by Donna Cooner
“You could still make it right. They’d understand if you talked to them.” I pick at the wood on the arm of the swing with one nail.
He shrugs.
We sway back and forth on the swing. I can tell Luis doesn’t want to talk about Blair and Ross anymore.
“That sugar-skull makeup was cool,” I say.
“I thought you’d like that,” he says.
“That’s why I got into all the makeup and fashion vlogs in the first place,” I explain. “It felt so creative.”
“And now?”
And now … I’m a public humiliation with thousands of critics commenting on my every move. At the touch of a screen, I’m fake, phony, stupid, conceited, or even worse. My hair is too straight. My voice is too perky. My eyes are too wide. I’m too tall. Too skinny. Too pale. Too … something bad and ugly.
“It got complicated,” I tell Luis.
“There are always going to be people who don’t like you.”
I blink. Is he reading my mind now?
“Listen,” he goes on. “You can’t beat yourself up over the haters. You have to let it go.”
“Maybe.”
He leans over and says quietly in my ear, “No ‘maybe.’ ”
I nervously push the swing into motion again. His words leave a prickle of awareness lingering on my neck and I can hardly think of anything else.
“I have something for you,” he adds, pulling something out from his pocket. He hands me a small brown paper bag, tied with a red ribbon. I look up at him in surprise, then untie the ribbon. I reach inside and pull out the soft knitted material.
A pair of red socks with pictures of yellow and green socks on them.
Socks with socks.
My eyes instantly fill up with tears again. “Where did you find them?”
“An Internet search turned up a sock specialty store in Conroe. I didn’t want to take the chance they wouldn’t be right, so I drove down and picked them up. It was only an hour away,” Luis says proudly.
I don’t know what to say. I am suddenly aware of my own heartbeat, pounding wildly against the base of my neck. I close my eyes again. When I open them, Luis is sitting so close I can see his chest move up and down with each breath and I can’t stand it any longer. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kiss him.
I don’t mean to. It certainly isn’t planned. But at the same time, how can I not kiss him?
I can sense that he’s surprised, too, but he kisses me back. He smells like soap and cinnamon. When Luis pulls slowly away, I can still feel the touch of his lips on mine.
He reaches out to slide his hands up either side of my face, pulling me close enough to feel him smile against my mouth. Sitting there with foreheads touching, I can’t remember when I felt this happy. Certainly not with Cody. Maybe never.
“Thanks,” I say, one hand lingering behind on his broad chest. And I mean thanks for listening and thanks for the socks and thanks for how his eyes darken right before he kisses me, and thanks for the way my heart pounds when I look at him. But I don’t explain.
“Luis!”
We both look up. A tall man in a white lab coat is coming across the grass. I can immediately see the resemblance. His face is chiseled into the same sharp planes as Luis’s.
“I just went to open a Pacific Pine casket and an entire cap ripped off the hinges. And the service is in four hours. I’ve got two people to dress and casket.”
“This is my dad,” Luis says to me. “Dad, this is Torrey.”
The man nods, but obviously has more important things on his mind.
“Call the casket delivery guy and get me an emergency casket.” He rushes off, giving me a quick “good-bye” and “nice to meet you” over his shoulder.
“Looks like I have to go to work,” Luis says, standing up from the swing. I stand up beside him and he rests his hand on my elbow. “Sorry.”
And I’m sorry, too, but not because he has to work. I’m sorry because he stops touching me.
“Hey, where did this cat come from?” Maria yells from the kitchen, and then says some words in Spanish I don’t know, but also don’t need Mrs. Annie Florence to translate.
Luis steps away from me with a big sigh. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” he asks.
I nod. I give him a small wave and slowly step backward off the porch, stumbling slightly on the steps. I’m in a daze from our kiss.
The front door bangs open. “These are for you.” Mrs. Annie Florence says, handing me a wrapped bouquet of marigolds.
Maria is behind her with an armful of yowling Stu. “And don’t forget this cat.”
