Not a Unicorn Page 10

  “I bet it feels different.”

  I can’t seem to take my eyes away from the mirror and the image of hornless me. “Really different,” I say, staring at the place where my horn used to be.

  “How are you feeling?” the nurse says from behind Grandma.

  “I’ve got a headache. A bad one.”

  “That’s not surprising. We’re managing the pain with meds, but it might be uncomfortable for a while.”

  Uncomfortable is an understatement. If I’m on pain meds and it hurts this bad, I’m scared to think what it would feel like without them. But when I look in the mirror, none of that matters. “I can’t believe it worked,” I say, completely awed, taking in what until now seemed impossible.

  It’s hard to believe my eyes, but it’s true. My horn is gone.

  Maps and Minotaurs

  Grandma stands behind me as we ride up the long escalator toward baggage claim in the Atlanta airport. It’s good to be on my feet after the long flight, but my stomach feels tight because we’re almost home. I haven’t seen my mom for three whole weeks.

  I’m wearing the LA Dodgers hat that George gave me when he picked us up this morning. We had to adjust the snaps to accommodate my bandage underneath, but with the hat on, the bandage is almost invisible. The plane ride home was so much different than the plane ride out. This time no one stared at me—which felt both good and strange.

  When I stepped off the plane, I searched for Carmen. I’ve missed her. I still wonder if I saw her that night in the hospital or if it was a dream. Either way, I haven’t seen her since. I’ve been telling myself that maybe she couldn’t make the distance to Los Angeles. Maybe Carmen can’t do everything—I’d never tested distance before like that. Thinking that had calmed me down, and I figured she’d be waiting for me when we landed. But she isn’t.

  Mom is, though! I spot her as the escalator lifts us higher. She’s standing behind the rope barrier where people are allowed to wait for passengers coming off planes.

  She looks right through me.

  Hornless, and hidden under my new cap, I’m a stranger to her. When she sees Grandma, she gives a confused wave before her eyes dart back to me. And her face crumbles.

  We talked with Mom a lot while we were in LA, but we never texted her a picture. That was my idea—I didn’t want her to see me until I really looked different and we were together. But from the look on her face now, waiting may have been a mistake.

  We rush to her and I hug her over the rope line. “Mom, what’s wrong?” I ask, because she’s crying now.

  “Oh, my sweet girls,” Grandma says. I look at her for a clue about how to read this moment. Why is Mom freaking out? But Grandma’s face is calm and almost bemused, and for the millionth time I’m reminded that Grandma is Mom’s mom, and their relationship is its own special thing.

  “Mom, don’t cry.” I slip under the barrier, and she hugs me again tighter than ever. By the time she lets me go, Grandma has made her way around the rope. She puts her arms around my mom, calming the waves inside like only a mother can.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mom finally says, pulling away and wiping her eyes. “I was just so worried. I missed you so much.”

  “We missed you, too, Mom.”

  I wait for her to say something else but she doesn’t. She just stares at my forehead.

  “Is it okay?” I ask uncertainly.

  She keeps looking. “You’re wearing a hat,” she says, and lets out a gulping laugh.

  “Cool, right?”

  “It’s really gone,” she says, dumbstruck.

  “Do I look totally weird? Is that why you’re crying?”

  She takes a deep breath, and in her eyes, I see my mom come back to herself again, but with a wonder I’ve never seen before. “Oh, Jewel,” she says. “You look beautiful.”

  I’m excited to get home, so sure that Carmen will be waiting for me by the stairs. When we finally drive into the parking lot and she isn’t, my heart kinks up like a twisted garden hose. Where is she?

  We lug our suitcases upstairs, and after we step inside our apartment, I stop and look around. It’s the same lumpy sofa, the same water spot on the kitchen ceiling, the same refrigerator that hums too loud, but it all somehow feels different.

  Grandma gives me some time alone in our room to unpack. I pull out the box that Dr. Stein gave me before we left and place it on my bed. Opening the box, I look inside again at my horn. Where am I going to put this?

