How many times do I need to tell myself that for it to be true? “Do I look that bad?”
“Yes.” Maggie grimaces.
I exhale a laugh that sounds more like a whimper, then fold my arms over the desk, and drop my head. My eyelids are heavy, but I keep them open, fearful of what I might see when I finally give in. I don’t think I slept more than an hour last night. I couldn’t. My mind kept pelting me with the names and faces of girls. Some I knew Liam to be with. Others rumored.
“Enough of this.” Maggie tugs at the hood on my sweater until I stand and she grabs my backpack. “You’re not going through the day looking like you got into a fight with a raccoon. Let’s go, missy.”
Normally I’d argue with Maggie. Most days, I don’t wear much more than mascara and keep my hair in a high ponytail. I don’t see the point in spending hours making myself look like someone I’m not. For one, I absolutely suck at makeup, and my hair never does what I want it to. But the main reason I don’t bother with that stuff is because Liam says I’m prettier without it. Today, though, I’m too tired to fight her on it.
Maggie walks with the confidence of a model on the catwalk as we cross the room. She’s beautiful, but not in a shove it in your face kind of way. She’s smart and witty too, which is what attracted Russell, her long term boyfriend, in the first place. But it was her bravery that drew me to Maggie freshman year. She defended a girl she didn’t know and put an end to her bullying. Maggie is my hero.
“We need to go to the bathroom,” she says the moment the bell stops ringing. “It’s an emergency.”
Ms. Honey closes the door and turns to face us. She takes one look at me. A real look, not the quick glance over she gave me when I walked in, and frowns.
Do I look that bad?
“Is everything okay, girls?” Ms. Honey asks.
“No,” Maggie declares, “but it will be. Please, Ms. Honey. You know Lainey. She’s a good girl. I wouldn’t be asking for a pass if it wasn’t important. I mean… look at her.”
I wasn’t worried about how I looked until now. I glance down at my hoodie and notice how people avoid eye contact with me when I raise my gaze again. The familiar sting of tears pooling makes me bite my bottom lip. I can’t cry. Not here, in front of eighteen people who are probably chomping at the bit to pull their phones out and record my breakdown.
After what feels like an eternity, Ms. Honey agrees to excuse Maggie and me and writes us a pass.
“Thanks, Ms. Honey,” Maggie says, pulling me by the hand out of the room. “You’re the best.”
Maggie takes me to the locker rooms down C-hallway, beside the gym. She twists the spindle on her lock and pulls out a big, black, duffel bag. When she unzips it, I almost laugh. It’s a freaking bedroom in a bag. There's a curling iron. A straightener. Six magnetic mirrors to make a haphazard full length one. A complete set of makeup. Extra clothes, shoes, and even undergarments.
“Sit,” she orders, pushing me down onto one of the locker room benches. “We have some work to do.”
Maggie spends all of homeroom straightening my hair to tame my flyaways, then twisting my thin strands into a loose side braid. She covers the dark circles under my eyes with concealer, then spends a solid fifteen minutes on my eyeshadow. She swaps my loose button-up with a fitted white polo and trades my baggy school pants with a thigh-length skirt. She even takes my sweatshirt—Liam’s sweatshirt—because, quote, “it makes me look like a hobo.”
When she’s done, I look better than I did at homecoming, which is insane because I paid my makeup artist a small fortune to make me beautiful that night. Money wasted, because Liam was too busy with the girl of the moment to notice me.
A high pitched shrill bounces off the walls around us when the bell rings. Maggie grabs my shoulders and looks me dead in the eye. “You have three classes until lunch. Everyone will be watching you. Micro-analyzing every detail for the rumor mill.”
Great.
“Don’t give them anything to talk about. Smile. Laugh. Pretend the sun is shining out of your ass. If these people want something to talk about, let them wonder why you’re not the same mess you were forty-five minutes ago.”
Maggie pulls me into a hug and I bite my lip to keep it from quivering. I can’t do this. I can’t face the wolves alone. I need her by my side, to keep me strong, but this is the only class we have together. I feel stupid and used by that jerk I thought was my best friend.
“No more of that.” Maggie pulls back and wipes my tears away before they run down my cheeks. “Liam doesn’t deserve your tears. Besides, it’ll ruin your makeup.”
I raise my gaze from my phone at the sound of a plastic tray settling on the table. I’ve managed not to cry in front of anyone this morning. A miracle if you ask me. I held it together when I saw Liam and Corah making out against his locker and even when I overheard the whispers of people asking if I’d cracked yet.
Apparently, the whole school knew I was Liam’s secret lover. If someone didn’t, they do now, because damn near every time I turn a corner, the conversation stops. Rumors about me are spreading faster than I can wrap my head around and, from what I can tell, Liam is doing nothing to stop them.
I hate today.
“You look hot.” Asher tucks his long, denim-clad, legs under the table. There’s a full meal on his tray, including a bag of chips and a Coke, which is odd because he rarely eats at school. He pulls the tab of his soda then lifts the can to his lips. “I mean, you always look nice, but today… wow.”
“Jeez, Asher, what the hell are you doing over here?” I don’t have the energy to deal with him. I’m barely keeping it together as it is, and Asher will likely be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
Like Liam, he draws the attention of those around us merely by existing. It's part of the reason I chose to sit by myself today. At the furthest open table from ou
r usual one that I could find.