Page 21 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove

Still, it’s somewhat satisfying to slam the door closed as she leaves.

It’s less satisfying when she realizes he’s right—she doesn’t have a ride home. No way is she crawling back to beg for one. He’s probably watching from the window right now.

She considers texting Chandani, but she’s at her little brother’s piano recital tonight.

TJ texts Piper instead.Can you pick me up?

Piper’s reply is instant.From Liam’s??

Yep.

Piper doesn’t ask more; she just texts she’s on her way. TJ pockets her phone and paces down the street, past houses bedecked with Christmas lights, until she reaches the stop sign at the end of the road. She watches her breaths puff in the cold air and, in the silence, replays her and Liam’s parting words. He apologized to her. Maybe she’s overreacting.

Then she remembers his expression when he touched her—just for a moment, really, butrevulsionflickered in his eyes as he jerked his hand away. Her eyes burn with tears again. He knows now; he knows howfakeshe is. Why didn’t she just suck it up and get the Brazilian?

Piper’s car pulls up to the curb. TJ gets in. Piper’s hair is wet, piled hastily at the top of her head, and she’s wearing sweatpants. Her eyes are wide with concern. “What happened?”

TJ tries to speak, but with Piper looking at her like that, she can’t. If she talks, she’ll cry.

Piper seems to understand. “Oh no.” She rubs TJ’s back. “I’m sorry. Guys are the worst.”

TJ still can’t respond.

“What happened?” Piper whispers again, but TJ just shakes her head. It’s too humiliating. Instead, she takes a deep, shuddering breath and looks up.

“Please, take me home?”

Piper scans her face, which probably betrays everything she’s holding in. “You sure?”

TJ nods firmly. She wants to crawl into bed and have no one see her.

Piper doesn’t probe further. She just pulls away from the curb.

The ride is silent, although Piper glances her way multiple times. When she finally pulls into TJ’s driveway, TJ murmurs, “Thanks.”

“Call me when you want to talk.”

TJ nods mechanically. “Thanks,” she says again.

“Or if you want to plan Liam’s murder.”

TJ tries to smile. “Okay.”

She lets herself in. No one’s home, of course. Those fancy work dinners usually run late. TJ doesn’t bother turning any lights on. She falls into bed and stares at the ceiling for a long time, blinking back the tears in her eyes.

Eventually, though, she pulls out her phone to scroll through Instagram. Somehow she finds herself clicking back to the original meme. The side-by-side photos of Simran and her are such a contrast. She stares at the screen until she starts going cross-eyed and sees double of her own face instead.

The people who think she’s pretty—they don’t know howmuch of her life is spent keeping up the image. Her best-kept secret is her real body. But why can’t her real body be pretty, too?

The thought has her pulling up Lulu’s number. Instead of calling, TJ hits block.

Then she gets up and goes to the bathroom. She roots through her drawers and makes a pile of her razors. Shaving cream. Her thread. Her jar of wax. Her epilator. The old tube of hair-removal gel. Everything she can find, every tool that has helped keep her secret. The floor is littered with items by the time she’s done.

She puts it all into a bag. Then she lugs it out the back door in her flip-flops and throws it all in the outdoor garbage can.

She stands there, panting, waiting to feel satisfied, to feel freer, but all she feels is her toes going numb from the cold. This is useless. Throwing out all her stuff doesn’t prove anything. She could wake up tomorrow less brave and buy it all again. And she doesn’twantto go back to how it was. No. She’s done hiding.

The problem, of course, is that it’s so much easier to hide than face her greatest insecurity. What she needs is a way to force herself to commit.