The Jerk Magnet

It didn’t take long for Chelsea to see that Kate approached shopping like a sport—make that a marathon. Chelsea should’ve suspected something when Kate handed her a water bottle on their way to the outlet store. “What’s this for?”

“Hydration,” Kate told her.

“Yes, I understand that concept. But why?”

“Water is good for you, Chelsea. And you’re going to need to be hydrated today.” Kate studied Chelsea’s outfit, which was simply cargo pants, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. “Good choice of clothes,” Kate said as she started her car.

“Really?” Chelsea experienced a tinge of hope. “You like it?”

“Not especially.” Kate laughed. “No offense. I mean, it’s not a very flattering look. But I do like that it’ll be easy to get in and out of. You’ll be doing a lot of trying on today.”

As it turned out, that was putting it mildly. Chelsea’s best estimate was that by the end of the day, she had tried on about two hundred items of clothing. She didn’t even think that was much of an exaggeration. “That seems like an awful lot of work for just a couple of bags of clothes,” she told Kate as they loaded the bags into the car.

“Oh, this was just the beginning.”

Chelsea groaned. “I don’t want to seem unappreciative, but what else do you think I really need? I mean, I do have more clothes at home, you know.”

“I know.” Kate’s tone suggested that she was unimpressed. “We’re going to work on that too.”

“I don’t really see the point.” Chelsea sighed loudly. “I mean, you can dress me differently, but I’m still the same girl underneath.”

“Of course you’ll be the same girl on the inside,” Kate said. “That’s the best part of you anyway.”

“Really?” Chelsea brightened.

“Absolutely.” Kate smiled at her. “But I think your exterior is hurting your interior.”

Chelsea didn’t say anything.

“The reason I know this is true is because I used to be a lot like you.”

“Huh?” Chelsea turned and stared at Kate. “What do you mean exactly?”

“I mean I was an ugly duckling.”

“No way.”

Kate chuckled. “Way.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, I don’t have many photos—because I used to hide every time a camera came out. But I have a few. And if I can dig them out, you’ll see that I wore glasses, had braces—”

“I had braces too!”

“I know.”

“Dad told you?”

“No, I can tell by your teeth. Like me, you need to use a tooth whitener now.”

“Really?” Her hand flew up to her mouth. Now there was something she hadn’t even noticed. And that made her wonder—just how bad was she?

“Don’t worry, Chelsea.” Kate’s voice was reassuring. “The good news is that everything that’s wrong with you—the outside of you—can be easily fixed.”

“Easily fixed?” Chelsea felt seriously skeptical.

“You bet. And I have to say, you’ve even got more going for you right now than I had when I was your age.”

“I need to see those photos.”

Kate laughed. “I’ll see if I can find them.”

“But seriously, how could you possibly have been any, uh, worse-looking than me?” Chelsea felt her face. Just this morning several new zits had appeared.

“I had a bad complexion too,” Kate said. “But I found this really great product that’s still on the market. I swear that alone changed my life. And I’ve already ordered you some.”

“Really?” Chelsea felt a wave of hope. “And it works?”

“It did for me.” She glanced at Chelsea. “I’m sure it’ll work for you too. And the other thing you have going for you is your figure.”

“My figure?” Chelsea looked down at herself. She’d finally gotten breasts just last year, but now she didn’t even know what to do with them. Compared to other girls, it seemed like too little too late.

“Your figure is perfect, Chelsea. But you do need some new underwear—specifically some good bras. Seriously, where did you get the stuff you’re wearing?”

Chelsea felt her cheeks grow warm. “I don’t know . . . Penney’s, I think.”

“Well, we’re going to address that too.” Kate started talking about Brazilian hair-straightening procedures and spray-on tans and French manicures and pedicures and exfoliating facials . . . and Chelsea felt like she was in way over her head.

She held up her hands as Kate pulled up to Chelsea’s house. “I’m not sure what all you’re talking about, Kate. But I’ve made a decision.”

Kate looked concerned. “You’re not chickening out, are you?”

Chelsea shook her head. “No, I’m taking a leap of faith.”

