Pretending Normal by Mary Campisi Page A

Evelyn O’Grady has indeed laughed and loved, and run away to Buffalo and there is a piece of her, no matter how her father has shorn her body and stripped her spirit, that still lives.

Chapter 13
     
    The transformation of Conchetta Louise Andolotti, Chapter One.
    Conchetta’s thick, black hair is five inches shorter, thanks to Mrs. Tegretti’s scissors. And the fat braid is gone. Now she wears a hair band—red, orange, yellow, green, anything but black, or blue. Her eyebrows are plucked and arched, and she’s been practicing with the pale blue eye shadow Nina bought. Nina’s been buying a lot for this project—small, gold hoop earrings, Bonne Bell blush and lipstick, Love’s Baby Soft powder, even a red T-shirt, (probably her first), from Angie’s Style Boutique.
    “You shouldn’t be buying all this stuff, Nina.” We are sitting cross-legged on my bed waiting for Conchetta to come out of the bathroom where she’s trying on the shirt.
    She shrugs. “No big deal.” Her voice drops to a whisper, “We need to figure out how to get her a new bra.”
    Nina possesses a careless confidence that I have always wanted but will never have. It is this assurance that enables her to stuff her wiry tangle of chestnut hair under a baseball cap and wear flip flops while the rest of us are clomping around in Dr. Scholl’s. Maybe this is what attracts guys, because they swarm to her, despite her crooked front teeth and boy body. They are wasting their time. Nina hates guys. Or at least she says she does. But I’ve seen her watching Jay Galeston cruise through town in his blue Vega. If I hated guys, I’d never have gone out with Peter Donnelly. If—
    “Hey, earth to Sara.” Nina is stretching her skinny body toward me. “Don’t worry about the bra, okay? I’m not going to embarrass her by asking if it’s her grandmother’s.”
    “ What?”
    “You weren’t paying attention, were you? God, are you still thinking about that asshole?”
    “No.”
    “Yeah, you are. He’s a jerk. You don’t need a guy. There’s only a few decent ones anyway.”
    “Like Jay Galeston?” I say, trying not to smile.
    “Shut up.” She smiles, too.
    Maybe she doesn’t even know how she feels about him yet. Maybe it’s still all new, and fragile, and hopeful. I don’t want to think about this so I reach for the first thought that jumps into my head. “Does your Mom know you’re buying Conchetta all this stuff?”
    “No. So what?”
    “So, if she finds out you’re draining your bank account, she’ll kill you.”
    Nina’s smile turns sly. “I didn’t touch that damn account, not a single penny.”
    “Where —”
    “Let’s just say I ‘borrowed’ it from my old man’s wallet . Two bucks here, five there. It’s not like he’s going to notice.”
    “You stole it?”
    “Well, maybe technically, but I’ll give it back to him eventually. Anyway, if I’m using it to help Conchetta, is it really stealing?”
    Is it? I’m trying to decide when Conchetta appears in the doorway. The red shirt clings to her breasts, falls softly to expose a shape and definition we didn’t know existed. 
    “Is it … is it okay?”
    Nina whistles and jumps off the bed. “Look at you! You should wear red all the time. And orange, and green, and yellow.”
    “You really think I look okay?”
    Conchetta’s dark eyes are on me, waiting. “Yeah, I really think so.”
    She stands up straighter then, her smile spreading over us.
    Maybe Nina is right, maybe borrowing from her father isn’t such a big deal, even if she never pays him back. I don’t know, there are too many things I don’t know about anymore.
    “So ”—Nina unfolds her spindly legs over the edge of the bed and leans back on one arm, studying Conchetta—“now what?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, look at you, all duded up. The hair, the makeup, the shirt. Now you’ve got to get out and go somewhere.”
    “Where?”
    “Anywhere. You can’t just hibernate in your