Chapter 22. Lorena #2
My roommate crosses her arms. “You once said that you don’t remember me growing up in your house.”
I nod. “Yeah, so?”
“Well, I do,” she says, and I frown in confusion.
“My mother idolizes yours,” she says grudgingly, like it hurts to admit this.
“My whole life, she’s followed every one of Viviana Navarro’s rules like they’re commandments.
I couldn’t wear makeup, or close-fitting clothes, or go to parties, or open a social media account—basically, I couldn’t have a life. ”
I feel the truth of her words deep inside because she could just as easily be describing me.
Yet I don’t see how it’s my fault.
“I used to pity you,” says Tiffany. “Whenever Viviana featured you in a post, I saw you as a fellow captive who probably had it worse than me. Until that video came out … and I saw the real you and learned you were complicit. That’s when I started hating you more than her.”
“You don’t know the real me,” I say with complete certainty.
“At least your downfall made my mom ease up, and I finally got on social media this year,” says Tiffany, ignoring my comment.
“Even better, I got to spend a few weeks this summer with my rich aunt who lives two hours from here, and since she hates my mom, she let me get my hair and nails done and took me shopping for whatever I wanted. I came to this school ready for a fresh start, far from Viviana Navarro’s reach …
and look who should happen to be my roommate. ”
She picks up her bag of toiletries, like that’s all she has to say. She stalks past me to the door, and I get the distinct impression that my side of the story doesn’t matter to her. This whole confrontation only happened because she cares about Salma.
“It’s grief,” I say without turning around. “That’s what’s eating at Sal.”
After a brief pause, I hear the door open and shut.
KNOWING MY best friend, I’m not surprised she decided to go retro with her costume.
Ironically, she and Tiffany dressed up as vampire slayers. Tiffany is Buffy and Salma is Faith from our moms’ favorite television series of all time. They introduced us to it when we were in middle school.
While Salma and Tiffany used the school’s stash to accessorize, they chiefly harnessed the powers of their combined wardrobes to pull this off.
Salma is wearing skintight black pleather pants, a black crop top, knee-high black boots, a silver-studded black choker, black lipstick, and red nail polish “for a splash of color.” Tiffany is also in high boots, but her pants are red, her top isn’t cropped, and she’s added an oversized black leather jacket that Trevor loaned her. And she’s wearing a blond wig.
My dress is not as easy to put on, and I need Salma’s help. The top is a corset and has to be tightened from the back. “I didn’t see another dress like this one,” she says as she pulls on the strings until I can’t inhale. “I hope William managed to find something that matches.”
“He did,” I assure her. “This … it must’ve been a set because his clothes also look very old-fashioned,” I add, laying the groundwork for what she’s about to see. No one is going to have a costume as authentic as his.
“Done,” says Sal, and if I had any breath left, I would thank her.
“Damn,” whispers Tiffany, and when I look at her, I’m surprised to find she’s looking at me.
“Oh wow,” says Salma, scanning me up and down. “How much did your boobs grow this summer?”
“I’m a C,” I say defensively, even though I’m starting to spill out of my bras and Ma made me buy a D before coming here.
“Your waist is snatched,” says Tiffany, and I try to think of how that could be a diss, since I can’t imagine her giving me a compliment.
“What are we doing with your hair and makeup?” asks Salma.
“I was thinking maybe an updo,” I say, wishing I could look up different styles online.
“I got it,” says Tiffany, pulling out her tablet and tapping on her photo album. After scrolling through, she shows us a picture of a beautiful bride and groom. The bride has her hair swept up in a romantic bun that’s exactly what I envisioned.
“Who are they?” asks Salma.
“My brother and his wife,” says Tiffany. “He met her when he spent a year in Japan, and she moved back to the States with him. They got married this summer.”
“Let’s see a picture of you from the wedding,” says Salma.
“Nah, I hated my dress,” says Tiffany, locking the tablet as if to keep Salma from looking through it.
“Oh, come on—”
“I think that hairstyle is perfect,” I say. “Do you two think you could help me pull it off?”
“I have all the supplies we need,” says Tiffany, and Salma looks from her to me like she’s just noticed we’re being civil. “Let’s go, we don’t have long.”
Half an hour later, my hair is twisted into a bun, with a few curls hanging loose and my shoulders bare. Salma applies my makeup similarly to how she did the day of the Harvard field trip. Only she adds one bold touch: matte red lipstick.
I grab my mask, and Salma and Tiffany grab their wooden stakes for killing vampires, which they made by taping together a bunch of sharpened pencils.
It takes me a while to make it down the tower stairs with all the folds of my dress, and a couple of girls stare in admiration from their open doorways as we pass.
“You look amazing,” says a neighbor named Melisa. I assume she’s talking to Salma and Tiffany, but when I look at her, she’s staring at me.
“Thanks,” I say, not used to receiving compliments. “Love your Harley Quinn costume.”
