funny.” My heart did something strange when I thought about that grin.
“Okay, stop or I might die from all the saccharine.” Grace turned me away from the mirror, saying something under her breath about my not needing foundation. Instead, she came at me with an eyeliner pencil. “I know you’re not big on makeup every day, so I’m not bothering with anything fancy.” I tried not to flinch as she practically touched my eyeball with that thing. “Now, it sounds to me like someone’s developing a crush.” Just when I thought she was finished, she grabbed another pencil and attacked my eyes again. As she drew around my eyes, her mouth made a little O of concentration.
It was hard to talk while fearing an imminent blinding poke in the eye. “Is it really bad if I say I don’t know?”
Grace shrugged. She took a step back and studied me for a second before pulling out a tube of mascara. “It’s not like you have to know right now. It’s a lot more important for you to take your time figuring out how you feel than to just jump into something because you think everyone expects it.” She wiggled the mascara into my eyelashes. “But, you know, it might be good to figure it out eventually. Until then,” she turned me back around, “you can rock a look like this.”
The black and copper eyeliners made my grey eyes actually bright and not stone-like. My hair fell around my face in pretty spiral-y curls and waves. I looked like I’d stepped out of the nineteen-forties, in a good way. “Woah. It doesn’teven look like me.” I could be a different person, not just bookish knitting Phoebe. There was so much
potential
.
Grace grinned. “It’s definitely you, only more dramatic. I can’t wait to see what people think. Things are going to get really interesting tomorrow.”
11
Marissa had Operation Save Cyril. This was day one of Operation Figure Out Dev.
Standing in the doorway of my A.P. English class with about sixteen pairs of eyes staring at me was pretty much on par with those nightmares of realizing you’re naked in a crowd. Makeover reveal scenes always had the character growing bolder and happily glowing with the attention.
Marissa even sashayed her way into her classroom. I wanted to hide behind my color-coordinated binder. Instead, I took a deep breath and, imitating Maeve’s badass walk into the Fae court, pulled back my shoulders and headed for my desk.
Like Marissa in
Hidden
, I casually slung my messenger bag over my shoulder as I stepped into the classroom, but, unlike Marissa, messenger bags and miniskirts didn’t mix on me. Five steps in, I had to stop and tug on my skirt to keep it from riding up into suspension territory. Ten steps in and I resorted to holding the hem of my skirt down with one hand while walking.
“Cute outfit, Phoebe,” “Since when did
you
start channeling slutty?” and “Nice boots” followed me to my seat. But I didn’t pay attention to any of that. My lungs werealready compressed into a golf-ball-sized lump somewhere in my throat.
I passed Dev’s desk and tried to make my hair bounce so it would fill the air with the scent of the cherry blossom shampoo I’d borrowed from Trixie. But instead of leaving behind a cloud of flowery prettiness, strands of my hair got stuck in the lipgloss Em had pushed on me the second I walked into the lobby. Ducking my head, I swiped at my face and hoped I didn’t pull pink streaks of gloss all over my cheeks.
I barely made it to the front of the classroom between fussing and tugging and feeling tempted to turn around and dart to the nurse’s office. It was just Dev, the same Dev as always. So, why were my palms all sweaty?
Maybe he’d see me differently, now that I looked different. Maybe he’d see me dressed like this and ask if I wanted to grab a water ice at Marranos after school or something?
Never in a million years.
I focused on the new binder Grace had given me as an ‘accessory,’ my finger tracing the