by Rose David
An abrupt wave of nausea welled up inside me, starting at my belly and squelching up to my throat. I managed to jerk forward in time not to spew up my breakfast all over my feet.
After I had turned the gravel nearby into a candy-colored mess that would put any chalk painting to shame, I groaned, “Okay, I’ll do it.”
What choice did I really have? I could sit here barfing for the rest of the afternoon, or I could get this over with. My teeth gritted, I unlocked my bicycle and climbed on.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I went straight to the mall, hoping to catch Diana at work. My mouth still tasted of the upchucked remains of my fruity breakfast cereal, but I didn’t trust myself to stop for a drink. If I hesitated for even a second, my stomach was liable to use my mouth as a fire hose again.
When I got to the mall, the lot was full of weekend shoppers, all of whom seemed determined to mow me down as they pulled out of their spaces. Normally, this would have made my blood run cold, but today, it was fine by me. Getting run over sounded like a real drag, but if I could avoid seeing Diana for even a few more minutes, why not?
No such luck, though. Unscathed, I tied up my bike outside the main entrance and trudged inside. Really, I should have been skipping into the mall, not dragging my feet. Over the past few weeks, Hurricane Fabry had left a ton of damage. The sooner Sean blew out of my life, the sooner I could work on fixing what he had broken, starting with Natalie.
A few minutes later, the makeup department loomed ahead of me like a well-lit, airbrushed oasis. Giant photos preened among the half-dozen or so counters, all of them promising a different kind of perfection.
I usually didn’t stray too far from the drug store when it came to cosmetics, but I had seen Diana here enough times wearing a black smock and pulled-back hair, looking like an oddly clean painter.
I wandered through the makeup area, staring at the rainbow rows of lipsticks and blushes. One particularly bright display caught my eye, and I wondered if I should take a picture.
Oh, yeah. My camera was full. I couldn’t even take a crappy photo of ugly lipstick. Man, what a great day to be me.
“Hey. Did you want to try a shade?” asked Diana. While I had been awed by the Technicolor craziness, she must have sidled up like a ninja. At least she only was armed with makeup brushes instead of throwing stars, although those tiny brushes could make good darts...
She tilted her head. “How’s it going?”
“Oh. Hi. I was just here to...”
...cast a love spell on you!
With a sigh, I gestured to a particularly frighteningly shade of fuchsia. “This one looks pretty.”
“Good eye.” She grabbed the tube of lipstick from its display, then some Q-tips from a drawer. She swiped some color on one end and leaned toward me. “Pucker up, Layla.”
“You know my name?” I asked. Or would have asked. With my lips all puckered, I sounded more like a dog with a wad of peanut butter in its mouth.
“Hold on. Almost finished,” Diana said, swabbing the cotton against my lips. Then, with the clean end, she traced the outline of my mouth, like a little neatness was going to stop me from looking like a color-blind clown.
After a second, Diana stepped back and smiled. “Looks pretty.”
Yeah, sure it did. They must have worked on commission around here.
She brought over one of those big vanity mirrors, the kind that make your pores look gigantic. Luckily, Diana switched it to the less frightening, non-magnified side before she angled it toward me.
My smirk gave way to a look of surprise. Apparently I did have a good eye--the ugly fuchsia looked kind of nice. “Cool,” I said.
“It’s called Electric Punch.” She looked down at the tube for a moment. “I wish I could wear some of these. I’m way too pale for anything bold.”
This was the part where the other girl (me) was supposed to say something nice. But the only thing I could manage was, “Maybe you could get a spray tan or something.”
Diana only shrugged “Sure. Maybe. So, do you want to try something else?”
“Oh, no way. I mean, I was just here to...”
...make you fall back in love with Sean Fabry! I said inwardly.
I knew I should just get it over with, work my magic and then walk away. But then what? I would still have to go to Sean’s house and nuke him back into a state of moronic bliss. The idea made my stomach clench all over again.
“I was just going to pick up some lipstick, but I guess I could try some other stuff,” I said, trying not to sound like I was on the way to a funeral.
