If I'm Being Honest(56)

Pushing away questions of Paige and my project, I rejoin everyone by the rear of Elle’s van. Every time one of the group climbs out of the mobile makeup studio, we cheer. We’re loud enough I’d worry about the neighbors complaining if the block weren’t full of running and screaming trick-or-treaters.

Elle transforms the group into perfectly powdered and glittering creations. When Grant emerges unrecognizable in his Frank-N-Furter costume, I catch Hannah’s open admiration. Gawking in Grant’s direction, she nearly stumbles climbing into the van.

Hannah’s the final one of the group without her makeup, other than me. Not wanting to disturb Elle’s process, I wait twenty minutes before I join them in the van. Hannah sits in front of Elle’s mirror in bright red lipstick and a short red wig, her face powdered white. Elle, checking the picture on the mirror of Hannah’s character—Columbia—for comparison, is drawing thin eyebrows over the patches she’s used to cover Hannah’s real eyebrows. Her reflection perfectly matches the picture of Columbia. It’s uncanny.

Hannah doesn’t acknowledge me when I walk in. But she says to Elle, “It was really cool of you to come out here for us.”

“It’s nothing.” Elle waves the comment away with her pencil. “Besides, I got content out of it. Grant’s the first guy to agree to be on my channel.” Even under the heavy powder, I don’t fail to catch the blush that colors Hannah’s cheeks when Elle mentions Grant.

Hannah’s eyes find mine in the mirror. “And it was . . . nice of you to organize this, Cameron,” she says. “Thank you.” Even though she’s grimacing, her voice grudging, her gaze doesn’t waver.

I nod. I give Elle an indicative glance, which she catches, putting down her pencil. “I have to go wash my brushes,” she says casually. She leaves the van, and it’s only me and Hannah.

I rush into the speech I’ve prepared in my head. “Hannah, I know you said you don’t blame me for what happened with Grant. That’s not the point. You deserve an apology. What I did to you and Grant was wrong.”

Hannah watches me in the mirror. “It’s . . . Thank you,” she says uneasily. “It really is Grant’s fault, though.”

“I know,” I say quickly. “I’m not taking responsibility for what he did. I’m not telling you to forget what he did, either. But, Hannah, do you still like him?”

Hannah’s eyes drop.

I don’t want to waste this opportunity. For the first time, she’s listening to me. “If you do, consider forgiving him. Not for him, for yourself. Because you deserve it.”

Hannah’s gone quiet. I wait. There’s nothing else I wanted to say. It’s her decision now. And if she says she’ll never forgive him, I’m not going to push them back together just to feel better about myself. Between Hannah and Grant, she’s the one I wronged worse. If Grant doesn’t get what he wants—getting back together with Hannah—he’s going to have to be okay. Hannah’s wish is worth more. I know she has feelings for Grant, but she could tell me right now she’s not interested, and I’d say nothing more.

Hannah waits a long moment.

“Do you think he’s changed?” she finally asks. Her voice is choked with tears.

I open my mouth, then close it. Hannah directly requesting my opinion on Grant isn’t something I’d expected or planned for. “You know how Grant is. Who he is. He’s a good guy,” I say, feeling it genuinely. “He made a mistake with me when he was sixteen. We’re teenagers. It’s practically a requirement we make mistakes. He’s never even looked at other girls since he cheated.” I consider softening the word choice, dancing around the “C” word, and decide not to. Grant did cheat, and I’m not trying to get Hannah to forget it. She asked for my honest opinion, and if there’s one thing I have to offer, it’s honesty.

“Well”—Hannah gives me a pointed look—“he hasn’t talked to me in weeks. Not after you started coming to Mordor.”

I weigh her words, realizing . . . shit. I groan. “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. Again,” I add.

Hannah’s eyebrows furrow, and I’m afraid she’s going to screw up the patches Elle put on. “For what?”

“I told him he was coming on too strong,” I confess, “and he should chill a little, give you space. I see now how that looked,” I say regretfully. “I promise it’s the last time I’ll ever interfere in your relationship.”

I’m expecting Hannah’s ire or accusation. Instead, her expression only remains confused. “You guys talked about me?” she asks.

“Hannah,” I say. “I know for a fact Grant would gladly talk about you to anyone who would listen. Grocery-store clerks, haircutters, whoever. It’s a little annoying, actually. But sweet.” I walk to the windows in the van’s rear doors. “Look at him.”

Hannah gets up from the stool and joins me. I point out the window. Grant’s on the sidewalk outside, in a corset and high heels in broad daylight, parading in front of Paige’s house and tunelessly singing “Time Warp” to himself. Every time he gets a word wrong, he curses to himself.

Hannah laughs, and for the first time she doesn’t hide the smile Grant brings to her face.