Page 34 of You're so Bad

“Knock, knock,” someone says. I glance over at the open doorway and reflexively smile. It’s Delia. She’s wearing an emerald-green dress, and her long red-gold hair is loose around her shoulders.

Mira’s with her, and the well-hidden circles under her eyes suggest the situation with Byron is still a bummer. I catch her eyeing my coffee and draw it closer to my chest. “This coffee is mine, and I will kill without remorse to protect it.”

She laughs good-naturedly. “I’m not a morning person, or even an early afternoon person, but Delia and I agreed we couldn’t let you go to the pompom party like this.”

“Like what?” I ask, although of course I know what she means. My roots aren’t any better than they were a week ago, and I can’t remember the last time I bothered to put on makeup. The zit has decided it likes me and would enjoy hanging around.

Mira shrugs. “Like shit. We discussed this the other day.”

“She doesn’t mean that,” Delia insists.

Her sister smirks at her. “I really do.”

“I can tell she does,” I agree. I find Mira’s honesty refreshing, actually. It’s nice to be around people who actually say what they mean.

Ignoring us, Delia says, “We just want you to go there feeling confident, like you can take on the world, because youcan. We’re here to build you up.”

“And give you a makeover.”

Mira makes a grab for my coffee. I thwack her hand, then remember she’s here to help me. Sighing, I say, “There’s a coffee machine in the staff lounge to the left of me.” I wave toward the display cases that I finally finished arranging. “Feel free to pick a mug. You can keep it if you can figure out how to cover up this zit without making me look like I have a lesion on my face.”

“Sweet,” she says. “You’re on.”

“Don’t worry,” Delia says reassuringly. “You’re going to look fantastic tonight. We’ll take care of everything.”

Her offer gives me a shocking sense of relief. When was the last time I let someone else take care of everything?

When was the last time I let someone else take care ofanything?

ChapterEleven

Shauna

Text conversation with Leonard:

Can you grab some Fruit Loops and bring them over when you pick me up?

I’ll pay you back. Buy generic.

Are you high?

Not yet. I’m more of a nighttime smoker, but if you feel like some 420, just say the word. ;-)

Fine.

Fine, you want to smoke with me?

I’ll get you the Fruit Loops, douchebag.

Ibring the Fruit Loops to the door of the little purple house, feeling a prickle of interest. I know this isn’t Leonard’s house, just a place he’s been living, but I’m curious abouthowhe’s been living.

Is it a pigsty, full of open pizza boxes and flies drunk on possibility?

The house is tidy on the outside, freshly painted and with windows that look like they haven’t been waging a losing battle against the elements for forty years like the ones in my grandmother’s house.

I knock on the door. Leonard tugs it open, and I almost drop the cereal. He’s wearing a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show just a few of his tattoos—the dog, the scar, and the funny fungi are hidden away. The pot leaf too, thankfully. His hair is still a little too long for him to pull off the doctor look, but I’m glad for it. He’s wearing a pair of khakis—khakis!—and dress shoes.

Dr. Leonard, indeed.

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