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)
“No one is cooler than me,” I inform her, chest tightening at the thought of Harper dancing with someone else. Nothing I can do about it—it is what it is.
I have a date and I will be dancing with her.
The idea of putting my hands on Maddie Miller has me legit sweating, and I shift uncomfortably on the floor.
“I’m going to have a great time.” My voice lacks conviction, but I say the words anyway, as if they were my new mantra. “My friends will be there.”
“Your friends are boring.” She says it with a theatrical roll of her eyeballs.
That makes me laugh, and I let my short nub of a sister give me a hand to pull me to my feet.
“You’re heavy!” She giggles.
“Hey! You’re not supposed to say that to people.”
She shrugs, her grin toothy and proud. “Well, you are.”
I tousle her hair and she swats at my hand before running ahead of me toward the house shouting for our mother, forever the town crier spreading gossip. I trail slowly behind her—much as I hate to admit it, talking to Phoebe has taken some of the weight off my chest.
Who’d have thunk?
Chapter 34
Harper
Prom night is officially here.
And here I am, moping.
The gym looked amazing when I went to drop off the last of my supplies earlier—better than I even imagined it would. The lights, the cardboard knights, the glittery banners…everything came together perfectly. Mr. Grazz and I high-fived over how stunning it was once we’d made the final touches. Not a single thing looks out of place.
The prom committee came in clutch, each and every member working tirelessly to make it spectacular. Every last detail is exactly how I imagined it, down to the shimmering strands of lights we strung up to mimic a starry night sky. I haven’t even seen it with the real lighting yet, only with those hideous fluorescent gym lights glaring down on us while we worked.
Mr. Grazz made sure of that.
“Go home and put on your own sparkle and shine,” he’d said with a grin, shooing us all out of the gym as soon as we finished. “Let us handle the final touches. You’ll see it for the first time tonight, just like everyone else.”
That was hours ago, and I still can’t shake the feeling of unease. I should be bouncing around my room with music blasting and nerves in my stomach, waiting for my date to arrive. But here I am, staring at my reflection, trying to convince myself that tonight will be worth it.
All I have left is to get myself ready.
The chaos of the last few days—the buzzing phones, the group texts from the prom committee, the chatter about decorations—has finally quieted. No last-minute crises to solve, no more glitter emergencies.
Tossing my phone onto the bed, I take a deep breath; now it’s just me, myself, and I and the steady hum of nerves.
My hand reaches up to touch the soft curls pinned perfectly around my head like a crown, just like the stylist and I discussed. The stylist added a few glittery pins—tiny stars woven into the curls—and they catch light as I move my head this way and that, a small nod to tonight’s theme.
Mom thought my hair would look best down, but an updo feels more…prom-y, and I’m glad I held my ground.
“My hair is one thing that’s turned out right,” I mutter to myself, fingers lightly grazing a few loose tendrils. It’s strange seeing myself like this, all dolled up.
“Who are you?” I whisper, touching one of the stars as if it were a real diamond.
Seriously, wow.
Twisting a curl around my finger, I frown.
I should be excited!
Blah! Cheer up!
I walk to my desk and look at the makeup scattered across the surface, some of it on loan from Macy, who was here earlier to borrow a pair of my heels after she divorced hers because they pinched her toes.
“You’re supposed to be happy. So be happy, dammit!”
I check the time on my phone, plopping down in my chair. Still hours before the dance starts.
My phone buzzes again, vibrating softly on the comforter; probably more updates in the group chat about who’s riding with who—or another selfie from someone in their dress.
I ignore it. Grab my foundation and pump a tiny bit onto the back of my hand, the cool liquid pooling on my skin. Then I take a beauty blender and begin dabbing the foundation onto my face—forehead, cheeks, chin, and nose—working in smooth, even strokes so it looks like I have flawless skin with no makeup.
Blush.
Bronzer.
Lastly, I curl my lashes, heating the wand first with my hot flat iron—a trick a friend taught me—squeezing it over my lashes and grinning when they pop.
“Bam.” Pop, pop.
After lining my lips, I pick up a tube of melon-colored gloss, twist the cap between my fingers, and apply a small amount. When I press my lips together, the gloss is too sticky.