Page 22 of Make Me Pretty
By the time I find Mr. Lang’s nameplate and push the door open, the bell is ringing, cutting through my song. I pull out my earbuds and shove them in my front pocket as the teacher greets me with a smile and a small stack of papers.
It’s as the teacher is talking privately with me that I hear a hushed groan. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” My head jerks toward the sound, eyes scanning the room for the familiar face that belongs to that voice.
I catch sight of him in the third, elevated row, closest to the wall. Andfuck meif the sight of Peris after a nearly a week of nothing doesn’t make my heart race.
I try to listen to Mr. Lang’s introductory speech, I really do, but ninety percent of my focus is pulled to the feeling of eyes drilling holes into the side of my head.
My fingers find the heavy, stone plugs in my earlobes, tugging absentmindedly as I nod with a fake smile of concentration. “Let me know if you need assistance with anything. It’s odd to have a switch near the end of the semester, but Mrs. Garner said you already completed the first half online, so I don’t think it will be too difficult for you to catch up in person. Feel free to find an empty seat.”
“Great. Awesome. Thanks.” I take the papers, in a rush to turn around. I scan the rows quickly, noticing a barren one next to none other than—“Peri!” I sing, plopping down in the chair beside him.
His fingers tighten around the arms of his seat, knuckles blanching. His hair is still slightly damp from his shower this morning, making his locks appear darker. It hangs in front of his face, long enough to be tucked behind his ear.
He leans forward, pulling his chair closer to the table. His back curves as he leans over the top, dropping his chin into his awaiting hands, clasped tightly, in a folded prayer pose. I watch him keenly, waiting for the question poised on the tip of his tongue. But surprising us both, he keeps it inside.
He’s really committed to ignoring me. It grates on my nerves. “Just ask,” I spit, pulling my own chair forward.
“What are you doing in here?” His words are soft-spoken but annoyed.
I lean back as I tear the wrapper on a piece of candy and pop it into my mouth, where it clanks loudly against my teeth. “Uh, English?” I pose it like a question through a lisp, trying to feign ignorance to his real intent, but I can’t stop the twitch to my mouth.
Peris glares at me out of the corner of his eyes, his sneer particularly nasty this morning. “This isAPEnglish,” he hisses.
“You don’t say?” I snark, before adding, “Damn, did you not sleep well?” I ask, a little loud. Then, I lean in, close enough to smell his body wash—the same one I’ve been cleaning my own body with. I inhale deeply, ensuring he hears my deliberate sniff. “‘Cause you kinda look like shit,” I rasp, then pull away, dragging my backpack into my lap.
Peeking over my shoulder, I murmur, “But don’t worry, I still find you unbelievably hot. Which is beyond annoying, believe me. But uglyiskinda my thing.” I flash him my fucked up teeth,reveling in his heated glare, the curl to his upper lip, the tremble to his clenched fists.
Yeah, hit me, baby. Just do it.
I drop my head into my hands, shaking it back and forth with a sigh. Truly, I’m exasperated—with him and myself. “Did you have another nightmare?”
If I thought Peris was tense before, that was nothing on his rigidity now. He’s competing with rigor mortis.
“Excuse me?” he drawls slowly, each syllable enunciated deliberately.
I make a soft sound in the back of my throat as I let my bag slip between my legs and to the floor, notebook and pen in hand. I flip the cover and start doodling in the margins as Mr. Lang talks over the room, marker squeaking on the board.
“I’m not pretending it didn’t happen. Unlike you.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Peris snaps harshly, drawing a few startled looks from the people in the row in front of us. They turn in their chairs, eyes flicking between us. Peris’s glare is enough to dispel their curiosity, and they turn back around.
“Well, I do know what it’s like to wake soaked with sweat and sick from—” I cut off sharply. Nope, not going there. He doesn’t need details. “And I heard you puking. So, yeah, I made assumptions, but only based on what I know.” My tongue is tingling from the sour of the candy, making me smack my lips.
Peris sneers every time the noise emits from my mouth, which, of course, only encourages me to do it more often, switching between licking my lips, slurping, and clacking it against my teeth, but through it all, he stays quiet—writing his own notes in a small but neat script atop the blue lines.
It goes on so long that I think the conversation is just over, but then, he says something completely unexpected. “Don’t tell my mom.”
I lean back in my rolling chair. It creaks as it dips, making me dart a handout to clutch the edge of the table for support. “Pretty sure she already knows, dude.” Elise’s face from the past few mornings at breakfast flashes through my mind. Her usual soft, unblemished features have been pinched with worry, eyes continuously darting to the empty chair where Peris always sits.
I’m curious as to what she knows…
His pen slips from his fingers as his back shoots ramrod straight. “What the fuck do you mean?” After a second, he picks up his Redbull, fingers sinking into the aluminum sides from his tight grip.
I shrug. “That she’s worried about you for some reason. I mean, seriously, you gotta work on your poker face and outbursts. The staying out late, leaving early every morning? That’s so obvious, I’m embarrassed for you.”
Peris’s pinched face is truly a work of art. That particular expression does not suit my face well, that much I know, but on Peris?
Vexation looks good on him.