“Sharing products you love is how fans get insight into your personality.” —Torrey Grey, Beautystarz15
At lunch on Monday, I’m still thinking about Luis’s kiss. Only now I’m also thinking, or more like worrying, about a lot of other things. Like how Blair is going to react if she gets any idea that I kissed Luis. The worst part is that, even though I know it will ruin all my plans for staying here at the popular table, all I can really think about is doing it again.
In English, Luis smiled at me from his regular seat across the room, but we didn’t speak. While the teacher read aloud from some poem, I watched the back of Luis’s head bent over a book, his hands twirling a pencil between his fingers. Then I caught myself and made myself look away so no one would notice. It happened at least three more times before the bell rang, and I escaped into the crowded hall before he could talk to me.
Ross and Max, the guy with the buzz cut, are arguing about some zombie movie that is showing at the midnight theater this weekend. Emily and Blair are oohing and aahing over pics of Mia’s new Frye boots that she can’t even wear until this weather turns cooler.
“It’s going to happen this weekend,” Blair says.
“I heard the temperature is dropping into the forties,” Emily confirms.
Neither the thought of zombies or cooler weather interests me. I sit there in a fog, glancing around every five seconds to see if Luis is walking through the door.
“What’s wrong with you today anyway?” Blair says, and I jerk my attention back to the table. Her brown eyes narrow.
“Nothing,” I say, too quickly.
Emily chimes in, “You were completely out of it in English.”
“I have a lot on my mind.”
“I bet,” Blair says.
I feel suddenly cold. She knows about Luis.
“If everyone was saying such terrible things about me, I’d be a complete disaster. Honestly, I don’t know how you hold it together.” Blair digs around in her purse, pulls out a pink lip gloss, and slides it over her lips. “I can’t believe she was actually your friend.”
It takes a minute for her words to sink in. She thinks my mood is about the video Zoe posted. So much has happened since then.
“Some friend,” Emily repeats, nodding like a bobblehead doll.
“Your friend Zoe was in a lot of your vlogs, right?” Mia asks. “Like the one where you both showed what you had in your purses?”
“Yeah,” I say, remembering that Zoe texted me again this morning. I ignored it, again.
“You filmed what you had in your purse?” Max is aghast. “And people watched it?”
“Thousands,” I mumble.
“Oh, wow.” Blair’s expression is awestruck. “It would be so cool to be in one of your videos.”
I stare back at Blair, feeling my adrenaline spike. In that instant, a plan starts to gel in my mind.
“Hey,” Ross says to Max, “want to see what’s in my pockets?”
“Wait.” Max holds his hands out to stop Ross from reaching into his jeans pockets, and then looks wildly around the room. “Maybe everybody wants to watch this.”
I don’t pay attention to the boys. “You can be in my video,” I tell Blair, and start to put the plan into action. It takes a little bit of a sales pitch to get Blair and Mia excited about the sugar-skull makeup tutorial, but soon they are convinced it’s
the coolest thing ever. Especially when I pull out my phone and show them the pictures I’d found online with flowers trailing around each eye and upside-down hearts for noses.
Emily says her mother wouldn’t approve. So she’s out. That’s okay with me.
“Once the raw footage is edited, it’ll be amazing,” I say to Blair and Mia.
“And if you post this vlog right after the court appearance, it’ll totally blow up. There’s no telling how many page views we’re talking about,” Mia says. I feel uncomfortable because I know she’s right and it sounds so callous.
“That would be so symbolic,” Blair breathes, her eyes wide. “All the buzz about your statement and then … BOOM … this is the first thing you post. So beautiful and so sad.”
I feel a twinge of guilt. My statement. I still don’t have a script for that, but somehow all those pieces of memory stuffed away in my closet will come together in my mind. They have to. It’ll be the most important haul I’ve ever presented. Only it won’t be online. It will be in a courtroom in Colorado.
“And you’ll tag us both?” Blair asks, biting her lower lip in anticipation.
