So she stayed off "the list," even though Dr. Connelly kept reminding her that "the list" didn't guarantee a match. She could end up on it for years-which seemed almost as awful as staying scarred. Imagine finally deciding to cut away this piece of herself-to admit that the real Fiona wasn't acceptable-and then have nothing come of it? She'd live the rest of her life feeling even worse than she did now.
"That's why Ryan and I applied to schools near each other," Gwen was saying. "No matter what, we won't be more than four hours apart."
"Clemson. Totally Clemson," said Ryan, over a mouthful of food. "That coach loves me."
"Don't talk with your mouth full," their mom said. "And we still haven't agreed about that. If you play Division One, you won't have time for anything else."
"I can handle it."
Ryan had grown six inches over the past year, morphing from a thinnish, five-foot-six guy into a six-foot man. It was like all his bones stretched outward, pulling skin and muscle with them. He looked really big and really skinny all at once. He was fast as ever but harder to knock down. The scouts loved him.
"I just think you shouldn't take a good Division Two team off the table," their mom said. "That one we saw in Virginia looked perfect for you. It had a great business program and a good class size."
"Wrong state," Ryan said, shaking his head.
Their mom dismissed this with a wave. "It's not that much farther."
"Gwen and I already decided."
"Sometimes you have to be flexible, Ryan," she said. "Life doesn't get handed to you in exactly the package you want. Right, Fiona?"
Everyone at the table looked at Fiona, who fought the urge to roll her eyes.
You mean, not the package you want, Mom.
"So . . . ," Lucy said, breaking the awkward pause. "Which schools are you looking at, Gwen?"
"Well, Art Institute of Charleston would be great. It's about three and a half hours from Clemson. Furman has a great painting professor, and it's only thirty miles."
"Wow. You really thought this out," Lucy said, a little wide-eyed.
Fiona bit back the sarcastic comments. She knew she wasn't fair to Gwen, who was nice and smart and funny and adored her brother. She was edgy enough to hang with Lucy, sweet enough to get along with David. If Fiona had met her any other way, they'd have become friends.
But Ryan met her first. And ever since, he belonged more and more to Gwen and less and less to Fiona, which was simply unacceptable-and totally out of her control.
Fiona couldn't remember the last time he came into her room to talk. She missed him. Even though she saw him every day, she missed him.
"Fiona? The scholarship?"
Fiona blinked herself out of her fog and focused on the table staring at her. "I'm sorry, what?"
"The scholarship," David repeated. "Are there requirements or anything?"
"Oh. Um, I've got to keep a 3.5. And take at least one music and creative writing class each quarter. Publish something in the literary magazine." Fiona looked at the ceiling, trying to remember. "That's it, I think."
"That shouldn't be hard," her dad said. "Those classes are why you're going."
"The grades," she pointed out.
He waved her off. "Piece of cake."
"Publishing."
Lucy snorted. "Just take something from the Moleskines. It's not like you don't have the material."
Good Lord. "Yeah, well, we'll see."
Her mom announced it was probably time to get going, and her dad paid the check. Ryan took Gwen home. Lucy ruffled her hair and said she'd see her tomorrow. Fiona walked with David to his car, to say good-bye.
"I can't drive you home?" he asked.
"You live the other way. I might as well go with my parents."
"I'm pretty sure your dad thinks I'm an idiot," David said, looking across the parking lot, where her parents were waiting by their car. "And he terrifies me."
"What? Why?"
"Our first date, he was cleaning his shotgun in the living room."
"That's nothing," she said. "For the guy before you, he was washing fake blood off the golf clubs."
He laughed, pulling her in for a quick kiss. "So there have been other guys."
"Oh, so many. Couldn't list them."
"Speaking of which . . . we should have that conversation. Like Gwen was saying."
One of the great things about David was how laid-back he was. They could talk for hours about nothing terribly important. And there wasn't a point to this conversation, anyway.
"I don't think I can keep up with the mileage calculations," she said.
He frowned. "Fiona, we need to get going," her dad called.
David dropped his hands from her waist.
"Who's the chicken now?" she teased. After a light poke in the ribs, she kissed his cheek. "Thanks for coming."
"Of course," he said, smiling. "You got into Northwestern."
She smiled back. "I got into Northwestern."
On the drive home, her father griped that the dry cleaners kept shrinking his waistbands. Her mother laughed but didn't complain herself, since she probably hadn't gained a pound since she was eighteen. Even after two children, Caroline Doyle looked infuriatingly good.
"I can't believe my baby's going to college," her dad said, looking at her through the rear-view mirror.
"Both your babies," Fiona said.
"Too many changes," he said. "Now that I think about it, everyone should stay home."
"Too late," she replied. "Early decision. It's a done deal."
Her mom turned to face her. "Speaking of changes."
All the air went out of her-and took her good mood with it. "God, Mom-"
"I just think that now's the time to make this decision."
Fiona gestured at the dark night sky out her window. "Now?"
"I want you to be happy," her mom replied. "And I think you'd be happier-"
"It's late, Caroline," her dad said as they pulled into the driveway.
"Bruce," her mom said, looking at her dad now. "We have to decide on this."
"Well, it's not going to be tonight," Fiona said, getting out of the car before either of them could stop her.
In her room, she walked right up to the mirror over her dresser, putting her fingers on the scars and leaning in close. Turning her head, she studied all the angles. She inspected her flaws just like she imagined her mother did.
The woman had no idea what it was like to be imperfect. If Fiona went through with this surgery, would it matter? Would it fix her-her skin-deep problems, at least-enough that her mom would finally back off? That alone might make it all worth it.
But did she really have to get part of her cut away? Go through months of pain? Someone had to die before Fiona could finally-finally-get a portion of her mother's approval?
What a terrible trade-off.
Even worse for the dead, skinned person.
FI
When she got to the school gym, Fi found a sweaty Trent grunting under the Smith machine. He got up, wiped the bench off, and pointed Fi toward it. "Where have you been?"
She sat. "Coach Dunn intercepted me."
"What'd he want?"
"To harass me."
Trent squinted at that last piece of information but didn't pursue it, thank God. She was sick of everyone's opinion on the subject. So what if she was looking at Milton? Looking, not committing, people! Wasn't this what her parents had wanted, for her to widen her sights a little?
Anyway, Milton was a good school, not too big, not too small. It was in Memphis. True, the lacrosse team was club-that part pretty much sucked-but you couldn't have everything.
Trent slid four fifty-pound metal disks off the bar, leaving just fifteen on each side. "Do two reps of twelve," he said. Sitting on the bench across from her, he bossed her around, saying things like "Bring it lower" and "Don't push up so fast."
She would have fought back, but it took too much effort.
Three weeks ago, the doctor had given the all clear for these extra, after-school workouts-which, okay, she needed. The season started in a month, and she was sadly out of shape. The sooner she sucked it up and got started, the better.
Still, overcoming ten solid months of couch potato wasn't easy. It had been push versus pull. Train hard! Get back to the sport you love! vs. Ah, what's the hurry?
So far, couch potato had won.
"I'm upping your weight," Trent said, sliding another ten-pound disk on the bar.
"You upped it last week."