WELL, THESE PANTSare hideous, and there is no way I can be seen in them. I glare in the mirror. My ass might as well have a sign that reads “Proof of Gravity.” The material seems to puff unreasonably, causing strange wrinkles and folds that add to what is already not a perfect shape. Angry, I yank them off and throw them to the bottom of my closet. For once, I actually want to look good, and instead I look like utter crap. I put my hands on my ass and squeeze. Stupid fat. Wait a minute… There is definitely improvement here. A new firmness. Running is paying off.
Holy shit. These pants are too big. No wonder they look so terrible.
I start digging through my closet. I have to own something less horrible that I can wear to Sabin’s play. I locate a pair of inexcusably expensive straight-leg jeans my aunt gave me that I’ve never really fit into before, and I squirm into them now. A peek in the mirror does not cause gagging, so I keep them on. The good thing about tight pants is that they pack everything in and hold it in place, and these have enough stretch that I can still breathe. My long-forgotten mascara has somehow not caked up, so I darken my eyelashes and then run an equally old tube of pink gloss over my lips.
The knock on the door startles me. I can’t remember anyone stopping by my room before. “Who is it?” I quickly reach for the closest shirt from the pile of rejects thrown on the bed. I may be out of practice having visitors, but I know enough not to answer the door in a bra.
“It’s Estelle.”
“Oh. Come in.”
Estelle opens the door. Great. She is decked out in a sleek navy minidress and gorgeous three-inch heels that tie up her calves with a wide ribbon. Her dark hair now has electric pink streaks running through some of the short pieces around her face. Jesus, she looks so hot that even I want to jump her. “Hey. You’re going to the play tonight, right? Sabin put us in charge of bringing you, and Chris is going to meet us there. This is our brother Eric.”
“Hey.” Eric steps out from behind Estelle. Even if I hadn’t been told they were twins, it is obvious. He is the shortest of the three brothers, and if it weren’t for Estelle’s heels, they’d be exactly the same height. Eric has the same strong facial bone structure that she does. They make a perfectly gorgeous pair.
“Good to meet you, Eric.”
“So you’re a friend of Sabin’s?” he asks.
Oh. Sabinwasbeen the one to invite me to tonight’s play, not Chris. So I amSabin’sfriend. Am I really friends with either of them, though? True, Sabin has been texting me incessantly about his show:If you don’t show up on Friday night, I’m going to gouge out my eyes with a spork so that gazillions of tears cannot fall and drown the entire campus population.Chris, however, has been as absent as they come. Yes, he held open the dorm door for me last week and was perfectly friendly in the two seconds that it took him to say, “How’s it going?” before rushing off to his class. And he sent me that playlist. But that seems to be the disappointing extent of our relationship.
I nod. “Sort of. I’ve only met him a few times, but he seems quite insistent that I see his show.”
Eric squints at me. “You don’t seem like his usual type.”
Estelle swats him with her hand. “She’s not one of Sabin’s conquests. Or Chris’s, for that matter. She’s a friend.”
Eric blushes slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything. Sabe is just… a busy guy.”
“Ha! Like Chris hasn’t had his moments, too?” Estelle adds.
“Well, Sabin seems very nice. And entertaining. Let me just get my shoes.” While rummaging through grungy sneakers and clunky black clogs, I vow to do something about my wardrobe. “Sorry, hold on. I don’t dress up much. Where did you get your shoes, Estelle?” I ask from the depths of my closet. “They’re beautiful.”
“Online somewhere. What size are you?”
“I have huge, gross feet. At least an eight and a half.”
“Here.” Estelle taps my back.
I emerge and try to brush my hair back down with my hands. “What are you doing?”
Estelle has begun an elaborate process of untying the satin ribbons that wrap around her ankle. “Giving you my shoes.”
“What? No! You can’t do that. What are you going to wear?”
“I have another pair of shoes in my bag. Besides, these will look great on you. Eric, get my other pair, will you?” This is dreadful. Totally embarrassing.
Eric opens Estelle’s giant purse and pulls out a pair of teal snakeskin ankle boots with stiletto heels even higher than the ones she’s wearing. “Oh,‘Stelle, these are idiotic. I’m not sitting next to you.”
“Fuck you. And fine by me. I’m not planning on trying to sit next to you while you’re in that boring outfit. For a gay boy, you don’t dress all that well. Here, try these on.” Estelle holds out the black shoes and smiles. “I’d give you the boots, but based on the clogs you just threw out of your closet, I doubt you can handle the heels.”
“I think these are going to be enough for me to handle. This is really cool of you. Thanks.” I slip my feet into the heels and then hold the ribbons cluelessly.
“Here, I got you.” Eric kneels in front of me. “I’ve watched my sister do this enough times. Let’s cuff these jeans a little to show off the shoes.”
“Aha! There’s some gay!” Estelle says triumphantly. She purses her lips as she jams a foot into one of her boots. “I bought these on the small side, but it was the last pair they had.”
“Are you sure you don’t want these back?” I am uncomfortable that she has lent me these shoes, but they really are hot.
