#Nerd (Hashtag #1) (19 page)

Rimmel

Ivy was waiting for me in our room like I knew she would be. When I walked in, she practically attacked me.

“Ohmigod,”
she gushed, running her words together. “You
have
been holding out on me!”

I gave her a look. “What do you mean?”

“He did
not
give you that hoodie because you were cold.”

I sighed. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between us, if anything.”

“Didn’t look like ‘if anything’ to me.” She pulled out her phone and held the screen out for me to see. “Even the latest Buzz is about you two.”

Hashtag heart?
That was totally charming.

But I needed to remember we weren’t together, not officially.

“It probably didn’t look that way when you were making out with him at the bonfire,” I said coolly.

She snapped her mouth shut. I rummaged around to get some PJs. Once I found them, I grabbed my little tote full of my bathroom stuff and went to the shared bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for bed.

I wore Romeo’s shirt to the bathroom, then I put it back on once I had my sleep shorts and tank on. Everyone stared at me. I ignored them all. The thing was I was better off doing this than hiding in my room. I’d been hiding for the last almost six years of my life. I was tired of it.

A couple girls smiled at me on the way out and I smiled back. I couldn’t help but wonder if they were only being nice because of Romeo.

Ivy was in her pajamas when I got back to the room. I set my stuff aside and grabbed my book and got into bed.

“About Romeo…” she said.

I looked up. “Is that why you’re suddenly being nice? Because you think being near me will give you another shot with him?”

She was taken aback by my frankness. I sort of was too. But Romeo seemed to be concerned about girls and how they were going to treat me. And part of me wondered who else he was worried about so much that he felt the need to plaster his name on me like I was a piece of property.

“I’ve always been nice to you.” Her voice was mildly hurt, and I had a pang of doubt.

“Yeah.” I agreed. “You have. But you’ve never wanted to sit with me at lunch or asked me to go to a football game.”

She glanced down into her lap. “Honestly?”

“That would be nice,” I said.

“When I first saw his shirt on your bed and you said you were tutoring him, the thought ran through my mind.”

I nodded.

“But that was before I saw him with you. He’s totally into you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I muttered.

She gave me a look. “We both know you aren’t his usual type.”

She was right. It was the same thing I kept telling myself.

“I don’t really understand either.” I admitted.

Her face softened. “Your wardrobe could use some serious help. And a brush would definitely help your hair,” she said, and I laughed. “But you’re a really good person, Rimmel. You just need to let people in.”

I frowned.

“You’ve kind of been closed off. You don’t make it easy for people to get to know you or be your friend.”

I couldn’t argue with that because I was closed off. I had been for many years. The reason I didn’t have any friends was because I never let anyone close enough.

“Romeo’s kind of been the ice breaker. He makes you a little more approachable.”

That surprised me. “He does?”

“Well, duh.” She rolled her eyes. “He is so totally gorgeous.”

I giggled. “He really is hot.”

We both laughed.

“I won’t lie. You being with Romeo and us being friends will totally help my social life,” she said after we quieted. “But even if you weren’t with him—or whatever you are—I would still hang out with you.”

“Really?” I asked, looking her in the eye.

“Really.”

I believed her. She didn’t try to feed me some lame story about how she was happy for me and how we’d always been the best of friends. I felt like she said the truth.

Besides, it would be nice to have a friend.

“Thanks, Ivy,” I said.

She smiled. “So are you coming to the Omega party now?”

“He asked me to.”

She squealed. “Good! Now I’ll have someone to hang with when Missy gets all hot and heavy with Braeden.”

“She really likes him, huh?”

Ivy nodded. “Oh yeah, more than she’ll admit, but I know.”

“Yeah. I noticed too.”

“I just hope she doesn’t get hurt. Guys like him don’t always stick around.”

Her words speared me. I knew we were talking about Braeden, but Romeo was his best friend. They were certainly a lot alike.

My face must have given away my thoughts because she immediately said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

I smiled. “No. It’s totally fine. It’s true. I hope Missy doesn’t get hurt.”

And I also hoped I didn’t either.

The next day seemed to drag by until classes were over and I went to the shelter. When I was there, time always seemed to fly. Ivy texted me early in the evening… and kept texting until I told her I’d come home and help her pick out an outfit.

She couldn’t possibly want my help. We both knew I was a total fashion victim.

I was getting nervous for tonight. I’d never been to a frat party before. I wasn’t really sure what to expect. I told myself it was probably a lot like the bonfire when Ivy called me to come pick her up. That didn’t seem too bad. It seemed like there was a lot of places I could find to hide out.

After I spent some time with Murphy and a few of the other cats, I went back to the dorm. Ivy had clothes all over her bed and piled on her floor. She easily had triple the amount I had.

“What took you so long?” she said when I walked in. “I have nothing to wear!”

“Looks like you have half a department store,” I observed.

“I am
not
wearing shorts,” she said, looking over her stuff. “I froze my ass off last time.”

“So wear jeans,” I said and sat on the bed. My stomach fluttered with anxiety and I glanced at the clock. I wasn’t sure what time Romeo was coming to get me, but I knew it wouldn’t be for a while yet.

I hadn’t talked to him all day. I kind of liked the break. Not that I didn’t want to talk to him—I did. I thought about him constantly. But it was nice to have a breather and actually be able to think for a little while without being taken in by his compelling sapphire eyes.

Ivy pulled out a pair of strategically ripped-up jeans in a faded blue shade and shimmied them on. She had a lot more curves than I did and filled out her jeans in all the right places.

“I like those,” I said. “You look good.”

“Yeah?” she asked and looked in the mirror.

I nodded. Then she went rummaging through her tops and tried on about five—that all looked good—before she decided on one that was tight, low-cut, and black. Next she added about twenty bracelets to her wrist, a pair of gold hoop earrings, and a pair of black boots.

She made looking good seem effortless.

“What are you wearing?” she asked as she plopped down in front of a makeup mirror and picked up her foundation.

“This?” I asked.

She spun in her seat. “No. Absolutely not.”

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked.

“You’re wearing sweatpants,” she said like it was obvious.

“It’s cold out…” I said.

She muttered something under her breath and picked up her phone and hit a bunch of buttons. Then she turned back to the mirror and started making up her face. “Put on those black leggings you have.”

“What black leggings?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “The ones you sleep in.”

“You want me to wear pajamas?” I gaped. That was worse than sweatpants.

“Leggings aren’t sleepwear.” She paused, then added, “Well, to anyone but you.”

I gave her a look.

“Did you buy them in the pajama section at the store?”

“No,” I said and sighed.

“Put them on,” she ordered. “Then put on a white T-shirt. The least baggy one you have.”

I didn’t argue because I really didn’t care what I wore. I did worry about how cold I was going to be in just a T-shirt, though.

She finished up her makeup a few minutes later, looking gorgeous as always. “Sit,” she said, pointing to the chair she just vacated.

“I’m not wearing makeup,” I said. I had no idea how to apply it or where any of it went.

“I’m going to do your hair,” she said.

I was okay with that. I plopped down and she pulled it out of the bun and started brushing it out. It was so long it fell halfway down my back. It was dark, the color of chestnuts, and once she had it all brushed out, it shined in the light.

Ivy produced a large wand-looking thing that was plugged into the wall and started wrapping my hair around it. “Seriously,” she said as she worked, “if I had hair like this, I would totally rock it every day.”

“You’d totally be annoyed by it every day.” I corrected.

“It’s all about the products,” she said and launched into some lesson about shampoo and conditioner. I only half listened.