  When I asked if he wanted to keep it for his trophy case, Dr. Stein looked at me oddly and asked, “Wouldn’t that make me weird?”

  I guess it would. Good on Dr. Stein.

  We’re not done with him yet. There are lots of rules like: Get enough sleep and don’t do anything too strenuous. And of course, if something feels wrong, we have to call him right away.

  Nothing feels wrong so far, just different. At least now I can finally walk around without having to catch my balance on a wall or a chair. I can hug Mom and Grandma without worrying that I might hurt them. But sometimes it feels like my horn is still there, especially when I wake up in the morning. Dr. Stein says it’s like having a phantom limb—people who lose an arm or a leg often feel it after it’s gone.

  The weirdest is when I catch myself in a mirror. I’ve done hundreds of double takes because the image looking back at me doesn’t seem real. Hornless Jewel is still a stranger to me.

  I close the box and decide to store my horn in the closet where Grandma’s money jar used to be. For what, I don’t know, but it’s not the kind of thing you throw away.

  And yay for Grandma’s money jar! Everything is expensive in LA. But there was enough to buy a bracelet for Mystic in a tourist shop on Hollywood Boulevard. And the picture of Grandma next to Barbara Stanwyck’s star on the sidewalk didn’t cost a thing, but the smile on her face was priceless.

  I text Mystic and Nicholas, letting them know that I’m back, but the next two days are just for family. Mom’s taking time off from work because of all the overtime she put in while we were away. We pop popcorn, watch movies, and even get a pizza delivered. What a luxury!

  On Saturday, Mom goes back to work and Mystic comes over to hang out before I have to go back to school on Monday. She’s pretty stunned when she sees her hornless friend.

  “Whoa!” is her first reaction when she comes through the door.

  We hang out in my room and I tell her about everything. I give her the bracelet—a chain with a gold star—and she loves it! Then I show her the almost-healed place on my stomach where they took skin and attached it to my forehead. She thinks it’s gross and I agree.

  “How’s everything else?” I ask, angling for some intel about Emma and the Brooklyn bracelet situation. We never texted about it while I was away.

  “I got a C− on my last French quiz,” Mystic answers.

  “How could you get a C−?” I ask, because even for Mystic that’s extreme.

  “It’s your fault because you weren’t here to help me,” she says, teasing, “and French is sorely messing with my GPA.”

  “I’ll help you,” I say, but her expression turns worried. “What’s wrong?”

  “Um. Well . . . ,” She pauses, and I can sense there’s something she doesn’t want to tell me.

  “Did Emma say anything about the bracelet?” I ask, ready for the worst.

  She doesn’t answer at first, but then her forehead smooths and her worried look disappears. “No, I think we’re in the clear on that.”

  “Whew, what a relief,” I say.

  “I know, right?”

  “So what’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing. Never mind. What’s under that bandage anyway?”

  “You don’t want to know!” I say. “It’s kind of like Frankenstein.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “Ah, it’s pretty bad.” Slowly, I reach for the bandage, and Mystic leans forward as I gently peel it off. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch.


  “Not as bad as Frankenstein,” she finally says.

  “Thanks. But so much for my triumphant return.”

  “Don’t say that,” Mystic says. “You’re way triumphant.”

  “Maybe I can wear a hat.”

  She’s silent for a minute, then jumps off the bed.

  “Where are you going?” I ask as she speeds out of the bedroom and says something to Grandma in the kitchen. In less than a minute, they both return. Mystic is carrying a pair of scissors.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, feeling downright suspicious, because . . . scissors.

  “I’ve got a great idea,” Mystic says, and I look past her to Grandma.

  “She does,” Grandma agrees.

  “I promise, it’s going to look even better,” Mystic says, and sits down across from me on the bed. She holds the scissors in front of my eyes and says, “Bangs,” like it’s the answer to the universe.

  “Bangs?”

  “Bangs,” Grandma repeats. “Why didn’t we think of that already?”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Mom?” I ask, putting my hand to my forehead.