I nod. That’s the best part of this plan. It’s going to make my real-time popularity soar, too. A total win-win.
“You’ll be stars,” I assure them. Then I hesitate. Maybe I can tie this all up into one big bow and please everyone. “On one condition.”
“What?” Mia’s eyes narrow suspiciously.
“You have to wear the makeup to Raylene’s Halloween party. It’s just across the street and I promised her you’d drop by.” I haven’t seen Raylene since she got back from the twirling contest (she placed second) and collected Stu. I’ve been able to drive myself to school now. But still. Raylene is my cousin. And it’s more than that. Somehow Raylene matters to me now. Even if she’s unpopular.
“Why?” Blair asks incredulously. She and Mia look at each other like it’s the craziest thing they’ve ever heard.
I think fast. “I need to get some real reactions. Maybe film some background footage of you at a party. I can splice it in later.”
“I think it sounds like fun,” Ross says, and I look over with raised eyebrows. As far as I can tell, he isn’t kidding.
“Well, we’re not staying long,” Mia huffs.
But they’re coming. I don’t know why, but this makes me smile.
For the rest of the week, as much as I want to talk to Luis in school — to kiss him again — I find myself avoiding him. Instead, I spend all my free time discussing the makeup-tutorial vlog with Blair and Mia. After school on Friday, I help Raylene get ready for the party.
In her usual Raylene fashion, she’s going completely over the top. She invites people through Facebook, Twitter, texts, and even personal hand delivery. She wants to be sure she gets everything just right. Music. Food. Decorations. We almost break our necks stretching fake spiderwebs all across her porch and carving out a jack-o’-lantern to put on the top step.
I’m just praying people actually show up. I’m still counting on at least Blair and Mia.
My parents seem happy that I’m going to Raylene’s party. Especially when I say some of my friends are coming over beforehand.
“Sounds like things are getting back to normal,” my dad tells me with a half smile.
Right. Normal. Picking out a dress for a party. A room full of girls putting on makeup. The carpet littered with a wide array of shoe options. All normal. Just like when Zoe used to come over to get ready to go out.
Dad doesn’t know about the backpack in my closet full of ofrendas.
Because that isn’t normal at all.
The night of the party, I’m all nervous energy. I dig around until I find the green dress at the very back of the closet. Zoe picked this dress from a sales rack at Macy’s. She said it would look fantastic on me and she was right. I loved the soft green color, the sweetheart neckline, the flared skirt. I only wore it once — for the Christmas card photo I took with Miranda.
I pull the dress on over my head. It still clings to me perfectly. Slipping on some black high heels, I stand in front of the mirror. I pin my hair up into a loose, messy bun and put some silver hoops in my ears. It’s been a long time since I looked like this, but I remember this girl. She used to talk fearlessly into a camera and was addicted to checking her page views.
My dad pushes the door open and stands in the doorway. “Hey,” he says.
“Hey.”
“You look beautiful, honey.”
“Thanks. It’s the dress,” I say.
“It’s good to see you going out.” He didn’t say for a change, but I know it’s hanging in the air.
“You’re going to spend the night over at Raylene’s?”
“She asked me. It’s okay, right? I know it’s the first time I’ve been away since …” My voice trails off. “But it’s just across the street.”
Raylene thought a sleepover would be a perfect end to her successful party. As far as I know, I’m the only one who is actually sleeping over. I hope the evening’s going to be a success, but I have my doubts. The overnight might turn into a pretty desolate consolation party, and I’m going to be the one picking up the very random Raylene pieces.
“It’s fine,” Dad says. “We just have to take it slowly.” His voice cracks a bit. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He pauses, as if searching for the right words to say, or maybe until the quiver in his voice stabilizes. I feel tears prickling my eyes and I blink hard to keep them from coming. His sudden show of emotion is unnerving. I remember how he cried that night in the hospital, when he told the doctor to unplug the machines keeping Miranda’s body breathing.
