Page 59 of Movers and Fakers

Aurora glances to the right where the sound came from. One of the guys I’ve seen around but don’t know is deadlifting the weight of a small car, then dropping it after.

“I-I should go. I have a lot of school work and the recital to prepare for.” She stumbles over her words.

I let my gaze roll over her one last time, searing every detail into my memory so I don’t forget this. Whether it’s all I have left when it’s over or I’m eighty reminiscing by her side, I want to remember the way she looked, felt, and sounded. So I take my moment, not hiding it from her, then I nod.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Chapter twenty-nine

Again

Aurora Driscoll

I can’t believe I almost kissed Hayes. Again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. He touches me and my brain does a grand jeté off a cliff. No longer do I possess the good sense my mom and dad take turns claiming they passed down to me. Instead, I become a foolish, reckless girl who thinks of nothing except what it would feel like to have his lips on mine.

After our date, Hayes dropped me off back at my apartment building. I didn’t say a word about it to any of my roommates. My next class with Hayes came and went, with him not saying a word about it either. He was his normal self. Touching me far too much throughout class. Whispering jokes and teasing words that made me shiver. All the while, I was spiraling because I know for a fact if we hadn’t been interrupted, I would have kissed him in the middle of Haymakers. Not a care or concern about anyone watching or what would come after.

I smooth a piece of hair that doesn’t want to stay with gel. It pops right back up. A frustrated growl escapes me. I have to be at the high school where the recital is being held in thirty minutes, and I’m running behind because I can’t stop thinking about Hayes and that moment.

He’s going to be there tonight. He’ll sit next to my family and friends and watch me dance. My mom will insist on taking photos of us together after. Hayes will kiss my temple, maybe my cheek, to sell the image of us as a couple. Everyone will ooh and ahh. My parents will think I’ve finally started to have fun and lighten up.

And it will all be fine. Good, even. But it won’t be real.

I grab a smoothing comb and try to get the little flyaway to stay down. When it continues to rebel, I clench my jaw and tap the comb on my vanity, glaring at myself in the mirror.

“Get it together,” I hiss.

A knock sounds at my bedroom door.

“Everything okay in there?” Saylor calls out.

Continuing to glower at my reflection, I reply, “Yes.”

“Your tone is conflicting with your answer,” she says, voice slightly muffled through the door. “Can we come in?”

“We?” I question.

My door clicks open and I turn to find all three of my roommates … in matching pink T-shirts. With my face on them. They’ve put a vinyl crown above my head and below my barely smiling face are the words “Our Sleeping Beauty.” I blink a few times, hoping that this is a terrible nightmare I’m about to wake up from.

“Why?” I groan.

“Because we love you,” Saylor says with a bright smile.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t put my face on a shirt,” I grouse.

They enter my room and plop down on my bed, jostling the pink throw pillows Saylor arranged this morning on a cleaning spree.

“What’s wrong?” Jasmine asks.

“Nothing, except this hair won’t stay down,” I bite out, and turn back to the mirror. “I’m going to shave my head.”

“What a perfectly reasonable reaction,” Marigold comments. I glare at her over my shoulder. She is—as usual—undeterred.

Jasmine sighs and gets up. “Let me help. If I know anything, it’s how to do a slick back.”

With Jasmine being a cheerleader and having curly hair to contain, I believe her. So when she picks up the smoothing comb, I let her work.

“I don’t have time for an intervention,” I grumble. “I need to leave soon. I’m already running late.”