Page 9 of Mace

My sister might hate me, but the chorus of greetings I get as I rush to my locker tells me that sentiment isn’t universal.

I may not have friends here—other than Bella—but I am liked.

“Is Sam in yet?” I throw the question out, not caring who answers it as I undo the padlock.

“He’s in the office,” Candy says, watching me in the mirror she’s sitting in front of.

Her makeup tonight is amazing. Neon pink sweeps across both eyelids, and I wish I would look that good with it on. Most of the time, I swear I look like a half-drunk panda.

“Thank you.” I have time to get out on the floor before he notices I’m late.

I drag open my locker and shove my bag inside, grateful I have my uniform on under my jeans and sweater. I strip out of my clothes, tugging the hot pants out of my bum crack, and try to make my small boobs look better in the clingy tank top. The more cleavage, the better the tips, but I was not blessed by the titty gods.

Despite my hangups about my body and appearance, Sam tries at least once a week to convince me to get on stage and dance like the other girls, so I guess I can’t be that much of a troll. What’s worse is I’ve considered it more times than I can count. Money is so tight right now, I could really do with the tips these girls make on that stage, but I’m too nervous to take my clothes off in front of people. And I can’t dance. I have zero rhythm, something Sam waves off every time I tell him. I know he only wantsme on stage because I have an innocent, good girl vibe about me that he thinks his customers will lap up.

Maybe I should do it. It’s only showing my boobs.

I stuff my clothes into the locker before opening my phone in case Ivy or Toby have tried to call or message since I left. I won’t be able to check again until my break in four hours’ time, and being out of contact for that long freaks me out, particularly with things the way they are. They can call Sam, and they know that, but he’s not always in his office.

There are no notifications. Not even a message from my phone carrier.

Way to be a loser, Maylie.

It’s hardly surprising though. Although these ladies are nice to me, it’s not like we’re going out every weekend to bond over coffee and cake. Everyone works as much as they can, including me.

After I quickly touch up my makeup, I slip my feet into my ankle boots, wobbling for a second on the stiletto heels as I wiggle them into place. There’s a delicate silver chain that wraps around the front and back of the boot that I love. It catches the stage lights as I walk, twinkling.

I grab my brush and tie my dark brown hair up before pulling my wig out. It’s bubble gum pink with blue and green streaks through underneath, and weirdly, it gets me better tips than my natural colour.

With practiced ease, I secure it into place, making sure it doesn’t fall off the minute I bend over. Most of the girls wear wigs so they can match their hair to their costumes and because it saves time. It was Stella who suggested I should try one too, even though I don’t dance. It started out as a joke, but as soon as I put it on, I felt empowered.

With that wig, I’m no longer Maylie Fernsby, the girl with a dead mum and two siblings she’s struggling to raise. I’m someone else—someone who isn’t worrying about paying the bills or what trouble my little sister is getting into. For the few hours I’m here, I feel free to be twenty-two and…normal, which is weird to say considering where I am.

“You look hot tonight,” Star says, her fingers trailing over my hip as she passes me.

“So do you.” I slam my locker door, securing it as I turn to her. “I didn’t think your boobs could look any better, but that bra really brings out their perkiness.”

She shakes her head at me. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Maylie.”

I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not, but I take it as one. “Thanks,” I say, heading for the door, “and your boobs really do look good. I have major boob envy.”

When I get out onto the main floor, Bella is already behind the bar, stocking the fridge. Her hair is curled in loose beachy waves that I would die to emulate, but my thin strands just won’t hold a curl.

“You’re cutting it close,” she says as I grab the ice bucket and move to the freezer to fill it.

“Close isn’t late,” I reply, a little too smug.

Bella straightens from her crouch to grab another box of beer bottles, giving me a look that says she’s over my shit. It’s true friendship that she doesn’t call me on it, though.

“It’s gonna be busy tonight,” she warns.

“Good. Busy equals more tips.” And fuck knows I need them.

Rent, food, electric… there’s a list as long as Bella’s legs ofthings I need to pay at the end of the week, and I only have money to cover about a quarter of it. I’m hoping I can make the rest up tonight.

I glance up as Steve wanders over. He manages all the bouncers and security at Temptation, and unlike Archie, he doesn’t like my brownies. I don’t think Steve likes anything other than fighting and Bella.

In truth, he scares me a little. The man is hard as nails. I’ve seen him fight six guys and take all of them down without breaking a sweat. Granted, that’s easier when the group you’re against is half-cut and ten sheets to the wind, but still. I was impressed, and clearly, so was Sam because he gave him a promotion the next day.

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