne marks; subtle blusher brings out my cheekbones; powder has been brushed over my skin to make my forehead less shiny, and a frankly delicious raspberry lip gloss seems to have plumped my lips to anaphylactic proportions.

  I look like Scarlett. This wasn’t a makeover, it was a Drakeover. I’m her clone and it’s too scary for words.

  ‘There, look at you all grown-up. And just in time too. It’s five to nine.’