Page 30 of If the Stars Align

“Oh, it’s not like that—they’re just friends.”

My hand flies to my mouth.

“How do you know?”

“I overheard him say so.”

My vision blurs.

“Besides,” the same voice continues, “she’s not pretty enough to be his girlfriend.”

My ears are ringing.

The other girl scoffs. “Um, are we talking about the same person?Silver dress? Banging body? And thathair? She’s gorgeous!”

“You really think so?” asks the mean girl.

“Are you kidding me? I wouldkillfor curls like hers. I wonder where she’s from? You know…her ethnicity.”

“When I was waiting at the bar during cocktail hour, I overheard someone ask her what she is. I didn’t hear her answer, though.”

“Seriously? Someone went up to her and said, ‘What are you?’ That’s rude.”

I can practically hear the mean girl shrug. “Whatever. It probably happens all the time. I’m sure she’s used to it.”

I roll my eyes because it’s true. Puzzled by my ethnically ambiguous features, people do often ask me this question. Needless to say, it infuriates me, and not only because it makes me feel subhuman. Because, without knowing more about my absentee father, the answer is, “I have no clue.” He never cared to know me.

And now I’m in a relationship with a guy who won’t acknowledge me. I really am on a roll.

“Well, I’m not asking her,” the nice girl replies. “But my point is, she has beautiful features, and you’re blind if you can’t see that.”

The mean girl sighs. “Well, maybe if that’s your type. I just think that Ben’s insanely hot cousin would look way better with someone moreconventionallypretty.”

“You mean a tall, skinny blonde with blue eyes, likeyou?” the nice one asks, clearly annoyed.

“Yup!” The bitch cackles.

“You really are a bitch, you know that?” says the nice one.

Great minds think alike.

“A bitch who’s about to give him my phone number!”

I hear their heels clacking again, followed by the creak of the door as it swings open and shut, then nothing but the faint buzz of the lights overhead.

Maybe I’m in shock, but I don’t cry when they leave.

Nothing the mean girl said is news to me.

It was eerie…like she’d read the pages of my nonexistent diary and quoted all the awful thoughts I’ve had about me and Dex.

When I walk back out into the hall, he’s waiting for me.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Come with me.” He reaches for my hand, his eyes glimmering with excitement.

I let him lead me around two corners, my mind reeling. Finally, we reach a door at the end of a hall and, before he opens it, he looks back to make sure we’re alone.

It’s a staging room of sorts, with unused centerpieces and empty vases on one table, boxes of tea candles and a small stack of dinner menus on another. Various pairs of men’s shoes, a sweatshirt, and a couple of duffel bags are piled messily in a corner. A black leather couch sits under a row of windows framing a bright full moon, which provides the only light in the otherwise dark room.