9. Second-Guessing
Chapter nine
Second-Guessing
Aurora Driscoll
I try not to flinch as Saylor sweeps eyeshadow over my right eye. I’m used to wearing makeup on stage, and I wear a little bit in my day-to-day life, too. But I’m usually the one who does it. Saylor begged, though, and she has an uncanny ability to get her way.
“You’re gorgeous,” she gushes. “I mean, you already were without makeup, but adding this makes you look like a supermodel.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, uncomfortable under the praise.
As a ballerina, my looks are often under scrutiny.
From the time I was young, teachers and program directors made comments about my body, both positive and negative.
It’s all a part of the business. I’ve learned not to take it personally.
But hearing a friend compliment me makes me feel like I have one too many bobby pins stuck in my head.
“Jaz texted,” Marigold announces as she enters Saylor’s bedroom. “They just left the game and are headed to the party.”
“Perfect!” Saylor chirps. “I’m going to dust some highlighter, then spritz her with setting spray, and we’ll be done.”
I blink my eyes open and see Marigold standing in Saylor’s doorway.
She’s wearing a black plaid dress with a turtleneck layered underneath it and matching black tights.
Her red hair is curled and hanging over her shoulders.
She’s got a cross-body bag slung over the outfit, which is probably holding her notebook and pen that she carries with her everywhere.
Saylor steps in front of me again, blocking my view of Marigold as she runs a makeup brush over my cheeks and the bridge of my nose.
Saylor—ever the punctual one—was ready before she even started on me.
She’s wearing a white off-the-shoulder sweater dress and tan tights.
Her brown boots are freshly shined and sitting by the front door for her to slip on.
Pearl earrings decorate her ears, and her blonde hair is in big curls.
If anyone is a supermodel here, it’s her.
“I can’t believe you’re letting her do all of this,” Marigold comments. “Honestly, I can’t believe you’re coming to the party, period.”
“Don’t say that! She might change her mind.” Saylor frowns as she grabs a bottle of setting spray off her perfectly organized vanity. I’m facing away from the mirror because she wanted my reveal to be a surprise, but I watched her line up every step across the gleaming tabletop before we began.
My response is dry. “It’s a little late for that.”
“Hold your breath,” Saylor commands.
My eyes shut and I take a breath in. She sprays me down with the mist, then uses her mini fan to dry the liquid. Once it’s over, she beams at me and gestures to the mirror.
“Look!”
I reluctantly spin her desk chair around to face the lit-up mirror.
My hair is up in a ponytail with the ends curled.
Saylor—after sanitizing them—gave me a pair of dangling gold earrings to borrow.
They sparkle in the light, the same as the soft shimmer on my eyelids, which she paired with a deep brown in the crease.
My lips are painted a berry color, much darker than anything I would wear offstage, but still nice.
“You look great,” Marigold says.
“Thanks.” The word comes out stiff. “I guess we should get going.”
The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.
“This is so exciting! It’s been too long since we could all go to a party together,” Saylor says as she shuts off her vanity lights.
Anxiety rises at the thought of subjecting myself to a crowd of people.
Drunk people, at that. But Saylor wasn’t lying.
We haven’t all been to a party together in some time.
Our schedules often take us in different directions.
And as much as I hate going out, I hate the thought of my friends thinking I’m boring more.
They’ve said plenty of times they love me for me, but it’s hard to believe that if I stayed home every time they invited me somewhere that they’d still feel that way.
I stand up and tug down the skirt of my pink dress.
“I hope something crazy happens. I’ve got writer’s block.” Marigold heads toward our front door as she talks. “On a scale of one to absolutely red flag toxic, how bad is it that I hope some guy bothers me so Jameson fights him?”
A laugh escapes me. Saylor shakes her head and pauses to pull on her boots.
I slide on the platform heels I rarely wear and secure the ankle strap.
They make me even taller, and it’s awkward towering above everyone, especially guys.
But I also like the way they look, and the extra boost might help my confidence tonight.
“If you want him to fight so badly, have him join the Shadow Ring,” Saylor teases while grabbing her purse off a nearby hook. “Aurora could probably get Hayes to forgive you both for trying to expose the whole thing.”
Marigold scowls. “Absolutely not.”
The reminder of Hayes makes my stomach swoop. There’s a chance he’ll be at the party tonight; he’s been at plenty in the past. I glance down at my outfit, suddenly unsure of all of this.
“No second-guessing!” Saylor shouts, making my shoulders jump. She grabs my hand and drags me out the door.
“I wasn’t second-guessing,” I lie.
“You’re gorgeous, and we’re going to have fun.”
“If you say so.”
I almost trip over my feet trying to keep up with her. For someone so short, she’s very fast. Marigold follows right beside me, shaking her head and laughing under her breath.
Saylor eventually stops dragging me, settling for linking one arm through mine and one through Marigold’s, as though we’re off to the Emerald City instead of a frat house.
We walk across campus that way while Saylor rambles about how some guy from the Love Birds app said he’d be at the party tonight.
I’d worry more about her safety if she didn’t also inform us that her friend, Graham, was going to be there too.
Graham and Saylor grew up together, but he’s two years older and spent more time with her brother than her.
But then her brother went to college in California, which led Graham and Saylor to hang out more.
Both Marigold and Jasmine think there’s something between them, but I’m not as certain.
Saylor insists he’s like a brother to her.
Whatever their relationship, he protects her.
Which is good, because as smart as she is, the woman has zero survival instincts.
Music pours out into the street as we approach Alpha Phi. I draw in one last breath of fresh air, savoring it because I know it’s about to smell like beer and too much cologne for the next however long I force myself to stay.
“I forgot how much I hate parties,” Marigold mumbles as we close in on the door.
“I didn’t,” I reply with just as much enthusiasm.
“Be positive!” Saylor squeezes our arms before dropping them. “Your attitude shapes your experiences.”
“Did you read that in a textbook?” Marigold asks, making me laugh.
Saylor, oblivious to the joke, replies, “No, a Substack article.”
Marigold shoots me an amused look as we follow Saylor through the door and into a realm of chaos.
There are people everywhere. We have to push our way into the living room, where all the furniture has been cleared out.
Some people are dancing in the middle, but most are gathered in groups, laughing over plastic cups of questionable liquid.
My memory of the smell was not exaggerated, and I wrinkle my nose as it burns into my senses.
“There’s Jaz and Shep!” Saylor shouts over the pounding music.
I keep an eye on her blonde hair in the dim light, but since she’s so short and there are dozens of tiny blonde girls in this room, I lose her quickly. Marigold, too, though I imagine she branched off to find Jameson.
Alone in the crowd, my distaste for parties and crowds grows exponentially. I start pushing through again, trying to find Saylor. My efforts are futile, so I pull my phone out of my dress pocket as I walk. It would be easier just to ask where they are over text.
Right after pocketing my phone, I collide with someone.
My palms press against a firm chest covered in black fabric.
Hands land on my waist, and I snap my head up in shock.
Hayes Rosewood smirks down at me. His auburn hair is mussed and darkened to almost burgundy in the dim lights.
There’s a mischievous sparkle in his green eyes that makes my heart skip.
“Is this your subtle way of asking me to dance, Princess?” he asks. “I don’t usually, but I’d make an exception for you.”
I roll my eyes and push his hands off of me, ignoring the cascade of tingles that follows the touch.
“I already didn’t want to be here, but now I know I shouldn’t have come.”
“Why? Afraid you’ll have too much fun?”