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Tate rubbed my upper back as we walked, lips twisted into a grimace. “I can’t believe that asshole!” he said, shooting a dark look over his shoulder at the campus security office. “He basically blamed you for everything that happened.”
I shrugged listlessly. “He wasn’t totally wrong, was he?” I said. “I shouldn’t have gone down there. I had a feeling it might not be safe, but I ignored it and went anyway.”
“You can’t blame yourself. You should be able to walk around without being attacked by some psychopathic asshole. It’s his fault this happened. His fault for deciding to attack you.”
“I understand that,” I said. “But the world isn’t fair. There are predators everywhere, and I guess I look like prey.”
Tate’s lips tightened, but he didn’t argue. “Let’s get some chai lattes from Java Junction,” he said, rubbing my back again. “That’ll make you feel a bit better.”
“Sounds good,” I murmured.
“I should grab something to eat, too. I skipped lunch earlier because I was so busy studying.”
I abruptly stopped. “Wait… what’s the time?”
“Uhh…” Tate glanced at his watch. “1:40. Why?”
“Shit! My meeting!”
I hurriedly explained the upcoming appointment with Professor Chan as I ran my fingers through my wet, tangled hair.
“I can’t show up looking like this,” I said, skin prickling with panic. “There’s no way she’ll want me as her assistant if I do that!”
“It’s okay.” Tate lifted a palm. “Do you have any makeup in your bag? Or a brush?”
“I have a powder compact and some gloss. And a comb,” I said, rifling through my handbag. “Maybe an old mascara?”
I yanked out the compact and opened it. When I saw my reflection in the tiny mirror, I gasped. I looked even worse than I imagined. My mascara and eyeliner had dripped down my face, leaving black rivulets all over my cheeks, along with marks under my eyes that made me resemble a panda. On top of that, my nose was bright red, and my eyelids looked puffy and pink.
“Calm down.” Tate grabbed my hand. “We’ll find a bathroom. I can help.”
“How?”
He smiled faintly. “Remember back in eighth grade when you and Michaela discovered YouTube makeup tutorials? And then you guys practiced on me?”
I let out a strangled, semi-hysterical sob crossed with a giggle. “Yes.”
“I picked up a few tips along the way. Trust me, I can fix this,” he said, waving a hand toward my face.
We headed to the nearest bathroom and dashed inside. A girl standing at the basin glared at Tate when she saw him enter behind me, but she didn’t say anything. Just rolled her eyes and flounced out.
Tate grabbed some toilet paper, wet it in the sink, and wiped my face clean. Then he grabbed the foundation powder from my purse and used his fingers to swipe it over the reddest parts of my face. After he was satisfied with that, he grabbed the old mascara tube and gathered some of the black substance onto his thumbnail.
“Look up,” he commanded.
I did as he said, standing there with bated breath as he carefully swiped the mascara along my lower lash line. He made me look down a moment later and repeated the process with my upper lash line.
“There,” he said triumphantly. “Look.”
I turned to check out my reflection and gasped. He’d actually made me look better than I did when I left my dorm earlier this morning. The makeshift eyeliner he’d created from the mascara defined my eyes without being too heavy, and he’d managed to leave just enough redness in my cheeks to make it seem as if I were wearing perfectly-blended blush with the foundation.
“You’re a lifesaver,” I said. “Seriously.”
“One more thing.” Tate gestured to the hand dryer. “Stick your head under that. If I comb it right, it’ll look like you just had a blow-dry.”
Three minutes later, I was ready to go. Professor Chan’s office was five minutes away, which meant I was going to get there in the nick of time.
“I’ll wait for you in the foyer,” Tate said in a hushed tone when we arrived outside her door. “Good luck.”
