Read Faerie for Free Online Page B

place. Now when we rehearsed, Mr Black remained cool and cordial, always curt. The tender and warm timbre of his voice seemed to have vanished.How had I become hideous to him so suddenly? Because I had stood up for myself as a grownup woman?
    And I had literally grown—to an appalling 130 pounds. I was heavier than any girl in the class and possibly the school. I wanted to be loved more than I cared to be right. I wanted to run into his arms and submit so that he would speak sweetly to me again.
    On the eve of the performance, I tried to rehearse my lines before the bathroom mirror, but my mind went blank. I began jumbling up my dialogue, reconfiguring it into utter nonsense. In sheer panic, I crept into the kitchen at midnight and sought comfort from a box of stale Girl Guide cookies that I had hidden in the shady underbelly of the pantry. In the freezer I discovered a hibernating carton of ice cream. I gorged myself in the dimly lit kitchen, with the steady hum of the refrigerator for company, seeking the anaesthetic bliss that food brings. In those precious minutes I existed in a private parenthesis of absence, a limitless curve splintered from real time and any semblance of bodily existence. Before long, I had consumed half of the box of cookies and left the ice cream container with just a few guilty spoonfuls of Rocky Road. Within moments, I felt a rush of panic and anxiety, and I began to feel sick. I ran to the bathroom and curled over the toilet, nudging my fingers down my throat, but I couldn’t purge and undo the moment of weakness. I drank half a litre of water instead, lumbered back to my bedroom, and fell asleep.

    The next day, we excitedly collected backstage and wrangled into our costumes. Mine was an azure skirt and embroidered shawl. At the tables where we put on our makeup, the big bright light-bulbs framed us, making everyone appear larger than life and gorgeously famous. My heart fluttered with pride at the magical illusion that transformed us scruffy, sweaty high school kids into stars. In my mirror, I accentuated my features with a smear of lipstick and stroke of eyeliner. How grownup I looked, my baby face chiselled with blush along an imaginary cheekbone. The woman in the mirror looked back at the young girl. Was she seeing my future?
    A cheery voice brought me out of my reverie. “This is your day!” said Mr Black as he swam into the room in his sea-green shirt with hair combed back in a silky wave. “You all look splendid.” I was swept away in his undertow, all my self-possession gone. Mr Black’s spectacularly handsome image multiplied madly in the mirrors lining the walls of the room, making me dizzy. The rogue wave took me far from shore. I fumbled with makeup, a hairbrush, seaweed and sandy pebbles.
    â€œAre you alright, Lila?” His eyes met mine in the mirror and I froze.
    â€œI know I’ve been hard on you, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t care. I know that you’ll be absolutely brilliant tonight.”
    I looked back at him with a trembling smile.
    The play unfolded perfectly. Once the spotlight fell on my face and the warmth from the audience blanketed the stage, I slipped into character. The school year ended with roaring applause, and in sad, ecstatic silence, I whispered to myself, “Encore, encore.”

09 . Homecoming
    During the lonesome summer that followed, dullness hung over me like a wet wool blanket. The thought of not seeing Mr Black for the entire summer only made matters worse. Not even my camera could tempt me out of my depression; it sat on the shelf like a relic, collecting dust.
    â€œGo play outside!” Mother would yell when she caught me wandering through the dim hallways during the dull afternoons.
    One day, as my thoughts drifted aimlessly as I hit a tennis ball against the side of the house, I heard a familiar, honeyed voice.
    â€œWell? Aren’t you going to say hello?”
    I dropped my racket to my