Chapter Twelve WILLOW

“We can’t look like we’re trying too hard.” I’m kind of whining as I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror in Iris’s dorm suite, contemplating my outfit. Her room is the same size as mine, and it currently looks like a disaster zone. As if a hurricane came whipping through it, causing destruction everywhere it touched. Heaps of discarded clothes cover most of the bed, and there are pairs of shoes scattered all over the floor. Iris’s desk has been converted into a vanity table, with a variety of cosmetics lying open on top of it, a lipliner slowly rolling across and hanging perilously on the edge before it finally falls, landing on the floor.

Iris grabs the lipliner and puts the cap on it before tossing it onto the desk/vanity, plopping into the chair and staring at her reflection in the mirror. “Who cares if we look like we tried too hard? Isn’t that the point?”

I tilt my head to the side, my pin straight hair falling past my shoulders. Iris tried to convince me I should wear my hair in some elaborate style, but I let her straighten it instead. She even wanted me to wear a dress, but I had to draw the line somewhere. We’re going to be standing around a bonfire out by the old building that burned down forever ago. The clouds never left and it’s going to be chilly, though there’s no rain in the forecast, thank goodness.

I’m wearing jeans and a cropped black sweatshirt, with black Adidas Sambas on my feet. Cool girl styling without looking like I’m trying too hard, my ultimate goal. My makeup is subtle—after much insistence with Iris that she not overdo it—and now it’s her turn to get ready.

“We can look good but we don’t want to appear … desperate. Right?” I turn to face her, watching as she leans in close to her magnified mirror and applies a thick coat of mascara to her lashes.

“As if we ever look desperate.” The scoffing noise she makes tells me she believes I’m talking absolute nonsense. “Don’t forget who we are.”

I can’t help but smile. “You sound like your dad.”

“Well, Daddy dearest is right.” She lifts her head away from the mirror to study me, the tube of mascara still clutched in her hand. “You’ve been weird since you’ve come back.”

“Weird? How?”

“Not normal. You’re unsure of yourself, like you left your confidence behind in Italy and came back a self-conscious shell of a person.”

Leave it to Iris to be so casually cruel with her words. Like a true Lancaster, though our generation is trying our hardest not to be that way, just like the generation before us. “I am not a shell of a person.”

“No, you’re right. That’s just me being dramatic.” She returns her attention to the mirror, working on her left eye now. “You’re definitely more unsure though.”

“With what?”

“With boys. With stupid Silas.” She shoves the brush back into the mascara tube almost violently. “You should tell him to kiss your ass.”

I made the mistake of telling her what he said to me earlier in English. How he wanted to talk to me but only because Alana wasn’t around. I failed to mention what Rhett did, or what he said because I didn’t want to delve into that with her.

Considering I’m not quite sure how to feel about it yet, I’d rather hold it close to my chest and mull over it on my own. At least for a little while longer.

“I’m afraid if I tell him that, he’ll actually want to,” I quip, making Iris laugh.

“He probably would. I bet he regrets getting with Alana. Ugh, men.” She grabs a Chanel lip gloss and twists it open, slicking on the shiny, glittery stuff along her lips and making them sparkle. “Why do they always want what they can’t have?”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“I wish,” she mutters, rubbing her lips together and pursing them at her reflection in an exaggerated kiss. “I’m over the boys here.”

“Here? You mean the boys we go to school with?”

“Yep.” She makes the p pop with her lips. “I prefer older men.”

“How much older are you talking about?” I think of her brother August and all of his friends. He’s in college and in some sort of fraternity or secret society thing, and that means he’s hanging out with all sorts of bros. Some of them he brings back to the house, and I know for a fact that Iris thinks the majority of them are gorgeous. And that’s because she told me so.

I’m sure they’re gorgeous. They’re probably all jerks too, but that won’t stop her. I think she’s attracted to jerks. She comes by it naturally.

“Oh, you know. College.” She shrugs, keeping her tone casual. Playing it off like usual. “There’s no one in particular that I like. I’m just drawn to men.”

“Iris. You’re barely eighteen,” I remind her.

“And legal as can be so it’s not so taboo, is it? What’s wrong with wanting to fuck a twenty-two-year-old?”

“Iris!” She can’t go around dropping f-bombs so casually, but she just laughs.

Yikes. Maybe I’m as much of a prude as my mom was. I thought I was more liberated than her.

“What? It’s true. They’re all babies here. Even the seniors.”

My mind immediately goes to Rhett’s broad shoulders and thick biceps. In my eyes, he’s the furthest thing from a baby. “Maybe not all of them.”

“Ooh, Willow, who exactly are you thinking of then, hmm? And don’t play like you’re not talking about anyone specific. I know you.” Iris’s expression turns vaguely horrified. “If you say Silas, I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

“So violent!” I burst out laughing, shaking my head. Silas is … cute. But Rhett?

Rhett is something else.

He’s sexy. Confident. Like he knows what he’s doing, and even if he doesn’t, he could figure it out really quick.

“Seriously, if it’s Silas, I’m going to have to smack some sense into you.” She waves her hand like she’s slapping someone across the face. “He’s the worst.”

“Why do you say that anyway?” I’m curious. She’s always got something negative to say about Silas and I wonder if she has an actual reason or if it’s just because she’s rushing to my defense like any best friend would.

