Chapter Fifteen Meera’s Makeover
CHAPTER FIFTEEN Meera’s Makeover
On Friday, Noah, Kennedy, Ash, and I are the only ones who show up for CROP. I know why I haven’t missed a day: I am incapable of skipping, especially something mandated. It goes against my entire honor student persona.
While we’re planting some ground cover between the perennials in the garden bed, I ask Noah why he’s only missed the one day.
He raises a brow at me. “Um, where else would I be? I have court-ordered community service like you.”
“Yeah, but the other kids don’t show up every day.” I laugh awkwardly. “I mean, I’m a total nerd. I’ve never even skipped school.”
His eyebrow is still sky high. “And what makes you think I have skipped school?” he asks.
I bite my lip. I guess I kind of did expect that he’d been in trouble before this. Someone laughs behind me. It’s Kennedy.
“Yeah, as if Mr. Perfect would ever miss a day of school. He couldn’t have gotten a full ride to college without perfect attendance.”
What? Noah had a full ride to college? Noah’s expression is blank. He’s carefully transplanting the ground cover into the garden bed like he’s intentionally avoiding my eyes.
“You got a scholarship? I thought you were staying here in September?”
“Yep!” Kennedy says, coming closer to us. “Jacobs here was one of the smartest kids at Cherrybridge High. And super talented, so he—”
“Shut up, Kennedy,” Noah grumbles, not even looking at her.
“His manners have never been great, though,” Kennedy adds.
I want to huff a laugh at that, but I’m still shocked. I mean, I know Noah is smart. I’ve pretty much spent every day with him for the last two weeks. But I thought we were friends. I told him about my postsecondary plans and asked him what his were. Why wouldn’t he talk about it with me?
I go back to planting. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe he had a good reason for not telling me about getting a scholarship. Or maybe we’re not as close as I thought.
“Hey, are you going to use those gloves?” Kennedy asks me, breaking me out of my thoughts.
I’m not wearing gloves because they’re way too big for me, so I shrug and toss the gloves at her, noticing the shirt she’s wearing.
It’s from a street festival in Toronto that a friend of mine from school organized last summer.
I have a similar one because I volunteered at it.
Kennedy’s shirt has been altered, though.
The sleeves are torn off, and the whole thing is much tighter on her.
“Hey, cool shirt,” I say. “You know, my friend organized that festival?” I don’t know why I’m bothering to compliment her. She’s probably going to growl at me.
But instead Kennedy’s eyes brighten. “Oh yeah? Cool! I got it from Rabbles last week. My mom took it in for me.”
She starts to walk away before I can ask her what Rabbles is, but Noah suddenly says, “You should tell Meera about Rabbles. She’s into thrift stores.”
“Oh! Rabbles is a thrift store?” I ask. “I’ve been wondering if there are any around here.”
Kennedy nods vigorously. “It’s the best! It’s a charity shop north of the river where all the rich people donate their crap.”
“Wow. I know a store in Toronto like that. I found a Coach purse for my mom there once.” Mom still uses that purse, even though she could buy a new one now.
“Toronto has the best vintage stores,” Kennedy says, coming back and plopping down next to me on the grass. “I take the bus into the city once a season to go to Kensington Market.”
“Yeah, Kensington’s great, but have you checked out the shops on Bloor West?” I ask.
We talk for a while about the best vintage and thrift stores in Toronto, and about our best finds.
When there’s a bit of a lull in the conversation, I notice Noah smiling while he’s planting.
Maybe he’s happy that Kennedy and I are finally bonding.
Which proves my point about him. Noah Jacobs is a complete sweetheart.
When we’re getting ready to leave, Kennedy lingers with a strange expression on her face.
She looks uncomfortable and nervous. I’m about to ask if she’s okay when she loudly coughs to clear her throat and looks straight at me.
In one breath she says, “Sorry about giving you a hard time before. And sorry about your AirPods, too. It’s not your fault your mom married a douche.
” She exhales, her expression relaxing. “Lainey says I have trust issues.” I must look confused, because she explains.
“I get counseling by Lainey at school. She says I assert dominance over strangers because I want to push them away before I get hurt. She also says I can’t complain about not having friends if I treat everyone like garbage. ”
I try not to laugh at Kennedy’s earnestness. I wonder if Lainey and Kennedy talked about me recently. “No worries. Glad we got to talk.”
She looks nervous again. “Do you… I mean, do you want to go to Rabbles now? They usually put new stuff out on Fridays, so I was going to check it out. Noah, you and Ash come too? We can grab drinks downtown after?”
