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“I’m not that girl anymore,” I whisper to my reflection.
She whispers it back, but it looks like a lie on her red lips set perfectly in her painted face. I lean over the sink, turning on the faucet and washing my face, scrubbing away every last traceof makeup. But even then, I just look like myself before I get ready, the same girl I’ve been under the makeup all along.
I open the drawers, not knowing what I’m searching for until I find Dawson’s clippers in the bottom drawer, the cord wrapped around them. I plug it in and stare at my reflection, then slide the button to turn it on. It buzzes in my hand, and I lean in, watching in the mirror as I make the first path, circling my ear. Long, smooth strands of blonde silk fall slowly into coils in the sink as I make another line, leaving a half inch of dirty-blonde fuzz behind.
When I’m done, about third of my head is shaved, and I wish I’d asked Maverick to pierce my nose a few weeks ago because I don’t look badass enough for the haircut. It’s too late for that, so I find my makeup case instead, smudging my eyes with smoky makeup, using my fingers instead of a brush. I leave my skin bare, not hiding the freckles Duke said make my face ugly, the ones almost no one has seen because I always wear so much concealer and foundation, contour and bronzer and powder. Today, I stain my lips plum and layer heavy coats of black mascara on my pale lashes before I stand back from the mirror.
There’s makeup on the cuffs of my damp shirt, so I head for my room, switching from school clothes to the ripped jeans Mom hates. Instead of pairing them with something nice to make them look trendy and intentional, I pull on a loose white tank, the black leather jacket I scored last year at Lexi Lands It, and a pair of moto boots I sometimes wear with a schoolgirl skirt to look a little edgy. I stand back from the mirror, and this time, the girl who smiles back at me looks like a different person—one who isn’t a liar.
For the first time in a long time, so long I’ve nearly forgotten it, there’s a spring in my step as I leave my room.
Downstairs, I find my sisters on the couch. When they see me, they grab onto each other and start giggling wildly. Their eyes widen in identical expressions that say, “Oh shit.”
I turn slowly, finding my mother standing in the doorway, holding two cups of hot cocoa. Her eyes fly open in shock, and the mugs tumble to the floor. The cocoa splatters the hardwood, the wall, her legs. Shards of cheap ceramic fly like shrapnel. Her hand flies to her mouth, stifling a scream.
I know that scream. It’s one I’ve trapped behind my own hand a time or two, one of pure, uncontainable rage. “What did you do?” she shrieks at last, her eyes flashing with fury as she storms toward me.
I duck the first strike, but she grabs my hair instead—the side I left long. “What have you done?” she screams, shaking me by the hair. “This took years to grow out!”
“Let me go,” I say, fighting to free myself as her fingers tighten, yanking my hair by the roots, making tears blur my vision.
Her palm blazes across my face. “You ungrateful bitch,” she rages. “You’ve ruined yourself!”
For the first time in my life, I raise my hand back. I don’t even know I’m going to do it until I feel my fingers searing with pain as the slap connects. Her head whips around, and her fingers come loose. She stumbles backwards, bringing a hand to her cheek, her eyes wide with shock. Her finger shakes as she raises it, pointing at the door. Her voice is a ragged growl, each word slow and deliberate. “Get out of my house,” she snarls. “And don’t come back. You’re not my daughter anymore.”
“Are you just now figuring that out?” I demand, the laughter I held back before erupting now. “Took you long enough. You haven’t been my mother for a long fucking time.”
I turn, and on the way out I grab my keys. Then, I slide in behind the wheel of June Bug, and together, we fly.
sixteen
Rumor Has It… A notorious loner boy has been making strides to regain the popularity he lost when his family was ostracized. Will he achieve the same meteoric rise as his faithful queen and rule beside her, or is his reputation forever tarnished?
Colt Darling
The week before the holiday break is always both chaotic and lazy. Everyone has finals interspersed with impromptu coffee runs because “it’s the last time we’ll see each other for three weeks.” Outside school, there are holiday parties and family events, relatives visiting from out of town, and Faulkner traditions like the lighting of the tree, the parade, and church caroling.
I wasn’t at WHPA last year, and I didn’t bother with anything junior year. I took my finals like everyone else, but there were no parties, not even with family. No one came to visit us, and the only coffee runs I made were with Dixie.
This year, I’ve stepped into some alternate dimension, some Twilight Zone where everything is Uno-Reverse reversed. I was someone, and then no one, and overnight, I’m someone again. The whole town is talking about the miraculous return of Devlin and Crystal. I’ve barely spoken to my brother since he came back. Of course I’m happy about it, but not everything is as simple as letting it go and being happy about it.
For three fucking years, he let us mourn his death. He let us suffer—not just his loss, but the loss of everything else the Dolces took from us.
He let us pay.
All so he could run off and have a happy family in California and never think about us again.
“Come on, we can get the best table,” Dixie says, dragging me out of my thoughts as she hooks her arm through mine and tears me away from my locker.
“Is that really necessary?”
“Hello, you’ve been waiting for three years to be popular again,” she says. “This is it! We’re finally on top—or we can be, if we play our cards right. I’m the Rebel Queen, and you’re not just my sidekick king anymore. You could be arealKing, in your own right.”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
I should be loving this shit. Karma’s come full circle. I could claim my spot at the top again. There’s not a single Dolce here to stop me, not even Duke.
But it’s not the way I imagined it all those times I zoned out in class, daydreaming about the glory days of freshman year.
