Whisper Read Free Page B

late-night IM chats reassuring Helena on her extra-down days, it was no wonder my report card was an endless column of Bs and the only hobby I could think to list on MySpace was “hanging with my friends.” But that didn’t matter, because I knew something Mom said it took most people their whole lives to learn. That making other people happy was more fulfilling than competing for the crown of Most Special.
    If I was honest with myself, there was a second reason why I didn’t long to be special. Standing out could be a curse—that much was obvious from watching Icka. Stars that shone too big and bright could implode, become black holes. Your own specialness could betray you, painting not a spotlight but a bull’s-eye over what was once your face.
    Still. Birthdays were the one day a year even I dared to let myself be special. Even the most average girl on Earth, I told myself, must score some attention on her birthday. A cake with her name written in frosting, basking in a circleof friends and gifts, everyone looking to her, singing to her, Whispering they hope she likes their present best of all…As Parker shook something crinkly out of a plastic bag, I reminded myself that it was okay to have other people focus on me all day.
    That this would be just like the attention I’d get on any birthday…
    “We so got you!” Parker held up a sparkly purple disco wig.
    …except, well, there’d be a whole lot more of it.
    “Show Joy the fab look she’ll be rocking at school this morning.”
    On cue, Helena presented a corset-top minidress in vomit green with bubble gum polka dots. Bree held up a pair of stretchy magenta bell-bottoms with electric orange peace signs all over them. Gleefully Parker swatted my pillow with banana yellow opera gloves.
    For a moment I lost my will to be a sport. For starters, Bree’s Aunt Cece was clearly at least five inches shorter than me. Seemed like everyone was, these days: Mom and Jessica both stopped at five five, while Parker was five foot one and so wiry she needed an extra small in Juniors. At best, stretched over my long legs, these pants were going to be sausage tight, not flowing. And speaking of bad and wrong, the ugly dress had built-in bra cups. That meant the fabric would pucker and bag out in the places where my breasts were scheduled to be (but had not yet shown signs of arriving, or called to let me know whatthe hell was taking them so long).
    Under those circumstances, I felt sure, not even Gina could have pulled off queenly poise.
    But my friends were beaming down at me, Whispering hopefully…and I realized I was supposed to be reacting to the outfit. Protesting, giggling, that kind of thing. Not just sitting there petrified.
    I swallowed. “No…no way!” I said, gaining strength from the words. “I’m not wearing that crap to school! You can’t make me wear eeeeek —”
    They fell on me like a wolf pack.
    The room filled with shrieks and giggles as I struggled, flailed, ducked, and dodged. But I wasn’t fighting hard enough to really get in their way. In two minutes, my blue cotton pj’s were history. Scratchy material went over my head and the satiny pants slid up my calves, then stretched like a second skin over my thighs. Sigh.
    The sun was rising pink and orange outside my window by the time they put the finishing touches on my makeup. I’d stopped struggling long before. Sat back and let them work on me, work with me, like they were all on that show Iron Chef and I was the secret ingredient. It was a weird feeling to be Project Joy. Weird, but not unpleasant. Bree, the head makeup artist, kept wishing she’d brought her other blush brush; Helena was hoping the wig would stay on all day. My shoulders had started to relax. It was fun, if I was honest with myself. Fun, having all eyes on me. And maybe I’d been looking forward to this birthday more than I’drealized. More than I’d let myself admit.
    Maybe more than I should have.
    “Okay, she looks