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“It’s not up to me. It’s a blanket invitation to anyone who wants to come. If he shows, he shows.” Rhett shrugs. “If I had my way, he wouldn’t be there.”
“Why not?”
“Then I wouldn’t have to worry about him sniffing around you.”
I make a face. “That’s such a gross term. Sniffing around.”
“What else would you call it? Oh, I know. Something more polite. Like, showing interest in you. That sounds way nicer.”
I straighten my shoulders, vaguely offended. “It does.”
“Look, I’m just calling it like I see it, Will. And that guy is definitely interested in you. I don’t care if he has a girlfriend. I think he’d like to have you too.”
A week ago, this would’ve given me hope, even if the entire situation is completely hopeless. I still would’ve been tempted by the idea of Silas wanting to be with me, though there’s no way I would’ve agreed to see him if he was with Alana. I’m not a cheater, and I’m not about to be the other woman either.
The idea of Silas liking me now, though? I don’t know.
Sounds like more trouble than it’s worth.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Willow
“We can’t look like we’re trying too hard.” I’m kind of whining as I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror in Iris’s dorm suite, contemplating my outfit. Her room is the same size as mine, and it currently looks like a disaster zone. As if a hurricane came whipping through it, causing destruction everywhere it touched. Heaps of discarded clothes cover most of the bed, and there are pairs of shoes scattered all over the floor. Iris’s desk has been converted into a vanity table, with a variety of cosmetics lying open on top of it, a lipliner slowly rolling across and hanging perilously on the edge before it finally falls, landing on the floor.
Iris grabs the lipliner and puts the cap on it before tossing it onto the desk/vanity, plopping into the chair and staring at her reflection in the mirror. “Who cares if we look like we tried too hard? Isn’t that the point?”
I tilt my head to the side, my pin straight hair falling past my shoulders. Iris tried to convince me I should wear my hair in some elaborate style, but I let her straighten it instead. She even wanted me to wear a dress, but I had to draw the line somewhere. We’re going to be standing around a bonfire out by the old building that burned down forever ago. The clouds never left and it’s going to be chilly, though there’s no rain in the forecast, thank goodness.
I’m wearing jeans and a cropped black sweatshirt, with black Adidas Sambas on my feet. Cool girl styling without looking like I’m trying too hard, my ultimate goal. My makeup is subtle—after much insistence with Iris that she not overdo it—and now it’s her turn to get ready.
“We can look good but we don’t want to appear … desperate. Right?” I turn to face her, watching as she leans in close to her magnified mirror and applies a thick coat of mascara to her lashes.
“As if we ever look desperate.” The scoffing noise she makes tells me she believes I’m talking absolute nonsense. “Don’t forget who we are.”
I can’t help but smile. “You sound like your dad.”
“Well, Daddy dearest is right.” She lifts her head away from the mirror to study me, the tube of mascara still clutched in her hand. “You’ve been weird since you’ve come back.”
“Weird? How?”
“Not normal. You’re unsure of yourself, like you left your confidence behind in Italy and came back a self-conscious shell of a person.”
Leave it to Iris to be so casually cruel with her words. Like a true Lancaster, though our generation is trying our hardest not to be that way, just like the generation before us. “I am not a shell of a person.”
“No, you’re right. That’s just me being dramatic.” She returns her attention to the mirror, working on her left eye now. “You’re definitely more unsure though.”
“With what?”
“With boys. With stupid Silas.” She shoves the brush back into the mascara tube almost violently. “You should tell him to kiss your ass.”
I made the mistake of telling her what he said to me earlier in English. How he wanted to talk to me but only because Alana wasn’t around. I failed to mention what Rhett did, or what he said because I didn’t want to delve into that with her.
Considering I’m not quite sure how to feel about it yet, I’d rather hold it close to my chest and mull over it on my own. At least for a little while longer.
“I’m afraid if I tell him that, he’ll actually want to,” I quip, making Iris laugh.
“He probably would. I bet he regrets getting with Alana. Ugh, men.” She grabs a Chanel lip gloss and twists it open, slicking on the shiny, glittery stuff along her lips and making them sparkle. “Why do they always want what they can’t have?”
