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I shuddered.

“Hold still,” Audrey said. “Unless you want makeup in your eye. Then you do you.”

“Sorry.”

“Suck in your cheeks,” she ordered, picking up a peachy-pink blush and a fluffy brush.

I complied, contorting my face and closing my eyes as Audrey dusted me with color. Next came contouring powder, multiple eyeshadows, eyeliner, false eyelashes, mascara, brow pencil, brow gel, highlighter, and lip gloss, after which she turned to my hair. She smoothed a glossy serum through my mane and then twisted a few face-framing pieces with a curling wand.

She took a step back and studied me for a moment before breaking into a huge smile. “Take a look! What do you think?”

With trepidation, I rose and turned to the bathroom mirror. I gasped. Audrey had used so many products I’d expected to look like a pageant contestant, but I didn’t. I looked like myself, only better, as if I were lit from within.

“You’re a magician,” I said, astonished at the subtle changes to my face.

“I know, right?” she said, laughing with delight as she raised her phone and pointed it at me.

Instinctively, I twisted away and shielded my face. “What are you doing?”

“Posting my handiwork on Insta,” she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Come on, move your hand.”

“Don’t.”

“Come on, Cat, you’re not still seriously that phobic about social media?” she asked, sounding annoyed.

It was the same tone of voice she’d used the first time I stopped her from posting my image on social media. All throughout college, I’d let her paper the internet with pictures of me, pictures in which I looked less than perfect while she was smiling flirtatiously, but then Audrey tagged me on Facebook during Jasmine’s bachelorette party. The notification had immediately popped up on my phone and I’d choked on my pink champagne.

“Take that down!” I had demanded. “I’m interviewing with law firms next month. I can’t have a picture of me wearing a penis necklace on the internet.”

“Relax, Kitty-Cat. It’s obviously a bachelorette party. They’re not going to think you’ll, like, show up in court wearing it or something.”

“Law firms are conservative,” I’d insisted, ripping off the flimsy necklace as my panic grew. “I need you to take it down. Now.”

Audrey had made a show of rolling her eyes, but she complied. After that, I stripped my Facebook profile and locked it down. I knew Audrey didn’t mean any harm; she just didn’t understand why I wouldn’t want that picture online, just as I didn’t understand her seemingly pathological need to share every detail of her existence. How could I explain to someone like Audrey that social media reminded me of a high school cafeteria, a place where you and your vulnerabilities were on full display for the jackals who were your compatriots? I couldn’t release my hopeful, made-up face for their consumption. I couldn’t put myself through that again.

“You’re being silly,” she said, aiming the phone at me once more.

“Don’t!” I shouted, the alarm in my voice surprising us both.

She lowered the phone, her expression concerned. “What’s going on?”

I drew a shaky breath as I gathered myself. “I . . . I don’t want people to make fun of me.”

“What?” she asked, looking genuinely puzzled. “Cat, no one’s going to make fun of you. You’re a total babe.”

I shook my head. “You don’t get it. How could you? Everyone loves you.”

“Everyone loves me? That’s a joke, right? Have you ever read the comments on my Insta posts? Did you know there’s an entire thread on Reddit devoted to what a self-obsessed airhead I am? Here, let me pull that up for you.”

“Don’t,” I said, putting out a hand to stop her from typing on her phone. “I get it. But, Audrey . . . that’s different. So a handful of people on the internet are giving you a hard time. You still have, what, thousands of followers—”

“A million,” she corrected me.

“Right. Exactly. You still have a million followers hanging on to your every word. And that’s just online. Wherever you go, people love you. That’s not how it is for me.” I took a deep breath and turned my eyes to the ceiling, trying to stop the tears from ruining my makeup. “It’s never been that way for me.”

“Cat, you have plenty of friends. I mean, we’re going to trivia to see a bunch of them right now.”

I leveled my face at her. “I have a few friends because I work hard at it. Social graces don’t come easy to me. They never have. You know that.”

“Cat—”

“Stop pretending otherwise, Audrey. It’s disingenuous.” I put my thumb in my mouth and bit down hard, the pain drowning out the aching memories. “Don’t you remember when we met?”

“Sure. What about it?”

“You didn’t think . . . ?” I tasted blood suddenly and removed my thumb from my mouth, tucking it inside my fist. “Come on, Audrey. Why did you decide to be friends with me?”

“Cat . . .”

“Tell me. You and I both know how awkward I was. Why did you decide to be friends with me? No one else did.”