“What if he’s changed his mind but was too afraid to mess things up?” I hate that I can’t just tell her the truth: He wanted to ask you, but William told him not to, and for some reason, Trevor listened.
“Why haven’tyouaskedhim?” Tiffany chimes in.
I don’t say so, but it’s a good question.
Salma just shrugs. “I guess I’m not sure how he’d take it.”
“There you go, so he probably feels the same way,” says Tiffany.
“If we want to beat the bathroom rush, we should go now,” I say, since the ball starts in two hours.
“Good idea,” says Salma.
“I’ll meet you there,” I say, peeling away from them to drop off William’s mask for tonight.
Yet as I head down the hallway, I’m not sure where I’m going. I’m not going to show up at his room unannounced, and I can’t go to the LUB during the day, since someone could see me.
My feet seem to be moving of their own accord, and as I stride past the doors of our classrooms, I realize where I’m going. I climb to the third floor to visit the library and keep ascending levels until I reach the computer wing, and that’s where I leave William’s mask.
If he’s still spying on me, he’ll find it.
And if he doesn’t… not my problem.
I DASHinto the penthouse to grab my toiletries, expecting the room to be empty.
“Hey.”
Tiffany greets me as soon as I walk inside, standing in her white terry cloth robe, hair in her pink bonnet, and holding her toiletry bag. It looks like she’s been waiting for me.
“Where’s Salma?”
“Showering. I wanted to know if you ever bothered asking her what’s wrong, or if you’re still too busy to be her friend?”
“What the fuck is your problem?”
The question flies out of my mouth because I’m beyond finished with hershitty attitude and cutting remarks. “Whatever else it is you need to say to me, spit it out already so we can move on—”
“Finally,” says Tiffany, setting down the toiletry bag. “It was getting old, letting Salma fight your battles for you.”
“I don’t see her here now, so are you going to answer?”
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.”
