Page 7 of Death is My BFF

Finally, the pencil stopped, and I tossed it backward over my shoulder. Good thing Marcy was bending down to pick up the cupcake wrapper, or the pencil would have speared her in the head.

“Oh my God!” I shouted.

Marcy jumped up with a shriek, covering her ass with both hands. “What? Is my butt really that bad?”

“No, notthat.” I rubbed at my temples, glancing shamefully at the stack of canvases in the corner of the room. Identical unfinished portraits of violent mismatched eyes and various paintings of the same willow tree.

Standing up, I tossed my paint-splattered apron over my most recent creation and spun the easel around, nearly knocking it over.

Marcy touched my shoulder. “You good?”

“Slap me,” I demanded, grabbing Marcy’s manicured hand.

“Don’t hold back. Slap me as hard as you can.”

Marcy shrank back. “I’m not going to slap you!”

“Slap me, dang it, I’m losing it!”

“Oh, I agree,” Marcy said, crossing her arms. “Whose eyes are those? This is the third time I’ve watched you paint them.” A sly smirk lined her glossy lips as her concern melted away. “Faith Williams, is there a newmanyou haven’t told me about?”

There was no possible way I could tell her the truth without sounding like a lunatic. Heck, I couldn’t logically explain it myself.

“No, no, it’s . . . a character I created. I’m sorry, I’m acting like a total weirdo. I’ve been so stressed out lately.”To put it mildly.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nah, it’s no big deal.” I shook my head. “I should start getting ready.”

What I loved most about Marcy was she knew when not to press. As I started to clean up my paints, she took another peek at the painting from under the apron. I caught sight of those eyes again, and an unnerving sensation inched its way down my spine. I hurried to the bathroom to splash water on my face and clear my head.

“Whoever you keep trying to paint, he’s looking pretty sexy,”

Marcy called from the bedroom. I turned the water on low enough to hear her appraisal. “I love his stare. It repels, yet allures.”

“Repels, yet allures? You okay out there, Jane Austen?”

“Jane who? And those man-lashes are killer. Yep, those eyes could definitely do some damage. He’s going to rip out your soul.”

I shut the water off. Heart racing, I poked my head back into the room. “What did you say?”

Marcy turned over her shoulder with a curling iron in her hair.

“I said those eyes could do some damage. You sure you’re okay?”

I questioned my sanity for the umpteenth time that day. “I’m fine.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go to this costume party after all, Faith.”

The black lace dress on my bed sat there taunting me. I picked it up, holding it against my body as I stood in front of the full-length mirror. My inner introvert wanted nothing more than to stay home tonight, but this was my senior year, and my birthday. I didn’t want to graduate an antisocial loser.

“I need to go out and get my mind off things,” I decided.

Marcy observed me like a science experiment.

“Pretty sure something’s going on with you,” she said. “I won’t ask, eventually you’ll spill the jelly beans.” She applied a finishing touch to her mascara in front of my vanity. “What’s with Hottie’s different-colored eyes? One eye’s an electric lime color and the other is a forest-y green. It’s some sort of genetic thing, right? Oh, we learned about it in that class!” She started snapping as if it would help her recall. “You know the class where I copied your answers on the quizzes?”

“That’s every class we’ve taken together, Marcy.”

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