Scarlett Epstein Hates It Here(37)

IS YOUR OC A MARY SUE?

1) Does your character have the same name as you or a name that is a variant of yours, such as a nickname or different spelling?

Oh, goddamn it.

2) Does your character look a lot like you?

3) Is your character the youngest in his/her given profession and also the most brilliant?

4) Does your character share strong opinions and beliefs with you?

5) Does he or she often state these opinions, argue with other characters about them, or try to win them over?

6) Does your character get listened to, followed, and respected more than his or her age, position, and experience would merit?

7) Is your character a hybrid of two races?

8) If so, is this hybrid race in any way “tragic” or “cursed”?

There’s a loud knock at the door, and I dart through the living room to answer it, vaulting over the couch and scrambling nearly directly over Avery, who is wiping off her eye makeup as she warily eyes her phone, which is facedown on the coffee table.

“Who’s here now, Gene Hackman?”

From outside: “It’s Ashley!” More knocks. “Hell-ooooo?”

I summon my coldest glare at Avery, and she looks slightly guilty for a second but then throws her arms up with haplessly self-righteous attitude.

“She’s good at this stuff! Okay? Get off my dick! Just be a normal human being for once. Please. I know you can do it.” She wads up her third eye makeup–remover pad and tosses it into an empty coffee cup on the table. “I know things are weird between you guys, but she’s not that bad, I swear.”

I wave her off, taking pity on her, and open the door. Ashley’s already in her dress for the dance, a cute black baby-doll-style cocktail dress that looks irritatingly perfect with her hair.

“Hey, Divider!” She smiles a big, toothy smile at me. “How excited are you for the dance!”

“Not going,” I mutter, shuffling backward to let her in.

“Why? Too lame for you?”

“I’ve got plans later!” I sardonically try to match her bright tone.

“Whatcha doing?”

“I’m being executed by the state!”

Ashley seems not to hear me as she glows around my apartment, idly picking things up, seeming to judge how much they cost, and putting them back down in ways that very clearly show how much she thinks they cost.

“It’s cute here.” She can’t resist a passive-aggressive dig, adding, “Cozy.”

“Ashley,” shrieks Avery. “Help much?”

“Right. Yeah, totally. Okay, well. Oh—is that my dress?” Ashley stares at the navy dress Avery’s wearing. Avery shrugs and tugs at its scalloped lace hem.

“Is that cool?”

“Of course. It looks hot on you! Very Kate Middy. Because, I mean”—she laughs, so lilting that you can almost picture the musical notes they’d use in closed-captioning—“I’m pretty obviously Pippa. Anyways, let’s do this thing.”

Ashley dumps the entire contents of her makeup bag onto the floor, and Avery slides off the sofa. They’re both huddled on the carpet over the makeup like it’s a fire keeping them warm. Ashley murmurs something to herself, then selects an eyeliner and leans in toward Ave until their identical strawberry blond heads are nearly touching. I feel a pang and wish, like I sometimes do, that Matilda and I were closer in age.

“Hey, Scarlett, have you got any nail polish remover?” Ashley waits a beat, then frowns a little and repeats, “Scarlett?”

I snap to attention, at this point totally used to her addressing me as Divider.

“Yeah, um, yeah, I’ll get it.”

As I head down the hall to Dawn’s room, the familiar iPhone text alert chimes from the living room. I nearly reach for my own phone anyway, a Pavlovian response.

“Oh God, he’s texting me!” Avery yells from the other room.

“What did he say?” I yell back.

There’s a pause as ostensibly she opens the text.

“Sup!” she shrieks, like the final girl in a horror movie.



Ashley works quickly. In twenty minutes, Avery has gone from ferret to fetching (which I’d watch the shit out of on Bravo). The makeup is flawless. The dress is classy but sexy. Her hair is simple but cute, just a few bobby pins drawing her bangs off her face. Mission accomplished.

“You look amazing,” I assure her.

“Really?”

“Yes, totally.”

“Thanks. Thank you. Sorry for . . .” She jerks her head, cockeyed, toward Ashley, who is checking her phone.

“Please, this is what I’m here for.”

“Babe, we gotta go,” Ashley interjects, a little more frozen over than she’d been just a second ago.

Avery nods stiffly, still looking incredibly nervous, picks up the little clutch she’s chosen for the night, and heads for the door.

“Bye.”

“See you, Divider,” Ashley says flippantly as she waltzes out the front door. We had a good run with my God-given name for a minute there.

“Bye, have fun!”

Avery takes one step out the door, then she runs back and grabs my arm.

“You have to come with me.”

“Ew. What? No.”