We reached the exit and left. The door swung shut behind us, and I looked longingly at the sign for the auditions.
Aisha watched me. “You don’t have to be in the drama club to audition.”
I turned back to her. “Yeah, I know… but you do have to be brave. That’s the part’s that’s missing for me.”
Aisha raised an elegant black eyebrow at me. Her gold nose piercing caught the light. Her face was bare, her skin buttery soft and a warm tawny brown that glowed. God, she was beautiful. I felt like a bridge troll compared to her, but I wasn’t mad about it. My days of wanting to stand out were behind me.
“I don’t know… you were plenty brave just a few minutes ago, if you ask me,” she murmured and headed down the hall.
I was eating in the dinner hall when my phone vibrated.
Winter: You said you’d come to the party.
Winter: Now it’s time. I’m waiting.
Winter: You promised.
I sighed and slouched back in my chair. I had my hood up and headphones in to put off anyone from thinking of talking to me, and I was a good three hours into my newest audiobook. The thought of going to a party was abhorrent. But my oldest and only friend had gotten it in her head that I’d become too antisocial and I needed to “get out there more”, whatever that meant.
I had no interest in going, but I also didn’t want to upset her. She meant well. Also, I was sleeping rent-free at her apartment and putting quite the damper on her alone time with her boyfriend, so I owed her.
If only I had another place to go, to not overstay my welcome, but the only other option was my mother’s new house, which I’d rather walk over hot coals and sleep behind the cafeteria dumpster than go to willingly, so I was in a bind.
Man, it really sucked to be friendless, paranoid, and hating your new stepdad all at once.
Such was life.
I sipped on the strawberry milk I’d picked up as a sweet treat, because it was delicious, nutritious, and most importantly, cheap, and sent Winter a message.
Me: Fine, I’m coming, but only because you’ve twisted my arm and I’m assuming there will be alcohol there. See you soon.
The thought of alcohol perked up my mood. I checked my watch. It was after nine. It was fine. If I only drank after nine, thenI didn’t have a problem. I was in control. The reassurance felt flimsy even to me, and I tried to ignore how the very thought of drinking had my mouth watering with anticipation and my pulse racing.
I sipped my milk and gazed across the dinner hall. A group of cheerleaders had come in, their uniform achingly familiar. They talked loudly, uncaring who heard. Enjoying the attention of being the chosen, lithe, and beautiful.
I knew how they felt. I’d once been just like them.
Before the mask had slipped off the world and I’d understood… I’d seen everything from upside down, and now, I could never unsee it.
One of them glanced at me, and her eyebrows went up. I recognized her. She’d been a freshman along with me, two years ago. She pushed her head into the circle of her friends, and then in unison, they all turned to stare at me.
Curiosity wreathed their faces, some shock, a lot of disgust, and a little fear. They were afraid that what had happened to me could happen to them. Scared that their safe, pretty lives could swiftly go off-track, like mine had.
I knew what they saw when they assessed me. Bedhead hair I hid behind, an oversized plaid shirt open over a RATM T-shirt. Long sleeves, always, no matter the weather. Chipped black nail polish and ripped jeans and shit-kicking boots. Pierced septum and lip. I wore a uniform, too. It told people to stay back. It told men to look the other way.
Nothing to see here. Nothing for you, good sir.
Stay away.
They continued to stare. I got up, ready to move. I had to walk near them to throw my trash away. They whispered as I passed by.
I turned and locked eyes with one of them. Hers widened, and she seemed genuinely scared for a second.
“Boo,” I called and stuck my pierced tongue out.
They gasped.
To them I’d become a witch, a weirdo, a freak. Their words, not mine. I’d heard them enough since I’d been back, always whispered, never said to my face.