I glance at Noah, and he gives an encouraging nod. “I’ve found some killer band shirts there,” he says. “I’m game.”
“Okay. I have dinner plans later, but I can go shopping first,” I say.
Ash apparently has his mom’s car today, so he drives us all to the thrift store. It’s on a side street near that café I went to with Sadie and Liv on the day after I got to Cherrybridge.
The store is small—but jam-packed. Definitely some designer clothes in here.
I’m not that hardcore a thrifter, but even I know that I could make a killing on designer resale sites if I bought this stuff and sold it.
Kennedy is excited and keeps squealing at things.
It’s so strange that this grinning, enthusiastic girl is the same person who Noah said hates everyone.
“OMG, this is a deal. You need to get this, Meera,” she says, holding up a dark-purple-and-black plaid skirt. It is supercool. Very Y2K. But it’s not my style. It’s too short and too… cool for someone like me.
“Oh, I love it, but I couldn’t wear something like that,” I say. “It’s more your vibe than mine.”
She shakes her head. “I have one almost the same. And you’d look great in it! It matches your shoes!”
“If you love it, then why not wear it?” Noah asks me. I didn’t notice that he was with us in the ladies’ section.
I blink at him. Am I doing what Noah accused me of doing, not letting my true self shine because of my future goals? I do like the skirt—a lot. And why can’t a future architect wear short skirts, anyway?
I grin, taking the skirt from Kennedy. Together we pick two tops to go with it—a ribbed purple tank, and a black one with silver studs on the neckline.
She also helps me pick out a bunch of other things, including a slouchy zippered hoodie, a tight black T-shirt, and even a few old band shirts in dark colors.
Kennedy says she’ll get her mom to alter them for me.
“This is so much fun,” she says, moving toward the accessories. “I’ve thought you needed a makeover since the first day of CROP.”
I grin, wanting to laugh at the ease of Kennedy’s admission. Honestly, what’s the harm in me giving up my usual pastels while I’m in Cherrybridge? It’s not like I’m going to have job or scholarship interviews here. Plus, Mom will hate it.
“Oh my God, look! These are brand-new in the package!” She holds up some small body jewelry hoops.
Like the kind you can get at Hot Topic in the mall.
“You need to wear this one in your nose with that skirt,” Kennedy says, handing me one.
It’s a black metallic hoop, a bit larger and thicker than I’m used to, and it has a purple metallic ball on it.
It reminds me of Kennedy’s purple septum ring.
I love it. I also end up getting a black belt and a pair of silver hoop earrings.
I push my cart over to show it all to Noah, but he has something even cooler to show me.
“Look what I found,” he says. He holds out a black T-shirt. It has the words “Crash on Jupiter” in red font, with a big yellow-and-orange exploding planet underneath. It takes me a moment to realize exactly how amazing this find is.
“Holy crap… Jason and your dad’s band!”
He’s positively vibrating with excitement. “My dad has only one of these shirts. I’ve been begging him to give it to me forever, but he won’t even let me wear it. There are, like, ten of them here. How did they end up in a thrift store?”
I wince, remembering what Mom told me when she first showed me my room in Jason’s house. “My mom donated a bunch of stuff from Jason’s house a few weeks ago.”
Noah’s eyes narrow. “I can’t believe he would toss them.”
“Well, technically my mom did. Why did he still have them?” Was Jason keeping these as a memory? As a representation of who he used to be? Or of what he could have been?
Noah shrugs. “They don’t belong in a secondhand store with things people don’t want.”
At ten dollars each it would be over a hundred dollars to buy them all.
I take all the hangers off the rack and add them to my cart. “I’m buying them.”
Noah shakes his head. “No, it’s a lot of money.”
I shrug. “Jason’s giving me an allowance while I’m here, and I’ve barely spent it. This is a charity shop for addiction and mental health services, right? This way we’re technically forcing Jason to donate to the cause.”
Noah laughs. He starts going through the shirts in my cart. “I want one. For me.”
I check the size of the one he takes. XL. Rolling my eyes, I replace it with a medium. “Have you ever thought about wearing clothes that, you know… fit you?”
He gives me his mischievous smile. “Noorani, you have to stop objectifying me like this. How often are you thinking about how my clothes fit?”
I laugh and blush at that. If he only knew.
Maybe he has a thing for embarrassed blushing, because the teasing smile on his face melts away. He smiles, looking right into my eyes, and electricity crackles between us.