Oliver unwrapped another chocolate and shoved it in his mouth. “That’s because you’ve been a hermit, and I’ve met the lust of my life!”
I raised my eyebrows and grabbed a chocolate. “Who is he?”
“His name’s Rodrigo, and he’s a Brazilian werewolf!”
I almost choked on the piece of chocolate I’d just popped into my mouth. A Brazilian werewolf? That sounded like a horrible wax job. Or a hideous hairdo. But definitely not an appropriate name for an object of lust.
Oliver contemplated his next chocolate. “He’s just so gorgeous. Oh—and he’s friends with Paul, my roommate. Apparently they went to boarding school together.” Oliver’s eyes lit up. “Maybe we could all grab dinner or something? That way I could be conveniently introduced without it seeming strange!”
“Ah. You haven’t met him.” I laughed. “Fine, set the date and I’ll go. But only because I would never let a friend pass up the opportunity to officially meet the lust of his life.”
“Oh my God!” Oliver grabbed my arm as another important thought came to him. “I’ll take him to the autumn ball. It’s in a month or so!” His eyes widened and he gasped. “You can take Andre. We’ll be the cutest couples.”
I let out a disgusted sound. “Not going—and definitely not with Andre.”
“What? Of course you’ll be going.” He waved my statement away.
“Nope.” I shook my head and plopped another chocolate into my mouth. “I hate dances.”
“You have to come.”
I shook my head.
“Oh yeah? Well if you still have that attitude in a month, then that wicked little side of me that our textbooks thoroughly discuss will have to make an appearance.”
I looked at him, trying not to laugh. “Are you threatening me?”
“You bet your knickers I am. I will not let you miss one of the best dances you’ll ever go to because your little feminist heart has a problem with getting dressed up.”
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes again. Bad habit of mine—along with eating chocolates and swearing. “What exactly are you planning to do if I don’t go? Because, let’s be honest Oliver, you don’t exactly strike fear into my heart.”
He smiled, and it was full of nefarious intentions. “I’ll tell Andre you still have his blanket. And you sniff it every night.”
My jaw dropped. I grabbed the decorative pillow next to me and wacked Oliver over the head. “I do not ‘sniff’ his blanket!”
“Ow!” Oliver smoothed his shirt out. “Harpy woman.”
“How would you even contact him?” I asked.
Oliver looked offended. “I am a social media goddess. I have my ways. Just try me.”
“Fine. I’ll consider going.” Heaven forbid Oliver tell Andre I sniffed his blanket. “But remember that you’re to blame for the miserable time I’m going to have.”
***
A half hour before I was supposed to meet up with Caleb, I threw on some black skinny jeans, a silky maroon shirt, and a pair of my knee-high boots.
After I put on a little mascara and a touch of eye shadow—my version of getting dressed up—I opened my laptop. I sent my mother a brief email. I’d increasingly had to censor myself when it came to communicating with her, something that made my head throb. We’d always been close, and omitting information felt a whole lot like lying to her.
Once I sent out the email, I pulled out my dad’s letter and searched the Internet for Cecilia’s address. When I couldn’t dig up any information, I switched over to a virtual map. Google pinpointed the location, and I clicked on a satellite view.
My blood chilled as I stared at Cecilia’s address. It was an open plot of land. Whatever was there had been condemned long ago.
“Girl, what are you doing?” Oliver sauntered over to my computer.
Immediately I exited out of the webpage before Oliver could see what I was looking at.
“Nothing.” I swiveled in my chair to face him.
He took me in. “Tsk, tsk—you’re not planning on going out looking like that, are you?”
“What’s wrong with how I look?”
“You are going on a date, right?” I nodded. “Well, then you have to put some effort into getting ready.”
“I have.”
“Here, let me help—I’ll be right back.”
“Oliver—” I called out, but he ignored me and left the room. Five minutes later he came back with a bag of makeup in tow.
“Oliver, how did you get all of this?” I asked.
He brushed my question aside. “Paul is a conjurer, remember? Now hold still.”
I let Oliver Barbie me up for the second time in two weeks. I had to admit, Oliver did a good job.
Once he was done, I looked in the mirror and saw someone who looked like me, only now all her striking features were amplified: bright blue eyes, red lips, pale skin, and prominent cheekbones, all surrounded by a halo of dark hair.
I briefly wondered what Andre would think if he saw me, and then mentally kicked myself. I didn’t like him—even if the kiss we shared had been exquisite—and I didn’t care what he thought. Just to prove a point I threw Andre’s blanket from my bed into my closet.