Page 8 of TJ Powar Has Something to Prove

“My parents have another showing tonight,” Liam says, voice dropping in pitch. “You could come over, we could pick up where we left off in August.”

Her stomach drops. Tonight? That’s not enough time.

He must sense her hesitation. “Or we can just make those gingerbread houses. Nothing else if you don’t want.”

But the eagerness is still clear in his eyes. She’s going to have to tell him.

“I haven’t, um,gotten things readydown there.” His eyebrows draw together in confusion. She’s going to have to spell it out. Heat rises on her cheeks, and she ducks her head slightly. “Um. Full bush. I don’t know if...”

Liam lets go of her so fast you’d think TJ had just announced she had pink eye. “Oh, okay. We can wait, then.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” He won’t meet her eyes. His tone has changed from sultry to awkward in two seconds flat, and it leaves TJ wringing her hands together. That was way TMI, wasn’t it? She should’ve just made an excuse.

The silence stretches between them until Liam says, all atonce, “I bet it’s not that bad. It’s not like you’re even hairy.” He waves a hand, gesturing vaguely at her. “You’re gorgeous.”

He says it sincerely, and she tries to smile. It falls flat.

Because she’s a complete fake. She has been, since she was twelve.

That was when her and Chandani’s moms finally caved to their begging. Chandani was tired of boys making fun of her unibrow. And TJ came home in tears for the third night in a row after a girl from debate—who’s since moved away, thankfully—commented on hergorilla arms. Their moms took them to the salon that very night. Both TJ and Chandani cried during the excruciating full-face threading. But when it was done, they peered at their reddened complexions in the mirror and marveled at hownormalthey looked, how muchprettierthey looked. Finally.

But that wasn’t the end of it, of course. They were about to hit puberty. So, off came the hair on their legs and arms, toes and fingers, and later, for the swimsuit season, their stomachs and bikini lines. Last summer, TJ added a Brazilian to her routine.

So yes, TJ’s aware people at school think she’s pretty. They just don’t know how mucheffortit takes.

“Thanks,” she says now, to Liam. She looks down at her fries. They don’t look very appetizing suddenly. “I have to go to the washroom before class starts. See you later?”

Liam blinks. “Hold on a second and I’ll walk you in.”

“No, that’s fine,” she says, super fast, and opens the passenger door. But before she can escape, he snags her wrist.

“Did I do something wrong?”

He sounds worried. She suddenly feels guilty. This isn’t his problem, it’s hers. She forces another smile. “No, of course not. I justreallyhave to go.”

Liam waits an extra second before letting go with a sigh. “Don’t forget your fries.”

TJ nods and grabs them without really looking. She speed-walks into the school through the main entrance, knowing he’s watching, and heads down the hall like she’s going to the washroom. But when she’s around the corner, she slows. With a furtive glance around, she pushes through one of the school’s side exits.

The smell of cigarettes greets her immediately. This side of Northridge, facing the trees, is a notorious rendezvous for illicit activities. But no one’s here right now, which suits her perfectly for this conversation. She leans against the graffitied wall and dials a familiar number.

After three rings, a heavily French-accented voice says, “Allô?”

TJ clears her throat. “Hi, Lulu.”

The voice changes immediately from professional to warm. “Darling.How are you?”

TJ smiles inwardly. She and Lulu know each other well. Well, Lulu probably knows her much more intimately, considering she’s been her beautician for years. At some point Lulu had just given TJ her personal number so she could dial directly instead of calling the salon’s receptionist. “Good. Can I make an appointment this week?”

“Of course. For what?”

TJ checks to make sure she’s truly alone before responding. “Brazilian.”

A pause. Then, cheekily: “Ahh. It has been a while. Friday okay?”

“Yeah.” They set up the details, and Lulu promises to bring a batch of her wife’s homemade lemon tarts to the appointment. That’s code forthis is gonna hurt. Great.