“I’m sorry. It’s just so hard to see you growing up and know she never will.” Dad walks over to me, puts his arm around my shoulders, and pulls me into his chest. I feel the thud of his heart against my ear.
I bite my lip to keep from crying — angry at myself for the familiar sadness bubbling up between us.
Can’t I be happy for a few hours?
But I don’t say anything. Instead I turn and walk over to my dresser, fiddling with the camera for the vlog. My first vlog in ages.
“I saw the video Zoe posted.”
My whole body freezes. I don’t even breathe.
“It wasn’t your fault, Torrey.”
I wish I could believe that.
He continues, talking softly. “We’ve all said things we wish we could take back. I would give anything to have never said the doctors could turn off those machines.”
I turn back to Dad. He looks so sad. Suddenly, I see his own guilt from that horrible night when he pleaded for the doctor to give us some other option — some plan.
“There was nothing you could do,” I say quickly. Miranda wasn’t fixable. I reach out for his hand and his fingers wrap around mine, squeezing tightly.
“Thanks, hon,” he says.
The doorbell rings and I hear Mom greeting Blair and Mia. Dad kisses the top of my head and leaves the room. I take a deep breath, then finish screwing the flip cam on a tripod stand and focus it on the two chairs I have ready. The flip cam gives me a little different angle than the webcam on my laptop, but still won’t be the quality of Zoe’s camera.
For now, I’ll just film everything without pausing. I’ll download the footage onto my computer later for editing.
“Torrey! Your friends are here!” Mom calls.
Are they my friends? I push the thought away. Of course they are.
I hear Blair and Mia tromping down the hall in their high heels. It’s showtime.
“Post often. Viewers want to know you’re going to be dependable.” —Torrey Grey, Beautystarz15
Blair comes in first with a big, excited grin. She gives me a hug, which puts me more at ease. Meanwhile, Mia is scoping out my room.
She turns around slowly, her hands on her hips. “Big change from your bedroom back in Colorado,” she says. “No pink. No pillows. No designer duvet.”
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I shrug. “I don’t see the sense in spending a lot of effort decorating a rental. We’ll be moving soon anyway,” I say. But I have no idea if this is true or not. I point to the two wooden ladder chairs. “We’ll film against that blank wall. I’ll keep the shot tight and focus on your faces.”
For the first time since she entered the room, Mia smiles. “So this is going to be your big comeback vlog?”
“Yeah,” I say, straightening the pots and brushes spread out on the folding table I set up earlier. My hands tremble with anticipation. I shake out the nerves, clench and unclench my fingers.
Mia sneezes suddenly. Once. Twice. “Do you have a cat?”
“No, why?”
“I’m allergic” — she sneezes again — “to cats.”
I could hug Stu right about now. Evidently he left some fur behind last weekend. “There’s some Kleenex on my dresser.”
“This is going to be epic,” Blair says, taking the chair I indicate. Mia sits next to her. Thankfully, both are clean-faced and makeup free, as I asked them to be. They also remembered to wear something fairly simple to keep their faces as the main focal point. Mia is in a solid blue skater dress and silver pumps. Blair wears a dress I recognize as Kate Spade. The top is solid black with a full, black-and-white-striped skirt that hits just above her knees. It’s a good choice to show off the skull makeup. I just hope they are as good at following direction with the rest of the shoot.
I see a glimpse of white at the back of Blair’s collar.
“Oops. Your label is showing. Want me to cut it off for you?” I reach for it and then realize it’s not a label, it’s a price tag.
Blair shrugs away from my touch. “Just tuck it in,” she says to Mia. “I have to return this tomorrow.”
Mia sneezes again and does as she’s told.
This is it. The tingle in my fingers spreads into my hands. I’m back in front of a camera. I turn away and take three long breaths, blowing them out one by one. It’s different than when I tried to film before. Now I have an audience right in front of me. There are expectations and impressions to make. I push RECORD and start talking.
