Page 17

“No. Twirl.”

I shake my head. “I’m not twirling.” She’s out of her fucking mind.

She pops the ruler against her hand.

“Are you seriously going to hit me because I won’t twirl for you?”

“There are places worse than your palm. Do you want to find out?”

Jesus Christ. I turn once. “There.”

“That wasn’t a twirl.”

“It was three hundred and sixty degrees. You got the full fucking outfit.”

“Again.”

I make the next turn deliberately ridiculous, arms out, one foot kicking behind me. The skirt flares.

Heather’s whole face lights up. “Oh, look at you.”

Her pleased tone freezes me.

She reaches down and flicks one of the pleats back into place. “I knew this would be perfect.”

“It’s a skirt.”

“It’s not just a skirt on you.”

I don’t know why my whole body leans into that. Probably whatever she put in my food. Definitely whatever she put in my food.

“Sit.” She points to the vanity chair.

I sit. Apparently I’m learning.

Heather comes up behind me and gathers my hair away from my face.

I watch her in the mirror. “What now?”

“Your makeup.”

Heather picks up a makeup wipe and starts cleaning what’s left of yesterday’s eyeliner from beneath my eyes.

Her touch is annoyingly careful. She tips my chin toward the light. “You have beautiful cheekbones.”

I look at her in the mirror.

She runs her thumb just beneath one. “Especially here.”

Nobody has ever said that about my face before.

She reaches for a brush. “And your eyebrows are almost perfect.”

“Almost?”

“One grows a little higher than the other. I like it. It adds character.”

Oh.