“A leap of faith?”

“I’m putting myself in your hands.”

Kate broke into a huge grin. “Oh, Chelsea, you won’t be sorry. I promise.”

Chelsea nodded. “Well, it occurred to me that you can’t do any worse than I’ve done. Any improvement is probably worthwhile. And don’t worry, I don’t expect miracles.”

Kate threw back her head and laughed. “Well, you should. Trust me, you’re going to see miracles.”

Chelsea knew better than to get her hopes up, but Kate’s enthusiasm was contagious. When Kate grabbed one of the clothing bags and followed Chelsea into the house, casually informing her that she was fixing dinner for the three of them tonight, Chelsea was surprised to realize that she was actually sort of glad about this. Was it possible that she was beginning to like Kate?

“I think you should give your dad a fashion show,” Kate told Chelsea as they were finishing up dinner.

Dad nodded. “I’d love to see what you girls got.”

Chelsea frowned at him. “I don’t think so.”

Kate looked disappointed as she began to clear the table.

“The clothes are all nice and everything.” Chelsea stood too, picking up her plate and the salad bowl. “It’s just that I’m not ready to put them all on again. Okay?” She forced a smile. “How about if I clean this up and you guys can go relax?”

Dad grinned. “You talked me into it.”

“How about an after-dinner walk?” Kate suggested.

With Dad and Kate gone, Chelsea cranked up the music and put kitchen cleaning into high gear. She’d been surprised to see that Kate was a fairly good cook. Of course, anyone could make spaghetti. But it was somewhat reassuring to know that Kate knew her way around a kitchen. It helped to erase the wicked stepmother image.

Chelsea was just heading to her room when Dad and Kate returned from their walk. “Hey, Chels,” Kate called out. “How about if we take that inventory of your closet now?”

Chelsea wanted to say, “Thanks, but no thanks,” but Kate looked so hopeful as she hurried to catch up with her.

“If you clean stuff out now, it’ll make it that much easier to pack it up when moving time comes.”

“I guess.” Chelsea cautiously opened the door to her room. “It’s just that it’s kind of messy in here and—”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I used to be a total slob. I doubt you can surprise me much.” Kate headed directly for Chelsea’s closet.

As if today hadn’t been hard enough—trying on outfit after outfit and being scrutinized again and again—letting anyone (especially perfect Kate) look in her closet was way beyond Chelsea’s comfort zone. Still, she was determined to cooperate. She understood that Kate was simply trying to help, and on some levels Chelsea did appreciate it. Pressing her lips together, she sat on the edge of her bed, watching as Kate removed an armful of clothes and flopped them down on the bed next to Chelsea.

“Okay, this has got to go.” Kate held up a ratty-looking sweatshirt.

Chelsea felt a small wave of regret. That sweatshirt had always felt so nice and loose and comfortable.

“Come on,” Kate urged. “You might as well wear a potato sack as this.”

“Okay.”

Kate tossed the shirt to the floor. “This will be the cast-off pile.” She held up a pair of flared jeans. “These are so last year, Chelsea.” She threw them on top of the sweatshirt, and Chelsea controlled herself from snatching them back.

“Now this has potential.” Kate held up a plain white shirt. “Nice lines.”

Chelsea frowned at the top. “I had to get that when I was a freshman, because I was in choir and we had to wear white blouses with navy skirts.”

“Does it still fit?”

Chelsea shrugged.

“Come on.” Kate handed her the shirt. “Try it.”

While Chelsea was trying on the shirt, Kate continued thinning Chelsea’s closet. The white shirt as well as some sweaters and a few other basic pieces wound up being keepers, but the cast-off pile looked enormous.

“Are you sure about that?” Chelsea pointed to the mountain of old clothes. “I mean, what am I supposed to wear?”

“Don’t forget about these.” Kate went over to the door, where Chelsea had dropped her bags of clothing. “Let’s hang them up and then we’ll make a list.”

“A list?” Chelsea picked up a bag and emptied the contents onto her bed.

“Sure. We’ll see what you have and I can figure out what you’ll need.”

