Page 30 of Insincerely Yours
As always, she looks perfect, with sleek chestnut hair, a bright sun dress, and a smile as fake as her boobs.
What pissed me off more than anything since leaving town has been the fact that I haven’t been able to completely escape her. Though she isn’t the “Queen of the Catwalk” everybody believed she would be, her parents’ connections have still nabbed her modeling gigs with numerous designers, which means there’s a one-in-ten chance I’ll find her face plastered somewhere between the pages when I flip through one of Maggie’s fashion magazines or when I’m scrolling through social media.
Sienna barely spares me a glance, her gaze training up the stairs, through the foyer, and into the living and dining room, searching for…something. She looks up at Jase, clearly confused, but his eyes remain fixed on me, that shit-eating grin never ceasing. Sienna does a double take between the two of us, and at long last, she gets it.
An indecent sound escapes her lips, somewhere between a scoff and a guffaw, apparently waiting for the punchline…
But it never comes.
My grip tightens on the banister, threatening to splinter the wood.
Given everyone’s response to me last night, Ihadbeen hoping that no one would recognize me. Yes, I’d do everything in my power to avoid running into the Untouchables at all costs, but on the rare occasion I couldn’t, none of them would spare me a second glance. I would just be another face at another event. I wouldnotbe Birdie.
But thanks to the jackass looking as pleased as Punch down in the foyer, my plans have officially been shot to hell.
Sienna’s smile collapses as she takes me in, and with the way her jaw tightens, I suspect she doesn’t like what she sees. Between my workout and run-in with Wes, I imagine my hair is in disarray. Honestly, if I feel around in my ponytail, I wouldn’t be surprised to find a leaf or some grass blades. But that’s not what Sienna’s focused on.
No, her laser vision is scoping my body. And since I’m wearing nothing but leggings and a sports bra, my curves are on full display. Because, yes, Ihavecurves. I may not be voluptuous like Maggie, but I’m not the gangly, skin-and-bones girl Sienna remembers. I have hips, a respectable B-cup, and a semi-respectable ass.
Let the visual dagger-throwing commence.
I kid you not.
Sienna’s glaring at me like she wants to rip the hair right out of my scalp, and I’m returning the look, only it’s directed at Jase, who’s still grinning like the Devil.
Our Mexican standoff is cut short by the grace of my stepmom as she enters the foyer, wholly oblivious to what’s taking place. She, too, frowns at my appearance, but thankfully for a different reason. “Ali, can you shower and change? Dinner’s going to be ready in forty-five minutes.”
The “we have company” is implicit, only making the urge to vomit stronger as I head up the stairs.
Shutting the door behind me,I sink onto the floor beside my mattress, needing nothing more right now than the sanctity of my own space…
But as my eyes fall over the room, I find nothing of the sort.
Considering all the parties and dinners my parents host, I never know who will come over to the house. And since I didn’t want any of my stuff messed with, stolen, or outright thrown in the garbage while I was away at college, I wanted to put a lock on my bedroom door before I left last fall. That didn’t make for “good optics” in the eyes of visitors, though, according to my stepmom.“It makes it look like we have something to hide.”So, as expected, my proposal was quickly shot down. With no other choice, I packed anything I cared about into boxes and moved it all into the basement behind my mom’s belongings for safekeeping.
Consequently, my bedroom was left impressively bare, forcing Blythe to fill in the gaps as best as possible. I even stripped my mattress of its bedding, loving my comforter’s black and gold print too much to risk its exposure. Quotes from Shakespeare to Alexander Dumas were written in elegant gold calligraphy on a midnight black backdrop, with the colorsinverted on the other side. Now, everything’s varying shades of gray or white. The mirror, the bedside tables, the ribbon-blend bedding, the lamps, even the coasters. It’s not that it’s ugly or anything. It’s just…
Utterly devoid of character.
It has the neutral, nondescript appeal you find in hotels or guest bedrooms.
And that’s precisely how I feel.
My bedroom had once been my sanctuary, where I could go to shut out the world. Now, I’m a glorified guest, left to serve out a three-month sentence until I can return to college.
It’s weird. I feel more at home on a campus filled with thousands of people I’ve never even met than I do in Ravenswood…or my own house.
I reach behind the assortment of throw pillows to pull out the stuffed animal I’d been careful to hide and hug it to my chest.
When I was little, my mom took me to the zoo instead of school, where we fed the animals, ate our weight in caramel popcorn and apple slices, and learned everything there was to know about each exhibit. Despite seeing the giraffes, elephants, dolphins, and lions, I had one particular favorite. On our way out, we passed the gift shop, and Mom popped in, only to return with a plush penguin designed specifically after the exhibit’s lead.
I had hugged and cuddled and used Hubert as a makeshift pillow so much that Mom had to do some surgery on him, refilling the stuffing to fix the hollowed belly I’d inadvertently given him. And to make sure I didn’t wear him out, Mom had found me more. Over the next two years, she’d surprise me with a new “buddy” for my collection if she came across a penguin she deemed cute enough. Some were plain, while others sported various outfits. You name it: sunglasses, vests, scarves, a Santa hat, holiday sweaters, bowties.The works.
And after she was gone, Derek continued the tradition.
By the time I was fifteen, the dresser that still takes up the entire length of the far wall had been filled with so many plush penguins you couldn’t even see the furniture’s surface. Now, it holds only a few bland knickknacks and a vase of artificial lilacs.
The only evidence of my proud agglomerate is Swaddle, the last penguin Derek gifted me following my admission into the hospital. A little wool cap is sewn to his head, made to look like wrapped bandages. I didn’t want to look like a crazy person by bringing my collection with me to college, so I’d chosen only one, forcing myself to place the rest in storage bins. Having to pack away Hubert had been the hardest, but if something ever happened to him, it would truly break my heart.
