Lindsay’s face turns as bright as her hair as she fumbles to thank her. Who would’ve thought all it took to get Lindsay Hawk to blush was a genuine compliment from a sweet mom.
Zaq pulls out his professional camera while Sammie and Talia help Agatha unpack her bag of props for Lindsay. She said taking photos outside a fancy house with nice cars would be ideal for promoting Lindsay as a true queen, but I wonder how Lindsay really feels about all of this. Her family isn’t struggling the way they were when we were in middle school, but most of her clothes are secondhand, and her bedroom isn’t much bigger than Wesley’s car. I’m honestly surprised she insisted on paying Zaq for taking photos and Agatha for doing makeup today. Though I’m relieved they’re getting compensated beyond “exposure.”
We wait for Lindsay to change into one of the gowns Agatha designed for a small formal collection she made last year. According to Ags, Lindsay wearing her real prom dress would make prom itself way too anticlimactic, about which I actually agree. Mrs. Cho silently sets several trays of snacks on the porch steps before Wesley shoos her away again, to Sammie’s and my amusement.
Zaq and I kick a rock back and forth while Sammie and Talia nerd out about the history of mathematics in the Middle East, combining their two aspirational fields of study. I’m about to ask Zaq if he thinks we can Hacky Sack the rock when Linds finally emerges.
Sammie and Talia are struck silent, mouths open, and Wesley stops chewing his apple slice midbite. Agatha smiles knowingly in approval. Zaq is the only one completely unfazed.
My mouth feels dry and thick, my tongue heavy, as I try to form complimentary words. Linds’s soft curves are on full display in the tight, plunging black satin gown. She let her hair down, so it settles around her pale shoulders, the ends tickling her bare, freckled arms.
I’ve seen Lindsay in a dress before. I’ve seen Lindsay in this dress before, when she modeled it for Agatha’s portfolio. But suddenly I’m thinking of homecoming, freshman year. Lindsay in her short red tank dress, applying cherry-scented lip gloss in the bathroom. I shouldn’t, but I remember the moment she caught me staring and smirked at me before puckering her lips again. I didn’t speak to her for the rest of the night.
Think of something else. But now it’s Agatha running product through her hair during a sleepover sophomore year, the haze of exhaustion giving her eyes a smolder as she asked if I wanted her to brush and French braid my hair before bed.
Talia’s arms on the steering wheel, muscles taut, as she drove us here today.
“Ophelia?” Agatha finally snaps me out of my trance, literally, snapping her fingers before waving two plastic tiaras in front of my face. Everyone else already stopped drooling and moved back to their conversations and snacks. “Which one will look better for the photos?”
“Just go with the silver one. Silver is classic,” Zaq says. He snatches the plate of apple slices from Wesley and winks before Wesley kicks him.
“I like the one with the little seashells,” Sammie says, pointing at the opposite crown. Zaq frowns and Wesley takes the apples back.
“Isn’t the seashell thing a bit much though?” Lindsay complains. I don’t let myself look at her as Agatha tells her to get off her high seahorse and just put the crown on.
I jog up the steps, mumbling something about needing the bathroom. I don’t wait for directions, too desperate for a moment alone.
I shut the front door behind me, and the cooler air instantly clears my head. Leaning against the door, I close my eyes and catch my breath. When I open them, I see the foyer walls are covered with artwork. I’m so busy walking around and studying each piece that I don’t notice there’s someone behind me until she speaks.
“Wesley made those,” Talia says, and I jump, startled. “Sorry.” She winces. “I just thought you might get lost. I did my first time. And my second.”
“Thanks,” I say, the jitteriness from outside starting to return.
The corridor expands into a large room that splits into three hallways, with two staircases leading to the next floor. The paintings cover the walls in every direction, all bright, active scenes. A family riding bikes, a packed swimming pool, dogs running in a park. But each is comprised of thick, heavy strokes of acrylic, making them alive and unworldly all at once. “I knew Wesley was talented, but this? This is … wow.”
“I know, right? He and Zaq both,” she says with a smile, walking past me, down the nearest hallway to the left.
“How did you three become friends anyway?” I ask as she leads. She pauses, because of my question or directional confusion, I don’t know.
“What did Wesley tell you?”
“Nothing. I never asked,” I reply, following her past a sharp turn. We end up outside a pale blue bathroom tucked in a corner, the first sign of color in the house besides Wesley’s paintings.
“It’s not that interesting,” she says, leaning against the wall beside the door.
“Tell me anyway.”
She shrugs, and I start to feel like she’s avoiding the question because of something other than an underwhelming answer. “We just have stuff in common. Zaq and I had a few classes together in middle school and didn’t really know anyone else when we got to high school.” She tilts her head, and I clench my hand so I don’t reach out to tuck the curl that’s dangling over her forehead behind her ear. “When Wesley transferred, they met in Digital Media and realized they read the same comics and manga. Wes and I have the same taste in music, K-pop and indie stuff mostly.” She clears her throat. “What about you guys?”
“Long story short: Agatha saved me from being friendless in middle school when Sammie was busy being annoying, and she and Lindsay were a package deal. Sammie’s the boy next door that I’ve known forever.”
“That had to be nice, growing up next to your best friend,” she says.
“It definitely has its perks.” I absently stretch my leg into the space between us, nearly reaching Talia as she scoots herself more directly in front of me. Her lips look dry but soft in this light. I quickly look away.
“Is one of those perks having an automatic meet-cute story to tell your grandchildren?” she teases, eyes flicking to the ground.
“Sorry to disappoint the hypothetical grandkids, but Sammie has been a little busy with a very different love story. I mean, you noticed how he reacted when Lindsay came out in that dress, right?” I instantly regret bringing up the dress as I feel my cheeks heat. I need uglier friends.
“I noticed you noticing it.” I can’t tell if she means me noticing Sammie or me noticing Lindsay.
“Sammie and I are just friends,” I say quickly, trying not to choke on the words.
“That’s probably for the best. He has enough to worry about with Wes stepping up his game. I can’t imagine that love triangle turning into a square,” she says, eyes still on the ground.
“Is that the only reason you’re asking?” I say boldly. She flinches, finally looking up.