Her name was Becky. We'd been enemies ever since we were in diapers. We both had perfect families, perfect blonde hair, perfect blue eyes, perfect everything.

But Becky had always won--until Brandon.

He was mine--he saw what an airhead Becky was.

I enjoyed my prize for six wonderful hours, strutting around with him, lingering with him at my locker, fingering his polo shirt. Kissing him on the cheek.

Showing my boy off.

Becky pretended not to care, but after school that day, she corralled me in the girls' bathroom. She was furious--her right eyebrow twitched, and her shirt was just the teeniest bit untucked.

"You won't get away with it," she informed me.

"Brandon doesn't like you. Accept it."

She shoved me, so I shoved her back.

"I curse you!" she exclaimed. "You're gonna become a lesbian!"

"Lesbian? What's that?"

Becky snorted. "You don't know? That's when women like each other. They kiss each other."

I was stupefied. "That doesn't happen."

Becky nodded knowingly. "It does too. And lesbians are ugly. They have short hair and buck teeth. They don't wear dresses. They look like men. No one likes lesbians. Now you're gonna be one, unless you let me have Brandon!"

I looked into Becky's blue eyes and shivered. She was dead serious. Still, I refused to let on that I was scared. "You can't curse me."

"My aunt's teaching me voodoo."

"Whatever."

Becky crossed her arms. "It'll start tomorrow morning. With your hair. You'll brush it, but it won't shine as much. And you'll change little by little every day."

"Whatever." I stomped out of the bathroom.

Stupid, worthless Becky.

Still, that gleam in her eyes . . .

Brandon and I talked on the phone for three hours that night. We chatted about the latest movie stars, who was mean at school, who was cool and so on.

I did not tell him about the "lesbian curse," but it worried me to no end.

I was glued to the mirror. Brushed my hair every five minutes. It shone brilliantly.

After Brandon and I hung up, I found the word "lesbian" in the dictionary.

A homosexual woman.

So I looked up "homosexual."

Homosexuals desired people of their own sex.

Ew.

I really had never heard of such a thing. Like I mentioned earlier, I had a perfect family. Perfect friends, too. It was a very sheltered life. No homosexuality allowed, thank you very much.

At 10 p.m., I went to say good night to my parents. I hugged them extra tight and wondered if they would still love me if I became lesbian.

I tossed and turned all that night.

Buck teeth.

Short hair.

Ugly.

No more dresses.

I loved dresses! And boys.

When I woke up, I dashed to the bathroom and locked the door behind me.

Dark, purple circles resided under my eyes. Great. They almost made me forget about what Becky said would happen first--the dulling hair.

But I did remember, eventually.

I brushed and brushed my hair.

Finished.

Practically dropped the brush. My hands trembled.

My hair was not its usual brilliant self. Sure, it still shone, but it was missing the key element that made it stand out.

The heterosexual element.

I wanted to die.

I crawled back into bed and played sick.

The next morning, a Saturday, my hair was even duller, and my front teeth suspiciously resembled a rabbit's.

I ran the three blocks to Becky's house and pounded on her front door.

She answered a few moments later, smirking hugely.

"Take it back!" I begged her. "Please. I don't want to be a lesbian. I want my good hair and nice teeth back. You can have Brandon."

Becky shrugged, flipped back her perfect blonde hair. "This is more fun."

She slammed the door in my face.

I furiously blinked back tears. Don't cry. Don't cry.

"Fine!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, not caring who else might hear. "I curse you! You'll be a lesbian, too!"

The door opened again.

Becky, still smirking. "You can't curse me. You don't know voodoo."

"Do too," I lied, already plotting to sign up for the best voodoo classes ever. "I double-curse you, Rebecca Elizabeth English. You'll be the ugliest lesbian ever."

I meant what I said. My words had the force of indescribable anger and confusion behind them.

"Tomorrow," I continued, "you'll gain two pounds. You'll get so fat."

Becky snickered, but my heart leaped--I saw fear in her eyes.

On my walk home, I passed a group of high school boys. They were all tall, muscular, tanned. More drool-worthy than Brandon.

I paid them scant attention, because of the young woman with them. She had long black hair and wore a tight red T-shirt. She was beautiful. I could not take my eyes off her.

She smiled.

I turned into a clueless, gibbering fool.

"Hello," she said--to me! "Are you okay?"

I squeaked.

She laughed. Winked.

Her group went off.

Only when I got home did I realize just what had happened.

Desire for my own sex.

How I hated Becky then.

Brandon broke up with me the next week. I couldn't blame him. The circles under my eyes had intensified and my hair was practically falling out.

Not to mention what was happening with my teeth.

The dentist said they were fine. He saw no difference.

My parents did not notice any differences, either. They said my teeth were wonderful and straight. My hair was great. Same as ever. I just needed to get a good night's sleep.

I checked out a book on voodoo from the school library. Found nothing on lesbian curses, but there were plenty of general spells that would do.

So every night for close to a month, I cursed Becky.

