“Hated you? He was practically drooling.” I hear the bed creak as Miranda gets up, covering her eyes with her hand and leaning in the doorway of the bathroom. “Come on, don’t tell me you don’t think he’s hot.”
“He’s … Zack Brooks.” My lips purse as I slip into an angel costume that’s even shorter and tighter than the devil one I just tried on. Nope. If I do go to this Halloween party, then I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt. “He treated me like crap for all three years of middle school. I’ve hated him since I was twelve.” Except for those last few months when we dated. Ugh. I haven’t told Miranda about that part yet.
“Yeah, but, people change …” Miranda hedges, peeking out from behind her hand, her eyes lighting up. “You look so freaking cute in that,” she says, but I’m not even going to put the halo on. It’s just not happening. “Although the devil costume was my favorite.” She steps into the bathroom and scoops the massive fall of my hair into an artful chignon. “Maybe with an updo? You have fabulous hair, by the way. Combine it with that costume, and you’ll be the hottest girl at the party.”
I smile, she’s sweet, she really is, but there’s just no way.
“You should wear it,” I tell Miranda, shooing her out of the bathroom, so I can change again. She goes, grabbing the red Prada heels and dress on the way. When I hear her rummaging around in my wardrobe, I roll my eyes, yanking a gray tank top and shorts on before I go out to confront her with a hand on my hip. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going as Farrah Moan, I told you that.” She peeks out at me from behind the wardrobe door. “The drag queen? From RuPaul’s Drag Race. Oh, come on, Marnye.”
I cross my arms over my chest and gesture at her with my chin.
“I know what RuPaul’s Drag Race is. What I’m asking is why you’re shoving that outfit into my closet?”
“If I leave it here, maybe the subtle suggestion will take over you in your sleep, and you’ll wear this to the party.” Miranda shuts the doors and raises her eyebrows at me. “Now stop avoiding the subject, and tell me about Zack.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. He … his family used to know my dad. Sometimes he comes around and helps out. That’s all I know.” Miranda sighs at me and grabs her bag, giving me a hard look.
“You better not be holding out on me.” She pauses and her expression softens. When she reaches out to tuck some hair behind my ear, I smile. Everything she does comes from a good place. It’s hard to be angry with her. “Remember, I read your essay. You put your heart and soul into that, and there was no mention of Zack. I smell a mystery.”
“Zack wasn’t in there because he’s not a part of my heart and soul,” I tell her, grabbing her arm and steering her to the door. “Now go home and go to sleep.”
“Love you, night!” she calls out as I close the door and lock it.Miranda’s nowhere to be found the next morning, so I muddle through morning classes without her. I catch a glimpse of Andrew with his friends, but only in passing. He raises a hand to wave, and I wave back, but that’s about it. My day is a social desert, and surprisingly, I’m grateful for it. It’s nice to have a break from being bullied and asked if I’d like a drink. Come on guys, the first few times it’s clever, but really, as an alcoholic’s daughter, I’ve heard it all. They’ll have to come up with some new material if they want to mess with me.
Flopping into my seat in mixed media, I take out my iPad and, as per the instructions on the screen at the front of the class, check my email for my instrument assignment. Instead of being assigned the harp, the only instrument I checked on the form, I’ve been put into choir.
My mouth pops open, and I glance up, noticing a pedal harp on the stage up front.
A squeal breaks out behind me, and Becky is up and moving down the steps in a blur, her skirt at least two or three inches shorter than mine and Miranda’s. I see flashes of her panties as she scrambles down to Mr. Carter. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but she’s gesturing wildly, and then … sitting down at the harp.
“What the ever-loving hell?” I grumble, my hands tightening on the edges of my tablet. The smell of vanillas and peaches wafts over me as Harper leans forward, her brunette hair fluttering forward and tickling my right cheek. Slowly, I slide my eyes her direction.
