Wes:Aw, bummer! What about Sunday?
I blink at his message, my lips twitching down into a frown. Kaden said that Sunday is his actual birthday. He could do anything, so why would he want to spend it practicing his speech with me?
My fingers hover over the keypad as I debate my words. I want to mention his birthday but can’t for obvious reasons.
Me:That works!
Wes:What’s going on Saturday, if you don’t mind my asking?
I quickly wrack my brain for a reply, trying not to be suspicious. I’ll crawl into a hole and never come out if I’m the person to ruin the surprise.
Me:I forgot I have a study group for Art History.
It’s not a total lie. Thereisa study group that meets on Saturdays for my Art History class. I’m just not in it.
Wes:Tell them I’m jealous they get to steal you away from me :(
I stare at his words, conscious of the way my heart does this weird flippy thing in response and then scold myself for that sort of reaction. He’s just being his usual charming self. He’s not actually disappointed. Because that would be…that would be crazy.
Wouldn’t it?
I’ma bundle of nerves Friday night, and by the time Saturday comes, I’m in full-on freak-out mode. I don’tdoparties, and I have to stop myself from texting Quinn that it’s off about once an hour. By seven, I’m so in my head that the world starts to warp around me. Colors appear brighter. The room seems smaller. My hands don’t feel like my hands.
The longer I stare at my closet, the more confused I am on what to wear. Every article of clothing I own is somehow too casual, yet too dressy. Too sexy, yet too immature. And don’t get me started on makeup. I spend thirty minutes alone deciding on a lip color and end up settling on the same tinted ChapStick I apply every damn day.
You can’t blame me, though. One tiny little decision can mean the difference between a good night and a bad one. One drink too many, one idiotic comment, one wrong move can turn everything sour.
I know from experience.
Don’t think about it.
I’m still debating which shade of denim is the most flattering when a knock sounds against my bedroom door. I toss the three options onto my pillow with a sigh. “Come in.”
Quinn peeks her head in, takes one look at the mountain of clothing piled on my bed, and steps fully into the room. “Judging by the fact that you’re still wearing your pajamas, I can only assume you’re freaking out.”
I nod because it’s all I can manage.
She holds her hands up in front of her in a calming gesture. “Okay. Don’t freak. Everything is fine.”
I try taking a deep breath, but it’s hot in this room and there’s too much fabric everywhere and my clothes all suck and this whole night is probably a horrible, terrible idea, anyway, and?—
“Breathe,” Quinn urges, guiding me to my desk chair. She gently pushes me down.
“This whole thing is a mistake,” I blurt.
Quinn shakes her head. “It’s not a mistake. You’re just overwhelmed. Let’s start with clothes.”
I scan over Quinn’s outfit, wondering how the hell she manages to look like all the things I aspire to be tonight. Self-assured and stylish and sexy, but not like she’s trying too hard—though I suppose the tattoos help with the whole effortlessly cool thing. She rifles through my clothes, retrieving a top with lace sleeves and a pair of black jeans from the pile.
“Try these with those black boots you wear sometimes.”
I take the hangers from her outstretched hand, eyeing them with skepticism. “Okay.”
“Trust me. While you change, I’m gonna grab you some jewelry. I have the perfect hoops and necklace to go with that look.”
“Quinn, no. I can’t wear your jewelry.”
“Of course you can! Now, get dressed and meet me out there when you’re done.”