  “Let’s surprise her!” Grandma says, and she and Mystic gaze at me eagerly, waiting for the next move.

  “All right,” I say and grin. “Do it.”

  “Okay, hold still.” Mystic lifts the scissors near my eyes. Her Hollywood Boulevard bracelet dangles from her wrist alongside her usual stack.

  “Wait! Are you sure you can do this?”

  “My mom cuts hair, remember? I’ve watched her do it a thousand times.”

  Before I ask if watching is the same as doing, Mystic grabs a section of my hair and cuts straight through. My mouth falls open as a bunch of hair comes off in her hand.

  “Oh, yeah,” Mystic says, then makes more clips here and there like she actually does know what she’s doing. When she’s satisfied, Mystic pulls back. She and Grandma study me like I’m a science experiment.

  “What?” I ask because I can’t tell what they’re thinking. “Is it horrible?” I leap off the bed and steel myself before I look in the mirror.

  Jewel.

  I see myself as if for the first time. The bangs change everything. I see my eyes, my lips, my nose. My Frankenstein forehead is completely hidden. And guess what? Nicholas was wrong. My nose is not big. Not at all.

  I can’t stop staring. I look normal. I might even look good.

  “Who’s the fairest of them all?” says Grandma, and I turn to her and Mystic.

  “Wow, you look amazing, Jewels,” Mystic whispers.

  “Wait until your mom sees,” says Grandma, her eyes shining.

  “Wait until everybody sees,” adds Mystic, starting to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s just . . . nobody’s going to know who you are. I bet they won’t even recognize you. You’ll be like the intriguing new girl.”

  Intriguing? I’ll just settle for “new girl.”

  “Hey, don’t get me wrong, I thought you were the intriguing horn girl, too,” Mystic says. “This is just a different look.”

  I smile at her. That was a way-cool thing for her to say. My eyes catch me in the mirror again. I do look different. So much that I’m not sure I even recognize myself.

  The next day I’m in Nicholas’s room looking at the new red flag we just pinned onto his wall map. A Minotaur—part man, part bull—showed up in the latest issue of Highwaymen, and from our calculations, it hails from Isabela, Puerto Rico. Who knew that Minotaurs lived in the Caribbean?

  I can feel Nicholas staring at me, though. When he opened the front door and got his first glimpse, his eyes bugged out and his jaw literally swung open.

  “You actually did it,” he said, with a kind of disbelief that instantly annoyed me. He’s been a big gaping fool ever since—and fifteen minutes of being gaped at turns out to be quite a long time.

  But he did wait for me to do our map project together, which was cool of him. He’s had this Highwaymen for over two weeks (as he’s reminded me three times) and that’s a really long time for Nicholas to wait when it comes to Hot Springs.

  I’m pretending to study the map, but out of the corner of my eye, I see him still gaping. If he would just stop doing that!

  “I guess I’ll get used to it,” he manages.

  “Oh, phew,” I say dryly. “I’ve been worried about how this would affect you.” I really was a little worried about how he would react, but now I’m about over it.

  “Hey, I look at you more than you do. Don’t you think it’s important that I get used to it, too?”

  I shrug and say, “Maybe.”

  “Do you miss it?” he asks.

  I gaze out the window into Nicholas’s front yard. Whenever I’m here, that’s where Carmen usually waits for me. “No, I don’t miss it,” I say, but it’s more complicated than that. Truth is, there have been a lot of feelings rushing through me ever since the surgery. I’m like a mood ring, alternating between feeling excited, confused, relieved, happy, lonely, and all kinds of strange colors in between.

  “I do,” he says, almost smugly, and suddenly the mood ring inside me flips to red.

  “Stop looking at me like that!” I snap.

  “Dude, chill!” he says. “I’m not looking at anything.”

  “You’re looking at my bangs! You’re looking at my forehead! You’re looking at where my horn used to be!”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Oh my gosh, the fake innocent look on his face. No. “I’m going home.”

  As I leave his room, Nicholas yells after me. “What did I do?” I speed down the stairs without answering and his tone changes. “Fine. Free country. Whatever.”