After they hung up the clothes and Kate had arranged everything in the closet, Chelsea had to admit that it did look better. As Kate combined pieces, showing Chelsea what went with what, Chelsea could almost imagine becoming somewhat stylish. At least more stylish than she’d ever been before.

“You make it look easy,” Chelsea told Kate. “But when I try to put stuff together, it doesn’t work. I just end up looking lame.”

“I have a plan for that too.” Kate smiled knowingly. “Trust me, okay?”

Chelsea just nodded.

“You still need a lot of things, including shoes and a couple of perfect pairs of jeans, and that will take some time,” Kate said, making a list. “And you need some good accessories—belts and bags and those touches that take clothes from being garments to being fashions.”

“How did you learn all this?”

Kate laughed. “I’ve been working in retail clothing stores for years, Chelsea. After a while, it just comes naturally.”

Chelsea felt pretty sure it would never come naturally to her.

“We’ll do some more shopping next weekend,” Kate said, “and next week I’ll make you a hair appointment. And, well, some other things too.” She smiled. “By the time you and your dad move to San Jose, you will look like a whole new person.”

“I’m curious . . .” Chelsea began.

“About what?”

Chelsea questioned the sensibility of asking her question. Except that she wanted to know. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what specifically?”

“Being so helpful with this whole makeover business.” Chelsea watched Kate’s expression carefully.

Kate looked slightly confused. “Do you feel like I’m interfering? Or being too pushy? I know I can be kind of bossy. I hope I haven’t offended you by taking over and—”

“No, that’s not it.” Chelsea stood, forcing herself to look at her reflection in the mirror again. Two days in a row was a record for her. “I mean, why are you so obsessed with this makeover? Is it because you’re embarrassed that I’ll be your stepdaughter?”

“No, of course not.” Kate stood next to Chelsea, putting an arm around her. “It’s simply because I care about you. And like I said, I can relate to you. Wait until I find those photos, Chelsea. Then you’ll get it.”

Chelsea felt tears in her eyes, and she wasn’t even sure why. “I’ll never be as beautiful as you, Kate. It’s not even possible.”

Kate laughed. “Don’t be so sure.” She started doing an inventory on Chelsea. “You and your dad both have the most gorgeous brown eyes. And once we get those brows plucked—professionally—your eyes will be even prettier. And your nose is absolutely perfect.”

“You mean besides that zit?”

Kate laughed again. “You’re just seeing it all wrong. Your lips are nice and full.” She pointed to her own mouth. “I have to do all kinds of lip-liner tricks to make my lips look like that. All you’ll need is some lip gloss.” She went on talking about how Chelsea’s figure was so good. “If you worked out a little, it would probably be flawless. And once we get you wearing the right clothes, people will actually see how great it is.”

Chelsea frowned. She wasn’t sure she wanted anyone to see her figure. She’d gotten so used to covering herself up . . . the idea of being visible and exposed was pretty scary.

“Anyway, don’t worry about it, okay?” Kate patted Chelsea’s cheek. “You’re on the cusp of becoming as beautiful on the outside as you are on the inside. Just think of it, you’ll be going to a new school this fall, and who knows how great your last two years of high school might be.”

Chelsea smiled weakly. As much as she wanted to believe that what Kate was saying could be possible, she remembered that old saying—if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was. Also, she knew from experience that she was foolish to get her hopes up. Mostly she just wanted to humor Kate. It was sweet that Kate cared this much. Hopefully she wouldn’t be too disappointed either.





Kate kept her promise of scheduling all kinds of appointments and treatments for Chelsea’s magical makeover plan. The next few weeks passed in a kind of surreal swirl of beauty procedures and fashion-focused fittings. Chelsea tried to cooperate with Kate’s plans, but there were moments, like the eyebrow “threading” session, when she totally lost it and jumped right out of the chair.

“You want have unibrow?” the Nazi-like woman demanded in her thick east-European accent. She hovered near Chelsea with this string device that was somehow removing hairs one at a time.

Chelsea rubbed her throbbing brow line. “I would like some eyebrows left behind.”

