Page 30 of Burn for Me

Everything she’s saying starts to jumble; it’s too damn early. I press my fingers to my temples, trying to push away the creeping thoughts of everything that can go wrong.

“You will have everything from debuggers and hidden earpieces to some other cool stuff. I know we already went over a lot of this, but…” I groan and throw my head back onto the pillow, using the one beside me to cover my face. I just need her to quiet down for a moment.

The bed jolts with her weight as she jumps on it. “I mean, look at this! It's chapstick, right?”

I lift the pillow just enough to see Sharkie holding a Nars tube high in the air.

“Lipstick,” I correct her.

“Whatever, just look.” She opens the tube; just like I said, it’s lipstick. I nearly scream when she rolls it up and grips a thin white plastic piece at the bottom to remove the beautiful maroon shade. “It’s a hidden USB! You can easily pop the color back on and conceal it. The lip gloss is real, too, so you can use it!”

“Lip-stick,” I say slowly again. She should understand the stress and worry of being in my position, along with the anger that simmers beneath the surface when a solution seems out of reach. I throw my covers off and grab my clothes in my duffel bag. Of course,sheknows. She just doesn’t know thatIknow.

“At least it’s not a tampon,” she says.

I’m about to laugh at her comment, but my heart races when I can’t find my note bag. I grip my duffle and toss it around, hoping it will magically appear, but it’s gone.

My notebooks. All my writing…

“Don’t worry about your backpack; it’s already on the jet, which is fancy!”

A breath of relief escapes me, easing the tension in my chest.

I can't keep doing this. I hate having secrets, especially when they're so close to people I care about, but I can't tell anyone either. Oh God, I think I'm going to be sick. I glance at Cordelia with a raised brow, hoping she’ll leave so I can have a mental breakdown alone.

She mimics my gesture but doesn’t move, so I turn my back to her.

“So,” she drags the word out, but for once, her voice isn’t confident; it almost sounds like she’s scared to speak. “Last night… Moe barged into our room–again–and said something surprising.”

I strip off my shirt, and she throws a soft white sundress over my shoulder. I know she’s hesitating because she doesn’t have the best track record with friendships. But I’m not like her past friends. There’s that sick feeling stirring inside me again.I guess I kind of am.

Stepping into the fabric, I pull the thin straps over my shoulders, not bothering to look in the mirror.

“He saw Sam, didn’t he?” I ask, reaching my arms behind my back to try to zip up the dress.

“It’s not the first time. Seriously, girl, what the hell is so tense between you two? What happened? Is it rude for me to ask for details?” I laugh as she steps behind me and pulls up the zipper.

“He kissed me—wait, what do you mean it’s not the first time?!” My anger flares, overshadowing the butterflies thatunintentionally fluttered in my abdomen when I mentioned our kiss.

The room goes completely silent, prompting me to pick up my bag, close it, and turn toward her. The genuine smile stretching across her face isn’t what I expected, and it’s unsettling.

“You look like you’re going to bite me with all those teeth.” I deadpan as I grab my brush, trying to focus on pulling it through my hair.

“Don’t put your hair in a bun; it’ll pull out your social skills.” she teases back, and suddenly, my chest feels lighter, even though I can tell she’s covering for Sam.

“How was it?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows. I turn toward the mirror, hoping she doesn’t notice the blush creeping into my cheeks.

“It was…” My brows furrow as the image of his pained expression crosses my mind. I shrug and brush through my hair again, concentrating on the motion rather than my face. “He looked in pain, so obviously it wasn’tthatgood, but I think I can work with it.”

After ensuring everything is in order and that my appearance is presentable, I move towards the door but freeze when Sharkie blocks my path with a hard stare and a furrowed brow as she studies me.

What? Did I smear my lipstick? Do I have sleep lines? Does she know there’s more to it, so she’s preparing to interrogate me?

“Your lip has a cut,” she says, stepping closer and poking a finger into my chest, interrupting my internal freakout.

“And you always have hickeys.” I retort, prompting her to laugh. It’s like a breath of fresh air with her; in a twisted way, her crazy tendencies balance out my proper ones. Knowing her secrets are out without any issues eases my mind about how mine might affect my future.

She gives one of her famous cocky grins and opens the door to my room.

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