The Masks We Wear by Lee Jacquot

 

TWO

 

When the hell did he get back?

Scratch that. When the hell did he get so...delicious? Even under his thick orange flannel, the muscles in his back and biceps flex when he gets up. I also don’t remember his jaw being so defined or his face being perfectly symmetrical. But his eyes are the same. A swirl of caramel breaks up the smooth brown in a way that almost feels hypnotic.

They pull me back to Earth—reminding me who I am, what I was, the things I lost.

My biggest fears.

My greatest regrets.

“Can you believe that asshole? I mean, seriously…” My friend, and co-captain, Amora, drones on about her encounter with Spencer.

Spencer Hanes. Holy Shit.

I blink a few times—a failed attempt to capture one of the dozens of thoughts careening around my mind. The last thing I need to worry about is old secrets being dug up for anyone to find. And Spencer knows just where I buried them.

Finally grounding my head, I shrug. Talking isn’t one of the things I often do, even when rattled. The less you speak, the less people know. I try to keep my face neutral as I wiggle my fingers and turn toward the front office.

“Where are you going? It’s time for lunch.” The sparkle in Amora’s usually glossy eyes, dims. One hand is propped on a thin hip, while her face is pinched in disgust. She hates being alone with our cheer squad, though I haven’t been able to figure out why. My dear friend is the biggest bitch they make in her five and half foot size, and she has no qualms with displaying it.

“Bolwig,” I call over my shoulder without stopping.

I’ve been putting the guidance counselor off for a while now, but two months into my senior year, I know it’s no longer an option. At least, not a smart one. I have a feeling I know what she’s going to say, and I’ve never been in the mood to hear it.

Rotating my increasingly tight shoulders as I reach her office, I can’t seem to hinder my thoughts from returning to the mess that just dropped over my feet. Between Spencer and the uncertainty of my future, everything in my mind is becoming a tangled mess. Both unpredictabilities twist around each other like two weeds fighting for dominance in a garden. Both of them spread their tendrils around everything beautiful, threatening to overtake what I’ve worked so hard to cultivate.

I sigh—one thing at a time.

Ignoring the slight ache creeping behind my eyes, I walk towards Ms. Bolwig’s collage-covered wall. Her office is littered with university pendants and pictures of prior students at graduation, probably her favorites. As I bide my time, attempting to keep my mind clear, I trace a finger over a few. Each one was taken on an impossibly sunny day, in an almost picturesque light. The many smiles shine back at me, and I wonder vaguely just how genuine their happiness is. No one is that happy. They’re all just wearing masks, waiting for the moment they can take them off.

“Excited about graduation, Miss Conley?”

Ms. Bolwig’s voice jolts me from my thoughts, and I whirl around to face her. The aging woman stands in the doorway; her signature clipboard hugged tightly against her massive chest. She twirls a fluffy purple pen between her short fingers as she gazes past me to the pictures.

“Yep.” I pop the p, leaning on the wall. “Ready for the University of Kentucky.”

The crows’ feet at the edge of her dull blue eyes make an appearance as she grins. “Ah, yes. Kentucky. Let’s talk about that, shall we?”

Ms. Bolwig gestures a hand toward an empty chair in front of her pristine desk before taking a seat in front of her computer. She grabs a file from a stack and opens it with care, tracing the pages of what I assume is my permanent file.

It’s clean, full of A’s, a thirteen hundred SAT score, and not one referral. Captain of the cheerleading squad with perfect attendance since fourth grade. Even on that day, I would have given my left kidney to be at school. My file is—

“Uneventful,” she determines.

I don’t stop my face from crumpling. “Uneventful?” I repeat as though I’ve misheard her. I mean, I must have. I know it isn’t the prize horse at the Derby, but it’s still pretty impressive, nonetheless.

She nods her graying head slowly, still perusing the file. My fists clench at my sides, and I ignore the pain of my stiletto nails piercing into my palm.

“Can you elaborate, please, Ms. Bolwig?” The words are meant to be friendly, but coming through bared teeth, I know she hears the bite in them.

“You have an average record, but nothing to stand out for the program you’re seeking at Kentucky.”

My mouth pops open in protest, but she holds a hand up. “Cheer captain. Yes, I know. And winning regionals this year will do wonders, but you need to be more than a pretty face and a good tumbler.”

She spits the last word out as if it’s a curse. A good tumbler. Anger and irritation ripple down my body, and I can swear someone turned on the heater. I wipe my brow with the back of my hand as I search for the right words.

I’m smart, not like an Amelia Earhart, but I’m smart enough. Most notable of all, I am the best damn cheerleader and captain to come out of Emerald Falls since 1974. Which says something considering it’s a big city with twelve different high schools scrambling for that title. I’ve brought more recognition to EFH than our most prized football players. Not to mention my girls rock out every damn appearance, which takes real leadership skills. I’m not just a good tumbler.

“I want to switch a course you’re currently in. I know it’s late in the semester, but Mr. Jones said he’d be happy to have you.”

My eyebrows furrow. “Mr. Jones teaches AP Sciences…”

She huffs. “To be a slightly above average student, you can be rather dense, Miss Conley.”

I bite my tongue to keep the retort from seeping out. Whether I like her snide-ass comments or not, the woman is known for making things happen, and I need to get into Kentucky.

“He is taking his students to a competition. I think it would be just the thing to lift your head above the sea of other cheerleaders clawing their way to that university.”

