Bookishly Ever After (8 page)

Grace looked at me from head to toe. “You’re hot in that. I’d do you.” As I blinked at her, unsure of what to say, she grinned. “Actually, I wouldn’t, but you have to admit it sounded a lot less egotistical than ‘I am the most awesome stylist ever.’” Grace pointed at the vanity seat with her hairbrush.

I grimaced as I sat, squirming a little in my seat. “You know that weirds me out. It would be just as freakish if Alec suddenly said something like that.”

“I know. It’s fun to see you freak out sometimes.” She started sliding out the curlers until my head was a mess of Shirley Temple-like ringlets. “But I’ll try to be better, oh delicate one.”

As she messed with my hair, fluffing and spraying at the curls, I tapped my fingers on the top of her spindly white and gold vanity. “I ran into Dev at the mall yesterday. Well, actually, he ran into me while I looked like an idiot in my costume.”

“I’m sure you were very adorably Phoebe,” she said gently. “And what happened?”

“I don’t know. He was actually really sweet.” My tapping turned into a staccato rhythm. “I’ve known him for, what,
five years? And I never really realized how his eyes kind of sparkle when he says something 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’t
even 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.”

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 were
already 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 cute little teal skulls. Leave it to her to think of details like this that fit me perfectly. One skull even sported a pair of oversized glasses and a giant bow.

I didn’t hear him at first. The skull and crossbone Converse entered my line of vision and I looked up. Dev dropped his bookbag onto the floor and slipped into the seat in front of me—which was going to annoy Sarah, who had had that seat since September—and turned around to wave a book at me.

I took it out of his hands and studied the cover. “Sentinel Eighteen?” It was the latest YA dystopian novel, number two on the New York Times bestseller list for weeks. I passed the book back to him, but not before catching that he was a dog-earer. It hurt my heart to see page abuse like that, but I’d deal.

“You told me to pick up a book or two and call you in the morning. I didn’t have your number, so I figured this is second best.” He flashed
that
grin again, the one that had gotten under my skin on Saturday and now made me speechless. What was wrong with me? Maybe it was the way he held the book, with his thumb absently running over the raised swirls on the cover. It was kind-of hot. Sarah appeared over his shoulder and glowered over both of us before making a grumbly sound and moving up to an empty seat no one ever took because they said a kid died in it. She was too much of a kiss-up to take a seat in the back of the room. “I also picked up
Ghost Warrior.
” Dev added, like he was prompting me for a response.

Ohmigod, Phoebe. Talk.
I forced my jaw to move. “Nice picks. I’ve heard awesome things about both of them.”

“It’s really good so far.” He slipped the book back into his backpack and leaned closer in the process, his eyes scrunching a bit as his smile grew wider. “So, how did the signing go? Did the crazy girl behind you tackle anyone for cutting in line?”

His comment caught me off guard and I let out an embarrassingly loud non-Marissa-like snort. “No, but she
almost shoved me out of line to get to Niamh.” He raised his eyebrows, as if prompting me to keep speaking, and so I added, “And the signing was really good.”

“You got your bow signed?”

I nodded. “I did, and she said she loved my costume.”

“Definitely sounds like it was good.”

“It was.” My manners kicked in and I quickly said, “Thanks for hanging out with me in line.”

“It was fun. When I’m done these, we’ll have to hang out again so you can give me some more book suggestions.”

Ohmigosh. Was he asking me out or did he mean just a lunch table/band/the next time he bumped into me at the mall kind of “hanging out?” I hunted for something to say. Something Marissa-like. Flirty or witty or just anything. Like tugging on his shirt and saying it made him look as hot as the model on the Sentinel cover. Or pretending to fakesteal his book so he’d have to reach into my bookbag to get it back. But then my mouth defaulted to book-geekery info dump. “Maybe. Sounds like you’re into sci-fi/dystopian.”

“Um, okay…”

I smiled as the late bell rang and Ms. Zhdanova stood up. Marissa always glanced up winsomely through her eyelashes. I tried, nearly crossed my eyes, and had to blink a few times to see straight again. “I’m paranormal and fantasy, myself. Well, mostly. But I’ll think about it and let you know.”

Dev turned to face the board, but threw his answer over his shoulder in a stage whisper. “Aren’t those books about girls who make out with vampires or ghosts?”

He caught me off guard with that one and I gave off a snort-y laugh that made Ms. Zhdanova pause midsentence and look right at me. I covered my mouth and waited until she went back to talking about
Brave New World
.

I never talked in class, but I couldn’t help one last answer. I leaned forward and whispered as seriously as I could. “Leprechauns, actually.”

