Betty
I stood under the spray until the tears stopped mixing with the water and the shame stopped clinging to my skin like the last few days had tattooed it there. I scrubbed until I felt raw, until I remembered what it was like to feel… clean.
By the time I stepped out, Kate had turned my entire room into a pop-up salon. Brushes, palettes, serums I couldn’t pronounce, half her closet, and a speaker blaring Lizzo like we were legally required to love ourselves.
She looked up and grinned. “Welcome back, bitch.”
I blinked at her. “I’m not sure I ever showed up.”
Kate tossed me a towel and waved toward the chair she dragged to the center of the room. “Then sit. We’re doing a full resurrection.”
Her hands moved with a kind of fierce joy, sectioning my hair with clips and confidence. “Soft waves. Romantic but not desperate. We want, ‘I didn’t try that hard,’ even though I absolutely did.”
I let her curl and tug and spritz until I didn’t recognize the scent in the air or the girl in the mirror. My hair looked shiny. Like, actually shiny. My face framed. Seen.
“You’ve got model cheekbones,” she muttered while dabbing on blush. “Who knew?”
“Definitely not me.”
She paused. “Betty, I know I’ve been… a dick. But today, you’re going to see what the rest of us see.”
I looked down, throat tight.
Then came makeup—foundation that didn’t look like foundation, eyeshadow that made my brown eyes pop like cinnamon fire, and a lipstick the exact shade of courage.
When she finished, she stepped back and tilted her head. “Okay. Now for clothes. But I’m guessing your closet’s not gonna cut it.”
She swung open the doors, scanned my drawers, then shut them with a dramatic sigh. “Girl, we’re raiding Stacy’s stash.”
“What?! She’ll murder us.”
“Please. She’s off at pilates or Pilates-adjacent. And I’ve borrowed her stuff before. She owes me.”
Ten minutes later, we were in Stacy’s room—a wonderland of metallic hangers, cashmere tops, and heels that screamed betrayal. Kate went straight for a burgundy fit-and-flare dress with a square neckline and sleeves that hugged like they had loyalty.
“This one,” she declared. “This screams: ‘I’ve been through hell, and now I’m hot.’”
I changed behind her dressing screen while Kate fluffed my hair and layered gold hoops into my ears. I slipped the dress on. It fit like it had been waiting for me. I stood in front of the mirror, heart thudding.
The girl looking back had my face. But different.
She looked… real. Powerful. Still me, but like I finally let myself be seen.
Kate stepped beside me, quiet for once. “You were always her. You just stopped believing it.”
My throat tightened. I nodded, unsure what to say. My reflection was still blinking back tears when I whispered, “Why are you doing this?”
Kate leaned against the vanity. “Because I’ve been on the wrong side for too long. I laughed at you. I let Stacey humiliate people and called it loyalty.”
She took a shaky breath. “I knew Marcus had history with her—some hookup months ago. And I let her use that to poison everything. I saw the way she planned it. She worked with Vel to take Marcus’s phone. It was all on purpose.”
My fingers curled into the edge of the vanity. “She… what?”
“She wanted to ruin you. And when she saw you kissing Marcus, she snapped. She said—and I quote—‘That little pig doesn’t know what’s coming.’”
My stomach turned.
Kate stepped closer, voice steady. “She thinks she’s invincible. But you? You’re the one everyone’s rooting for now. The comments, the DMs… people are seeing you, Betty. Like, really seeing you.”
I looked back at the mirror. For once, I didn’t flinch.
Kate grinned. “Let’s go make the hallway our catwalk.”
I laughed. Like, really laughed.
For the next hour, we turned Stacy’s hallway into a runway. Kate made me strut, correct my slouch, spin like I’d just accepted a crown. I tripped over the heels twice. We both collapsed in giggles on the floor once. But with every pass, I stood taller.
I felt something I hadn’t felt in days.
Hope.
She handed me her phone. “Just wait till Marcus sees you.”
That name hit harder than I wanted.
I looked at myself once more. Not to check the makeup. But to ask the mirror something deeper.
And for the first time, I didn’t hear shame echo back.
I heard, “Maybe.”