  Ugh!

  It’s started raining outside and I don’t have an umbrella. It’s miles to home but I start walking. Better rain than Nicholas.

  I knew he was going to be a jerk about this, so why am I surprised? He is a jerk. If I never had a horn, we would have never been friends. And now that I don’t have a horn, we don’t have to be.

  I’m halfway down Park Street when I hear footfalls behind me. “Jewel! Wait up!”

  Stubbornly, I walk faster, but Nicholas’s legs are longer than mine, so it doesn’t take him long to catch me.

  “Where are you going anyway?”

  I keep walking. “Away from you.”

  “I probably deserve that,” he says, now by my side.

  “You do.”

  “I know. Just stop walking, okay?”

  I turn to him. “I always knew you only liked me for my horn. And now you’ve made that perfectly clear.”

  “No, I don’t. It’s just that I liked your horn. It was cool. I don’t know why that makes you so mad.”

  “Because I’m not my horn!”

  “I never said you were,” he says.

  “But that’s what you thought.”

  He shakes his head. “It’s just . . . you know me—I like magical creatures.”

  “I’m not a magical creature, Nicholas.” I look toward town. I could keep walking. But I don’t. I stand with him on the rainy sidewalk.

  “I know,” he says quietly. “It’s just, it was your face,” he mumbles. “Your horn. That’s what I liked about it. That it was you. So, I’m sorry. I mean it.”

  I stare at him and wonder if I might have overreacted. I mean, it is weird seeing me this way. What if it takes him some time to get used to the new me?

  Then he adds, “And I really missed you.”

  The mean part of me thinks, Well, of course he did, he’s my best friend. But then again, he doesn’t usually say stuff like that. And he waited over two weeks so we could put that dumb red flag on the map together. That’s big in Nicholas World.

  “I missed you, too,” I say back.

  He smiles, then looks up, opening his palms to the sky. “And it’s raining,” he says, like he’s just noticed, and I laugh.

  On our way back to his house, I tell him about LA. I tell him about George
and the Garbo and Dr. Stein. I tell him everything, except about seeing Carmen in the hospital. I wonder if I will ever tell anyone about Carmen again.

  Back inside, we towel ourselves off and Nicholas gives me a dry T-shirt to wear. In the bathroom, I slip his shirt over my head—so easy to do without a horn!—and my eyes land on the mirror. Still no horn. No wonder Nicholas was staring at me.

  Even I can’t get used to what I look like now.

  I’m nervous about school tomorrow. What if everybody stares at me like Nicholas did? And then there’s French. I won’t lie, a part of me has secretly been holding out about the essay competition. Maybe Monsieur Oliver has waited for me. Maybe he feels so strongly that it’s supposed to be me on that stage that he didn’t submit Josh Martin’s name to the Alliance. It feels almost too good to be true—to be hornless Jewel and French Rock Star Jewel all at the same time. But why not? Anything’s possible now!

  As I get ready for bed, I do what’s become a ritual ever since I got home. I open the blinds, hoping Carmen will be standing outside the window. But she isn’t. “Come on, Carmen. It’s not so bad.”

  Carmen will forgive me. I tell myself. I just have to be patient.

  From across the parking lot, the light in Emma’s room comes on, and my thoughts shift to her. Emma hasn’t seen me yet. Will she recognize me? Will she . . .

  “Knock, knock,” Mom says and comes in.

  I pull down the blinds and hop into bed. That’s another thing I’m into now—jumping around! It always hurt my horn to do it before, but now I’m like a bouncing rabbit.

  “You feeling okay?” she asks.

  “Tired. But good.” She sits on my bed and pulls up the covers. “Are you tucking me in again?” She’s been tucking me in like a little kid ever since I got home.

  “Yep.”

  “You’re weird,” I say.

  “I’m okay with that. Sleep well, my sweet girl,” she says, and kisses me on the forehead. She hasn’t been able to do that since I was a baby, so now it’s like she’s making up for lost time. It turns out I like being kissed there.