Page 7 of Worship

Sitting up on my knees, I grab the tube of cream from her hand. After gently massaging a generous amount into her skin, I cover it with gauze and secure it with tape. “Okay, done.”

Jumping up from the bed, she drops the cigarette butt into an empty can of coke and throws her shirt back on, winking when she catches me watching. “You wouldn’t even know it’s there.”

“I’ll give it a week.” I smile playfully, knowing she will get clumsy with hiding it and inevitably start another war with Mom.

I pick up my small mirror and gaze at my reflection, wondering what I’d look like with a tattoo and if I’d suit it—something little like a bird or a flower. Sighing deeply, I place the mirror down. I’m not edgy like Nicole is. There’s no way I’d ever pull it off.

“Heidi?” She’s by the mirror now, staring at me in the reflection as she fluffs her dyed black hair. “I’m going to a party tonight.”

“Okay, I’ll cover for you.”

“Actually…I’m taking you with me tonight.” My eyebrows rise with surprise.

It’s no secret Nicole lives on the wild side as she has since she turned sixteen. It usually includes parties, dancing all night, and drinking with boys.

Falling through the door drunk every weekend has caused friction between her and Mom, getting worse the older Nicole becomes and when she chooses the wrong paths.

She’s more secretive about her partying lifestyle now, only because I help her to be, covering for her when she needs to spread her wings and fly—as she calls it. As Mom and Dad’s fights worsened, becoming abusive toward each other, Nicole’s been the only one to hold me while I sobbed. Lying to my parents is worth it when it makes my super outgoing sister happy.

She’s never asked me to go to a party with her before, and I don’t understand why she is now. I’ve never been to one. Not even drank. I went to a sleepover at my best friend, Georgie’s, house a few weeks back. We ate pizza and binge-watchedGossip Girl.A far cry from the stories Nicole tells me about the parties with her friends.

“Well? What do you think?”

I shift uncomfortably. “Why?”

“Why not?”

“You’ve never asked me to go before?”

“Well, I’m asking you now. I want you to meet my friends,” she says excitedly. “It’s weird that you are constantly in here reading books all the time.”

“I hang out with Georgie.”

She laughs. “You are aware she won’t be your bestie forever, right? Once she goes off to her fancy college, you won’t hear from her ever again. It’s a fact of life.”

My shoulders sag, the thought saddening me. Georgie and I are inseparable, friends who wear matching bracelets that signify forever. I can’t bear the thought of us never being best friends. “I don’t have anything to wear,” I sigh, a spark of annoyance shooting through my chest at her persistence.

“And you know you have no say in this, right?”

“Mom will find out, and she’ll argue with Dad again.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “They sleep in separate beds, Heidi. You going to a party won’t change shit that’s already broken. If you love me, you’ll say yes.”

I grit my teeth, and she grins because she knows she’s gotten her way. “I hate it when you do that.”

“Say it, or I’ll think you won’t love me,” she demands stubbornly, and I know she won’t back off until I agree.

“Fine…I’ll go.”

“That’s the spirit!” As she goes over to her wardrobe, I flop back on my bed and gaze up at our cracked ceiling, not knowing why she wants me to go so much. I know her friends are older. They won’t want to be around a high schooler. I’ll embarrass myself, and Nicole will end up hating me, getting frustrated by mychildishness. “Aha! What do you think?”

My eyes bulge at the skimpy black number she’s pulled out of her wardrobe. A scrap of material that leaves nothing to the imagination. It’s thin, short, and has rips in inappropriate places, onpurpose. She laughs at my reaction.

“I’m taking that as a no?” I scowl, and she shrugs, eyeing the dress with appreciation. “Your loss, I’ll wear it.” Tossing it on her bed, she goes back to looking. Then she gasps. “This!”

I warily look at the next dress she’s chosen. Although it’s slightly better than the black one, it’s still not something I’d ever dream of wearing. It’s a dark red camisole dress with spaghetti straps and made from some sort of satin material. “It’s…short.”

“Your point?” She throws the dress at me and then a pair of black heels, causing a tightness to form in the pit of my stomach. I don’t see why I can’t wear my jeans and a T-shirt.

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