“How about over here, Chanel? The lighting’s better.”
He jerks his head up at the name as if he’s been zapped awake.
Chanel.Chanel Cao.
She barely seems real as she approaches him from the sidewalk, a man with a massive professional camera following close behind. Her hair burns gold in the light, bouncing over her shoulders in glossy waves. A glittering tiara sits atop her head, something that ought to look theatrical or even tacky—but somehow, on her, it’s an elevated piece, a fashion statement. As if all the people whoaren’twearing tiaras are the ones missing something.
He thinks involuntarily of the photo she had sent him last night. Was it a pretty photo? Objectively, yes. Was it a suggestive photo? This, he’s less sure about. And if itwas, what was she suggesting? Or did it mean nothing, and he was reading too much into it? Or is that exactly what she wantshim to think? Another one of her tricks, concealing her true motives from him.
Either way, it had felt safest not to reply, to just wait until Monday and give her the bracelet at school. To not think about her at all.
Yet here she is, smiling up at him.
He’s grateful, all of a sudden, for the stupid penguin costume. The freedom to just look back at her, absorb the full force of her smile without her knowing it’s him.
“Yes, you should get a photo with the penguin,” the photographer suggests. “You can add it to the end of your prom nomination post—it’s cute, it’s down-to-earth. Your fans will love it.”
This man offering suggestions on how to appear down-to-earth might be the least down-to-earth thing Ares has ever heard. But that aside—is that why Chanel’s wearing the tiara? For a prom photo shoot of some kind? He remembers the look in her eyes when she’d spoken about prom.Gushedabout it, like it was all that mattered to her.
“Would you mind if I took a photo with you?” Chanel asks him. She’s the first person who has. Her voice is sweet, gentle, and she doesn’t immediately crowd in like the others, just waits for him to reply.
Ares manages to nod.
“Oh my god, thank you so much,” Chanel says, still speaking directly to him. She steps closer and turns toward him, squeezing two fingers together to form a mini heart, the way idols like to pose. He experiences a terrible pang of self-consciousness, and he has to remind himself again that she can’t see who he is.
The camera lens focuses on them.
Click. Click-click.
“Perfect,” the photographer says. “I think we’re done. You’re going to looksogorgeous at prom—your date’s a very lucky man.”
Chanel just smiles, a close-lipped expression that could mean anything but gives away nothing, and Ares wonders if she has her date secured already. Tries to picture it, one of the guys from their class showing up to her house in a tailored suit and expensive cologne. Feels a strange twist in his stomach at thethought. Can’t imagine why, it’s not likehewants to be in their position. He’d already made it clear to her he wasn’t going to prom at all.
“Hang on.” Chanel motions for him to wait, then runs off to the milk tea shop on the street corner. She jogs with surprising nimbleness in her stilettos, her movements light and graceful as a fairy’s; he almost expects her to leave glitter in her wake. A few minutes later, she comes back holding a large cup of lemon tea and offers it to him, ice cubes clinking inside the plastic. “Here. You must be hot in that costume,” she says, still smiling.
It’s a simple gesture, but Ares feels entirely unmoored by it. Chanel Cao doesn’t just feed stray dogs—she feeds penguin mascots too? Or is this an act, more social media content for her to post to seem “down-to-earth”or thoughtful or whatever she wants her brand to be? Yet, when he searches her eyes, he can’t detect anything except sincerity. And heisunbearably hot; he can feel the heat festering in his wounds, the sweat plastering his shirt to his back. His throat is so dry it hurts.
Cautiously, he accepts the tea from her. He’s not defying any orders like this, he reasons. He hasn’t moved from the spot where Sangui left him.
“Thanks again for taking the photos with me,” Chanel says, and reaches up to pat his head.
Ares hadn’t expected to find any semblance of comfort today. But for this one brief second, he forgets his pain, his hunger, his exhaustion, his humiliation, and lowers his head, letting himself lean in to her touch.
10
Chanel
On Monday, I show up to school completely naked.
That’s how it feels anyway. I haven’t made such a drastic change to my makeup style in years, and my eyes feel bare without my usual heavy eyeliner, my face exposed without my pigmented blush and highlighter combo. My own appearance startles me when I catch sight of it in the dark glass panels outside the classrooms. Image is everything, I learned early on, but it still amazes me how manipulable image is. I could be someone else, a girl who runs through orchards and goes strawberry picking on weekends and actuallywantsto fall in love.
I’d set my alarm two hours early this morning just to experiment with the look, using the Instagram photos I’d saved of Ares’s former fling as reference, all while feeling strangely sheepish, ashamed even, to be doing so much for a boy.
It’s not as if I want to,I argued with myself the entire car ride.It’s only because of the vision. Once I secure Ares as my prom date and stop the fire, I won’t have to care whether he’s attracted to me or not.
But at least my efforts don’t go unnoticed, because when I catch sight of Ares in the hallway, he actually slows down. Stares at me, his dark eyes roving over my face.
“You look... different today,” he remarks.