The woman laughed in a mean way. “Don’t worry. You have enough eyebrows for five or six girls. Now you want me continue or not?”

Chelsea hesitantly climbed back into the chair.

“Is the price we pay for beauty,” the woman said in a slightly gentler tone. “You will see.”

Chelsea had reason to trust Kate’s guidance in these matters, because to her utter amazement, Kate’s “secret remedy” for clear skin was actually beginning to work. Chelsea’s complexion had never looked better.

“It hasn’t even been three weeks since I started using it, but that acne stuff is really working,” Chelsea told Kate as they were driving through town. She touched her cheek, still amazed that she hadn’t had a recent breakout. “I mean, I’d seen the ads on TV, you know the ones with the before and after photos, but I figured it was just a hoax. Like how could anything work like that?”

“Well, it probably doesn’t work like that for everyone. But it worked for me, and it obviously is for you too. Just remember that the secret to a good complexion includes a number of things.” Kate nodded at Chelsea. “Including keeping your hands off your face.”

Chelsea put her hand in her lap.

“Cleaning your skin properly is important too. But so is eating right. And drinking water is vital.”

It was the Saturday before Chelsea and Dad would be moving to San Jose. Today they were on their way to the much-anticipated hair and makeup appointment. Kate was calling this the Big Reveal day. Following their visit to Kate’s salon, where they both had appointments, they planned to go back home, dress up, and meet Dad downtown for dinner.

“Now, you’re sure you want to lighten your hair?” Kate asked Chelsea again. “I’d hate to think I influenced you on this. The straightening process alone will make a huge difference.”

“I read that the Brazilian Blowout works better on processed and frizzy hair,” Chelsea reminded her. “My hair’s frizzy enough, but it’s never been processed.”

“That’s true.”

“So I think I want the whole works.” Chelsea nodded. “Unless you think it won’t look good?” She was second-guessing herself again.

“No, I totally think it’ll look good. I just want it to be your decision, Chelsea. Not mine.”

Chelsea nodded again. “It is my decision.”

“All right.”

Chelsea felt nervous as they went into the salon, but it wasn’t exactly a bad kind of nervous. More like giddy. This whole makeover business had really been growing on her lately. Probably because she had finally started to see some results. The eyebrow thinning had actually been a huge improvement, and the clearing complexion was monumental. Also, she’d been doing the exercise DVD that Kate had given her, as well as using a faux tan product. That was a mess the first time, but after she learned to exfoliate and do some other tricks, it got easier. Now she didn’t even feel embarrassed to wear a sleeveless top and a skirt—pieces that Kate had picked out. And with her recent manicure and pedicure, she didn’t mind having her bare toes showing in the new pair of sandals that Kate had encouraged her to get.

“This will eventually stop costing me money, right?” Dad had commented a few days ago. He hadn’t known that Chelsea was within earshot as he made his complaints to his fiancée. “I just got the bill from the store, and despite the discount, it was a little surprising. Now you’re doing all these beauty treatments too.”

“Hey, Alex, you’ve gotten off pretty easy these past few years,” Kate said in a slightly scolding tone. “I saw Chelsea’s closet, so I know what I’m talking about. Even if it costs you a little more now, you should be thankful for Chelsea’s sake. You might’ve saved some money, but it was all at your daughter’s expense.”

Then it had gotten quiet in the kitchen, and Chelsea suspected that Kate had sweetened her chastisement with a kiss or two. Really, Kate was spot-on. Dad had gotten off cheap since Mom died. Chelsea rarely asked him for a penny when it came to clothes or makeup or anything to do with appearances. In fact, he had usually been the one to nag her to buy a new dress or something. So, she decided, she was not going to start feeling guilty now.

Kate was involved in the initial consultation regarding the correct shade of blonde and how much highlighting seemed best for Chelsea. And Chelsea, like she’d been doing for weeks now, simply trusted Kate’s judgment on this. While the beautician, a pretty brunette named Andrea, applied foil and goopy stuff, Chelsea simply daydreamed.

