door.
She lifted her lashes and looked at her reflection.
A beautiful girl looked back.
A girl whose dark hair was not lank and dull, but clouds of curling wisps.
A girl whose complexion was not pale and worn, but as fair as springtime, tinged with bright pink energy.
A girl whose eyes were not tired as dishwater, but whose eyes laughed and sparkled, and whose lashes swept mysteries before them.
Devnee laughed, and the new face laughed with her, teasing and coaxing and adorable.
Devnee raised her eyebrows and the new eyebrows were both comic and inviting.
Devnee thought deeply, and the face turned sober and gentle and full of compassion.
I am beautiful.
I have it. I have beauty.
I am not Aryssa. I do not look like her. And yet I have what she has: I have beauty. I have what makes people stop and stare. I have what makes people yearn and love.
I am Devnee Fountain.
I am beautiful.
She stood for a long time facing the mirror; stood, in fact, until dawn had come, and alarm clocks had gone off, and the rest of her family was stumbling into wakefulness.
Devnee, too, awoke.
But there was no stumbling now. No early morning heaviness. No dull resignation about yet another difficult school day ahead.
Tingling with excitement, she danced to the bathroom she shared with Luke, and wonder of wonders, he was still asleep. The floor was not covered with wet towels, and the soap was not lying in a disgusting soppy puddle at the bottom of the tub.
She felt thinner and more graceful.
The water showered down on her as if it were a privilege.
When she stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel, she tugged the pale blue plastic shower cap off and let her hair fall around her shoulders. In the foggy mirror of the hot bathroom, she looked at her reflection.
Clouds of hair, curly with humidity, wafted around her face like a bridal veil.
That’s what I am, she thought. A bride. Today I go to school for the first time with the veil lifted. I used to be covered by a plain dull boring face and body, but now I am what I deserve to be.
Beautiful.
Even my brother wished this for me, she thought, laughing with wild delight. I hope you get what you deserve, he had said, and I have! Her exuberance rose up in her like a storm of fireworks, celebrating from the inside out. She wanted to scream and shout and drive through town honking a horn. Look at me! I am beautiful!
She corralled her exuberance. It would not do. She must look as if she had always looked this way.
The girl in the mirror was still Devnee, but both sharpened and softened. Nature had not quite come through for Devnee at birth, but the essential elements of Devnee’s features had been good, and now because of last night she had been brought into perfection.
Devnee stroked the reflection in the mirror, and even with the fog wiped off the glass, she remained beautiful. She was not a cloud. Not a mirage. She was real, and she was beautiful.
Luke began pounding on the door. “Get outta there, Dev!” her brother bellowed. “You think you’re the only one living here?”
For a moment the insides of her—the person who had not changed—the person who was still the old Devnee—was thrown.
Who was living here?
She stared at the mirror and instead of being thrilled, she was terrified and confused. Who is that? Pieces of Aryssa, pasted together? Leftover victims of the vampire, summoned from the grave to be reflected in a mirror?
Where did the old Devnee go? Who is Aryssa now? Where is Aryssa now? Is Aryssa all right? What did happen last night?
Is this beauty only in my mind? What if the vampire just convinced me there was a trade?
Devnee opened the door before Luke smashed his way in.
Her yucky worthless brother paused in the doorway. A glare remained suspended on his face. The face itself became confused. Her brother was staring at her with awe.
“Gosh, Sis,” he said. “You look great. I like your hair like that.”
Luke, saying something nice?
Devnee
She lifted her lashes and looked at her reflection.
A beautiful girl looked back.
A girl whose dark hair was not lank and dull, but clouds of curling wisps.
A girl whose complexion was not pale and worn, but as fair as springtime, tinged with bright pink energy.
A girl whose eyes were not tired as dishwater, but whose eyes laughed and sparkled, and whose lashes swept mysteries before them.
Devnee laughed, and the new face laughed with her, teasing and coaxing and adorable.
Devnee raised her eyebrows and the new eyebrows were both comic and inviting.
Devnee thought deeply, and the face turned sober and gentle and full of compassion.
I am beautiful.
I have it. I have beauty.
I am not Aryssa. I do not look like her. And yet I have what she has: I have beauty. I have what makes people stop and stare. I have what makes people yearn and love.
I am Devnee Fountain.
I am beautiful.
She stood for a long time facing the mirror; stood, in fact, until dawn had come, and alarm clocks had gone off, and the rest of her family was stumbling into wakefulness.
Devnee, too, awoke.
But there was no stumbling now. No early morning heaviness. No dull resignation about yet another difficult school day ahead.
Tingling with excitement, she danced to the bathroom she shared with Luke, and wonder of wonders, he was still asleep. The floor was not covered with wet towels, and the soap was not lying in a disgusting soppy puddle at the bottom of the tub.
She felt thinner and more graceful.
The water showered down on her as if it were a privilege.
When she stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel, she tugged the pale blue plastic shower cap off and let her hair fall around her shoulders. In the foggy mirror of the hot bathroom, she looked at her reflection.
Clouds of hair, curly with humidity, wafted around her face like a bridal veil.
That’s what I am, she thought. A bride. Today I go to school for the first time with the veil lifted. I used to be covered by a plain dull boring face and body, but now I am what I deserve to be.
Beautiful.
Even my brother wished this for me, she thought, laughing with wild delight. I hope you get what you deserve, he had said, and I have! Her exuberance rose up in her like a storm of fireworks, celebrating from the inside out. She wanted to scream and shout and drive through town honking a horn. Look at me! I am beautiful!
She corralled her exuberance. It would not do. She must look as if she had always looked this way.
The girl in the mirror was still Devnee, but both sharpened and softened. Nature had not quite come through for Devnee at birth, but the essential elements of Devnee’s features had been good, and now because of last night she had been brought into perfection.
Devnee stroked the reflection in the mirror, and even with the fog wiped off the glass, she remained beautiful. She was not a cloud. Not a mirage. She was real, and she was beautiful.
Luke began pounding on the door. “Get outta there, Dev!” her brother bellowed. “You think you’re the only one living here?”
For a moment the insides of her—the person who had not changed—the person who was still the old Devnee—was thrown.
Who was living here?
She stared at the mirror and instead of being thrilled, she was terrified and confused. Who is that? Pieces of Aryssa, pasted together? Leftover victims of the vampire, summoned from the grave to be reflected in a mirror?
Where did the old Devnee go? Who is Aryssa now? Where is Aryssa now? Is Aryssa all right? What did happen last night?
Is this beauty only in my mind? What if the vampire just convinced me there was a trade?
Devnee opened the door before Luke smashed his way in.
Her yucky worthless brother paused in the doorway. A glare remained suspended on his face. The face itself became confused. Her brother was staring at her with awe.
“Gosh, Sis,” he said. “You look great. I like your hair like that.”
Luke, saying something nice?
Devnee
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