Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Macy: IT WOULDN’T BE A PITY DATE! Truman likes you!
Me: Final Answer: NO.
No matter how much Truman “likes” me, there is no way I want Macy setting up a date for me so kids at school can gossip about it. No chance, no way.
Macy: Just trying to be helpful. I know he has a suit, it wouldn’t be a big deal. We have fun together.
Me: I love you, but no.
I will say the words until I’m blue in the face. I love Macy, but she can be overly persistent at times. When she finally gives the subject a rest, I go back to my dress, trailing my fingers along the waistline. Delicate. Detailed.
Beautiful.
“I love you so much,” I whisper to my dress.
It would sure be a waste for me not to appreciate the craftsmanship—and the money my parents spent on it. Plus the shoes. Plus the necklace and other jewelry.
“Pink perfection,” I mutter.
Macy: Now what are you doing?
Me: I need to hydrate—gonna do a face mask.
Macy: The ones I gave you for your birthday?
Me: Indeed.
I grab a moisturizing mask from my stash—also known as the drawer full of masks, pimple patches, and eye patches—selecting an aloe-based pack that boasts ultrarich hydrating power.
Perfect. My skin is as dry as the Sahara.
I tear it open, unfolding the serum-heavy sheet one section at a time until it’s limply dangling from my fingers.
“Why is this so slimy?” Kind of gross.
Plopping down at my desk chair, I stare at myself in the mirror, applying it like a professional, plucking the edges so it’s perfectly in place. Tug it here and there. Grab my scissors and cut the nose folds larger so I can breathe.
Pat, pat.
It may be thin but it’s slick with goo—slick with the nutrients and vitamins about to permeate my skin once I get the darn thing on properly.
It sags.
“Oh no, you don’t…” I scold. Fussing, I rearrange it around my eyes. “My gawd, this feels disgusting.”
I pucker my lips through the gaping mouth hole. “You’re solid gold, baby. Solid gold.”
The flap over my nose flutters with every breath, uncovering and covering my nostrils, until finally, I snip the tip off.
“Gorgeous.” I kissy kissy the air and snap a selfie, which I immediately add to my private Snap story. “Twenty minutes from smoother, luminous skin.”
Twirling in my chair with my neck bent toward the ceiling, I spin and spin, bored already with having to wait to take this mask off. Lazily, I eyeball the blue box on my desk and contemplate whether to add teeth-whitening strips to my self-care regimen.
I’ve always been a multitasker.
“Why not?” Might as well.
I tear open the small silver-and-blue package and adhere the top and bottom strips.
My phone buzzes with a call this time, Macy’s name flashing across the screen. As always, her timing is nothing but impeccable…
I debate ignoring it but I answer anyway, knowing she couldn’t care less how I look, and prop the phone against my desk mirror.
Macy’s face appears, instantly twisting into horror. “What the hell am I looking at?”
I raise my eyebrows—or at least, I think I do; the mask is already tightening, making it difficult to speak. “Mhhhnnng.”
My bestie is having none of my nonsense. “Stop being so dramatic.”
Who, ME?!
I scowl as best I can with my face semi-paralyzed. “Ih nhot.”
Macy snorts, adjusting her camera angle so I can see she’s lying on her stomach, kicking her feet. “You sound possessed.”
I glare. “Now you’re the one being dramatic.”
We sit in companionable silence, falling into the same easy rhythm we always do—silent but still “together.” It’s one of my favorite things about our friendship. We don’t need to fill every second with words. Just existing in the same space, even virtually, is enough.
After a few minutes, Macy’s video goes black.
I frown. “Macy?”
Silence.
I narrow my eyes. “Knock it off.”
Still nothing.
I know the brat can hear me. She’s probably checking her messages or scrolling TikTok, completely zoning out. So annoying.
“What are you doing?” I demand. I hate that I’m being momentarily ignored.
“Relax a second—I’m checking something.”
Checking what?
I press my fingers against my skin, testing the moistness of my mask. Half of it is already mostly dry and nearly ready for the trash.
Macy laughs, her face back on my screen, animated and excited. “Okay—we have to go to the rink. Like, right now.”
“The rink? Like the hockey rink?” I blink. “What? Why?”
Her mouth drops open. “Because! The guys are practicing! I just saw Easton Westermann’s story—literally just now. Marcus will be there, and I want him to see me watching.”
I hesitate, glancing at myself in the mirror. “Macy, I currently look like a wet napkin. I have a sheet mask on.”
She rolls her eyes. “Take it off, put on some mascara and a hoodie. We are going.”
My pulse quickens.
I’ve never gone to the ice rink to watch the guys practice like other girls at school do—I get secondhand embarrassment for those girls! It’s too obvious!