Page 53 of Nobody in Particular

But, I remind myself, that was an entirely different school. At Bramppath, the people who know I exist are decent, and for everyone else, I don’t even register on their radar. I’m nobody to them, for better or worse.

I just have to trust that becoming aware of my existence won’t be enough to put a target on my back. That just knowing me isn’t a good reason to hate me.

Maybe that sort of trust is something that only comes with time, though. Time, and proof. And the only way to get proof is to do something scary like this, and have it be fine.

It’s going to be fine.

TWENTY-TWODANNI

The next morning, I wake up after four hours’ sleep, ready to face this piano challenge head-on, and discover a huge magenta hickey on my neck.

I take a photo of it and send it to Rose, alongside the message:

Good morning. I fucking hate you.

I try to put concealer on it, but it isextremelyobvious, no matter how many layers I put on. I ignore Rose’s texts of apology—no time—while I wipe it off and try again. Then, way too soon, Molly’s knocking on the door to grab me for breakfast.

“Hey, I overslept,” I call out. “I’ll see you in there, okay?”

“Oh,” she says from the other side of the door, probably wondering why I’m not opening it. Unfortunately, I’m too tired to come up with any convincing explanation. “Do you need help?” she asks after a second.

“Nope! I’ll be there in a sec. Save me a seat.”

In the end, I pull up a video tutorial on applying concealer. It’s better, but still pretty obvious. And then I realize it’s too late now either way. I can’t walk into breakfast without getting a chorus ofstamping feet, and today of all days, I’d rather go hungry than let that happen.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. I’ve never skipped breakfast before, so my first thought is that they’ve sent someone to check on me, to make sure I’m not lying in bed unable to walk or something. I pull my collar up so it’s covering my neck—something I wouldn’t be allowed to do in class, but passes okay in my own room, I’m pretty sure—and I answer the door, only to find Rose on the other side.

“I figured you needed backup when you weren’t in the breakfast line,” she explains. In her hands, she’s got a small pot of something, and a brush. “I own stage makeup. This should do it.”

What she owns is a miracle cream, actually. She sits me in my desk chair, and in less than a minute, she takes me from looking like I had a run-in with a toothless vampire to seeming like I have a very mild breakout on my neck at worst. And that’s only if you’re searching for it, I think.

“Sorry you had to miss breakfast,” I say while she works.

“I think,” she says mildly, “we can safely agree the blame rests with me in this instance.”

When she’s happy with her handiwork, she gives a nod, then darts forward to quickly kiss the other side of my neck. “Rose,” I laugh, curling my head toward my shoulder. “I don’t needtwoof them.”

“Sorry. It’s impossible to spend that much time touching your neck without kissing it,” she says, not looking sorry in the least. “I’m not that strong.”

“You can kiss me.” I smile. “Just leave my neck out of it.”

I don’t have to ask her twice.

“You look like shit,” Molly greets me cheerfully as she meets me outside the classroom half an hour later. Rose is gone—she decided to go back to her room and come to class later, so we don’t look suspicious. “Did you even brush your hair this morning?”

I did. But not after Rose came by—we kind of lost track of time.My cheeks burn as I furiously flatten my hair with the palms of my hands. Meanwhile, Molly pulls out a banana. “This was the best I could do,” she says. “I tried to bring you toast but they made me eat it before I left the dining hall.”

I take it gratefully. “Thank you. Actually, I have another favor to ask.”

“Anotherone? After Ijustsmuggled you a banana?” We shuffle down the hall a little so we can keep talking. Once you’re inside the classroom, you’re expected to stand silently behind your desk, but hallways are a lawless no-man’s-land.

“I know, I’m pushing my luck,” I joke. I pull up the video Rose sent me last night and forward it to Molly. “So, it’s kind of weird, but I was wondering if you could… post this. I know it’s not exactly on brand or whatever, but—”

“Sure,” Molly says. “Of course.”

She lifts her phone to her ear to listen. Behind her, Rose and Eleanor walk into the classroom. Rose catches my eye and holds it for a second too long, and my stomach swoops so violently I almost forget how to breathe.

“It’s just, I have a new goal,” I say, forcing my attention back to Molly, “to get comfortable with being perceived.”

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