When I get to the bottom step, I see Fran staring up at me, their mouth agape in surprise. “Behold the belle of the ball!”
I can’t help grinning.
“You look too good for a school dance,” they go on. “You should be at an actual royal ball.”
“We’ve been trying to tell her that,” says Salma.
“And you two are … naughty teachers?”
Salma snorts. “These are stakes.”
“Oh my God—you’re Buffy and Faith! That’s awesome!”
“And you’re Caesar Flickerman?” I ask Fran, who sports a shiny blue blazer that matches their hair.
“Welcome to the Hunger Games!” they say with a grand bow. “Seriously, William is going to die when he sees you.”
My stomach hurts when I hear his name. I know he’s not going to come, but what’s really bothering me is why I care so much.
“Let’s check ourselves out,” says Salma, gripping my arm to lead me into the bathroom.
When the three of us look at our reflections in the mirror, I hardly recognize myself.
My gown really does look like it belongs to another historical era, and I still don’t understand how I found it or why it was the only one of its kind. The top layer is a shade of gold that brings out the amber of my eyes, but what undoubtedly pops the most is my chest.
It looks disproportionate with the rest of my body, and I wonder how I’m not falling forward.
Am I really going to a school event showing this amount of cleavage?
What if people take pictures and post them next weekend on our field trip to Hanover?
What will people say about me, and what will the fallout be for Ma?
“This is too low-cut,” I say, suddenly embarrassed.
“I really hope you’re joking,” says Tiffany.
“She’s not,” says Salma.
“Why are you hiding them?” asks Tiffany. “Those girls need to breathe!”
“And with these wise words from our resident poet,” says Salma, “let’s go!”
AS WE approach the dining hall, red spills out from its open doors, like a tongue or a stream of blood. I blink and realize it’s a fancy carpet.
I feel my classmates’ eyes on me, and I bring up the mask to cover my face. It’s metallic and glued to a stick, decorated with rhinestones and feathers, just like the one I made for William. Only mine is gold, while his is silver.
Director Minaro stands at the entrance with Ms. Floreville, greeting everyone as they arrive.
They’re next to a screen that projects a photo of Huntington Manor and the text First Annual Huntington Halloween Ball.
Using a professional camera, Ms. Floreville takes photos of each duo in front of the special background.
“Guess I have to wait here,” I say from behind my mask. “You two go ahead without me—”
“No, we can wait,” says Salma.
“Buffy and Faith!” Zach calls out, and I’m guessing Tiffany already told him about their costumes. He walks over in an orange shirt and a bright green hat with flaps on the side. He must have contacts because he’s not wearing his glasses.
Trevor comes up behind him in a brown shirt and a blue beanie with red accents, and Tiffany says, “Okay, I give up. Who are you supposed to be?”
“Come on, guess,” says Zach.
“I told you no one would get it, man,” says Trevor, not looking at Salma.
“South Park!” says Salma suddenly. “You’re Stan and Kyle!”
Trevor’s gaze jumps to her in surprise, and now that their eyes meet, neither one breaks away.
Zach raises his camera and asks, “Picture?”
Tiffany strikes a pose, then she pulls Salma closer for a joint photo. My best friend looks at me and says, “Get in!”
That’s when the guys look my way—and I lower the mask to reveal my face.
“Damn, Navarro,” says Trevor, like he’s only just noticing me. “You look good, girl.”
His compliment makes me self-conscious, and I feel ridiculous in my own body.
“That’s a stunning costume,” says Zach. The three of us pose, and he snaps a picture, then Tiffany gets a shot of the guys.
“I’ll take one of the four of you,” I offer.
“We should get someone to get the five of us,” says Salma.
“Where’s William?” asks Zach, and I register that he’s not using the nickname Will today.
“He’s coming,” I say. “You guys go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”
“No, we can wait,” says Salma.
“I’m fine, seriously. I have to use the bathroom anyway.”
“You’ll need help with your dress—”
“I promise I can manage.” I look from her to Trevor. “Will you get her inside already, please?”
“All right, let’s give Lorena some privacy,” he says, and I’m glad when he offers Salma his arm.
She looks from him to me like she’s not sure what to do, and I say, “Go!”
So they finally get in line to enter the dining hall, and I step into a recessed entry where I can still keep an eye on my friends. I feel my classmates’ stares as they march past me on the red carpet, and I raise my mask again.
This was a stupid idea. Why the hell did I want the vampire to come with me to this dance in the first place?
“You look smashing!” I hear Minaro saying to Salma and Tiffany. After Ms. Floreville snaps their photo, it’s the guys’ turn.
Once they’re all inside, I step out from my hiding spot, mask held high to hide my face. I feel like a total fool for getting so dressed up and coming here, as if I actually had a date. The only thing I want to do now is get into comfy clothes and let down my hair and wash off Salma’s makeup.
I turn away from the dance, sweeping down the hall in my gown—
And I freeze at the sight of a silver mask.