Page 59 of Don't Be in Love

“Be quiet!”

“You kissedand waitedthislong to tell me?” She stood and began to pace.

“There’s really no need to pace. It’s only been like twelve hours.”

“I can’t believe you kissed him.Again!”

“Well, he kissed me, if we’re going to get technical about it.”

She paused her pacing. “Iknewhe liked you. I just knew it. This changes everything. Before it was just some one night fling. But now you two know each other and you’ve kissed with all of this knowledge of another and prior intimacy—”

“Are you done?”

“Wait. How did it lead to an argument? Was it bad?” She was horrified by the idea.

“I wish.” I massaged my temples. “He asked me to be his date tonight.”

Realization swept her face. “This is why you won’t go?You told him no?Why would you do that!”

“Why do you think?”

“Shit.” She paused. “Maybe it’s time to tell her, Addy.”

I thought about telling Sabrina constantly. I thought about what she would say. How she would react. How maybe it was possible she wouldn’t hate me and would understand the situation. But now I had kissed himknowing.

The pictures of him and Victoria destroyed her. There were so many tears; her lipstick drying up and falling off her lips like dead rose petals.

How would she feel knowing that herbest friendhad been doing the same thing?

“She’ll hate me, Mia.” My voice thickened.

Her eyes softened. “She could never hate you.”

“I hate me.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Did Dorian take the rejection well?”

“As well as he could’ve. I said some horrible things though. And he just … stood there and took it. He probably hates me too. It’ll be better this way though. We can return to hating one another until the semester is over.”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of tension.”

Ten hours later, the pads of Mia and Sabrina’s feet were smacking against the hardwood floor as they rushed to get dressed. Trying one another’s shoes on, swapping purses, asking for advice on which teardrop earrings looked better with their masks. (Diamonds on Mia, emeralds on Brina.)

Hairspray and perfume pinched my tear ducts. They zipped back and forth into my room, searching through my thrifted accessories. I watched from the couch with my June edition ofThe New Yorkerreading a story on “The Dread of Getting Dressed.”

“Dreadful it is,” I hummed, watching Brina take her vintage silk-wrapped headband off for a tenth time. I shoved myself further into the couch cushion, letting my hood knot my hair.

“Ta-da!” Mia announced, tugging Brina (who decided on the headband) into the hallway.

The theme of the ball was black-tie with jewel tones. Sapphire, crimson, emerald, et cetera.

Mia had her box braids pulled into a low bun to show off her backless magenta dress with a halter neckline. While Sabrina stood in a deep emerald dress made of chiffon.

I clapped. “You guys look beautiful! Why are you moping?”

“Because you should be coming.” Brina’s glossy pink lips turned down.

“I’ll be—” The buzzer inside the apartment went off. “Did you invite someone?” I sat up abruptly. They exchanged a look but showed no sign of opening the door.