Chapter 13
It’s five in the afternoon when Stephanie stops by to get ready. She looks amazing in a cute skirt and a chic, off-the-shoulder crop top. I stick to my usual pants and sweater, much to her dismay.
“You’re not seriously wearing that, are you?” she asks.
“Why not? It’s comfortable.”
“I’m not letting you go to our first house party dressed in your pajamas.”
Stephanie rummages through my closet, pulling out hangers with the enthusiasm of a treasure hunter who’s just found a map to El Dorado. She holds up a baggy gray sweater, examines it with narrowed eyes, then tosses it onto the growing pile of rejects on my bed.
“Do you own anything that doesn’t look like you borrowed it from your gramps?”
I sit on the edge of my bed, watching Stephanie tear through the fashion wasteland that is my wardrobe. “I told you; comfort is my style statement.”
“Comfort isn’t a style statement. It’s like you surrendered.” Another hanger rattles as she yanks out a faded blue hoodie. “How many versions of the same sad outfit do you own?”
“They’re not the same. That one has thumb holes.”
“Revolutionary.” Stephanie tosses her hair over her shoulder and kneels to inspect the bottom shelf. “There has to be something in here that doesn’t scream ‘I’ve given up on life.’”
I hug my knees to my chest. “Maybe we could just skip the party? Watch a movie instead?”
“Nice try.” She rises with a black lace-up blouse I don’t recognize. “Where did this come from?”
The tag dangling from the sleeve sparks my memory. “Birthday gift from my sister. Never had a reason to wear it.”
Stephanie ogles the blouse like she’s found the Holy Grail. “Today is that reason. This with your dark jeans—not the ones that fall off your romp—the tight ones.
She asks me to stand and hovers the blouse close to my body. “How you and Maisie have such different tastes in fashion will forever be a mystery to me.”
Twenty minutes of negotiation and one minor tantrum later (hers, not mine), I stand before my mirror in jeans that actually fit my legs and the black blouse that dips just enough to be interesting without making me feel exposed.
Stephanie circles me with the focused intensity of an art critic, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“You look human,” she declares, which from Stephanie is basically a five-star review.
My fingers fiddle with the laces at my chest. “Are you sure this isn’t too much?”
“It’s barely enough.” She grabs my shoulders and steers me toward the bedroom door. “Now, let’s go blow Theo’s mind.”
We descend the stairs, Stephanie a step ahead like she’s presenting a debutante. Theo waits in the living room, scrolling through his phone. He glances up casually, then does a comical double-take that would be flattering if it weren’t so obvious.
His mouth parts slightly, his phone forgotten in his hand. There is that warmth bubbling beneath my skin every time he holds my gaze for longer than two seconds.
“Wow,” he says, then clears his throat like he’s swallowed something unexpected. “You look . . . different.”
“Different good or different weird?” My hands twist nervously at the hem of my blouse.
“Definitely good.” He nods slowly.
Stephanie shoots me a triumphant look that screams I-told-you-so.
“We should get going,” Theo says. “Ian’s waiting.”
We pile into his car, and I catch him stealing glances at me in the rearview mirror. Maybe this outfit wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Fifteen minutes later, after scooping up Ian, and enduring a ride with Stephanie screaming in Theo’s ear to put on Logan Humphries, her favorite musician, we arrive at Paige’s house.
The moment I step out, the bass from the club remix of Rock My Body pulses in the air.
I’m surprised her neighbors don’t call the cops on a noise complaint.
Paige’s house is vast, like three homes in my neighborhood joined as one. Massive windows with sleek frames tower above us, all of them blazing with light. Wow! This place screams money—her parents must be loaded.
We walk toward the front door, and it feels like we’re about to enter another world. A crowd of people flows inside, everyone moving in rhythm to the music that blares from the massive speakers I spot through the window.
Through the doorway, the atmosphere is full of laughter, conversations, people dancing—or should I say rubbing against each other in a not so PG-13 way—some making out, others playing games. A few guys call out Theo’s name, giving him high-fives.
“You guys want a drink?” Theo asks, his head bobbing to the music. He’s definitely in his element.
“Sure,” I say, glancing around as he heads toward the kitchen.
Ian and Stephanie, who seem as clueless as I am, are the ones I’m sticking close to. Music and chaos drown our voices as we yell at each other.
“I can’t believe we’re at one of these things,” Stephanie says.
Dodging a flying kernel of popcorn, Ian adds, “It’s like we’re watching society regress in real-time.”
Judging by the silly smile plastered on his face, he seems glad to be a part of it.
We mingle, at least Stephanie and I do, while Ian sticks close by with an expression of someone who just landed on another planet.
Some guy with zero rhythm jumps in front of me, his arms flailing like the Tube Man at a used car dealership. He’ll be searching for a mate a long time if he plans to attract one this way.
I fold my arms and tilt my head away, doing my best to avoid eye contact with him, while Stephanie and Ian roar with laughter.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “Is the lightness of his foot not agreeable with you?”
I narrow my eyes at her. She will give herself a tummy ache, laughing like that, although I appreciate the reference to our favorite movie.
“He wouldn’t make it past round one on Dancing With the Stars,” Ian says.
I turn my back to the exotic dancer. “I can’t believe this is what people do at these things.”
Theo returns with our drinks, his teammates at his side, and one of them asks Stephanie to dance.
Excited, she follows him to the middle of the living room, where the crowd jumps in unison to the beat of Tiesto’s 10:35, making the floor shake beneath our feet.
Even I can’t help but sway to the rhythm. This night might turn out great.
