Page 40 of Ruthless Court

“They help me see.”

“They also let the moon see you.”

“Good. I was worried we’d lost touch.”

Piper laughs, then lifts both hands.

“All right. No makeover. We’ll do our own thing, and you can dress like yourself.”

“Thank you.”

“Even if yourself is a divorced art teacher who makes her own soap.”

“You’re all very kind.”

* * *

I take my hair down because the knot has started pulling at my scalp.

It falls past my shoulders in waves flattened by the flight, so I wash it in the communal bathroom, then blow-dry it while Piper applies fake lashes across the room.

Without the bun, the glasses look slightly less severe.

Not much.

I add concealer, mascara, and lip gloss. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to prove I didn’t arrive at Stanford intending to audit a funeral.

My jean shorts survived in my carry-on. I pair them with a fitted white tank, Birkenstocks, and a chunky cream sweater that hangs off one shoulder.

California may be warm during the day, but beaches get cold at night.

Piper steps out of the bathroom wearing a tiny red dress and stops when she sees me.

“Well.”

I look down. “What?”

“You upgraded.”

Kenzie circles one finger in the air, signaling for me to turn.

I don’t.

“You went from cat-lady librarian to crunchy granola librarian,” she says.

“Living the dream.”

Jules leans against the doorframe. “You’re pretty. The glasses are just…”

“Necessary?”

“Committed.”

Piper swats her arm.

“Stop. Hannah looks good.”

Her voice is firmer this time.