Drop Dead Gorgeous by R. L. Stine

Author:R. L. Stine [Stine, R. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780062694300
Google: 5nlbDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B078QY58ZQ
Goodreads: 37868571
Publisher: HarperTeen
Published: 2019-02-05T00:00:00+00:00

Part Four

Five Years Earlier

28

Narrated by Morgan Fear

My main way of communicating with my mother is with a sarcastic eye roll.

She asks a question. I roll my eyes.

She makes a comment. I roll my eyes.

She asks me to do something. You get the idea.

It’s a very efficient form of communication, and it even saves some arguing time.

My delightful mother, Amelia Fear, likes a good family discussion—especially if it’s a talk in which we criticize what I’m doing and tell me that I am wrong. A long sarcastic eye roll puts an end to most discussions and saves me more than a little grief. And no shouting match between the two of us is very good for my throat and vocal cords.

Of course, Amelia Fear’s intention is always to improve me, and I guess I need a lot of improvement, since she seldom lets up. Sadly, her idea of improvement is to make me more like her and less like me.

Am I being too hard on her? Maybe. I think most sixteen-year-old girls are hard on their parents, and I think they have every right to be. Parents need to know when you are ready to separate from them, when you need time to be on your own, without their watchful eyes and their unnecessary comments and suggestions.

So I was brushing out my hair in front of my dresser mirror, getting ready to go pick up my friend, the other Morgan, Morgan Marks. My mother was stuffing a pile of folded-up laundry into my closet.

“I don’t know how you can do that to yourself, Morgan,” she said. “You’re such a beautiful girl.”

I rolled my eyes. I knew what was coming.

“You have the most beautiful red hair, such a gorgeous color. Why cover it up and ruin what is special about you?”

I rolled my eyes. “I like it, Mom.”

“I know why you like it,” she persisted. “So you and that other Morgan can be twins. But you are special. Why do you want to look like her?”

“We’re soul twins,” I said. I knew she hated when I said that, so I tried to say it a lot.

“Soul twins doesn’t mean you have to be identical twins.” She brushed something off the shoulder of my black sweater. “Look at you. Dressed in black. Black hair. Blue lipstick. That awful ring in your nose. Blue fingernails. What are you supposed to be?”

I shrugged. “It’s a look.” I set down the hairbrush and picked up my car keys.

I could see Mom in the mirror. She was frowning as she stared at my reflection, biting her bottom lip. “Is that what they call Goth?”

“I guess.” I turned to leave. “Don’t worry, Mom. It’s just a phase I’m going through.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but she didn’t laugh.

“You could go to one of those Comic-Cons,” Mom said. “And you wouldn’t need to wear a costume.”

I laughed. “Good one, Mom.” She can be funny when she wants to. She’s actually very sharp, especially when she’s on my case.

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