Chapter 28 - A Million Rainbows

It was Saturday night, and Charlie and I had gone to the movies with Emily and then to her house for a sleepover.

I agreed to it, and she was doing my makeup and was going to post a video, along with a before and after shot, on her Instagram page.

She was trying to prepare extra content, so she would have stuff to post when she went on vacation. She and her family were going to Florida to visit her grandparents for Christmas, and she was leaving a week early so they could also visit Disney World. I was completely jealous.

Kyle was at an away game. It was mid-December, and I had yet to go to any of his basketball games. I felt bad about that. He insisted it wasn’t a big deal, but I knew it was. And I wanted to go. I wanted to see him running around all sweaty. And I wanted to cheer for him.

But Lyndsay was still being a B. I. T. C. H. And she was head cheerleader for the Ellis Panthers. I really didn’t feel like dealing with her shit after school, too. And definitely not in front of Kyle; it would be too humiliating.

At least I got to complain to Kyle now. Which I still didn’t do every time. I didn’t tell him when she smeared red lip gloss all over my jeans, making it look like my period had bled through. That was already horrifying enough. Wearing my hoodie over my waist during history, with Lyndsay and her friends in the back laughing at me, was mortifying. I didn’t want Kyle to know about that.

Emily got the lip gloss out of my jeans and the marker out of my shirt. She had to bleach the shirt and redye it. It wasn’t the exact same shade of blue anymore, but I was happy to have it back. And I’d finally gotten a lock for my locker and had put a stop to the defilement of my clothes.

But basketball was nice because even though I wanted to spend—would spend—every last minute with Kyle, his practice schedule and games didn’t allow for that. It forced me to spend some quality time with my very nice friend, Emily, who made me feel like a beautiful model, making me pose for her Instagram account.

“Bree, hold still.” Well, she wasn’t always so nice, and she was all business when it came to Instagram, scolding me any time I moved a millimeter.

“Sorry.” I had an itch and wanted to scratch my nose. Emily would be turning this hour-long makeup session into a short one-minute video post. I didn’t see why she couldn’t edit out an occasional nose scratch.

She applied a coat of mascara, finishing off the look with a strip of false eyelashes.

We were on the floor in her bedroom, her camera was on a tripod in front of me, another tripod next to the camera supported a bright, ring-shaped lamp that shined like a halo.

Emily scooted back on the rug to take a look at me. “Wow, Bree,” she said, nodding her approval. “You look absolutely gorgeous. You’re a classic beauty.” She handed me a mirror. “I don’t know why you don’t do your makeup like this more often.”

“Em, I don’t know how to do my makeup like this.” I lifted the mirror and examined my reflection.

I looked amazing. But I looked nothing like myself. There was a very thick layer of foundation on my face, smoothing and adding shimmer to my complexion. And my nose was narrower, and my cheekbones were more prominent. My eyes, sultry and black. The only thing I recognized was the coffee color of my irises. “How did you do this?”

“Contouring,” said Emily. She shifted around, looking for something. “Where’s your phone?”

“Why do you want my phone?” I folded the mirror down.

“I want to take a picture of you. So you can send it to your boyfriend.”

I rolled my beautiful, long-lashed eyes at her. She always referred to Kyle as my boyfriend instead of saying his actual name. Emily was still kind of star-struck by Kyle.

“My phone’s on your dresser,” I said. “Charlie, be careful.” She was playing with Emily’s cat and kept pulling on his tail and was a paw swipe away from getting clawed.

Emily got up. She snatched my phone from the dresser, turning it on and holding it up to me. “Say cheese.” I didn’t say cheese. She snapped the photo and handed me my phone back so I could see it.

“Wow,” I said, hardly recognizing myself, amazed at Emily’s skill.

I clicked off the photo and logged into my phone to find I had several missed messages. They were from Kyle, of course, because he was the only one besides Emily who had my number. But Kyle wasn’t one to overdo it with messages; he preferred phone calls. This many messages meant something was wrong.

“Shit,” I mumbled.

“What is it?”

I held my finger up to Emily as I scrolled through Kyle’s messages. I was working backward, so they came at me backward.

Bree text me. call me. please.

Please call me.

Call me please so I can explain…

Bree that photo is not what it looks like.

WTF. I did not send that.

He was referring to the photo that came next.

It was a picture of him and Lyndsay sitting together on the bus. He had earbuds in his ears. His eyes were closed. And I knew from what was going on in the rest of the photo that his eyes weren’t just closed but that he was sleeping.

Lyndsay was snuggled up next to him on the bench seat, her eyes, also closed. Her lips were brushed up against Kyle’s neck. Her hand, resting a little too far north on his thigh. She was wearing her cheerleading uniform with her skirt hiked up so high all I could focus on was her exposed ass.

The photo was staged. It had to have been. Why else would there be a picture in the first place? Why else would it have been sent to my phone? From Kyle?

My ringer had been off because of the movie. The messages had been sent half an hour ago.

“I’ve got to call him.”

“No, wait,” said Emily. “Let me get the shots first.” She was talking about the pictures she needed for her Instagram account and was pointing her fancy DSLR camera at me.

I got up. “No, I’ve got to call him now. Give me a minute.”

With a grumpy sigh, Emily fell backward onto the floor.

I hit call on Kyle’s message and snuck into the hallway, lingering just outside Emily’s door.

He picked up on the first ring. “Hey,” he said. “I can’t really talk. Can you text me?”

“Is she still sitting beside you?”

“Yep.”

I laughed—the nerve. “Can she hear me?”

“I’m on a headset.”

“Okay,” I said. “So. Obviously, that was fake? Right?”

“Yes.” Kyle sighed, sounding relieved I had reached that conclusion on my own. “Yes,” he repeated.

“So she just came up to you, sat next to you while you were sleeping?”

He was silent, and I read the quiet air with a bitter taste in my mouth. “So you guys were sitting together?”

A text message from Kyle popped up on my phone: We were. The bus was packed. She sat down after me. I was ignoring her.

“Okay,” I said, “so what, she just started groping you while you were sleeping?”

“Pretty much.”

“And she knows the password on your phone?”

“Not anymore. I changed it.”

“And she has my number?”

“We can change that, too.”

“So she read our text history?” I asked, my stomach-churning.

“Probably. I’m sorry.”

I sighed. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you still sitting next to her?”

Kyle sent a message: I’d have to swap seats with someone. I didn’t feel like making a scene. I can move if you want me to move.

“No, that’s okay,” I said, slumping against the wall. “So am I going to find out one day that you’re a very heavy sleeper?”

Kyle laughed. “I am,” he said. “And I can’t wait for you to find out.”

I had to bite my lip to stop from blushing too much. “How much longer until you’re home?”

“About thirty minutes. Can you stay on the phone?”

I peeked inside the room at Emily, still sprawled out on the floor. She was glaring at me. “No, sorry. Emily needs me to attend a photo shoot.”

“I’m intrigued,” said Kyle.

“I’ll send you pics. You won’t recognize me, but …”

“Now, I’m even more intrigued. Send them.”

“Okay. Hold on. I have one on my phone. I’ll send it.”

It took me a minute to figure out how to send a text while still on the phone with Kyle, and I accidentally hung up on him.

But I sent the picture.

He texted back: Damn Dover. Shit. Send me another one but with your glasses on. ASAP.