She imagined herself finally looking like the other girls—the ones who’d left her in their dust. She imagined herself going up to Virginia and saying, “What do you think of me now?” Although she knew she’d never do that for real. Not only would it be humiliating, it would be pointless. And what if Virginia laughed at her? Or told Chelsea that she still didn’t measure up? No, she didn’t need that. Kate had been giving her little speeches about believing in herself, about holding her head high, about acting like she was equal to anyone. Chelsea supposed she believed that, at least on most levels—intellectually, morally, inwardly. It was just those exterior things that got her down.

“I don’t want to see my hair until you’re completely done,” Chelsea told Andrea as she closed her eyes. “Is that okay?”

Andrea chuckled. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’ll be fun to see your reaction. Kind of like how they do it on What Not to Wear.”

While more steps of varying procedures were performed on Chelsea’s hair, she kept her eyes closed or away from the mirror until finally the blow-dryer stopped.

“Okay,” Andrea said. “All done.”

Chelsea opened her eyes and was shocked to see a gorgeous head of silky blonde hair. She gave her head a shake and realized that her hair actually swung and moved. It was cut in layers, with the longest part just a couple of inches below her shoulders. She fingered it. “I didn’t even know my hair was this long.”

“It always gets longer when it’s straightened.” Andrea smiled. “Do you like it?”

“No.” Chelsea shook her head again. “I love it!”

Kate joined them. “Oh, Chelsea,” she gushed. “It looks amazing.”

Chelsea was still touching it. “I can’t believe this is really my hair. It feels totally different.”

“It’s yours,” Andrea told her. “You’re lucky that it’s nice and thick. Some girls get the blowout and discover their hair is too thin.”

“How often will she need to have this done?” Kate asked.

“About eight to ten weeks.” Andrea showed them some hair products. “If you use these, it will last longer and really improve the quality of your hair.”

Kate touched Chelsea’s hair. “And it’s true that her hair will stay straight and smooth even if she goes swimming?”

Andrea nodded. “Even in the ocean.”

“Amazing.”

Chelsea was so happy she hugged both Kate and Andrea. “I feel like a different person,” she told them. She was still shaking her head, enjoying the feel of the silky hair on her bare shoulders. It really was amazing.

“We’re not done yet,” Kate reminded her. They went over to another station. “Leanne is a cosmetologist,” Kate told Chelsea after she introduced her. “She’s going to help you learn the basics of makeup.”

“Have you used makeup before?” Leanne asked.

“I tried a couple of times, but I looked like a clown. So I gave up.”

“Well, you don’t need to look like a clown,” Leanne assured her. “We’ll go for a natural look, okay?” She showed Chelsea some powders that she called minerals, and step-by-step she showed Chelsea how brushes were used and how the colors were layered on to look natural. “They’re actually good for your skin,” she told her. “You can even sleep in them if you want.”

“But don’t,” Kate said. “You need to keep up your skin-care routine if you want to keep your complexion clear.”

Leanne showed Chelsea how to use an eyeliner pencil and how to smudge it with her fingertip so it didn’t look too dramatic. She also showed her how to use eye shadow. “Just for fun,” she said. Finally she showed her how to use mascara and lip color. “And that’s all there is to it.” She turned the chair around so Chelsea could see in the mirror.

“Wow!” Chelsea leaned forward, staring in wonder. “It’s like someone else.”

“Are you okay with it?” Leanne sounded worried.

“Absolutely.” Chelsea looked at Kate. “Do you think Dad will mind if I get some of these products too?”

“This one is on me, Chels.” Kate nodded at Leanne. “We’ll take some of everything that you used on her today.”

As they were driving home, Chelsea confessed to Kate about how she used to relate to Dracula.

“Dracula?” Kate frowned. “Was he a vampire or a werewolf or what? I don’t exactly recall.”

“Vampire.”

“Oh, like the Twilight books?”

“Sort of. But Bram Stoker wrote Dracula more than a hundred years ago. In Stoker’s novel, a vampire couldn’t see his reflection in a mirror, so he had to avoid mirrors.”

“I don’t get it. I mean, what difference would it make?”

“A vampire wouldn’t want anyone to see him looking in a mirror,” Chelsea explained, “because he wouldn’t be visible and then they’d know he was a vampire. So he just steered clear of mirrors.”