Dev’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“Wait. Say that again?” Em pretended to study her sheet music while Ms. Osoba ran the clarinets through their section for the fifth time.

“He said he didn’t have my number so he wanted to show me the book he bought.” I told her, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice. Why she insisted on dissecting every tiny conversation was beyond me.

Em frowned at me. “So, did you give him your number?”

My brows knit together. “He didn’t ask for it.”

The clarinets stopped and Em looked over at Osoba. Happy that the band teacher was absorbed in chewing out every clarinetist one by one, including Dev, she leaned closer and hissed,

“Yes, he did. When a guy says something like that, you’re supposed to then say, ‘Oh, here’s my number for next time.’”

“Are you sure? He really didn’t ask.”

“Hello, I’m fluent in flirt, remember? Next time, you just reach over, grab his phone—”

“What if his phone is in his pocket?”

“That will definitely get his attention.”

“Eww, Em.”

She grinned. “You asked. Anyway, you grab his phone and—”

Just then, a shadow fell over us and Em let out a little curse under her breath. Ms. Osoba stuck her head between ours and we both sat up ramrod straight. “Phoebe and Ephemie. If the two of you used your tongues to practice hitting those staccato notes as if they were actually staccato instead of flapping them around all of the time, you might someday sound like decent musicians.”

I looked down and played with the practice cork plugs in my keys. One popped out and went bouncing under Em’s seat, but I didn’t dare move. Em, though, blinked innocently up at Osoba. “I was just asking Phoebe about the counts for our duet. I need to know where I can breathe before we have to hit that high G.”

Osoba scrutinized me and I tried to look as guiltless as Em. I did not need another hour long after school detention cleaning out the instrument room. “I told her I breathe right, um, before the phrase starts. But I have big lungs.” Another practice plug went sliding down the inside of my flute, probably straight into Em’s purse. My toes were crossed inside my boots.

She stared at us another second more and then, with an unconvinced frown, went up to her podium. “Okay, again from the top.” She pointed glanced at us. “Your section had better be perfect, or the two of you will be cleaning the loaner tubas this afternoon.”

“Crap,” Em whispered. But before hitting the first note,
she murmured over the top of her mouthpiece. “And don’t look now, but he’s been checking you out this whole time.”

I couldn’t help it. I tilted my head at an unnatural angle so I could see the clarinet section. Hazel eyes met mine. My throat clenched and my fingers slipped on the keys. I quickly turned back to my stand and just tried to focus on the music. I didn’t like him. And watching him watch me was not worth wiping up rotten tuba spit. Still, it took every bit of willpower to keep from checking if those eyes were still looking my way.

“I broke up with Wilhelm.” Em declared, dropping Alec’s box of Copic markers on the table like it was the exclamation point on her words.

“You might want to go back and try telling him that a little more slowly, because I don’t think he knows,” Alec said, failing at hiding his smile.

“See, that’s the whole reason we had to break up. Miscommunication.”

“You do talk really fast sometimes,” I pointed out.

She shot me a LOOK. “It was really nice while it lasted, but it’s for the best. He’s going back to Germany at the end of the year and I’d be left behind, brokenhearted…”

“Overdramatically brokenhearted,” Alec added, his smile morphing into a grin.

“Very overdramatically.” I mirrored Alec’s grin and went back to flipping through the sketches he’d handed to me. It was the second time Em had “broken up” with Wilhelm this week. She’d be back with him in about an hour. “These are awesome, Alec. It kind of reminds me of
Lord of the Rings
. Really Tolkien-ish.” I moved my finger from box to box, following the story he’d outlined in neat pencil sketches.

Alec dropped onto the couch next to me. “You think? It’s not too derivative, though, is it?”

“No, you’re good. I like the steampunk thing and I really like the story between Liliel and Aladir. It’s epic in a nondepressing way.”

“Fine, you two, ignore me in my hour of need.”

Alec grabbed her arm and pulled her down onto the couch next to him. “You’ll be fine.”

“You two are completely useless when it comes to interpersonal stuff.” She slumped into the sofa like she was annoyed with us, but her lips twitched up ever so slightly. “It’s like you’re permanently stunted when it comes to romantic relationships.”

I shared an amused look with Alec. “You’re totally right. So,” I reached over Alec and handed her his storyboard, “what do you think of these?”

“Heartless.” Em took the notebook and lodged her tongue in the side of her cheek as she flipped through it. “That’s a lot of detail. Do you think you’ll be able to animate all this?”

“I can try. Think of how cool all those gears will look on screen.”

“Like whenever Liliel extends her parasol-gun?” I bounced excitedly next to him. “This is going to be the best game ever.”