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TWENTY-TWO

DANNI

The next morning, I wake up after four hours’ sleep, ready to face this piano challenge head-on, and discover a huge magenta hickey on my neck.

I take a photo of it and send it to Rose, alongside the message:

Good morning. I fucking hate you.

I try to put concealer on it, but it is extremely obvious, no matter how many layers I put on. I ignore Rose’s texts of apology—no time—while I wipe it off and try again. Then, way too soon, Molly’s knocking on the door to grab me for breakfast.

“Hey, I overslept,” I call out. “I’ll see you in there, okay?”

“Oh,” she says from the other side of the door, probably wondering why I’m not opening it. Unfortunately, I’m too tired to come up with any convincing explanation. “Do you need help?” she asks after a second.

“Nope! I’ll be there in a sec. Save me a seat.”

In the end, I pull up a video tutorial on applying concealer. It’s better, but still pretty obvious. And then I realize it’s too late now either way. I can’t walk into breakfast without getting a chorus of stamping feet, and today of all days, I’d rather go hungry than let that happen.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. I’ve never skipped breakfast before, so my first thought is that they’ve sent someone to check on me, to make sure I’m not lying in bed unable to walk or something. I pull my collar up so it’s covering my neck—something I wouldn’t be allowed to do in class, but passes okay in my own room, I’m pretty sure—and I answer the door, only to find Rose on the other side.

“I figured you needed backup when you weren’t in the breakfast line,” she explains. In her hands, she’s got a small pot of something, and a brush. “I own stage makeup. This should do it.”

What she owns is a miracle cream, actually. She sits me in my desk chair, and in less than a minute, she takes me from looking like I had a run-in with a toothless vampire to seeming like I have a very mild breakout on my neck at worst. And that’s only if you’re searching for it, I think.

“Sorry you had to miss breakfast,” I say while she works.

“I think,” she says mildly, “we can safely agree the blame rests with me in this instance.”

When she’s happy with her handiwork, she gives a nod, then darts forward to quickly kiss the other side of my neck. “ Rose, ” I laugh, curling my head toward my shoulder. “I don’t need two of them.”

“Sorry. It’s impossible to spend that much time touching your neck without kissing it,” she says, not looking sorry in the least. “I’m not that strong.”

“You can kiss me.” I smile. “Just leave my neck out of it.”

I don’t have to ask her twice.

“You look like shit,” Molly greets me cheerfully as she meets me outside the classroom half an hour later. Rose is gone—she decided to go back to her room and come to class later, so we don’t look suspicious. “Did you even brush your hair this morning?”

I did. But not after Rose came by—we kind of lost track of time. My cheeks burn as I furiously flatten my hair with the palms of my hands. Meanwhile, Molly pulls out a banana. “This was the best I could do,” she says. “I tried to bring you toast but they made me eat it before I left the dining hall.”

I take it gratefully. “Thank you. Actually, I have another favor to ask.”

“ Another one? After I just smuggled you a banana?” We shuffle down the hall a little so we can keep talking. Once you’re inside the classroom, you’re expected to stand silently behind your desk, but hallways are a lawless no-man’s-land.

“I know, I’m pushing my luck,” I joke. I pull up the video Rose sent me last night and forward it to Molly. “So, it’s kind of weird, but I was wondering if you could… post this. I know it’s not exactly on brand or whatever, but—”

“Sure,” Molly says. “Of course.”

She lifts her phone to her ear to listen. Behind her, Rose and Eleanor walk into the classroom. Rose catches my eye and holds it for a second too long, and my stomach swoops so violently I almost forget how to breathe.

“It’s just, I have a new goal,” I say, forcing my attention back to Molly, “to get comfortable with being perceived.”

Molly’s got a funny expression on her face. “Well, I have plenty of people who’d be happy to perceive you,” she says, putting her phone away. “Rose filmed it?”

“How did you know?” I ask, before I remember the very end of the video, where Rose says I did great. “Oh, right. Her voice.”

Damn it. And even though Molly never asked me to boycott Rose or anything, I still feel like I’ve been caught betraying her somehow. I brace myself, wondering if Molly’s going to feel the same way.

Instead, she just looks kind of sad. “How is Rose?” she asks. “Is she doing okay?”

“Oh, um, yeah. She’s good.”

Molly looks as though she’s going to ask something, but then she shrugs it off. “I’ll post it after class,” she says. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

And she does. After third period, she lets me scroll through the comments as we walk. It’s early, so there’s only a handful, but they’re all really nice. It’s mostly people complimenting my playing. That, and one person pointing out that the videographer is Princess Rosemary herself.

In PE, she sends me a whole bunch of screenshots along the same lines. These ones are sprinkled in with the odd person calling me pretty, which shouldn’t make me glow as much as it does, but I guess I’m a sucker for validation from random strangers. As much as I admire people who don’t need external feedback to feel awesome about themselves, I can’t relate. While the teacher is distracted, I text Molly to ask if she’s had any horrible comments yet, and she insists she hasn’t.

Finally, after class, I take a few minutes alone in my room to read all the comments. It’s been viewed a dizzying number of times. I know the internet, too, so by now there should’ve at least been someone criticizing the fact that I changed up the song from the original tempo, or my hairstyle, or my posture. But if they have, Molly’s been deleting them. If that’s the case, I figure I’d rather not know, anyway. I’ve officially been perceived, and so far I’m surviving it. Look at me go!

And it’s only now that I notice Molly’s caption:

My best friend is more talented than yours.

With a happy sigh, I pull my knees up to my chest, and close my laptop lid.