Regardless of my tone, Diana grinned. “Great. I have so many ideas for you, Layla. Like, seriously.”
If Natalie were here, I would have mumbled, “Like, oh my gawd,” as Diana bustled off to grab her supplies, but without anyone else to chuckle with, the remark just seemed rude. Instead, I took a seat at one of the high, plushy chairs and forced myself to smile as Diana came toward me with an armful of cosmetics.
“Do you ever wear eye makeup? Like, liner and shadow, stuff like that?” she said.
“Pencils and eyes don’t mix. I learned that the hard way in kindergarten.”
I expected her to roll her eyes and scoff, but she actually laughed. “Funny how that changes,” she said. “Eyes closed, please.”
Lacking anything else to do, I shut my eyes.
“Not so tight,” she said. “I’m not going to punch you or anything.”
With an effort, I bent my face into a more relaxed expression and tried not to flinch at the pointy thing sweeping across my eyelids.
“Okay. Go ahead and open up,” said Diana.
I blinked into the suddenly harsh fluorescents, the colors around me buzzing. “Wow, that was great. I guess I’ll see you later.” I gave a slight wave goodbye, ready to run off. When I had done my magic act on Sean’s parents, I hadn’t needed to be face-to-face with them. I figured I could get the same lovesick results with Diana while hiding behind a rack of clothes or something.
“Hold on, I’m not done with you yet.” She took out a mascara wand and wielded it like a shivv, her face grave.
Without thinking, I sank back into the chair. “I wouldn’t last five minutes in jail,” I mumbled.
The mascara wand looked like a hairy caterpillar crawling into my eyes, and it was all I could do not to cower as Diana brushed my lashes. She finished with some powder blush in a frightening purple shade, almost the color of a fresh bruise.
Maybe I could convince Sean that Diana had beat me up. Occupational hazard, I would tell him, savoring the regret that would puncture his face. It would serve him right for making me do this.
I mean, not that I really cared if he and Diana were back together. Like, obviously.
Diana raised an eyebrow. “You okay? You look a little queasy.”
“I, umm... Bad burrito?”
It was clear from the look on her face that I had given up a little too much information. Changing the subject, she angled the mirror to my face again and said, “Ta-da. I was going for a Sophia Loren-type look.”
“Sophia wha--Holy crap, I look awesome!” I didn’t know who the hell Sophia Loren was, but she must have been someone with really, really nice makeup.
Somehow, Diana had managed to make me look like me, just way better. Instead of my eyes being so bright that they seemed unnatural against my tan skin, the green shade looked nice underneath a little dark eye shadow. After this, I might actually believe my mother when she said the color was striking.
“You’re really good at this,” I said, still checking out my reflection. “Did they train you or something?”
“Not really. Like, they kind of did. We have this book to look at, but mostly I taught myself.”
“That’s crazy. You should do this for a job,” I said. “I mean, not that you don’t already do this for a job, I just meant like, something else.”
“Like a makeup artist?”
“Yeah, that. You could wo
rk on movies or something.”
Diana only shrugged, but I could see that she was proud. “I guess so. That’s what I want to do. You know, after college.”
“Wow. You mean, you want to move to Hollywood and stuff?”
“Or New York, maybe. Both sound pretty great.”
“Yeah. No kidding.” I had always assumed that Diana would morph into some soccer mom after graduation, spending her days on park benches threatening photographers with whistles and rolled up Us Weekly’s. With a tingle of regret, I told her, “I’ll take everything you used, Diana. And throw in some bath gel, okay?”
Diana thanked me and started ringing up everything, her back to me while she fussed with the cash register.
As I watched her, I refused to let myself think. If I did, I might just upchuck all over the lipstick display, and I didn’t think I had enough in my bank account to pay for all twelve shades of pink. I hummed Mary Had a Little Lamb and shut my eyes tight, letting the wish roll through me.
