Page 8 of Death is My BFF

“Have I mentioned how beautiful, talented, and intelligent you are?” She reached out to me with her mascara wand. “Love me?”

I forced a laugh the best I could. Thinking about those eyes took away my sense of humor.

“The condition is called complete heterochromia,” I said, drifting off again. “The mismatched-eyes thing. Sometimes it’s genetic, sometimes it’s caused by injury. It’s very rare.” I distanced myself from the canvases and moved in front of the vanity.

“Ah, right. We learned that in bone class with Mr. Garcia. The sexiest teacher in school.” Her hazel eyes went dreamy.

Smiling, I brushed out my long, straight jet-black hair, and then whipped out my makeup bag to do my eye shadow. On my bed behind me, the black lace dress mocked me. Jeans and a T-shirt with a few costume accessories seemed fine to wear to the party. Who the hell did I need to impress?

“Anatomy,” I said, zipping up my makeup bag. “The class is called anatomy. Maybe if you paid attention in school, you’d at least get the names of the courses right.”

Marcy shot me a look. “Cranky much? It’s hard to focus on anything in class when I’m busy staring atGarcia’sanatomy. You should try it sometime, instead of reading ahead of the homework every week like a chronic dweeb.”

“Remind me not to let you copy my answers ever again.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault insults are our second most fluent language.”

I snapped my fingers and pointed them at her with finger guns.

“Right below sarcasm.”

“Trueee,” Marcy said. “Rumor has it there might be a hot shot celebrity at Thomas’s house, so we should probably get going soon.

Parking could get annoying.”

A celebrity in Pleasant Valley meant the whole town probably knew about it already. Thomas’s dad knew a ton of A-list celebrities, so it didn’t come as too much of a shock. “Who’s the celebrity?” I asked.

“No clue,” Marcy said. “All I heard is he’s around our age and taking a gap year before college.”

Driving into the rich part of town with my beat-up car was bad enough; now there was a mystery celebrity making an appearance, likely in a fancy limo to further humiliate my ride.

Picking up the skimpy black lace dress, I huffed out an annoyed breath. I looked down at my typical everyday outfit of ripped black skinny jeans and a band T-shirt and compared it to Marcy’s costume.

She wore an electric pink dress with long bell-shaped sleeves and high-knee white leather boots. The bright material of the dress clung to her lean, powerful volleyball player frame, and her push-up bra accentuated her cleavage. Marcy lived on the divide between the elite and the aver-age family households of Pleasant Valley, but since her grandfather was filthy rich, she got an invite to parties with lower-listed celebrities all the time. But anA-lister? This was all totally out of my comfort zone.

“What’s wrong with what I have on again?” I asked.

“Nothing’s wrong with what you have on. You’re beautiful. To me. Your best friend. Who’s a girl. Guys are a species driven by visuals. If you don’t show enough skin, you’re practically invisible.”

Marcy crossed the room, faux leather squeaking with each stride as she disappeared into my closet. “Your legs are one of your best assets, and they need to beunleashed!” She threw a pair of heels at me that I had forgotten I’d bought. “Also, I say this constructively.

Tone it down with the gothic makeup tonight. Makes you look mean.”

Marcy had long balayage brown hair and a beautiful caramel skin tone. Compared to her sun goddess perfection, I was a cave-dwelling vampire. I didn’t consider myself “gothic,” but my wardrobe was basically all black, and I did have a pale complexion. My recent obsession with dark lipsticks, smoky eyes, and occult symbols didn’t help diffuse any goth labels at school.

“I’m dressing up as an evil witch,” I said. “I’m supposed to look mean.”

Marcy sighed. “Fine. Live the rest of your life with twenty cats, just like old lady Kravitz next door!”

I reached over and flicked her arm. “Hey! Ms. Kravitz is a sweetheart! Those cats were all strays!”

Marcy cackled. “The truth hurts.”

Seething, I dug through my makeup bag for my eyeliner. “I’m not changing who I am because you’re convinced it’ll get me a hookup. You know I hate this ‘dress up for a guy’ stuff.”

“It’s a Halloween party, Faith,” Marcy deadpanned. “Everyone is someone else tonight.”

“You know what I mean. If a guy is into me strictly because of my legs, boobs, or butt, then he’s not the guy for me. What happened to chivalry anyway?”

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