Neither of us breaks the stare for several long moments. Eventually, I turn back to the mirror and continue applying my eyeshadow.
‘Did you answer his text?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
I meet his eyes in the reflection. ‘Because he’s my friend.’
‘Is he?’ Mason asks, his voice frosty. ‘And what did you say to him?’
‘I said he’s welcome to come if he wants to. It’s an open invite party.’
Mason’s eyes narrow. ‘Right.’
‘Since you’re too cool to talk to me in front of your friends, it shouldn’t be a problem anyway.’
‘It isn’t,’ he quips.
‘Good.’
‘Great.’
‘Excellent.’
Mason leaves my room, and my door bangs shut behind him. Exhaling, I lean forward, my face against my palms.
That boy will be the death of me.
I’ve been dancing for hours and my legs are beginning to burn. Phoebe’s hands hold mine as we move to the beat. The house is packed with people, a lot of whom I recognise as already graduated, making the party feel a little more mature than the other high school ones I’ve attended.
For a long time, I stuck to my introverted ways, but Phoebe really brought me out of my shell. She is quite possibly the most outgoing person I’ve ever met. I don’t think the word ‘no’ is in her vocabulary when it comes to invitations. I’m grateful, because she’s made me step out of my comfort zone.
People who I’ve seen around school for years have come and said hello to me for the first time, and two boys have asked for my number. It’s definitely because of the dress I borrowed from Phoebe – a spaghetti-strapped emerald number that matches my eyes. Since I’ve filled out more, we can finally share clothes, as Phoebe matured a lot earlier than I did. She’s wearing a cute matching crop top and skirt set that she saw advertised in a magazine and justhadto get. Her long hair, which was perfectly straight at the start of the party, is tangled in messy waves from all the dancing.
‘I don’t know how you do it,’ Phoebe shouts at me.
‘What?’ I ask, leaning towards her.
‘Have guys falling over their feet to get your attention all the time!’ She rolls her eyes, shaking her head.
‘I don’t think you’re one to have any complaints in that department, Phoebs,’ I laugh, lightly squeezing her arm. I’m not sure how she doesn’t see her own beauty, or why she always has to compare us, but sometimes I don’t think she knows how truly gorgeous she really is. ‘Boys fight for your attention!’
‘Never the ones I want.’
‘What?’ I ask, pulling my hair back behind my shoulder, as if that will help me hear her better over the loud pop song blaring from the speakers.
She waves her hand dismissively at me, ending the discussion, and I go back to dancing, enjoying the beat.
The floor beneath my feet is vibrating, and suddenly I feel lightheaded. I signal a time-out gesture, and Phoebe looks annoyed before turning to join the group beside us. She is wildly popular and friends with everyone, although she insists she dislikes all the girls who claim to be her close friends – except me.
Heading to the bathroom, I take a moment to sit in silence and pull out my phone. I stare down at the screen, smiling and reading through Mason and my last conversation. I was feeling confident, wanting to flirt with him like I often do, ignoring our earlier disagreement.
Anya:I think you’re hot
Mason:Yeah?
Anya:Veryyyy
