Shortlist Saturdays: Snatched by Pamela McHugh

When Grace was four years old, she pulled a Korean facial mask from her Christmas stocking.

“What’s this?” she asked, kneeling by the fireplace in her Minnie Mouse jammies.

“A glow up,” Grace’s mom said from behind the photo-biomodulation mask strapped to her face.

“Oh,” Grace said, reaching back inside the stocking.

*

Less than a year later, Grace turned five. A birthday party was planned at the local gymnastics centre. “You can bounce and tumble off the cake,” her mom said through newly plumped lips.

In the party room, Grace’s fingers coiled around the edges of a neatly packaged gift. Love Mom the tag read.

She tore back the pink wrapping paper and paused, confused. She read the words slowly, phonetically: Sephora The Golden Collection.

Her mom sat with a cell phone poised in her hand, the screen lit by the Instagram reel of someone very important—Kim Kardashian—and said, “You’ll thank me one day.”

“Oh.” Grace nodded slowly. Her friends all stared, unaware they’d each soon have such a box.

“Happy Birthday,” her mom gushed. “Let’s take a selfie.”

So, they did, Grace clasping the Sephora box while her mom tapped the Beauty filter. Grace didn’t realize such a feature (a filter!) was needed, but could quickly see her face was dull—a dirty plate, even—without it. Under the bright, softening mesh of virtual gauze, every feature and surface was...better.

The kindergarten year floated by in a relatively happy blur of soccer, school, new friends, and dance class. Near the end of it, Grace’s mom made an announcement. “We’re taking you out of soccer.”

“Am I not playing well?”

“It’s not about that,” Grace’s mom responded, dabbing a peptide serum on her daughter’s undereye area. “It’s the sun—being outdoors so much. It’s unnecessary damage.”

Grace nodded as she usually did with these things. At least she could still go to dance.

*

Grade one came and went. On the first day of summer break, Grace’s mom bought her a new doll with a small envelope tucked under its arm.

“What’s this?” Grace asked, pulling a bright rectangular gift card from the envelope.

“It’s a gift card for a chemical peel.”

“Chemicals? On my face?”

“Totally safe,” her mom replied, waving a manicured hand. “You’re all booked in tomorrow.”

Grace’s stomach churned, she pulled at an ear.

“I wish my mom had taken me when I was your age.” Grace’s mom’s face barely moved, despite the emphasis she gave the words.

A peel required patience; red, sore skin isn’t easy for a seven-year-old. Direct sunlight was a no-no for two weeks— even standing by a window risked derailing the cocktail of chemicals resurfacing her epidermis. Next summer would be microneedling, but Grace didn’t know that yet.

“Rest down here,” her mom said, propping the iPad on the basement coffee table. “These webinars are on your school’s summer watch list so it’s perfect.”

The Snatched Sisters illuminated the device’s screen. Two girls not much older than Grace provided tips and tricks for glowing, tightened, “snatched” skin. Every video started with the girls declaring in unison, “Let’s get snatched!”

A few days later, Grace’s grandmother’s voice drifted from the main floor. “I don’t agree with this at all—she’s a kid for the love of God.”

Grace’s mom responded shrilly. “If you’d done for me half of what I do for that girl, maybe I wouldn’t be having to do so many procedures now...so much goddam therapy!”

“Has the whole world gone mad? You’re robbing her of a childhood.”

After that, her grandmother was no longer welcome in the house.

*

Grade two arrived and the girls were taken from class, separated from the boys as they

would be again when it was time for talks about menstrual cycles.

Ms. Gosse, their homeroom teacher, stood on the gymnasium’s three-point line, a semicircle of seven-year-olds gathered cross-legged around her.

“Well, young ladies, the time has come for Cranial Calisthenics,” Ms. Gosse said.    “Class will run thirty minutes a day—every day—starting next week. This became part of the curriculum last year and it’s something we all need to embrace.”

“Cranial Calisthenics?” Grace’s friend Violet asked, her face scrunched into an expression Grace had been warned to avoid at all costs.

“Yes,” Ms. Gosse said. “It means facial exercises.”

“What?” Violet gasped.

“The state government passed a bill in 2035 to make this mandatory for all females starting in grade two. It’s part of the core curriculum. No exceptions.”

“What about the boys?” Violet pressed. “Are they doing Cranial Calisthenics?”

Young Violet put finger quotes around “Cranial Calisthenics.” Grace’s eyebrows shot up; she’d never been as brazen as her friend.

“They’ll have an athletics module in the field at the same time.”

“What the!” Violet said, almost yelling. “That’s totally unfair!”

“I understand, Violet, but...” The teacher’s voice trailed off, her eyes dropping to the gym’s worn wooden floor.

*

The morning Grace hit double digits, she woke to sunshine pouring through her bedroom window and the door bursting open.

“Are you ready, birthday girl?” Grace’s mother asked, smiling crazily. Her face, so frozen and filled, maintained a near-constant look of maniacal surprise.

“I think so,” Grace mumbled, a tingling sensation snaking around her organs.

“Does my ten-year-old want Starbucks drive-through? How about two extra skinny mocha fraps, one pump sugar-free syrup, hold the whip?”

“Okay,” Grace said, propped up on her pillow.

In the clinic’s waiting room, a plastic Starbucks cup wedged between her knees, Grace stared at the three teenagers—a redhead, a blonde, and a brunette—across from her. They must’ve been in for their boosters. Each girl wore a stunned expression, like someone informed them an active shooter was roaming the building.

The redhead caught the stare and might have tried to frown, but couldn't quite manage it.

Grace averted her gaze to a poster tacked to the wall. A bright-faced girl, flanked by joyful parents, occupied the poster’s centre.

Inject to Keep Girls Vibrant

Protecting Children Every Day from Harmful Effects of Aging

Uninjected Girls 105% more likely to see first wrinkle by age 23.

Talk to YOUR healthcare doctor about safe, effective purified protein neurotoxin

treatments—the best in preventive care for our daughters.

Message approved by the Department of Health and Wellbeing January 2036

“Grace Simmons?” A nurse stood at the room’s centre, holding a tablet.

“Right here!” Grace’s mom said, grabbing her daughter’s hand.

The nurse’s eyes twitched frenziedly, in a deranged sort of winking. Grace squeezed her mom’s hand, glancing toward the exit. “What’s wrong with her, mom?” she whispered.

“Just a little botulinum blinking. It’ll clear up in a few days. You don’t get the benefits if the doctor goes too light.”

Grace glanced back at the nurse—her bruised temples, swollen cheekbones, duck-bill lips—and then, resigned, followed the woman to the treatment room. Her heart thudded dully as she sunk back in the procedure chair.

Minutes later, a dermatologist tensed Grace’s forehead between two latex-covered fingers and said, “We’ll only do twenty units today. Just a bit of prevention.”

Grace circled her feet in counterclockwise circles, the way the nurse instructed.

“Relax, Grace. You’ll only feel a pinch.”

Pamela McHugh lives and works in Calgary, Alberta. Her work has appeared in Blank Spaces Magazine and Off Topic Publishing, with stories forthcoming in The Queen’s Quarterly, After Dinner Conversations, and Flash Fiction Magazine. She’s discovering the joy of writing in middle age, drawing much of her inspiration and creativity from her three children.