Page 45 of She’s a Doll

“You were pretty hot yourself,” Nicola said, which was the exact moment I realized I’d been thinking those thoughts a little too clear, a little too loud.

Don’t pretend you liked my cosplay, I said, low and angry. You all treated me like an outsider, a freak. I know you all made fun of me after I’d left.

“OK. Wow. There’s a lot to unpack there.” There was a shuffling sound followed by a creak of floorboards as she got comfortable on the other side of the TV. “Let’s start with the obvious. (A) I don’t need to pretend to like your cosplay. I do like your cosplay. I thought you looked the coolest out of everyone at the party.”

No, you didn’t.

“Yes, actually, I did. We all went safe. You went in drag. Like, holy shit. How was anyone supposed to compete? We looked nice, sure, but you? That cinched little waistcoat, those knee-highs, and that crooked top hat? Seriously, Lu, you took no prisoners. I thought so, even after you made me seem awkward as hell in front of Ginger⁠—which, arsehole move by the way.”

I didn’t make you look awkward.

“You one thousand percent did. I kinda hated you for that. And then you and she had this cute touchy-feely-whispery moment, and I hated you even more.”

I hugged my legs tighter and scrolled through my memories, recontextualizing, reanalyzing.

And B? I asked eventually, the thought small in my own mind.

“And what?” Nicola replied.

You said A, implying the existence of a B.

“Oh. Right. And (B) you thought everyone made fun of you after you left, which . . . I don’t know what that is. A persecution complex, maybe?”

Some of you were definitely judging me.

“Some of me?”

Some of the others.

“Like who?”

Ginger’s mum.

Nicola sighed. “Yeah. She was shitty to me too. Honestly, I think Mrs. Béliveau is shitty to everyone. Remember in cooking class when she said Brooke didn’t look pretty enough to be a bad cook? Yeah. She’s a piece of work. Pretty sure that’s why Ginger’s so eager to please all the time. Shitty-parent-itis.”

I had nothing to say to that.

“It wasn’t a very good party,” Nicola said. “Honestly, parties at Ginger’s house never really were. They’re more about the Insta pics, you know? I’m pretty sure all of us were on our phones before the sun had even set. We weren’t gossiping about you.”

I . . . I guess I . . .

“You projected your insecurities onto us,” she said, humiliatingly perceptive. “Which is wild because you always seemed like the biggest, bravest person in school. You argued with teachers. You entered cosplay contests and won.”

Second place, novice division.

“Still.”

Look, I . . . I just got the vibe that . . . I don’t know. You were all so pretty, and I . . .

“Let me guess, you’re not like other girls.”

Well, no, I’m not. No two humans are perfectly alike. Also, I’m a haunted doll.

“I think the point might’ve nicked you as it skated over your head there.”

I glared at the cables and cobwebs, feeling sick and angry and hopeless and helpless and small and pathetic and dead. I wanted to hate Nicola for being a coward. I did hate her for being a coward. But I also knew how stupid and unfair hating her for that was, which made me feel even smaller, even sadder, even more pathetic.

“OK,” Nicola said after a while. “I’m worried you’re going to mess up my TV. Can you come out now?”