Page 15 of House of Hearts
It’s true that their styles couldn’t be any more opposite. Amber is all old-school prep, and Birdie is an eclectic hodgepodge of vintage bomber jackets and yellowed Dad-Star sneakers. I’ve never had enough money to care about fashion, but even I can’t help the silly surge of excitement.
The dorm hall comes alive on a Friday night. There’s a low thrum of chatter bleeding through the walls and the ever-present thumping of feet on the second floor; beyond that is a combination of music drifting through ancient vents and the quiet tone of Birdie’s TV playing in the background.
Birdie—who I’ve learned is unable to be left alone with the sound of her own thoughts—has always got something playing. Today it’s theremastered version ofSleeping Beauty. I look up in time to see Aurora get cursed. Maleficent storms in with a ragged gust of wind, damning Aurora for the petty hell of it all. By the time we make it through the first thirty minutes of the film, we’ve eliminated a third of the clothes on the floor from the running.
“Oh my God, I forgot I had this. Thoughts?” Birdie asks from her spot on the floor. She’s got a leather skirt with a fire-breathing chain-mail dragon up one side hanging in her hands like a prize fish.
She gets a thumbs-up from Amber with her free hand. Her other hand is busy painting her toenails a bright, bloody red, the perfect shade match for her dress choice. She’s “settled” on a Mirror Palais number; a crimson minidress that sweeps romantically off her shoulders, the bodice cinching tight at the waist.
“Here, Violet. Try this on. I think it’ll be a good match for your skin tone,” Amber tells me as she caps her nail polish and tosses a dress for me to try on. With foam separators between her toes, she carefully bends over and scoops up a handful of rejected gowns. “Bird, help me, please. We’re drowning over here, so let’s drag this back to my room while Violet tries that on.”
Oh thank God.
It’s not like Birdie and Amber aren’t nice. They’re way nicer than they ought to be, but there’s nothing quite like being alone. Letting the mask slip and feeling the tension flee my body.
I swap my smile for a horrified grimace as I check the price. I can hardly afford tolookat this thing, let alone wear it, but while I’m looking anyway, I can’t deny that it’s beautiful. The bodice is a stitched depiction of the Ionian Sea, a deep, resplendent blue with a tidal wave of embroidered mermaids. At the waist, the skirt extends in anexaggerated flapper silhouette of bright blue ostrich feathers. I fiddle with the back zipper, and I’m this close to shedding my pajamas and trying it on, but I don’t get the chance.
My phone beeps, and my mother’s face flashes next to her text.
Doing anything fun this weekend? Miss you lots, it reads, complete with a hyphen-nosed smile.:-)
I consider sending a selfie because it seems like the kind of thing you do when you’re playing dress-up and your mom texts you. Except I’ve been on the receiving end of those kinds of texts. I remember the blue halo of my phone in the break room. Fluorescent light flickering and my thumb brushing against Emoree’s rags-to-riches life. Wanting her to be happy but also looking around miserably at my own life.
I drag my phone to the window instead, snap a photo of the sunset in the courtyard, and type a quicknot much <3 just having a night in with some friendsbefore abandoning my phone on the bed.
“Violet,” a girl’s voice calls on the other side of the door. “Violet…Violet…Violet!”
I make a playful show of grunting and padding my feet noisily against the carpet. “All right, jeez,” I sing, playing up the theatrics. “I’m on my way, you guys. Please tell me that you didn’t come back with evenmoreclothes.”
I can already envision it in my head: Birdie and Amber will throw me sheepish grins and pass me a bundle of dresses, and Amber will mutter something about forgetting she had a fifth suitcase packed under the bed. Already rolling my eyes, I grip the door handle and swing it open. Except when I look out into the hallway, I don’t see anything. Not a second avalanche of outfits and certainly not a pair of students knocking to be let in.
Despite the earlier chaos of girls running all over the place, the hallway is now completely empty. From one long stretch to the other, I see nothing but outdated carpeting and shadowed walls. I did hear my name, right? Not once or twice butfourdistinct times on the other side of the door.
It’s only after another dumbfounded minute of me standing there that Amber and Birdie finally make their appearance. Birdie is empty-handed, oblivious, and chatting to Amber like nothing is wrong and her roommate isn’t actively hearing things.
She meets my eyes and lifts a brow before I can even blurt out my question. “Were you guys calling for me?” I ask, cracking my knuckles one handed as I shift in place.
She exchanges an uneasy look with Amber before shaking her head. “Uh, no? You might’ve heard bickering, but that’s it. Amber here was second-guessing her entire outfit and wanted to try things on again.”
I shift my weight back and forth and swallow down my paranoia. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Aside from them playing a dorm version of ding-dong ditch with me, there’s really no logical explanation otherwise, right?
Amber’s eyes cut to my pajamas instantly, and she groans as we make it back into the room. “Don’t tell me you already changed out of it!” she sputters, glancing between me and the dress still bundled in my hands. “I wanted to see!”
I offer them both an apologetic smile and mumble a quick sorry, not wanting to fuss with a fashion show. It’s not like it matters all that much what I wear tomorrow. Anything is an improvement from the clothes I brought. Plus, if it looks this good in my hands, I’m fairly certain there’s no way it could look bad on me.
There’s more complaining, but thankfully they don’t push me. Instead, they take the dress and hang it next to their outfits on the rack.
who is that?
Huh? I squint at my mother’s message and return to the hastily snapped photo I sent. I’d meant to capture a pretty, if boring, image of the courtyard at sunset, but a lone figure stands on the hill. It’s Calvin, caught mid-step on an obvious path to the girls’ dorms, his blond hair windswept.
I snicker to myself at the very thought of him red-faced in the hallway.You told everyone our fake kiss wasthatbad?If the voice at the door hadn’t been a world away from his own, I might’ve assumed it was him after all. He was probably just here to hook up with someone. I have no problem imagining him slinking into the dormitory and a girl beckoning him quietly into her room. What a player.
No one, I text back like the liar I am. Not only is he a very irritatingsomeone, but my entire plan hinges on him. I need to weasel my way into the Cards’ lair and dig up as much dirt as possible on his brother. Joker Night is quite literally my one and only chance here.
“This is my favorite part,” Birdie says, and it takes me a second as I set my phone down to realize she’s talking about the movie. Amber snickers about her being a Disney Adult, and her quip is met with a playful jab to the ribs.
The scene plays out like a medieval tapestry. Aurora spellbound in Maleficent green, her bright figure creating a chiaroscuro against the blackened staircase. She scales the spire in measured, dreamlike steps, up and up until she’s fully engulfed in the curse. One tiny prick of the spindle is all it takes for her to be cast in perpetual twilight.
