SAVANNAH
"Savvy?" Blake called out as though I was someone else in Savannah's body.
I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly self-conscious in the red dress. "It's Savannah, Blake. Stop calling me Savvy."
He cursed again, running a hand through his dark hair. "What the fuck?"
I rolled my eyes and slumping back into the chair. The fabric of the dress rustled with my movement, feeling foreign against my skin.
The door swung open and Brenda bounced in, her birthday dress sparkling under the lights. She stopped mid-step when she saw me, her eyes widening.
"Oh. My. God." She rushed toward me, grabbing my hands and pulling me to my feet. "Spin around!"
I did a small twirl, feeling ridiculous but oddly powerful at the same time.
"You look incredible!" she squealed, fussing around me like I was a doll she'd just dressed up. "You're gorgeous! Blake, isn't she gorgeous?"
Blake stood frozen by the door, his jaw tense. He didn't answer.
"The makeup is perfect," Brenda continued, either oblivious to or ignoring Blake's silence. "I knew the smoky eye would make your green eyes pop. And that dress—it was made for you! Your curves look amazing!"
"Curves?" I repeated, not quite believing her. All my life, "curves" had been a polite way of saying "fat."
"Yes, curves," she insisted. "You've been hiding all this under those baggy clothes? Criminal!"
She grabbed her phone from the dresser and tossed it at Blake, who caught it reflexively.
"Take pictures!" she commanded. "I need to document this."
"I don't think—" I started to protest, but Brenda had already looped her arm through mine and struck a pose.
"Smile!" she ordered. "This is going to be my new profile pic."
Reluctantly, I smiled, feeling Blake's eyes on me as he raised the phone. The camera clicked once, twice, three times.
"More poses!" Brenda declared, throwing her arm around my shoulders.
We took several more photos—Brenda showing me how to position my body, how to tilt my chin just so, how to smile without looking like I was in pain. It was exhausting, but also... fun. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had fun being photographed.
"Thanks, Blake," Brenda said, finally satisfied with our impromptu photoshoot. She snatched her phone back from him, immediately scrolling through the pictures. "These are perfect!"
Blake hadn't moved from his spot by the door, his eyes still fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin tingle. When I looked up and met his gaze, something flashed across his face, before he ducked his head and stepped back into the hallway.
Brenda watched him go, then turned to me with a knowing smile. "He looks smitten."
I shook my head, the idea so absurd it almost made me laugh. "No."
"No what?"
"Blake will be the last man on earth who would feel something for me."
She stared at me in silence, her perfectly shaped eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
"You're joking, right?" she asked finally.
"I'm not joking," I insisted.
"You have to be," she said, sitting on the edge of her bed. "How exactly do you think I know you, huh?"
I frowned, not following her logic. "What do you mean?"
"Blake talks about nothing when it comes to school but you," she said, her voice matter-of-fact. "He talks about how brilliant and intelligent you are. He talks about how sweet you are. He talks about everything about you."
My heart stuttered in my chest. "That's... that can't be true."
"Why not?"
"Because Blake is my number one bully," I reminded her. "He's made my life miserable for years."
Brenda shrugged, examining her manicured nails. "Perhaps it's because he doesn't know how to accept his feelings for you, so he resorted to bullying you."
"That's ridiculous," I said, though a treacherous flutter of hope stirred in my stomach. "Boys don't pull your pigtails because they like you. That's a toxic myth."
"Usually, I'd agree," Brenda said. "But you don't know Blake like I do. He's... complicated."
I thought about the story she'd told me about his twin brother, about the guilt and pain he carried. Maybe "complicated" was an understatement.
Curiosity got the better of me. "Do you know his ex? The one I saw him with the other day?"
"Megan Sinclair?" Brenda asked, her expression souring. "Unfortunately, yes."
I shrugged. "I didn't know her name. I only know her by face."
"Consider yourself lucky," Brenda said, flopping back on her bed. "She broke up with Blake last year, you know. Out of nowhere. And he loved her so much."
"He did?" I asked, trying to imagine Blake being vulnerable enough to love anyone.
"Totally devastated him," Brenda continued. "That's when he turned into such a player—thinking that would get her attention, make her jealous enough to come back to him. But she never did... until recently."
"I saw them kissing the other day," I admitted, the memory still oddly painful.
Brenda shook her head. "That wasn't a reconciliation. Blake wanted to get his revenge on her. He's fallen out of love with her, I can tell."
"How can you be so sure?" I asked, not wanting to believe her, not wanting to hope.
"Because," she said, sitting up with a smile that was almost predatory, "I know my brother. And I've never seen him look at anyone the way he just looked at you."
A knock interrupted us, followed by Blake's voice through the door. "Brenda, it's time."
Brenda giggled nervously, taking a few deep breaths. "This is it. Party time."
She grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight as we both walked toward the door. When we stepped into the hallway, Blake was still there, leaning against the wall.
He straightened when he saw us, his eyes sweeping over my dress again before quickly looking away. I was about to walk past him with my head held high when he stepped in front of us, blocking our path.
"Savvy..." he started, then caught himself. "Savannah, can we talk?"