Spectrum

Part One: THIRTEEN-Cadet

THIRTEEN

Cadet

Here’s when I start to obsess.

I spill cosmetics onto my bed from a plastic bag. Mascara, eyeshadow, foundation, eyeliner, lipgloss, and more. According to Evelyn at lunch, my face is too round, and I’m going to change that. I Googled something called contouring, where you use makeup to create false shadows that suggest cheekbones and other bones I don’t have.

I open a container of foundation, then pick up my hand mirror. With steady, deliberate hands, I apply some of the powder to my cheeks. It’s a shade darker than my skin; it really does look like shadows below cheekbones.

This makeup thing isn’t too difficult. After I finish my contouring, I smear cadet blue on my eyelids, pink on my cheeks, black on my lashes. It’s a piece of cake.

“Kids! Dinner!” my mom calls from downstairs.

...Wash it off...

I am struck with fear. I think I look fine, but what if my family doesn’t? Oh, gosh, they’ll probably think my face looks monstrous...

I bite my lip. No. I’ve watched enough contouring tutorials on YouTube, right?

Right.

I clench my fists, making up my mind. I won’t wash it off.

Confidently, I open the door and walk out into the hall. No--I stroll. But my strolling is interrupted by Sean, whose eyes are glued to the ultra-thin phone in his hands. He walks straight into me.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, Ala--” Sean looks up and promptly bursts into laughter.

My thin layer of confidence begins to erode as a chill tingles down my spine. My voice wavering, I say, “What? What’s so funny?” I know, though, and it feels like Sean is crushing me.

“Kids!” Mom shouts. “What’s going on up there?”

“Sean seems to be dying,” I call back. “But I’m not sure. He might also be sobbing like a little girl.” I sound mock-cheerful.

“Mom,” Sean gasps. “You’ve got to see Alanna’s face!”

I shove him before he barrels down the stairs, but my heart isn’t in it. I trudge downstairs after him, my stroll vanished.

When Mom sees me, her hand drifts to her mouth. “Honey?” she says quietly.

“I bought it all with my own money,” I say quickly. My stomach is sinking.

Mom rubs my cheek. Her finger comes away tinged orange. She puffs out her cheeks, exhaling slowly. “Oh, dear,” she mutters.

Daddy joins us at the foot of the stairs. Sean is still laughing at the kitchen table, even as he shovels food into his mouth.

Daddy ruffles my hair and says, “Maybe not this time, huh, Lonny?” His voice is rigid with suppressed chuckles.

I blink away tears. “I was just trying to look pretty.”

“You are beautiful, honey!” Daddy says. He sounds sincere, but I heard the laughter in his voice just moments ago.

I shake my head and tear into the bathroom. A sharp stomach-ache forming, I flip on the lights and truly see what I’ve done to myself.

My face is orange. My eyelashes are like tarantula legs. The eyeliner makes my eyes look small and squinty, and my cadet blue eyeshadow is like exhausted shadows around my eyes. A dozen colors course down my cheeks with my tears. I turn on the tap as high as it will go and splash water onto my face with pudgy hands. The remains of my makeup disappear down the sink in a swirl of pink and cadet blue.

Not even contouring can save this hideous face.