Page 6 of Deadly Night
Syd is my opposite. She never uses proper spelling or punctuation. The brand of chaos she brings into my life would send most running for the hills, but I adore her fire. She has more passion for life than most hold in their pinky finger.
I’d be lost without her. Lonelier than I already am.
From the house next door, I can hear the shouts of my neighbors as they wrestle with dragging the box of their latest addition to their inflatable collection from the back of their truck.
Heavy, fat flakes of snow stick to my bedroom window as I watch the scene unfold. Rob wants to put the giant reindeer at the end of their driveway, while Paula thinks it should go in front of the porch.
I wonder if I’ll ever fall in love or am I destined to be alone. My neighbors bicker all the time, but they always make up quickly. Rob kisses Paula and then smashes a snowball into the side of her head. She shrieks, and they start hurling snowballs at one another before he tackles her.
I look away, not wanting to intrude on their moment any longer than I have.
I smile to myself and mosey into my bathroom and gather my dark hair into a messy but functional bun.
I can’t believe I allowed Sydney to talk me into going through with this. I give up on taming my flyaway strands and head back down the stairs to greet her as she barrels through my front door and goes sailing across the floor of the entryway on the welcome mat with the grace of a professional ice skater.
“Hadley!” she screeches my name with excitement as the rug catches on the carpet of the living room and her performance comes to a halt.
“Hey Syd.” Nervousness flutters in my lower belly like the wings of moths flapping around the attic. I shouldn’t have skipped breakfast. I think I’m going to be sick. This whole thing is stupid. I’m nauseous thinking about this whole thing.
“Look what I have.” She slides her oversized purse off her shoulder. She walks around with half of her apartment in that thing. I’m certain of it. After rummaging around the bag, she pulls out a slip of green velvet fabric that looks like it’d fit a small child or maybe a large dog. “Isn’t it fabulous?” Her blue eyes sparkle with pure delight as she thrust the soft material into my arms.
“What is it?”
“Your costume, goober. Hurry up. Try it on.”
“I haven’t even started on my makeup yet.” I give her a lame excuse trying to stall. It’s not too late to back out of this foolish scheme. I hold up the dress, attempting to stretch the material past its limits. “Are you sure this is the right size?” I look for a tag, but there’s not one. Not that I can find, anyway.
“We don’t have time for this. The bazaar starts in like ten minutes. You know those feral crotch goblins will be all sugar crazed and foaming at the mouth for their chance to tell Santa what they expect under their tree. Leave your makeup to me.”
I grumble under my breath, stomping back up the staircase. I never dress sexy. Not even since I dropped fifty pounds. I’ve always hidden my body behind oversized hoodies. Ever since sixth grade, when all the boys would make lewd comments about the size of my bra. I’m naturally big-chested. Always have been. Dieting and working out did nothing to change my cup size. I’m still a double D.
I shimmy into my nude tights and attempt to stuff myself into the green velvet, feeling like a pig in a blanket. My boobs are practically spilling out of the heart-shaped bust.
“I almost forgot.” She grins. “There’s a skirt.”
I roll my eyes at her and snatch the remaining piece of my outfit, but the skirt isn’t doing me any favors.
“This doesn’t look appropriate.” I study my reflection in my full-length antique mirror. One of the only pieces belonging to my Meemaw that I kept. The skirt is short and rigid, sticking out from my hips like an umbrella flipped inside out in a windstorm.
My bestie argues, stepping toward me holding my makeup bag in what some might perceive to be in a threatening manner with the way she’s waving my tube of mascara around like a weapon. Sydney doesn’t understand what it’s like for me. She’s always been tall, skinny, and blond. Opposite of me, who is thick, short, and dark-haired. “It’s meant to be tight. Do you want to catch Nick’s eye or not?”
I do. I’m just not sure this is the way I want to do it, but I told myself I’d start taking more chances. Ever since that horrid experience with Scotty, I’ve not bothered to date. Not that anyone has been knocking down my door to ask me out. Sure, I have my text buddy, but they’ve never made themselves known to me. I know what people think. They believe that I know what happened to Scotty, or that I was part of it. “I can’t believe I let you convince me to do this.” I feel silly.
Sydney swipes a finger through my blush, testing the color against her inner wrist. “Because I’m persuasive. And you know this may be your only shot at catching Nick’s attention before he goes off and gets engaged to some fancy pants rich girl like Gretchen Sanderson.”
I scrunch my nose up at the mention of her. “She’s not his type.” I lie more for my benefit than hers. Nick dated Gretchen in high school. She allegedly cheated on him while she was onsummer vacation, and they broke up shortly after. That was years ago.
He’s dated other people since then. Not me, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t go for me.
“She’s rich, and money attracts money.”
I frown, worrying my bottom lip with my teeth. I definitely don’t come from money. Gretchen has always been an ‘it girl.’ I can’t compete with her.
The more I think about going through with this ridiculous idea, the more I want to say forget it. Nothing about this dress and using my curves to get the attention of a man sits right with me. But I have to know if he’s the one who has been sending me the text messages from an unknown number.
I think about the text messages. Whoever is sending them knows how to get my attention. If it is Nick, I’ll know, won’t I? Surely he won’t be able to resist dropping a hint or something.
I mean, that’s what got me into this mess. The last time I bumped into him at the post office, we shared a look. He winked when he saw my stack of book mail. But what if he had something in his eye and I misread the whole situation?
