Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“I’m alive,” I say, sinking onto the closed toilet lid. “Just at work. So what’s up?”
“Funny you’d ask,” she says, “because I have news. Huge news. There’s a party Friday and you’re coming. Non-negotiable.”
I stifle a laugh. “I work Fridays, remember?”
“Not Friday night though. You’re coming after that shop shuts because what can a cactus do for you that a cock can’t?”
“Stella!” I gasp.
But it’s just my friend being herself.
“Okay, okay, bad joke. But you’re coming and you need to dress slutty. Like, hooker slutty.”
I blink, overwhelmed by the speed of Stella’s brain. “What? No! Why?”
“Because there are going to be actual hot guys there, Kay. Not plant nerds or the library weirdos you like. Like, real men with six packs and huge cocks. I want you to get laid, preferably by at least two of them. Unless you’re still holding out for your stepbrother, in which case, bring him along. Why not.”
I nearly choke. “What? Why would I—”
“Please. You know you want to. Just do it,” she says, then switches back to party mode. “No, don’t bring your step because he’d ruin our game. Anyway, the party’s at Lila’s house, her parents are in Aruba. Everyone cool is going. I’ll send you the address and I’ll do your makeup if you don’t trust yourself.”
I hesitate. “Yeah, but what about your boyfriends? I mean, aren’t you dating like two guys at once?”
She snorts. “First of all, they’re not my boyfriends. I’m just dating a couple dudes until I get bored. Secondly, they’re both too obsessed with their hair and looksmaxxing in general to notice anyone else. You’ll be safe, promise.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Looksmaxxing? Really, is that a thing?”
Stella’s voice drops an octave.
“It’s definitely a thing. You know that dudes are under a lot of pressure these days to look good, and they’re injecting peptides and working out like fiends, doing Hyrox and all that. But to be honest, I kind of love it. Make yourself hot for me, gentlemen, because I only fuck 10’s with massive cocks.”
I snort with laughter.
“You’re insane, Stells.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s why you love me. See you Friday, hot stuff.”
Then, Stella hangs up before I can reply.
I pocket the phone and stare at the cracked tile floor, mind spinning. I picture myself at the party, hair down and makeup thick, wearing something tight and cut too low. I picture myself in a room full of strangers, pretending to be the girl I was last night. I wonder if I can really pull it off, or if I’ll chicken out and hide in the kitchen with the pet rock again.
I get up, wash my hands, and return to the workbench.
I pick up the delicate orchid, roots wrapped in moss and wire, and begin transplanting it to a glazed pot. My hands move carefully, each motion precise and slow. The plant is fragile, easy to break, but if you treat it right, it will bloom for months—showy, gaudy, impossible to ignore.
I finish potting the orchid and set it by the window, where the morning sun is just beginning to burn through the condensation.
I touch my lips, still faintly sticky from last night’s gloss.
This is who I am now, I think.
Not the plant girl, not the good girl, not even the weird stepsister in the back row.
I am a go-getter. A sexy vixen who doesn’t wait for things to happen to her. I make the earth shake, and if disaster strikes, then so be it.
And maybe, just maybe, I want Trevor to experience my transformation, too.
7
STELLA AND THE PARTY
Kayleigh
If you walk into a party wearing a dress so tight it feels like a second skin, you should at least pretend you belong in it. That’s what Stella tells me in the car, between sips of White Claw and reapplications of a lipstick so subtle that somehow, the dusty pink rose color screams “sex.”
“Own it,” she says, screwing the cap back on the tube and flashing me a grin that’s all incisors. “Even if you think you look like a sausage. Especially then. But you don’t look like a sausage, Kay. You look gorgeous, and guys won’t be able to get enough of you.”
I laugh, a nervous, helium balloon of sound. I have to—my heart’s pounding in my ears and my hands are already damp on the steering wheel, even though we’re still a good ten minutes away. Stella’s the one who’s a goddess tonight, blonde hair in effortless waves, eyes rimmed in shimmery turquoise, the navy blue mini she’s poured herself into revealing a pair of tanned legs that could kick in a locked bank vault. Next to her, I look like a prize at a middle school raffle: pink dress, bandage-tight, not a single inch of bra or panty line, the kind of thing Cassie from Euphoria would wear to a cheer banquet and then wake up in three counties over. I pull my hem down again, then let go.