For an agonizing second, a sickly sweet giddiness pulsed through my temples, and the scent of baby powder assaulted my nose. When I opened my eyes, Diana stood in front of me.
She held out a small shopping bag that erupted with glittery tissue paper. Her eyes were bright and her smile was earnest. She looked beautiful, and I wanted to wish myself to Antarctica.
“Hey, you have an amazing day, all right?” she said.
“Sure thing,” I grumbled.
With an amazing amount of willpower, I managed to get to my bike without screaming curse words all the way there.
#
I didn’t bother to restrain myself during the ride to Sean’s house, though. By the time I pedalled into his driveway a half-hour later, I could have filled a dozen cursing jars.
I squealed to a stop and strode up to his front porch, knocking a little louder than necessary. (I pretended the door was Sean’s nose.)
Sean’s mother, Jennifer, appeared wearing an annoyed expression. When she saw me, her face smoothed. “Layla, hi. Sean didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“Yeah, he forgets stuff.”
She paused at my sour tone, but shrugged. “Come on in. His father’s on the way here for some lunch. You’re welcome to join us.”
As I stepped into the house, the spicy kick of bacon made my nose twitch and my stomach rumble. I might have accepted her invitation, but then I remembered how awkward it would be seeing Sean caught in his Diana-love daze. I might waste a perfectly good plate of food by throwing it in his face, and I couldn’t condone that kind of behavior.
“Is he in his room?” I glanced at the stairs. “I can just come up for a second.”
“Actually, why don’t you just wait here in the living room, hon? I’ll go up and get him.”
I nodded and sat on the sofa. It made sense that Sean’s mother wouldn’t want me up in his bedroom (my parents would have done the same thing), but after the times I had already been up there, it seemed kind of silly to wait for him out here. At least I was wearing more than a bathrobe right now. That had to count for something.
Soon, the sounds of Sean’s lumbering footsteps filled the room. As he approached, he made a move to sit beside me, but changed his mind at the last minute and stood beside the couch, instead. “Umm, hey.”
“Hi,” I said, because that seemed more appropriate than launching a decorative pillow at his head.
Sean straightened when he noticed my makeup. “Whoa. You look really pretty today.”
Something unpleasantly pleasant fizzled through me, and I squirmed. “Thanks. I had a makeover. At the mall.”
Sean’s face fell. “So I guess you...”
“...got your message?” I smirked. “Loud and clear, champ.”
“Layla--”
I jerked my eyes closed, and then my world was all spearmint kisses and fluttery tummies. After an awful second, I opened my eyes. I wanted to look away, but like a bug to a zapper, my gaze was drawn to Sean.
His eyes were cloudy as he stared back at me, a slow smile spreading over his face.
I could have puked, but not because of the magic. As I made for the door, I was determined not to look at him again. “Just wait until Friday night to kiss her, okay? I’ll make sure I’m in my room when it happens.”
As I stepped outside, I didn’t bother to say goodbye, though I doubted he even noticed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
My eyes were heavy from a lack of sleep as I stood hunched in front of my locker, flipping through my lit book for last night’s reading assignment. I hoped I could grab at least some meaning as the pages flickered past me.
All those “thees” and “thous”--why couldn’t Shakespeare talk like a normal freaking person? Man, I hated that guy.
Maybe I could skip all this and just wish that I had done the reading (instead of munching on Cheetos and watching YouTube vids all night). Would it create some kind of duplicate timeline where I had never watched that cat riding a skateboard? Aside from making me smile for a second, I didn’t think anything historic depended on it.
It had been a few days since my fun weekend outing with Sean and Diana. So far, Sean had been good for his word and I hadn’t hit the fainting couch just yet. Knowing that Sean and Diana hadn’t kissed yet gave me a kind of cold comfort, one that would always fade when I remembered that their lip-lock was pretty much inevitable.
In the meantime, Sean had gone back to ignoring me, just the way he used to do. He was probably too busy writing sappy love poetry for his un-ex-girlfriend to bother giving someone like me the time of the day.
The bastard.