“Right.” Kate frowned. “I’m sorry . . . I’m still kind of lost.”

“Well, that’s what I’d tell myself—that I couldn’t look in the mirror either. The truth was I’d get so depressed every time I looked in the mirror that I’d feel like jumping off a bridge or something. So I just avoided mirrors altogether.”

“Oh, Chelsea.” Kate shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Chelsea smiled. “I have a feeling those days are behind me now.”

“I hope so.”

It seemed those days really were a thing of the past as Chelsea dressed for their Big Reveal dinner. After she’d put on the periwinkle-blue BCBG sundress with the thin belt that matched the bronze sandals, she couldn’t stop staring at herself in the full-length mirror. Even though she felt a little foolish, not to mention vain, she couldn’t stop looking. She’d pose from all angles and even practice walking since heels were still new to her, but she simply couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Are you ready?” Kate asked as she knocked on the bedroom door.

“I guess so.” Still she stood gaping at herself.

Kate opened the door, causing the mirror to angle away from Chelsea so that she was just standing there. “Oh my!” Kate grinned. “You are a knockout, Chelsea. A totally hot knockout.”

“I, uh, I think I’m in shock,” Chelsea admitted. “Maybe it’s kind of like culture shock.”

“Yes, it will take some getting used to. To be honest, my transformation, back when I was your age, happened a little more slowly. But that’s because I didn’t have help.”

Chelsea felt her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, Kate!” She threw her arms around her. “I was worried that you were going to be a wicked stepmother, but it’s like you’re really a fairy godmother instead.” Chelsea went over to her dresser and picked up the framed photo of her mom. She held it out as if her mom could peer at her from the photo. “I know if Mom could see me now, if she could see how you’ve helped me . . . well, she would love you too.”

Now they were both crying. Hugging and crying. Then they had to fix their eye makeup again and retouch their lip gloss.

“Okay, gorgeous girl.” Kate grinned at her. “Ready to go make an appearance?”

Chelsea nodded. “Dad’s probably already there waiting for us.”

“I told him to be patient.” Kate looked at the purses that Chelsea had laid on her bed. “This one,” she told her, picking up the ivory Kate Spade bag. “Perfect.”

Chelsea wasn’t surprised when Dad nearly fell out of his chair to see them coming his way. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he told them. “This is someone else you’ve brought with you, Kate. This cannot be my daughter.”

Chelsea gave a mock frown. “Are you saying I don’t look good?”

He shook his head. “No, sweetie, you look incredible. I just can’t believe it’s really you.” He stared at her. “I always knew you were beautiful, but I’ve never seen you this put together.”

Chelsea grinned at Kate. “Thanks to Kate.”

Dad pulled out Kate’s chair, and before he could pull out Chelsea’s chair, the waiter stepped in. “Here, let me help the lovely young lady,” he said with an approving expression.

Even though this was the same restaurant they’d eaten at more than a month ago, and it was even the same waiter, Chelsea felt like she was truly someone else. Before, she’d felt invisible . . . or worse. But tonight she not only felt visible, she felt pretty and appreciated.

Okay, she realized that it seemed a little weird, maybe even wrong, to suddenly feel appreciated simply because she’d changed her exterior appearance. But just the same, she liked it. Did that make her shallow or superficial? Did it mean she was a fake, a phony? After all, hadn’t she thought those same things, passed those same judgments on some of her old friends—including Virginia? What if she had turned into one of them?

No, of course not, she reassured herself. She was still Chelsea Martin. After those horrible years of being put down and picked on thanks to her looks, she knew she would never act that way to anyone. Never! She would rather turn back into her plain ugly self than turn into a mean girl. If nothing else, she had learned the hard way what it felt like to be snubbed for her looks. She would never go there—no matter what, she would never stoop that low. She knew better than anyone that beneath this polished veneer, she was still the same vulnerable girl. She knew what it felt like to hurt. She also knew that her own deep insecurities, unlike her exterior appearance, would be slow to change. Perhaps that was for the best.