Free Duckling Ugly by Neal Shusterman Page B

boy. Every time we took a break from dancing, he got me some punch. He treated me with the respect I didn’t think he could give anyone, and I dared to start thinking that maybe I had misjudged him. Maybe, as bad as he was, there was a good side trying to come through.
    Don’t you believe it, Cara,
a voice in my head told me, but I was starting to enjoy myself too much to pay it any mind.
    It could have been the perfect evening—in fact, it would have been, if it hadn’t been for one thing.
    Gerardo Sanchez.
    An hour into the party, Gerardo arrived with Nikki Smith clinging to him like kudzu, and he was clinging right back. They were a couple, I knew that in theory—but actually seeing it with my own eyes was too much to take. It set my blood on a long, slow boil, and not even the sight of Marisol on the sidelines without a dance partner could make me feel better.
    Each time Marshall and I danced, they were both there dancing, too.
    I caught Gerardo’s eye, but he didn’t acknowledge me. Maybe he was too ashamed or embarrassed by his confession. Maybe he was just freaked that I was there with Marshall.
    The thing is, even though I had the best-looking boy in front of me, teaching me dance moves, getting me punch, treating me like I wasn’t the Flock’s Rest Monster, I knew he wasn’t the one I wanted. No matter what Gerardo had done that day at the spelling bee, it was him that I wanted to be holding me in those slow dances, with those clumsy hands and those skinny arms.
    But those skinny arms were wrapped around Nikki, and I began to hate her like I hated Marisol.
    The boiling in my blood started making its way to my brain, and I started doing some crazy things.
    I watched Gerardo and Nikki dance, so I danced harder with Marshall. I watched how close they danced in the slow numbers, and I pulled Marshall that close to me whether he liked it or not.
    “Uh, Cara, I think we should sit this one out,” Marshall said.
    “No,” I told him. “You said we’re gonna have a good time, and I say I want to dance.”
    I half expected him to storm away, but he didn’t.
    Then, as the night got later, and all the dances started to become slow, the jealous vein throbbing through my body just hemorrhaged, until it was all I could feel.
    And that’s when I saw it.
    I saw Gerardo look into Nikki’s eyes, and pull her into that perfect embrace in the middle of a slow song. They kissed, and kissed, and didn’t stop.
    I looked to Marshall. He looked at me with some kind of terror in his eyes, but I didn’t care. I grabbed him by the tie, pulled him toward me, and planted a kiss on him, the likes of which he will never forget.
    With all of his jock strength, he could not pull away. I had him locked in that kiss like a boot on a car tire—and the couples around us pulled back until we were there, standing by ourselves. His arms, which had at first been struggling, were now limp, weak, like a rag doll.
    That’ll show him,
I said to myself.
That’ll show Gerardo. He can have Nikki, but look at me.
I’ve
got Marshall Astor!
    Finally, I let Marshall go, and he stepped away, catching his breath. His mouth opened and closed a few times, like a fish that had flipped out of its bowl.
    “Uuugggghhhh!”
    He brought the back of his hand up to his mouth, wiped his lips, and didn’t stop there. He practically put his whole hand in his mouth, rubbing at his gums and teeth, as if he could just pull the kiss out. And when he realized that the kiss just wasn’t going away, he started to go a little bit pale.
    “Forget this,” he said. His eyes were locked on me, and the expression of horror and helplessness on his face made me, for the first time, truly feel like the monster they said I was.
    He reached into his pocket, pulled out his car keys, and hurled them at me. They hit my dress and jangled to the ground.
    “Nothing is worth this,” he said. “Tell your father he can keep his car! I don’t want it!” His face started to pass