“Second,” she continued, “anyone who tries to correct my color palette? They die. Figuratively. Mostly. But we are not here for correction. Purple. Glitter. Large banners. Sacrilegious amounts of hot glue. Got it?”
A muffled voice came from a corner.
“Sharon,” Rachel said, without missing a step. “Yes, you with the helmet hair and the ongoing obsession with other people’s lives. No, you donotget to comment on my sparkle placement. That’s a power reserved for trained professionals—and Iama professional, obviously.”
Sharon muttered something that might have been a protest, but Rachel waved her off like she was swatting a fly.
“Keep moving,” Rachel said, tugging me faster. “Yes, Cheryl, I know your hair is amazing today. No, you may not touch the glitter. Yes, Patty, you maylook, but only with your eyes, not your hands, unless you want to be banished to the corner with the sad, empty paint buckets.”
By the time we reached the gym, I was slightly winded from trying not to laugh. The doors swung open, and the chaos inside hit me like a wave.
Maria was there, quietly fussing over a banner, her movements precise and calm. The others—pep squad members I vaguely recognized, a scattering of football players, and faces I hadn’t seen in ages—were already spread across the gym. A little part of me panicked. Iwasn’tsupposed to do school spirit. I was supposed to work, tutor, finish homework. The thought of standing here, painting banners surrounded by all these people, was borderline terrifying.
Rachel, of course, noticed. She leaned in and whispered, conspiratorially, “Relax. None of the guys are here. Lucky us. We’ll survive this.”
“And if Sharon tries anything,” she added, loud enough for the blonde to hear, “Iwillpersonally enforce a glitter exile. Consider that fair warning.”
I blinked at her, half impressed, half exhausted.
“And now,” Rachel announced, throwing her arms wide, “let’s make some banners so obnoxious that anyone walking by the gym will have no choice but to bow down before our glittersupremacy. Step one: claim your territory. Step two: paint like your life depends on it. Step three: make me laugh, because honestly, this is going to be the weirdest, sparkliest, mostfunchaos this gym has seen since… well, since ever.”
I followed her, trying to keep pace, and somehow—somehow—felt a little of my anxiety ease. Between Rachel’s constant commentary, her absurd confidence, and the glitter-threats aimed at Sharon, it was impossible not to get sucked into her orbit.
Rachel twirled toward a pile of banners like she owned the place, tugging me along. “Okay, rule one: glitter is sacred. I meanliterally alive. Do not—under any circumstances—question its placement. The glitter knows. It judges. And yes, Sharon, Iseeyou looking.”
Sharon opened her mouth, maybe to argue, but Rachel’s eyes narrowed in that exact way that made you instantly stop breathing. “Nope. Didn’t think so. Step back before I personally enforce a banishment. Glitter exile is real. Don’t test me.”
I barely had time to breathe before Rachel was off again. I tracked her motion as I shoved my fingers into my hair and pulled it all back to loop through itself into a makeshift ponytail. It would keep it back and out of the way.
When Rachel marched back toward me, she gave me a nod of a once over. “I like it, the secret weapon is really working for you.”
Secret weapon?
Oh, hell. I’d already half forgotten I’d dyed my hair. Before I could do much, she held up the pair of caddies she’d claimed loaded with brushes, paints and glitter galore.
“And now,” she continued, sweeping the room with an almost ceremonial flair, “we claim territory. Pep squad—you, over there, yes, you, the one trying not to look terrified—grab brushes. Football players—you!—no, not for actual painting, butyou can hold things, and yes, it counts as contribution. Cheryl, your hair is amazing today. Don’t touch glitter.”
She paused dramatically at Sharon, who was smirking faintly and already had her phone in hand. “Sharon. That’s a cute idea you have about posting more scandal stuff for the summer memories, but let me educate you. We are above that here. You’d survive a glittering. Your phone won’t. Keep your fingers and thoughts to yourself. Consider this your warning.”
Sharon opened her mouth again like she was prepared to argue, Rachel pointed directly at her with a caddy like it was a sword.
“Stop. Talking. Or I will make you the first official victim of the purple apocalypse. Trust me—it’s not pretty. Glittereverywhere.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Between the glitter threats and Rachel’s almost regal delivery, I was partly terrified, partly completely sucked into the whirlwind of energy.
Meanwhile, Maria was quietly smoothing out a banner in the corner. She wasn’t a bitch, not like Sharon, not like Patty, who was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking faintly disgusted by the chaos. As if drawn by my internal thought, Rachel flicked a look toward Patty. “Patty, yes, you may look, but touching is punishable by three rounds of glitter slapstick. And yes, that is a technical term.”
Still moving at warp-Rachel, she carried the caddies over to a section where she set them, then my backpack down before pressing one of the caddies into my hand and pointing me toward a nearly blank banner.
“Frankie, you’re up.” Her voice dipped, more conspiratorial and not designed to lash at anyone around us. “Paint like your life depends on it. Throw in some flair. Make it ridiculous. Make it loud. And if Sharon dares to try her commentary again, you just look at her and I’ll handle the rest.”
I swallowed and stepped forward, trying to shake the knot in my stomach. The gym smelled like paint and sweat and chaos, and yet… part of me couldn’t remember the last time I’d doneanythingthis ridiculous and alive.
Rachel bounced behind me, muttering to herself like a one-woman commentary team. “Yes, yes, that purple needs more oomph. Football players, hold that ladder. Cheryl, your cheeriness is approved. Sharon, did you hear me? Hands off! That’s what I thought. Patty, maybe consider smiling—it’s contagious, believe it or not. Frankie, yes, a little splash here, a dash there. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Absolutely terrifying. And don’t forget—the glitter is watching.”
I laughed despite myself. Maybe, just maybe, surviving the glitter apocalypse wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.
“Anyone ever tell you that you should have been on the pep squad?” I muttered, breathless from both laughing and dodging Rachel’s endless commentary.