We stand there for a while, sipping on soda before Theo asks, “Wanna dance?” He holds out a hand.
I thought he’d never ask. “Yeah, let’s go,” I say and take his hand.
As we step onto the makeshift dance floor, joy comes over me like a wave. Never in my wildest dreams did I picture dancing with Theo.
Another remix comes on—this time Logan Humphries’ Megaton Kiss.
Theo’s hands settle gently around my waist, and mine on his shoulders as our eyes lock.
The world disappears as we sway together, faster and faster, leaving only us.
We slow down, and I melt into his embrace, comfortable and familiar; it feels like we’ve danced this way countless times.
“I’m not very good at this,” he whispers in my ear. “Teach me some of your moves?”
I take his warm hands in mine, and he follows my two-step-spin, pulling me in at the end of the movement so that my chest presses against his. The way he towers over me, and how small I feel in his arms leave me breathless.
“This is fun,” he says.
“Beginner stuff,” I tease him.
“Come on, then, show me more.”
I parade some of the steps I’ve memorized from hours of choreography practice in my room and at the studio.
He does his best to follow along, the rhythm of his body slowly synchronizing with mine until we sway and spin as one.
We’re having so much fun I forget where we are as we bump into others around us.
“Sorry,” I say.
“You should enter the talent show,” Theo says against the rim of my ear.
“Are you kidding?” I scoff at the idea. “Everyone would just laugh at me like they did when I was a kid.”
“Has it ever occurred to you,” Theo begins, “that the reason you got picked on as a kid was because they liked you?”
I laugh so hard I snort, hoping he hasn’t heard. “The whole if-you-like-her-be-rude-to-her strategy. Why not just ask me to hang out?”
“It can be hard sometimes. Fear of rejection and all.”
“Now that, I understand.” I fling my hair backwards and vent my blouse. It’s getting hot.
His gaze seeks me out, and he pauses. “Why haven’t we talked like this before?”
“Well,” I say, “at some point, you were labeled Mr. Popular, and I got . . . nerdy.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” he says. “I think you put up a wall, kept yourself hidden.”
“Easier that way,” I admit.
He leans closer, the gold speckles in his green eyes sparkling in the bright room. “I’m determined to demolish that wall.”
“Oh, yeah? And how are you going to do that?”
“Like this.”
He spins us halfway around, then dips me, and I gasp. With my arms hooked around his neck, I stare deeply into his eyes, my heart fluttering as I brace myself for the possibility of the next moment.
His lips curl in a crescent moon smile. “How is this for a beginner?”
“I thought you weren’t any good at this.”
Slowly, he lifts me to our starting position. “I guess you bring out the best in me.”
Then he tilts my chin with his finger, drawing closer until I can feel his breath against my lips. I close my eyes. If this is to be my first kiss, I have no objection.
“Incoming!” Stephanie’s voice cuts through, and I whip away, startled.
Before I realize what she meant, Paige materializes out of nowhere, her pearly white smile wide as she throws her arms out toward Theo and me. “There you are! Been looking everywhere for you.”
The rest of her posse flock around us, and I feel like I’m on display. Their judgmental glares bear into me, and I’m suddenly self-conscious of my wardrobe choice.
Paige laces her arm with mine, pulling me aside. “Don’t look so panicked,” she says with a grin. “Come with me, I have an idea.”
“Where are you going?” Theo asks.
She glances over her shoulder in a teasing manner. “Don’t worry, handsome, we’ll bring her right back.”
“What’s this about?” I ask.
Paige smiles and squeezes my arm. “Makeover. You have potential, Chrissy. I don’t know why you’ve been hiding this long.”
The Queen Bee and her loyal servants usher me upstairs, steering me into one of the many rooms where I’m seated and looked upon like a blank canvas for an arts project.
“I’m not big on makeup,” I admit.
“You don’t have to be,” Paige says. “A little touchup goes a long way. Trust me.”
To my astonishment, they spread their crafty tools—brushes, eyeliners, powders, and things I’ve never seen before—and begin their work. They seem so excited; I don’t have the heart to refuse their offer. To them, I must be like an ugly duckling, desperate to become a majestic swan.
“Close your eyes and try not to move,” Paige instructs.
I try to relax as she pats my face with a cotton pad. “I can’t believe your parents let you throw parties like this.”
“They’re always gone. Their business matters more to them than anything.”
I can’t believe I’m thinking it, but maybe there’s more to her than meets the eye. Maybe she’s just lonely and her shenanigans are a way to rebel against her parents. It’s funny how one tiny detail can change your opinion of someone.
“There. All done.” She takes my hand and guides me out of the room. “Let’s find a mirror.”
As we get closer to the bathroom, the Queen Bees clutch my arms and lead me to the top of the staircase. “What are you doing?”
Paige’s voice booms over the party below. “Hey, everyone! Meet our new member!”
A chorus of laughter erupts. I break free of their grip and run to the bathroom. They’ve painted my face like a clown—face pale with garish colors splattered around eyes and lips. I look ridiculous.
My chest tightens as though invisible hands wring the fabric of my heart to draw forth tears which blur my eyes.
All sympathy I had for Paige a moment ago washes away by a tidal wave of humiliation. All I can do is escape.
Malice glints in Paige’s eyes as I pass by her, and she says, “Did you really think you could be one of us?”
The snickers and rude remarks get louder with each step I take on my way down. Phones are up recording and taking pictures, and when I reach the bottom, a hand catches my arm.
“Chrissy,” Theo says, “I’m—“
“Get away from me!” I wrench my arm free and shove my way through the crowd who point fingers and laugh at me.