If I'm Being Honest(52)
“Definitely,” he says.
I climb down the bleachers, Paige and Andrew a few feet behind me. We file out with the crowd, and I can’t help glancing over my shoulder, watching them together. Paige laughs at something Andrew says, her cheeks flushing a pleased pink. I face forward, leaving them to whatever joke they’re sharing.
Paige likes him, and I have no idea how I feel about it.
Twenty-Five
PAIGE’S HOUSE IS ORDINARY. IT’S IN CULVER City, on a wide street lined with enormous trees. Their hulking limbs have littered the pavement with endless brown leaves. It’s quiet here, way quieter than Hollywood or where I live. I notice half a dozen cars in front of the curb, including Paige’s beaten-up black sedan. The house is one story, with chipping paint and overgrown hedges.
It’s nothing like the rest of my classmates’ homes. Refreshingly, I have to say.
I walk up the paved path to the front door on Sunday night, the bag containing my costume under my arm. It’s Halloween weekend, and trick-or-treaters prowl the streets. I knock on the door next to a gaggle of Elsas from Frozen.
“I’ll help you with your corset in a minute, Grant,” Paige’s voice calls from inside, followed by footsteps. She opens the door dressed in a black suit jacket and white button-down unbuttoned enough to reveal her nude-colored bra. I feel my eyebrows rise when I take in her wig. It’s pale and stringy with a big bald patch on the top of her head. I vaguely recognize the costume from my Rocky research. She drops a couple pieces of candy in the Elsas’ pillowcases, and they run off giggling.
“Wow, your wig is incredible,” I say. “It looks so real.”
Paige holds the door open for me. “It is,” she says.
In the entryway, I round on her. “What?” She’s grinning like this is the response she hoped for. “You shaved a bald patch on your head?”
“It’s going to be the next big trend,” she says easily. I gape. Paige bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, it’s for Riff Raff. The character,” she clarifies. “I’m going to shave the rest of my head when we get back from the movie.”
“Okay, when I said I wanted to be a part of this,” I warn, “you know I wasn’t volunteering to permanently change my appearance, right?”
Laughing, Paige leads me into the living room. The house is impeccably tidy, the shelves dust-free, nothing except a book of photography on the coffee table. I follow her into the hallway, past framed baby pictures of her and Brendan in perfectly coordinated outfits. We reach what could only be Paige’s bedroom door—there’s a poster on it of two vampire guys gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, one dark-haired and brooding and the other peroxide blond. I hear weird accordion music from past the door and a nasally voice singing about urchins in a priory.
“Don’t worry, Goldilocks,” Paige says, hand on the door. “Cameron Bright without blonde hair would upend the order of the universe.”
Paige opens the door, and my comeback dies on my tongue. Four pairs of eyes find mine. Grant’s, Charlie’s, and Abby’s hold open confusion, and it dawns on me that Paige didn’t tell them I was coming. I knew she was full of it when she said it was all “worked out.”
In Hannah’s expression I find only fury. “You’re joking, Paige,” Hannah says harshly. “Please tell me this is a prank and not Cameron Bright in your bedroom right now.” She drops the glue gun onto the costume she’s working on repairing in her lap. I can’t help noticing that Paige’s room is a complete mess. Clothes piled on top of and around a hamper, her dresser covered in papers and empty water bottles and figurines I don’t recognize, a sewing mannequin adrift in a pile of shoes in the corner. I cringe in spite of myself, checking the impulse to organize and declutter.
“You’re the one who told me to experience Rocky live,” I remind Hannah.
“I didn’t mean with us,” she fires back.
“Cameron’s coming with us,” Paige says. I recognize the authority in her voice from when she first brought me into the Depths of Mordor. “She’s got a costume and everything.”
Hannah gets up from Paige’s bed abruptly, the glue gun and a handful of sequins falling to the floor. “If you think I’m hanging out with her tonight, you’re crazy. I’ll drive over by myself,” she declares.
I’m hard to perturb, but the intensity of Hannah’s glare makes me uncomfortable. I never wanted to ruin Hannah’s event for her. Exactly the opposite. I reach for something I can say, a justification or a compromise or even a plea. Before I open my mouth, I hear Paige.
“Hannah, that’s enough,” she orders. I give her a surprised glance. “When have we ever told people they can’t hang out with us or experience our amazing fandoms?”
Hannah throws a hand in my direction. “Come on, Paige, she’s—”
“Yeah, I know. She’s Cameron Bright,” Paige interrupts. “She’s done shitty things. She’s not perfect. Who is? We’ve messed up, each of us. Grant cheated on you, and we hang out with him. No offense, Grant.” She darts an apologetic look in Grant’s direction.
Grant shrugs genially. “None taken.”
“I’m not blameless, either. I blew off trivia night to go to a party held by a spoiled cheerleader I’ve never talked to and hooked up with piece-of-shit Jeff Mitchel.”