Becky, who was now with Brandon. Ugh.

I also tried to uncurse myself. Nothing worked. Becky became more beautiful than ever. Taller. Slimmer. Longer-limbed. Smarter.

I became shorter and wider.

Blushed more and more whenever a pretty girl talked to me.

Right when school got out for the summer, I broke down. I blubbered everything to my mother, through hot thick tears:

How I had been cursed, how I didn't like boys anymore. How dresses felt alien now.

Mother rubbed my back and whispered soothingly, "You gullible girl. It's all in your head. There's no curse. It's impossible."

Mother bought me new dresses, which I pretended to love.

In July, I went to Becky's house again. Got on my knees and pleaded with her to please, please, please undo the curse.

She said no, even after I threatened to quadruple-curse her.

So I became uglier and uglier. A pariah.

The logical part of me lectured that Mother was right--such a curse was impossible. How to explain what had happened with me, though? Overnight!

But then something even more improbable happened.

I entered ninth grade and despite my best, most strenuous efforts, fell head over heels in love with Becky.

It was impossible not to. She was so lovely and smart. Her laugh . . .

Sometimes she touched me. Oh, not like that. But she'd brush past me, to shove me out of the way.

Those moments were heaven.

She and Brandon were long over, but she had a new boyfriend every week. All of them had close-cropped brown hair.

So I cut my hair and dyed it, much to Mother's horror. Her perfect family was falling apart.

"You really are a lesbian," she muttered one day.

She bought me more dresses.

Okay, maybe I wasn't in love with Becky. But I certainly had a crush, and it grew and grew. By senior year of high school, it was unbearable. I would do anything for the girl. Carry her books. Do her homework. Help her cheat on tests.

Becky started to like boys with nose rings and tattoos, so I followed suit.

Still, she barely paid attention to me. Never said "thank you" for my help.

Mother bought me more and more dresses.

One evening in May, about a month before graduation, Becky summoned me to her house. To her bedroom.

I went obediently.

"I'll undo the curse," she told me.

My mind went blank. My tongue became thick and clumsy. Finally, I sputtered, "Why?"

"I'm tired of you fawning all over me."

Tears sprang to my eyes, but I blinked them back furiously. "Oh."

Becky said nothing, but her right eyebrow twitched ever so slightly.

"Why didn't you just ask me to leave you alone? I would have."

"You would've stalked me."

I laughed--not sure why. But laugh I did. "No."

Becky's lips parted, as if they were not sure what to do. Scowl or grin.

She giggled. Covered her mouth with her hand. Giggled some more. "You might have, though."

"No, Becky. I promise. I would not have stalked you."

She flipped her long blonde hair back and did that thing with her hands on her neck. "Are you saying I'm not stalk-worthy?"

I replied, very seriously, "You are. Definitely. You're stalk-worthy."

"Good."

"Please don't undo the curse. I'll leave you alone."

"You like being a lesbian?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

It was a good question, especially since I had spent the past few years hating being a lesbian. "Why? Well . . . I don't know. I just don't want to like boys. Girls are . . . they're . . ." I struggled to find the right word but could not.

"Hmm," Becky said.

More eyebrow twitching.

On her nightstand was a picture of Richard, her current boyfriend.

Becky caught me looking at him. She said nothing, though. Until . . . "I never cursed you," she whispered. "It was just something I made up. I'm sorry."

"Okay."

She sighed. Went over to Richard's picture and snapped it down. "Did you curse me?"

"Yes," I admitted. "Every night for about a month. I used to really hate you."

"Hmm." She crossed her arms. Uncrossed them. Did the thing again--fingering the nape of her neck.

More shifting and fidgeting on her part.

Then: "I'm gay too."

I could not believe my ears. "What?"

"Your curses worked."

I stared at Becky for the longest time. She was clearly miserable to her very core. Ready to cry.

I wanted to hug her, but I stayed away.

She dabbed at her eyes. "I liked you even then," she whispered. "Back in eighth grade. And I wish you wouldn't change yourself to look like my boyfriends. You don't need to be my lap dog. Just be yourself."

My knees went wobbly. I could no longer breathe.

Four years.

Four years of hoping that one day, against all odds, she would like me back. Somehow.

"You . . . you liked me? You like me?"

"Yes. I'm sorry I've been so mean. You have no idea. I . . . I . . ." She swallowed. "It's been hard for me. But I'm so sorry."

She covered her face with her hands. Now she was really going to cry, unless I did something.

So I did.

Fast.

I said, "Don't cry. It's okay. I understand. Do . . . do you want to be gay together?"

Becky uncovered her face. She stared at me, startled. Her eyes were red-rimmed. And blue, wonderfully blue.

"You don't hate me?" she asked. "After all I've . . . and now I'm . . . I'm just a hypocrite."

"Look. Being a lesbian is not bad. It's a wonderful curse. It's the best thing that ever happened to me."

Becky laughed. Nodded, just a little. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's be gay together."

Her right eyebrow never twitched again.