She keeps talking about some competition, but I’m not listening. The only one I’m worried about is regionals and all the practices in between. Cheerleading didn’t come naturally to me. I had—have—to work on it every damn day. It’s a commitment that most marriages don’t have, and I bleed my soul into it each passing second. I deserve to go to Kentucky.

Go big, or go home, and I’ll be damned if I stay here. Especially now.

I grimace but finally nod in approval. I don’t intend to claw my way anywhere. I’ve put countless hours into paving the road myself, and I plan to walk on it in six-inch heels and a fresh manicure. Even at the expense of setting half my garden on fire to rid it of one particular weed.

She scribbles something on a pad before tearing it from the yellow backing. “Good choice. Take this to the registrar and hurry along. His period starts in ten minutes.”

I take the paper from her gingerly, careful not to snatch it, murmuring a quick “thanks.” My eyes drift to the pictures on the wall one last time before slipping out of her office.

This had better be worth it.

Managing to slink past the cafeteria and down the AP hallway, I take a deep breath. As much as I want to focus on the shitty words of Ms. Bolwig, I can’t help but wonder why Spencer acted like he didn’t know me...

A tingle creeps up my spine, and my ears ring with the whispers of what this could mean—the things people could find out. Image is everything here. I’ve spent a long time polishing myself to the perfect shine, careful to get inside all the nooks and crannies.

He can expose my rusted core in seconds.

Fear takes over, weakening my knees to the point I have to lean against the set of lockers on my right. The smooth metal cools my back as I take a few more breaths.

I can’t let him say anything.

My wheels begin to turn, ideas forming on how I can keep my old friend quiet. There is one thing that might—

“Mija, how did your meeting go?”

I freeze, and my idea on the verge of creation vanishes, replaced by my shoulders tensing back up. Whirling around, my mother stands at the edge of the hall. She smooths down her navy uniform with one hand and holds on to an oversized trash bin with the other. A misplaced, warm smile spread across her face.

My eyes dart around, making sure no one is coming. She’s never supposed to be here before five. By then, we don’t risk the chance of running into each other. Sounds shitty, but if the Queen of Emerald High’s mom was exposed as the school’s head custodian, nothing I’ve done in this place would matter. I’d lose my spot faster than Amora’s skirt after a game.

The curious part of me wants to ask how she knows I was meeting with Ms. Bolwig, but instead, I feign a bored expression. “Dandy.”

Her smile fades, replaced by the snarl of her true form. “Such a stupid girl. I bet you won’t make it to that cheer school.”

I latch a finger around my necklace, pulling it side to side. “Hmm, see ya.”

I don’t wait for a response and turn toward Mr. Wilson’s class. The last thing I want to do is invoke her wrath and chance someone seeing. Straightening my spine, I flip my golden locks over my shoulder and open the door, letting the day’s shit show stay behind me. At this point, I don’t think it could get much worse.

Let’s do this.

I’ve never seen a class of kids so engrossed in their work before the bell has even rung. Everyone’s head is down, shoved in the pages of their journals, their pens working furiously across the paper. None of them even glance up from their notebooks when they hear me walk in.

A small girl with hexagon glasses and inky hair glances my way as I pass before looking back down. After a beat of silence, her head pops back up comically, and she elbows the boy next to her, motioning to me with her chin.

It sets off a chain reaction until all eyes are glued on me, a soft whisper floating around the room.

I’m used to the effects that come with being Queen of Emerald High, but it doesn’t make it any less cringy.

Trying not to grimace, I stride over to Mr. Jones, who has his face glued to his computer. His eyes flash to me before returning to the screen. Like the four-eyed girl, he does a double-take before standing too abrupt, knocking over what looks to be week-old coffee.

I recoil, terrified the dark liquid will land on my white suede heels, and watch him fumble to clean his mess. “I’m so sorry, Miss Conley.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Jones.” But even so, I take a few cautionary steps backward.

After wiping up most of the coffee, he ambles around the desk, rising to his full height, and straightens a wrinkled candy corn tie.

“Class, I’d like to introduce you to our newest member, Liliana Conley.”

His confirmation that I’m joining the class sends an even louder murmur vibrating through the room, but I ignore it, holding up a hand in a light wave. “Please, just Lily is fine.”

Mr. Jones beams at me, rubbing his stubble. “Of course. I’m going to pair you up with the lad back there.”

He motions to the table on the far left side of the classroom, where the only student who hasn’t looked up is scribbling in his notebook. Mr. Jones leans a little closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “He’s having a hard time adjusting to the idea of a partner, but I know you’ll be able to work it out.”

I raise an eyebrow in question. “Partner?”

He nods. “Didn’t Ms. Bolwig tell you?”

Tilting my head, I wait for him to elaborate. The woman told me a lot, ninety percent of which has already been blocked out for the wellbeing of my mental health.

He shifts back, swallowing hard around his evident discomfort. “You’ll be the fill-in we need for the science competition. We had a student move away.”

My eyes widen of their own accord, and I feel my jaw tic, but I recover quickly, smiling at Mr. Jones. I knew there was a competition, but I didn’t think I had to participate.

After granting him a curt nod, I stroll to the back and sit at the edge of the seat, setting my purse on the worn lab table and cross my feet at the ankle. A perfect ladies pose.

As if he’s just realized I’ve entered the room, Spencer’s mesmerizing brown eyes collide with mine.