Every Day

I can’t imagine that Hugo was planning to break up with Austin today. And if he was, he can always do it tomorrow.

“Come here,” I say. Austin moves in to me and I lean into his shoulder. We sit like that for a moment, looking at the ships on the bay. I take his hand. When I turn to look at him, he’s blinking back tears.

This time when I kiss him, I know there’s something in it. When he feels it, it may come across as love. It is my thanks to him for not ending it. It is my thanks to him for giving it at least one day more.

We stay out until late, and I am a good boyfriend the whole time. Eventually I lose myself a little in his life, dancing along with Austin, William, Nicolas, and a few hundred other gays and lesbians when the parade organizers blast the Village People’s “In the Navy.”

I keep looking for Rhiannon, but only when Austin is distracted. And, at a certain point, I give up.

When I get home, there’s an email from her:

A,

Sorry I couldn’t make it to Annapolis—there were some things I had to do.

Maybe tomorrow?

R

I wonder what the “things I had to do” were. I have to assume they involve Justin, because otherwise, wouldn’t she have told me what they were?

I’m pondering this when Austin texts me to say he ended up having a great day. I text him back and say I had a great day, too. I can only hope that’s the way Hugo remembers it, because now Austin has proof if he denies it.

Hugo’s mother comes in and says something to me in Portuguese. I only get about half of it.

“I’m tired,” I tell her in English. “I think it’s time for bed.”

I don’t think I’ve addressed her questions, but she just shakes her head—I am a typical, unforthcoming teenager—and heads back to her room.

Before I go to sleep, I decide to see if Nathan has written me back.

He has.

Two words.

Prove it.

Day 6007

I wake up the next morning in Beyoncé’s body.

Not the real Beyoncé. But a body remarkably like hers. All the curves in all the right places.

I open my eyes to a blur. I reach for the glasses on the night-stand, but they’re not there. So I stumble into the bathroom and put in my contact lenses.

Then I look in the mirror.

I am not pretty. I am not beautiful.

I’m top-to-bottom gorgeous.

I am always happiest when I am just attractive enough. Meaning: other people won’t find me unattractive. Meaning: I make a positive impression. Meaning: my life is not defined by my attractiveness, because that brings its own perils as well as its own rewards.

Ashley Ashton’s life is defined by her attractiveness. Beauty can come naturally, but it’s hard to be stunning by accident. A lot of work has gone into this face, this body. I’m sure there’s a complete morning regimen that I’m supposed to undergo before heading into the day.

I don’t want to have any part of it, though. With girls like Ashley, I just want to shake them, and tell them that no matter how hard they fight it, these teenage looks aren’t going to last forever, and that there are much better foundations to build a life upon than how attractive you are. But there’s no way for me to get that message across. My only course of rebellion is to leave her eyebrows unplucked for the day.

I access where I am, and discover I’m only about fifteen minutes away from Rhiannon.

A good sign.

I log on to my email and find a message from her.

A,

I’m free and have the car today. I told my mom I have errands.

Want to be one of my errands?

R

I tell her yes. A million times yes.

Ashley’s parents are away for the weekend. Her older brother, Clayton, is in charge. I worry he’s going to give me a hassle, but he’s got his own things to do, as he tells me repeatedly. I tell him I won’t stand in his way.

“You’re going out in that?” he asks.

Normally, when an older brother asks this, it means a skirt is too short, or too much cleavage is showing. But in this case, I think he’s saying I’m still dressed as the private Ashley, not the public one.

I don’t really care, but I have to respect the fact that Ashley would care—probably very much. So I go back and change, and even put on some makeup. I’m fascinated by the life Ashley must lead, being such a knockout. Like being very short or very tall, it must change your whole perspective on the world. If other people see you differently, you’ll end up seeing them differently, too.

Even her brother defers to her in a way I bet he wouldn’t if she were normal-looking. He doesn’t blink when I tell him I’m going out for the day with my friend Rhiannon.

If your beauty is unquestioned, so many other things can go unquestioned as well.

The minute I get into the car, Rhiannon bursts out laughing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says.

“What?” I say. Then I get it.

“What?” she mocks me. I’m happy she feels comfortable enough to do it, but I’m still being mocked.

“You have to understand—you’re the first person to ever know me in more than one body. I’m not used to this. I don’t know how you’re going to react.”

This makes her a little more serious.