If I'm Being Honest(53)

Hannah goes quiet. In her expression I watch resistance collide with understanding.

“If Cameron wants to experience Rocky Horror for the first time in her life,” Paige continues, “I’m not going to say no.”

There’s a long pause. Everyone stares at Hannah, waiting. I don’t dare move, not wanting to draw attention to myself. I’m kind of unable to believe Paige stuck up for me like that. Even if Hannah kicks me out and I completely fail in my goal for the night, it will have felt good to have heard Paige say what she did.

Abby speaks up hesitantly, her voice cutting the uncomfortable quiet. “Hannah, you did say it would be better if we had a couple more people in our group for the costume contest.”

Hannah turns toward Abby. I watch her take in her friends, the way Charlie’s pointedly concentrating on picking a thread from his costume and Abby’s folded her arms like she’s made up her mind. Even Grant doesn’t meet Hannah’s gaze. Finally, Hannah faces Paige, not sparing a look in my direction.

“Fine,” Hannah says. “She better have a good costume.”

Turning her back to me with thorny deliberateness, Hannah collects her costume from the floor and goes into the closet to change. I mouth a thank you to Paige, who gives me a wink. “Grant!” she says. “Corset time.” Grant dutifully gets off the desk and follows Paige into the bathroom connected to her room.

“There’s another bathroom in the hall,” Abby offers.

“Thanks,” I say gratefully.

I wander into the hall and find the bathroom. Closing the door, I place the costume on the floor and release an even breath in front of the mirror. I didn’t realize how nervous I was until now.

I’ve never had to try to impress my classmates, to win them over. I’ve never known how it feels to want them to like me. With Paige and her friends, it’s different. I want them to talk to me, to include me in their unusual interests. To not hate me.

I want to be their friend. Not for my amends list, not for Andrew. But because I like them.

They’re not that different from my friends, I’m realizing. They’re knowledgeable about their passions and fiercely devoted to them, and they won’t take shit from anybody. The main difference—other than taste in clothes, movies, and pretty much everything—is the willingness of Paige’s group to invite others into what excites them.

I check my phone. No messages.

I put on my costume, the woman’s tux I took from my mom’s box with a hideous glittery orange cummerbund I picked up from Party Central a couple days ago. I don’t care how ridiculous I look. I only want to look good enough to help Hannah win the costume contest. There wasn’t enough time for me to find the components for a lead character’s costume, but I think I pulled together a pretty decent Transylvanian, one of the background ensemble I found in a couple images.

Nervously, I glance at my phone again. It remains black, and I begin to worry my plan’s going to fall through.

I open the bathroom door and walk in the direction of Paige’s room. I’m nearly there when I catch sight of a door cracked open—revealing Brendan. He’s at his desk, working on the computer, predictably.

I knock. Without waiting for him to invite me in, I push the door open and barge into his room. Brendan swivels in his desk chair, his eyes widening when they find me. “Cameron?” His voice comes out an utterly charming squeak.

I close the door and walk brazenly over to the one open place where I can sit in his room: his bed. I gesture to what he’s wearing, corduroys and a RAVENPUFF shirt. I feel a small swell of pride that I understand this one. I’m pure Slytherin, obviously. “You definitely can’t wear that to Rocky Horror,” I inform him.

Brendan’s composure is far gone. His eyes dart from me to his pillows. I get the feeling he’s completely unprepared for having a girl even remotely near his bed.

“I’m not going,” he gets out eventually. “I’m surprised you are.”

I shrug, surveying his room. It’s not neat, exactly. It looks closer to uninhabited, like a model of a teenage boy’s room constructed by a set designer with a shoestring budget. His desk is uncluttered. His bookshelves hold only textbooks and a row of novels. Two video game posters hang above his bed, The Last of Us and Uncharted 2: Among Thieves. In the corner of each I notice a logo with NAUGHTY DOG in heavy font and a red paw print.

“I’m not going for the movie,” I say. “Honestly, it looks awful.” The instant it’s out of my mouth, I regret wording my opinion that openly. But when I look at Brendan, I find his lips curving upward humorously. “Paige says it’s really about the rituals, not the movie,” I go on. “I’m a bit nervous for the virgin-sacrifice part, I have to admit.” I read about it online. Everyone who’s never been to Rocky before gets forced into some kind of public humiliation. “But, hey, I’m already dressing up and going to hang out with a bunch of teenagers in lingerie in public. Can it really get more embarrassing?”

Brendan laughs. His posture relaxes a little. “You have strong opinions on stuff.”

I stiffen, suddenly anxious. “I—” I falter. “I wasn’t trying to insult Paige’s event or whatever—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says lightly. The anxiety rushes from me as quickly as it came. “It’s cool. Having your own opinions, I mean. I like it.” He smiles, and I find myself studying how it brightens his face in a way I never noticed. “Except when it’s about how gross Barfy Brendan is,” he adds.