Maybe you should think about doing an internship at Gloss instead. Designing layouts requires a sharp eye and there’s a lot less competition for those positions than there is for government jobs.
Those words made it clear to me that she thought I wasn’t good enough. Maybe if I hadn’t shut myself off from her from that moment on, maybe I would have found out why. Maybe—
“Hey, I almost gave up on you.”
I look up and spot my best friend, Rose, standing in the shade of an old elm tree.
“Isaac decided you weren’t coming and went on ahead. He’s going through a self-important phase because Dad got him a summer job with city security. I’m not sure what is so amazing about filling in for security officers who are spending the day at the beach, but what do I know?” Rose rolls her eyes, which tells me everything I need to know about her opinion of her older brother’s plans. Then she frowns. “Actually, it’s good Isaac left, because you look terrible.”
I shrug. I could take offense, but she’s just telling the truth.
“Well, you look perfect,” I respond. “So we balance each other out.” The thing is, I’m not kidding about the perfect part. With her thick black hair twisted into a French braid, her glowing brown skin made even more flawless by makeup applied with a skilled and light hand, Rose looks more like one of the models in the fashion e-zine her mother edits than a sixteen-year-old high school student on her way to class.
“I’m not kidding, Meri.” Rose steps toward me. Her intense brown eyes narrow as she studies my face. “You didn’t sleep again.”
“I slept.” Sort of. When Rose purses her lips and gives me her don’t-mess-with-me frown, I add, “Okay, so I woke up extra early and couldn’t get back to sleep. It’s no big deal.”
Rose sighs and slides the straps of her yellow backpack off her shoulder. She unzips the front pocket and pulls out her purple-and-white-swirled makeup kit. “You keep saying that it’s no big deal, but when was the last time you slept for an entire night?”
I wish I could answer that, but it’s been too long for me to remember.
“I’ve had some bad dreams,” I say.
Pity swims in her eyes, then vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared. She gives a no-nonsense shake of her head as she flips open the lid of one of her dozens of makeup compacts. “Lucky for you I have just the thing to fix you up.”
There’s no fixing me. Even if I slept for a week, I would never look like Rose. Boring dishwater-blond hair, pale hazel eyes, and average height are not model material. “You don’t need to go to the trouble.”
Rose grabs my arm as I try to sidestep her. “If you don’t want your teachers calling your father out of concern for your well-being or, worse yet, sending you down to the counselor, you’ll stand still and let me work.”
“We’re going to be late.”
“Not if you keep still and follow my instructions,” Rose says. “And if we don’t get to class in time for the second bell, a call from either one of my parents will get us out of trouble. Deal?”
I sigh, knowing there really isn’t much of a choice. When Rose has her mind set on something, there is little chance of changing it. Besides, I don’t have the energy or the time to put up a fight. “Deal.”
“Good. This won’t take long. Hold this.” She hands me the makeup kit, and I can tell from the colors that half of what she has with her has been brought specifically for me. Knowing that Rose has been worried enough to go out of her way to get these things ties my throat into a knot. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. The world blurs and I blink to chase it all away.
“Stop moving,” Rose chastises. She dabs a sponge under my eyes and on several other spots on my face. I stare at a light green leaf on a tree in the distance and try to clear my mind and my heart the way I can with my tablet. Rose attacks my eyes with a pencil and eye shadow and actually growls at me when I try to move away before she puts the finishing touches on her design. Finally, she gives a satisfied smile and holds a mirror up to my face. “There is no denying that I’m a genius. My mother and Gloss editorials have taught me well.”
She isn’t lying. My skin is no longer blotchy. The peach shadow she used on my lids is almost translucent, but somehow makes them appear less sleep deprived. I seem almost normal—as long as no one looks too hard. The anger and fatigue and distrust in my eyes cannot be smoothed away with powder and lip gloss. Those are beyond even my best friend’s ministrations.
But when I look away from my image and see Rose’s grin, I can’t help but smile back. After so many years, all the changes in our lives, and the bitterness and hurt I have waded through, the thing I am most grateful for is Rose’s friendship. “Thanks,” I say, lifting my eyes to hers. “I owe you.”
“Real friends don’t keep score.” Rose shoves the makeup case back into her bag. Once it’s stowed, she shrugs the bag onto her shoulder and we start walking. “So what happened this morning?” she asks.
“What do you mean?” I wait for a red sports car to pass and cross the street with Rose beside me.
“Meri, I yelled your name three times before you noticed me. That’s not like you.”
I take a deep breath and say, “Dad asked about my submission to the City Art Program this morning. It’s the first time he’s brought it up since . . . before.” I walk faster, as if I can escape the ache that comes with the reminder of my mother’s death. “He was disappointed when I told him I didn’t finish my submission. I guess I thought in some way he would be relieved.”
“Why would you think that?”
“He never goes in Mom’s studio. He took her award off the shelf in the living room. He can’t bring himself to look at her art or talk to anyone she used to work with. And whenever I start sketching or even talk about one of my assignments for art class he goes into another room.”
The things that keep me going drive him to search for a way to forget. The award lives on the shelf next to my bedroom window. I draw for hours every day. A nicer daughter would give those things up to help him. Clearly, I’m not that nice.
“Your father’s hurting,” Rose says quietly. “But he knows how important your art is. He’s not like my dad—determined to make everyone just like him. Your dad would never want you to give up something that makes you happy. Speaking of the City Art Program, I know you said your portfolio wasn’t finished, but—”
“The submission deadline was two weeks ago.” I walk even faster as our school and the dozens of cars and buses navigating the street in front of the redbrick building come into sight. “It’s over, Rose.”
Maybe I’d still get into one of the college art programs, but my chances of becoming a City Art Program designer now were low. And I had only myself to blame.
“Nothing is ever over until you admit defeat. I talked to—”
“Can you just drop it?” I ask. “Please? I haven’t had a chance to ask you about whether you convinced your dad to let you work at Gloss instead of at City Hall this summer.”
“Did you see the new issue? Mom said she sent one to your account. She wanted to know if you have ideas for the logo redesign. She wants something more youthful and striking and thinks a younger designer’s point of view will help.” Rose shakes the smile off her face and settles back into a frown. “But no fair changing the subject. We can talk about me and my summer job later. After you—”