“Why wouldn’t I say that? Especially after what you just told me. I hate to say it, but he’s playing you, Willow. I think he likes the idea of you waiting in the wings for him, nurturing that hopeless crush. Like you’re a backup plan in case things don’t work out with him and Alana.” She rolls her eyes.

Ouch. If that’s true, I hate it. I don’t want him thinking of me like that. I’m not waiting around for him, that’s for sure, and if he believes I am? He’s going to be sorely disappointed.

Turning, I face the mirror once more, fixing my necklace so the clasp is where it belongs, at the back of my neck. I’m wearing the birthstone pendant that my parents gave me when I turned sixteen—a round cut ruby surrounded by tiny diamonds. It’s one of my favorite pieces, not that I have a lot yet. My mother lets me borrow her jewelry most of the time, which is always fun because her collection is like a treasure chest of jewels. My father spoils her—he always has. He spoils all of us, especially me since I’m his only daughter.

Iris’s father is just as bad. He lavishes his girls—his wife and daughter—with all the jewelry they could ever want, not that Iris is interested in any of it.

“Should I tell Alana that Silas is trying to talk to me?” I ask, keeping my focus on the mirror so I don’t have to see Iris’s face.

I know she’s going to be exasperated with me and all the huffing and puffing only proves my point.

“If you tell her that, she’ll just get mad at you. Or accuse you of trying to cause problems between them, when that’s the last thing you want. No, don’t tell her anything. Let him self-implode. If you don’t show him any interest, he’ll just move on to some other girl. He’ll eventually slip and get caught. You don’t need to get involved.”

“You’re right.” I straighten my shoulders, thrusting my chest out and immediately wincing. God, I wish I had smaller boobs. “Maybe I should get a minimizer.”

“What? Are you talking about your tits?” Iris practically screeches, leaping to her feet and running over to me. She stares at my reflection along with me, her gaze zeroed in on my chest. “You have fabulous boobs. I wish I had them.”

“No, you really don’t. They’re big and always in the way.” After my mom had Beau, she had a breast reduction because they were too big and heavy, and she was tired of being in pain. I’m sure I’ll have to do the same thing one day after I have children. Something I’m definitely not looking forward to. “I wish I had your boobs.”

“My tits are nonexistent. Boys love big ones.”

“Oh please. I’m sure the majority of them our age wouldn’t know what to do with them anyway.” I start giggling. So does Iris.

“You never did tell me who you’re interested in,” Iris says once the giggling has subsided. “Let me take a guess.”

“No.”

“It’s Kody.”

I send her an incredulous look. “Kody? No.”

“He’s not bad looking.”

“True.”

“He’s on the football team.”

“I don’t consider that important criteria for me to be interested in a guy.” Ooh, I sound snotty but seriously. I don’t give a crap about the football team. Not like every other girl at our school who has become suddenly enamored with the team members and the supposed status it brings them. I find it all silly.

He’s nice.

“He ate his boogers in the third grade.” I turn to face her. “The third grade. We were eight. Nine. Whatever. That’s way too old.”

Iris is laughing again and so am I. “This is the problem with going to school with the same people for so long.”

There are plenty of people who attend Lancaster Prep that we didn’t go to elementary school with, but there are also so many who we grew up with and we know all of these odd little details that sort of ruin any illusion we might have about them. It’s a blessing and a curse.

More like a curse.

“Wait a minute. I know who it is.” Iris snaps her fingers, a sly smile curling her lips. “Rhett Bennett.”

I’m blushing almost immediately. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, and yes, Iris notices.

“No, it’s not him.”

“Why are you lying to me? We’re best friends, Willow. We tell each other everything. Are you telling me you have a crush on him now?” My cheeks grow hotter and she points at me, doing a little dance as she hops over the discarded clothing on the floor while on her way back to the vanity. “He’s gorgeous.”

“You think he’s a bad choice though.” My protest is weak. The only reason I’m bringing this up is because I want to beat her to the punch. She’s mentioned to me before all of his flaws and I don’t want to hear them again. I seriously don’t need the reminder.

“If he’s your choice, then I won’t knock him. I promise.” Her expression is solemn as she settles back into her chair and resumes putting on her makeup. “He’ll be there tonight.”

“I know.”

“You’re excited to see him?”

“I don’t know how to feel about him,” I answer truthfully. “I don’t even know if I actually like him.”

“Why do you say it like that?”

“How I feel about him is so confusing. Like … I can’t deny he’s attractive. His face. His body.”

“Ooh,” Iris starts, but I silence her with a look.

“But then he opens his mouth and says things that are both appealing and … kind of awful,” I admit.

“You really think so?”

“Oh definitely,” I say with a nod. “He can be charming but also a little … crude.”

“Do you think he’s interested in you?” Iris asks.

“You’ve told me before that he flirts with everyone.”

“He sort of does.” Iris winces. “But honestly? I haven’t heard much about him since school started.”

“It’s the first week. How much could you hear?”

“A lot, especially when you take into account that it’s Rhett we’re talking about. He played a bunch of girls hard last year.”

“That was last year,” I say with a shrug, hating what she just said. “Maybe he’s not like that anymore.”

“But maybe he is. Just—be careful, Willow. I don’t want you to fall completely for this guy and get your heart broken.”

“He won’t break my heart,” I say with a ferocity I don’t quite mean.

I hope that’s true, but I don’t know. Maybe he will break my heart.

Maybe I’ll let him.