The Masks We Wear by Lee Jacquot
THREE
Lily’s pupils constrict under the light, letting her natural brown color peek from beneath the contacts. It’s the first I’ve seen of them since middle school—when I knew her better than I knew myself.
It was a time when her eyes were the light leading me out of my dark ass cave. But that Liliana has come and gone, leaving nothing but a cutout of a basic bitch with a bad attitude named Lily.
I scoff, clenching my teeth at the thought of all the lost time I spent on her during those summers. I could have been with my mom or studying more, hell, maybe even learning a fucking sport. Either way, my time is the one thing she won’t be able to waste again.
Staring back down at my journal, I shift my shoulders away from her. Maybe if I ignore her long enough, she’ll get the hint. Might even get lucky, and she’ll go away.
A moment of silence passes before Lily dips her head low, tilting it to read my scribbles. I move my body, so I can’t even see her in my peripherals. I hope she feels the heat radiating from me and backs off, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
“So, what are we working on, Spence?”
I’m not sure which word pisses me off more. The way she holds the last syllable of my name and sounds like a fucking snake or the fact she said we, as if I would actually consider letting her help me with my project.
Damn Maurice for moving.
I don’t look at her, but hiss my words to match her reptilian tone. “Don’t think I’m letting you lay a finger on this project.”
Her chair scrapes across the tile, forcing me to glance over my shoulder at her. Her small nose is scrunched as if she’s smelled something grotesque, and I have to bite back a laugh of satisfaction. I’m sure she’s not used to being talked back to by any of her minions. Or anyone in the school, for that matter. I’ve only been back for two months, but it doesn’t take long to learn what the school thinks of Lily Conley.
Captain of an elite cheer squad, sure, but what they talk about most is how she has the aura of a fucking goddess and is every guy’s wet dream. They say she doesn’t talk too much—rather not get her hands dirty, and instead, lets her team carry out any trash she needs to dispose of. Nothing like the Liliana, I know. Knew.
Others say she’s the female version of her best friend, Blaze. He’s the star running back of the school, and like dear Liliana here; he runs this place. I’ve only run into him once, and that was enough. He has multi-colored eyes, one a metal gray, the other a piercing dark blue. It’s unsettling when he looks at you, almost as if he can read your thoughts.
It makes sense that they’re friends, though. Both seem void of any feelings and reek of entitlement.
“You don’t have a choice, fuckwad.” Lily snatches my journal from under me, and when I snap my head to her, my damn glasses fall off.
I ignore her snickers as my hands find the frame and shove them back on. My pulse becomes erratic, ticking in my veins so violently, I can feel my heartbeat in my toes. “If you think I’m going to let you have any input whatsoever, you’ve lost what little fucking brain you got up there.”
She giggles, and it’s so full of fake sweetness and corn syrup, I wonder if I can get secondhand diabetes. “Was that meant to insult me? Come on, Spencer, you’re smarter than that. Well, used to be, at least...” She tilts her chin and looks to the ceiling as if thinking about something. “I don’t remember.”
I grind my molars, anger flushing through my body as she stands and sashays to the front. She whispers to Mr. Jones, whose face blooms a light pink before he nods and hands her a slip.
When she walks out, the rage doesn’t leave with her—it intensifies. I have one fear in life. One. Last I checked, we shared the same sentiments. We go about them in different ways, but the roots are the same.
Being forgotten.
It’s easy to lose yourself—to an addiction, an obsession, society, or illness. It’s even easier for the world to forget you.
My mother, once a renowned photographer, made it her life’s mission to capture people in unforgettable ways. She says everyone should leave a mark, or else there’s no point in enduring all the torture this life will throw at you.
It’s always felt like a silly fear—worrying if people would remember you, but when I told Lily, she understood. That’s when she told me about her parents. A father that was never home and a mother that never left her room. It’s something she didn’t want to experience ever again—being invisible to the people that are supposed to love you the most.
I sit back and sigh as my phone vibrates in my pocket. Staring at my notes, I decide I’m done with school for the day and begin shoving my things in my bag.
Fuck her and fuck me for even caring.
“Ar-are you okay?” Remy appears at the side of my table. Huge hexagon glasses amplify the small almond shape of her natural hazel eyes.
Remy is a classmate and my co-worker at Jenny’s Smoothies and probably the only one at Emerald High that’s smarter than me. I found myself kind of bummed when we didn’t get paired up for the fair project. It would have been epic.
I nod, tossing a pencil behind my ear. “Yeah, I’m going to go home. My head hurts.” I rub at my temple for good measure.
Her lips thin into a straight line, but she doesn’t push it. “See you at work?”
“Of course.”
Slinking past her, I slip from class. Mr. Jones doesn’t even notice. It usually wouldn’t bother me, but today… it does.
I make it to the parking lot before I remember my phone and slide it from my pocket.
Liliana: Come over tomorrow at ten, so we can work on OUR project.
“SO YOU GUYS used to be best friends?” Remy leans against the counter, a thin finger tracing the edge of her latest romance read.
I filled her in on my little encounter with Lily while working the slow-ass counter at the smoothie shop. Like most weeknights, it’s been a proverbial ghost town, leaving us to our nightly vent sessions—mostly revolving around the insane workload from school. But tonight, I needed to tell someone what happened and calling my old friend William is not a good idea. Not right now, at least.
Even though I’ve only known Remy a couple of months, it feels like much longer. She’s easy to talk to, a fantastic study partner, and it doesn’t hurt she’s nice to look at. Remy’s short, only about five-two if I had to guess, and her curves are dangerously sexy. She hides them under oversized clothes, claiming to be fat in comparison to others in her family. I try to tell her that they have genetics on their side, but she always has a retort about hard work and discipline in the Asian community. She says it extends to their body just as much as their mind.
Disregarding the silly notion that she’s overweight, Remy’s got everything going for herself. Thinking about it now, her only downfall is the misfortune of having bad taste in men. She has a very misplaced crush on Blaze. I blame the romance novels she reads–they give her false hope and make her think she can tame the beast that lives within him.
No matter how much I try to convince her that’s a bad idea, she blows me off. “It’s not like he’ll ever notice me anyway. It’s just a harmless crush.”
“Yep,” I finally answer, wiping down the counter for the third time. The trickle of customers has left me too much time to think about the blonde-headed vixen, Lily.
I didn’t want to spill my guts, so I told Remy surface details. Old friend, turned bitch partner, who’s probably going to do more harm than good on my project. Even still, Remy narrows her eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve worked hard on the outline. Have you thought about whether you’re going to her house?”
I shrug, ignoring the pounding in my chest.
It’s all I’ve thought about. It’s frustrating that Lily can somehow stir up dormant feelings inside of me. That my body seems to have forgotten the pain she inflicted in my heart, or that the logical side of my brain can’t remember the hours I spent in the dark searching for her light.
I run a hand down my face, taking a deep breath. As much as I want to pretend I don’t give a fuck, I do. Even if it is minute.
“Don’t let her know she gets to you, Spencer. People like her feed off that energy, and it will only make things worse. Focus on your part and try to give her busy work. Make her feel like she’s really doing something.”
Remy chews absentmindedly on her bottom lip as she returns her focus to the open book.
She has a point. I can see Lily making my life a living hell and derailing my project to spite me for the fun of it.
Maybe I will go.
Show Lily that I care just as little about her as she does me. Even if it is a lie.
