I worry while drying my hair. I worry while applying mascara. I worry as I raise the tube of lipstick to my lips, but then I rethink the lipstick altogether. Violet and I are going to see each other again tonight, and I don’t want to have to think about red smearing on my face or getting on her perfect mouth.
I don’t want to think about anything.
When she kisses me, I will lose myself in it.
I keep my phone on my lap as I drive to school, a rare violation of the no-phones-in-the-front-seat rule that my parents set for themselves and for me. The three of us are prone to distraction and lost causes when it comes to patience. It’s better not to tempt us. But the drive is textless, and as I park I decide that the night must have gone well for Mark.
Because if he is anything like Lehna or June or Uma, he wouldn’t necessarily text me if he was deliriously happy, but he would absolutely text me if he was crushed. He would send me novels via text. Multivolume collections of sad poetry. I would be up all night typing Oh no! and So tragic! and Want me to come over?
The more I think about it I realize that not only did Mark’s night go well, it must have gone really well. Like, stayed-up-all-night-together well. Passionate, how-could-I-not-have-realized-before well. Maybe they forgot to set their alarms and Ryan’s parents discovered them this morning in a state of undressed togetherness and they are both being lectured to at this very moment. Or maybe that already happened late last night and now they are grounded and their phones have been confiscated, which explains why Mark hasn’t texted me.
On the way to my locker I take a detour through the C hall where Mark’s locker is, but there’s no sign of him. No sign of Ryan, either. I’m on my way to my hall when two junior girls stop me.
“We can’t wait for your show tonight,” one of them says.
“Yeah,” says the other. “I heard all your paintings already sold. That’s so impressive. Congratulations!”
“Wow,” I say. “Thanks.”
With everything happening with Violet and Lehna and Mark, I haven’t quite processed my new status in the spotlight. It is bewildering. And I can’t exactly revel in it now, because if these girls I barely know are already privy to the information that someone bought all my paintings, Lehna must know, too.
But Lehna is actually nice to me when I get to our lockers.
“Big night,” she says.
“And to think it all started as a lie,” I say. “I keep waiting for something to go wrong. I don’t think lies are meant to come true.”
“It wasn’t a lie. It was wishful thinking. Or magical thinking? Something like that.”
I shrug. I don’t know what it was to her, but to me it just felt like deception. Like trying to make myself into something greater than myself. And now I guess it’s all come true, but I still feel less than worthy of this.
“So, I’m driving June and Uma tonight. I’d be happy to drive you, too. Like, in case you might want to have champagne? I heard there’s usually champagne at these things.…”
“Oh,” I say. “I haven’t even thought about how I’ll get there yet.”
She nods, like it’s casual, like this isn’t a peace offering. Or a test.
“You can just let me know if you want me to pick you up.” She clicks shut her lock and adds, “Even at the last minute.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.”
She smiles, about to walk away, but I don’t want her to go. She’s being so nice and I am so undeserving. There’s so much I haven’t told her about yesterday.
“Hey,” I ask her. “Is Candace going?”
She nods and smiles.
“That’s great. I really want to get to know her better.”
“Violet’s going to be there, too, you know,” she says. “Are you going to be okay with that? It’s a lot of pressure for one night. And we both know how you are under pressure.”
I need to tell her, but the hall is almost empty. We’re going to be late for class.
“Maybe we can talk at lunch,” I say.
“Yeah, of course. See you then.”
And then she strides past me toward her class, and I should be headed to mine, too. But instead I keep standing until the bell has rung and the doors along the corridor have shut and silence has descended. Until I am alone with myself.
* * *
Each period brings me closer to lunch and further from the certainty that Mark’s day is being spent in post-hookup bliss. It didn’t help that when I saw Ryan in the hall he told me he’d see me later at my show.
“AntlerThorn, right?” he said. “Ha.”
“You know it.”
“No, but, come on. AntlerThorn?”
“I don’t get it. But wait, where’s Mark?”
He didn’t answer, just looked embarrassed and muttered something about getting back to the lit mag, even though we both know the last issue is finished and distributed and all that’s left to do in that class is hang out.
I check my phone as soon as I’m back in the gym locker room after volleyball. Still nothing from Mark, but there’s a message from a 415 number.
“Kate! Doll. I have good news and I have more good news disguised as bad news. First, your paintings are hung and they look just, how should I say it? Quaint. They are positively quaint. Now, the other piece of news might send you into a bit of a tizzy, but I promise you, there is nothing you can’t pull off in two hours. You are a remarkable little girl. Here it goes: It slipped my mind yesterday that all of the members of this show donated a piece to be auctioned off for programming at the Angel Project. I figured you would donate a piece that didn’t sell—because really, we never would have imagined that they would all sell—but then that collector girl surprised us! I had to pick my jaw up off the floor! And in the process I forgot all about the auction. We need a new piece from you and we need it before the show so it can be photographed for the online bidding. I have a courier scheduled to be in front of your school at two p.m. sharp. I know you can do this. Don’t you dare let me down.”