Hey, Mister Marshall (St. Mary's Rebels 4)

All my girls are gathered here in my dorm room and I’m taking turns getting them ready, doing their makeup and hair, helping them with their dresses.

So basically I’m in my element and I’m loving it.

Which means I don’t want to talk about what Wyn is talking about.

It’s only going to make me sad, and I can’t be sad because I have so much stuff to do.

“I don’t need to do anything,” I tell Wyn, who’s looking at me with concern, as I finish up Callie’s French twist.

Callie’s wearing a light green ballerina-inspired gown — because she’s a ballerina — with a sleeveless bust and a layered and puffy skirt. Her sleeves are embedded with shiny, emerald rhinestones that I found online and ordered specifically for her dress. I’m calling it The Fairy. Because her husband, Reed, calls her a fairy. And her sandals are from Prada.

Callie turns toward me. “She’s right. You have to.”

“No.”

I point my finger at Salem who dutifully and very sweetly comes over and sits on the chair that Callie has just vacated in front of the mirror so I can do her hair. Just for that, I give her a hug from behind and she chuckles, hugging me back.

Although to be honest, I haven’t stopped hugging her. Or any of us really, for that matter.

We’re seeing Salem for the first time after school ended and she went away to California to be with Arrow, so we’re all a little emotional. She arrived this afternoon and she’s staying with Callie and Reed at their place in Wuthering Garden.

Anyway, back to her hair.

She’s got big dark curls so there isn’t a lot that I can do with it but I can make it all shiny and bouncy. I gather all the sprays and things and get to work, and while I’m elbow deep in her gorgeous hair, she says, “They’re all right, you know. You need to do it. You need to give it to him. You made it for him.”

It’s a good thing I’m busy focusing on something else right now or I would have a hell of a time stopping my tears.

Like I had back when I told them.

That I loved him.

They were all understandably confused.

Even though they knew that I didn’t hate my guardian anymore, they didn’t think that I’d fall in love with him.

But they were supportive like they always have been.

Like they’re being now.

Although Wyn did give me the side-eye. “I mean I called it. Accidentally but I did.”

She did, yes.

Back at the Ballad of the Bards when she mistakenly thought I was talking about him when I was talking about Jimmy.

I chuckled. “You totally did, my hopeless dreamer.”

Anyway I don’t blame them for bringing him up. I blame myself here, for being so emotional.

And I understand the wound is new. I do. I mean, it’s only been a week ever since things ended but I really need to get a handle on things. I really need to get it together.

Am I going to cry every time someone alludes to him?

He’s my guardian; of course people are going to allude to him for the rest of my life.

Clearing my throat and keeping my eyes on her hair, I reply to Salem, “I can always mail it to the mansion from New York. It’s not a big deal.”

“It was a big deal when I made one for Reed,” Callie says, and despite myself I look up and find her watching me in the mirror.

“Made what for Reed?”

She’s now sitting on my bed right next to Wyn. “The sweater.”

Wyn turns to her. “Oh right. The white one. With a mustang on it.”

“Yup.” Callie nods. “It was a super big deal. I stayed up night after night to have it ready for him in time. Before his big game.”

I stayed night after night as well.

But that doesn’t mean I can just give it to him. He might pass out from my gift.

I still haven’t forgotten how he looked when I told him I loved him, all betrayed and destroyed.

Like instead of love, I’d meant hate.

“And remember how he had it in his possession for like two whole years while you guys weren’t together,” says Salem in a dreamy voice, pressing a hand to her chest.

“I know.” Callie blushes. “And I was so convinced that he’d thrown it away.”

Wyn bumps her shoulder. “Reed can’t throw away anything that belongs to his Fae.”

“Right, like my brother can throw anything away that belongs to you,” Callie retorts. “His truck still has that pink glitter paint.”

And it’s Wyn’s turn to blush. “Shut up.”

“I so wanna see that graffiti,” Salem says. “I wish you’d taken a picture of it.”

“No need to take a picture,” Wyn replies, still blushing. “It was me. It was my face.”

Callie laughs. “I so wish you’d taken Con’s photo though. I would’ve loved to see his face in that moment.”