Amira saw it happen. “Told you,” she said, smirking. “You were born for this.”
“I don’t know,” I muttered, half-smiling. “It feels like I just tattooed ‘target’ across my forehead.”
“Or ‘don’t fuck with me,’” she said.
Later, at home, I kicked off my shoes by the door and headed to the kitchen, feeling lighter. Still nervous, still alert, but also something else. Proud, maybe. Taking up more space inside my skin.
Dare was already there, leaning against the counter, eating dry cereal out of the box. His head jerked up when he heard me come in. And then… he saw my hands.
His whole body stiffened, like a wire pulled taut. He didn’t speak right away. Just… stared.
“What the hell isthat?” he finally said.
“It’s nail polish.”
“No shit. You trying to be funny?”
“Nope.” I reached for a glass. “Just trying to be myself.”
A pause. A breath-stealing, electric pause. I could feel the static sparking between us.
“So, this is what you are now?”
I didn’t answer. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
He laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “You do realize people are gonna talk, right?”
“They already do,” I said. “Might as well give them something to talk about.”
“You’re doing this for attention.”
I looked him dead between the eyes and held myself together. “Maybe I’m doing it to piss you off.”
That shut him up. But only for half a second. Then hebarked out a sarcastic laugh and shoved the cereal box back onto the shelf.
“You know, I thought you were pathetic before,” he said, his voice full of contempt. “But this? This is something else.”
“I don’t care what you think,” I said, meaning it for once.
“Yeah, you do,” he said as he walked past me, shoulder-checking me hard. “You always did.”
And maybe that was the worst part. Because he was right. I caredtoomuch.
I didn’t dress for him.
That’s what I told myself, anyway. As I pulled the pink shirt from the hanger, as I slid into jeans that hugged my hips tighter than usual, as I laced up my worn Converse and twisted the leather band around my wrist. I styled my hair, barely. Just enough to make it look like I cared, but not too much. Not enough to draw fire.
But when I stepped into the kitchen after coming home and saw Dare at the counter, I knew.
He’d noticed.
He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t have to. His gaze raked over me in judgment. Then he turned away and grabbed a drink from the fridge, pretending I was invisible. As if I hadn’t walked into the room carrying a dozen quiet, brave decisions stitched together and worn like a second skin.
I slipped out of the kitchen and up the stairs to my room, and as I slid the shirt from my shoulders and replaced it on thehanger, my heart swelled with the small victory. Dare may not approve of my choices, but at least he feltsomething. At least he noticed.
Nervous energy bounced around inside my body with tiny electrons firing, and I had to find an outlet or I’d lose my mind. Reaching into my top drawer, I grabbed my Speedo, the navy blue one with white stars, and pulled the Lycra up my legs.
The hallway was empty, and so was the kitchen. I continued outside, grabbing a towel from the laundry room and tossing it onto a lounger near the pool.
