Heartbroken Read Online Free Page A

girl. She strutted around like a cat, every line of her in perfect symmetry with the universe, not one thing about her—skin, eyes, lips, perky breasts—flawed in any way. Next to her best friend since kindergarten, Chelsea felt like an oaf. She flipped through her closet inspecting and rejecting a denim shirt, a pink graphic T-shirt, a ruffled, flowery shirt her grandmother had sent but which Chelsea had never worn. What would Lulu be wearing?
    Lulu never ate a thing—she was a size zero. On the other hand, Lulu was not smart. But no, that wasn’t entirely fair. Though Chelsea was forever helping Lulu with her homework (sometimes doing it for her), and the girl could barely spell, Lulu was smart—in certain ways. Even if things like math and English seemed to elude her, she always seemed worldlier, more knowledgeable, than Chelsea did. Lulu just didn’t care about school.
    Lulu’s other defining feature: She had a tongue like a blade. Didn’t it seem like really thin, gorgeous people were always so mean? Where did they get that aura of entitlement? And didn’t it seem like people always fawned over them even though they behaved badly? Why was that? More questions in what seemed to Chelsea an endless stream of questions that had no satisfactory answers. Too many.
    Chelsea pulled her favorite soft lilac tunic top from its hanger and slid that on with her black mini instead. She felt more comfortable instantly, more relaxed. There was nothing special about the outfit—it was neither slutty, nor super-cool, nor dorky and lame. Therefore, it should call no attention to her whatsoever. Neither would her passably cute but not really pretty face, nor her straight, shoulder-length wheat-colored hair, nor her boyish body. And that was fine, really. That was just fine.
    Her mother walked into the room and bent down to pick up the sweater that Chelsea had tossed carelessly to the floor.
    “Where did you get this?” her mom asked. She held it up, andit looked impossibly small, like a doll’s top. Chelsea was almost embarrassed for it, imagined it wilting under her mother’s disapproving gaze.
    “I borrowed it from Lulu.”
    “Hmm.” Her mother folded the sweater and put it down on the bed, sat beside it. “You know … beauty isn’t about flaunting your body.”
    “I know.” Really. How could she not know this? They’d had this talk about a hundred times. Beauty comes from within. It’s about intelligence, confidence, knowing who you are . Also: You can’t buy beauty . Or: True beauty doesn’t come from a bottle. Or: Beauty doesn’t come in one size or shape . Yes, Chelsea recognized all these things as inherently true. Too bad the rest of the world was so slow to catch on.
    “You’re beautiful without even trying,” her mother said. “Maybe Lulu feels like she has to dress in flirty clothes to get attention.”
    Chelsea gave her mother a look that she hoped adequately expressed her skepticism. “You’re not going to tell me that Lulu is not effortlessly gorgeous.”
    Her mother smiled. It was that very certain kind of “patient mom” smile. For some reason, it always made Chelsea a little mad.
    “There are different kinds of beauty,” said Kate.
    “There’s not a boy alive who wouldn’t want to be with her,” said Chelsea. Did she sound jealous? She wasn’t. Was she?
    Kate raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean ‘be with her’ ?”
    “You know,” said Chelsea. She felt her cheeks flush. “Forget it.”
    She glanced at the sweater lying on her bed between them. It was garish and cheap-looking. After a couple of washes, it would be faded and pilled. It wouldn’t last a season.
    “Anyway,” said her mom. “I like your outfit. It’s—”
    Chelsea lifted a palm. “Don’t say cute.”
    “I was going to say pretty, hip —stylish . It’s a lovely color for you.”
    Her mother stood and ran her fingers through Chelsea’s hair, then planted a kiss on her forehead and headed out the door.