Pieces of Hate by Ray Garton

change your mind?” There were others, and Margaret and Lynda laughingly roasted them all.
    Marty Cullen came up, as well. While Margaret was busy being the school fat-ugly girl, Marty was stuck with being the school nerd-fairy. He’d been tall and painfully skinny, with an Adam’s apple nearly as big as his chin. His bony, long-limbed clumsiness had been as much of a joke to everyone as Margaret’s girth and homely features. As far as Margaret knew, he’d never had a single date during his high school years; he’d been a loner, stumbling from one class to the next, trying his best to avoid everyone else, as afraid of them as she had been. The boys called him everything from “weasel” to “fag”; the girls, of course, didn’t need to call him names, using far more subtle, and no doubt more cruel and painful, methods of torture. But Margaret remembered Marty as being very smart. He’d helped her with a couple of classes in which she had not exactly excelled, such as math and science. Especially math. He’d been a whiz at numbers.
    “Come on, Lynda,” Margaret said as their laughter died away. “Maybe I’m not fat anymore, but I can promise you that nobody’s going to put a sash over my shoulder and hand me a bouquet of roses. There’s a lot of mileage on this body, and my odometer just happens to be my face.”
    Lynda shook her head slowly as she nibbled on her lower lip. “You need a reality check, girl.” She spun around on the mattress and stood on the opposite side of the bed, grabbing the I.V. pole with her right hand.
    “What are you doing?” Margaret asked, a hint of panic in her voice. “Are you even supposed to be out of bed?”
    “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Come here.” She went to the sink beneath and to the right of television set. Turning to Margaret, she beckoned with her left hand. “Come here to me.”
    Cautiously, Margaret stood and went to Lynda, keeping a distance of about two feet.
    Lynda laughed. “What’s the matter, afraid of me, or something? Come here, in front of the mirror.”
    Margaret felt her heartbeat speed up, remembering all those times Lynda had made her stand in front of a mirror so she could point out to Margaret just how fat and ugly she was.
    Lynda put an arm around Margaret’s shoulder and pulled her over to the mirror. Standing behind her, Lynda put her hands on Margaret’s shoulders.
    “Now look at yourself, Margaret,” Lynda said, smiling. “Am I wrong? Was I lying? No, I wasn’t wrong. You’re beautiful. I mean, aside from a little runny mascara, you are really a knock-out.”
    Margaret’s jaw slowly went slack as she stared at her reflection. She flipped the switch to the left of the sink and a light came on above the mirror. She looked even more dumbfounded as she leaned over the sink, bringing her face close to the mirror.
    Her skin was beautifully, youthfully, and unbelievably smooth. She touched two fingertips to the flesh beneath her right eye which, very recently, had been puffy and baggy. It was not puffy and baggy now. Even the tiny wrinkles on her eyelids and around her eyes and the crow’s feet at the corners were all gone. The wrinkles around her lips had disappeared, and her lips looked full, though a bit chapped.
    “My God,” Margaret breathed, touching her face with both hands now, moving her fingertips over her skin gently, in wonder. “My . . . God.”
    “Oh, come on. You can’t be that shocked. You had to know how great you looked, Margaret.” Lynda was still smiling, but her smile began to melt away as she stared at Margaret’s shocked expression in the mirror.
    You’ve been given something that will keep you well, dear, Mrs. Watkiss had said. Is this what she’d meant by “well”?
    It was true, Margaret thought. Everything she said was true . . . and my face proves it.
    “Margaret? Are you all right?”
    “Fine, yes,” Margaret whispered as she stood up straight, never taking her eyes from her