With a groan, I trudged toward English Lit, my book tucked under my arm. Down the hall, Sean and Diana were standing together, smiling as they talked about something completely stupid. Not that I heard them, or anything.
And not that I wanted to.
I ducked into class and skimmed the reading assignment again, which was better than looking up at Natalie as she entered the room and sat down beside me.
These days, I didn’t even try to say hello to her. After last week, I had learned my lesson. Nat didn’t want to talk to me, and maybe I didn’t want to talk to her anymore. I had spent a lot of time alone lately. Maybe I was getting used to it.
That was why I didn’t immediately realize who Nat was talking to when she said, “Oh, gawd. You look terrible.”
Of course, I should have known it was me--no one else looked half as homeless as I did today, with my torn pajama pants and my ratty old t-shirt. It was the second-most comfortable outfit I owned, eclipsed only by my Hello Kitty bathrobe, and I hadn’t sunk that low.
At least, not yet.
I could only blink up at Nat, too tired from my late-night YouTube binge even to register much surprise.
Nat’s wide eyes were filled with anxiety, unblinking as she peered at me. “Layla, did you hear me?” she asked.
I shook my head. “That’s what you say to me? We haven’t talked for two weeks and the first thing you tell me is how horrible I look?” I wasn’t yelling; my voice was deadpan with just a hint of a grumble. I think that was what really confused her.
Natalie stared at me for a long time, looking as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t figure out exactly what it should be.
I sighed and looked down at my lit book again, the words still as incomprehensible as a tangle of crushed ants.
Soon, the bell rang and Mr. Lopez stood at the head of class, lecturing about the gender dynamics in The Taming of the Shrew. I only half-listened, bogged down by my brief conversation (if you could even call it that) with Natalie.
I hadn’t meant to be so grumpy, but she had just caught me by surprise. It had been sweet of her to show any concern for me, though. I hoped that meant she didn’t completely hate my guts.
I was pondering this, barely allowing myself to feel optimistic, when Mr. Lopez’s voice cut into my thoughts. “And what do you think, Layla?” he said.
Great. I had been
caught daydreaming again and everyone knew it. Like usual, my cheeks grew warm, but suddenly, another heat crackled inside me. Looking up at Mr. Lopez’s smirking face was too much for me to handle today. “You’re purposely trying to embarrass me,” I said. “You knew I wasn’t listening, but you called on me, anyway.”
In movies, this kind of thing was usually followed by a twitter of quiet laughter, a mark of approval and solidarity among the student body. But here, my remarks were met only with a stunned silence.
“Typical,” I mumbled.
Behind his glasses, Mr. Lopez’s eyes narrowed. “Try not to take things so personally, Layla. If you’re uncomfortable, that’s your fault for not studying, not mine for calling on you.”
Giggles sprouted around me. I couldn’t believe it--they were laughing for him, a bully with an English degree and a Short Man Complex? Un-freaking-believable.
I knew I should have let it pass. I should have looked meekly down at my desk and waited for Mr. Lopez to move on to another target. But something had flared inside me and I heard myself say, “What was the question?”
Everyone else looked surprised, but Mr. Lopez didn’t stumble. “Would Petruchio’s ‘taming’ of Kate be possible if the play were set in modern times?” he asked.
Twenty-five pairs of eyes singed over me like tiny, teenaged lasers. Why hadn’t I done the reading? Ugh. Damn that skateboarding cat.
Mr. Lopez raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. His mouth twisted into something almost like a smirk as he watched me.
I cleared my throat. “I think it’s totally possible that this could happen now. Guys are just... jerks.” The last word came like hacked up phlegm-glob, but I didn’t care. I was only being honest.
“Good,” said Mr. Lopez. “So, Todd, how do you think Petruchio--?”
“And you know what?” I said, my voice growing louder. “Even if the girl is smart and independent like Kate, it doesn’t really matter, because guys are just manipulative.”
“All right, that’s--”
“They’ll totally take advantage of you,” I continued. “People say women are the conniving ones, but that’s total bull--”
