Hello, just because I don’t speak doesn’t mean I’m deaf or don’t have feelings! Obviously, I’d like to say that, but even if I could, I wouldn’t dare.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see River standing in the bathroom doorway. “That’s my shirt she’s wearing, so be careful what you say.”
“It looks weird on her.”
“It looks even weirder on me. Now come on, Tucks.”
With my shoulders hunched, I slink into the bathroom and sit inconspicuously on the chair River must have placed there. I can’t even return River’s smile anymore. My looks were made fun of so many times at school—Toad hand, Kansas Puke Cow, Frog face. I actually know I’m not ugly, but I’m not beautiful either. I’m simply nothing.
Nervously, I push my hands under my thighs and stare at River’s feet. He’s standing in front of me, studying me.
“Look at me,” he says softly.
As always, it’s that caring, gentle tone that allows me to do whatever he asks. I lift my head, and as our eyes meet, a tremor runs through me. His blond hair falls low over his face, and he tosses it back as if to get a better look at me.
A strange shine enters his eyes. It grows stronger the longer he looks at me, so I blink a few times to reduce being exposed to his scrutiny. Suddenly, he reaches under my chin and turns my head left and right. I automatically hold my breath. The spot where he touches me glows like lava.
“Perfect,” he says quietly as if he were a sculptor and I was the stone to be shaped, his masterpiece. “Yes, that could work.”
What could work?
“Blonde, Mariah. Blonde curls,” River murmurs to himself as if he’s alone and caught up in something, perhaps an idea or an inspiration.
Basically, I have nothing against it. I like blonde hair. Arizona also has blonde curls, and she’s a star.
Mariah expertly places a towel over my shoulders. “Black would look better. It would enhance her pale complexion.”
My scarecrow complexion, sure.
“Blonde.”
“Black.”
“Blonde!” River challenges her back as if he would defend his idea to the death if necessary.
“Black!” Mariah crosses her arms.
“Kentucky?”
Naturally, I point at River. He laughs—a deep, wonderful sound that sends shivers down my spine. “I knew it.”
Mariah mutters, “Blonde and stupid,” under her breath and mixes various things from a box together to form a blue paste. When she’s done, River grins, brushes a single strand of his own hair aside, then stands behind me and parts my hair.
I hold completely still, but every muscle in my body feels abuzz. His hands gently glide through my long hair before he applies the paste, holding strands and rubbing it in. He hums a song by the Demons ’N Saints, “All These Glittering Pieces.” A rock love song that’s been number one on the charts forever. At some point, Mariah lights up one of his cigarettes and hums along with him. Usually, people hum around me just to scare me. Mr. Walker, my English teacher, did it to make me nervous at the board. Chester did it when I accompanied him to his wing on my dad’s orders—Go meet someone and connect now that Jenny has moved away.
However, this hum is different. It’s also different from River’s melancholy melody from the night before last. This onehas something exuberant and light about it, so even though I’ve put Mariah in the follower category, I relax a bit. After all, River is apparently the alpha male, so she’ll leave me alone. After a while, that dark glint rises within me again. It feels dangerous because there is something wonderful concealed in it, hidden like the crane in River’s fingers. It triggers something inside me—that feeling I had in the Badlands that the world has answers for me even if I haven’t asked a question.
I shake my head vehemently. That can’t be me. The fairytale creature in the large wall mirror has nothing to do with Kansas Montgomery. This is another girl who accidentally found her way here. I look around, searching, but there’s no one else in the room apart from River and me. Mariah left after applying my makeup for almost half an hour. I touch my cheekbones with my fingertips and peer into eyes that can’t be mine.
That emerald-green look is expectant, fascinated, and full of curiosity about the being I am on the outside. I step back in disbelief. My hair, which previously fell to my elbows, curls in bobbing spirals down to my heart. Mariah used the new curling iron River bought, as well as the mascara, makeup, lip gloss, and stuff I’ve never seen before. And my hair is really blonde—a really, really light blonde. It makes my face look as fragile as porcelain, and my eyelashes, dark, long, and mysterious, frame my shining eyes.
In the mirror, I see River swallowing behind me, and it feels like ice crystals trickling down my skin. The black batwing blouse makes my hair and skin appear even paler, and the bright-colored jeans and wedge sandals make me almost five-foot-five.
“You look like a fairy,” River says.
Fairy eyes. My stomach tightens because I can’t help but think about my dad.
“Like Tinker Bell.”
