by Kylie Key
I could only nod because Alex kissed me.
And then he kissed me again.
And again.
THE ONLY THING I PACKED up to take home was my school bag. I had some reading and assignments to do over the break, but I didn’t need to take any clothes because I had everything at home.
I had been away a whole month and curiously I couldn’t muster up an ounce of excitement. Not of seeing my parents, or my friends, though I was looking forward to seeing my brother again. He’d been gone since he started college in September.
Margaret was going to be coming to our house for Christmas Day lunch, yet my eyes were teary when I waved her and Tony goodbye, being a whole five days till I saw them again. Mom had insisted Margaret take time off over the holidays.
Mom was different. Physically, I mean. Her hair had been dyed an ash platinum blonde and the corset style shirt dress she was wearing showed she’d definitely had a breast lift. I didn’t know whether to gasp or cry.
Mom twirled and smirked. “What do you think, sweetie?”
“When did you get that done?”
“Last week. Goodness, they were starting to sag. But not now,” she said with a wink.
The color drained out of me and I leaned against the kitchen island. She hadn’t been at a work conference at all; my Mom had been having plastic surgery!
“Now, I’ve got Sandy coming in later to do your nails, and I can call Kami to do a skin treatment.” She came over to me and inspected my face, brushing at something on my chin. If it was a zit, I hadn’t noticed it this morning. “Now, go and change, and put your contacts in and we can go out for lunch.” She plucked my glasses off my face, leaving me in a blur.
My bed had a new silver and pink cover that I hadn’t seen before and a pale lilac dress hung at the entrance to my closet.
“That’s for tomorrow night’s party,” she said. “All your friends will be there.”
I frowned and was immediately scolded for it. “Lines. Wrinkles, Blaire,” Mom said. “Isn’t it gorgeous? That color looks so good on you.”
“What about the gold one that I was going to wear to the Fall Fundraiser?” I asked as I threaded the silky fabric through my fingers, the low cut spaghetti strap gown not appealing at all. It was flimsy and tight and too revealing. A month ago I would have loved it. Had I changed so much?
“I’m wearing gold,” Mom said curtly, meaning there was no point in saying more.
“Did you find out who set me up?” I asked.
“What?” Mom said, taking the hanger from me and looking lovingly at the dress.
“I didn’t steal that bracelet Mom.”
Mom shook her head. “Don’t worry about that now.”
“What do you mean, don’t worry about it?”
“Jeremy’s coming tomorrow to do our hair” Mom said. “Maybe you could have a wash out color put through. Something to match the dress.”
“Mom,” I said, trying to keep an even voice, but not succeeding, “I don’t care about my hair! I didn’t steal that bracelet. I was set up.”
“Haven’t you put me through enough?” Mom’s screech was deafening and frightening. “Can’t you just do as you’re told? I’ve suffered because of you and all I’m asking is that you look nice at the party. One Christmas party, Blaire.” She shook her head in silent disgust.
I dragged in a breath, staring at her with wide eyes. “Mom, my reputation is at stake! You didn’t try to find out the truth? Is that what you’re saying?” I collapsed onto my bed, afraid my legs were about to crumple under me. “You said you were sorting it! Yet you’ve been away having plastic surgery!”
“Stop it,” Mom hissed. “Just stop it. It’s bad enough that you’ve...you’ve...Look, I don’t need this insolence from you.”
I froze, Mom’s words cutting deep into my core, yet it was her unspoken ones that hurt most. Mom was ashamed of me, embarrassed by me. Yet finding out the truth wasn’t a priority for her. I couldn’t fathom what that meant for me. And I couldn’t understand why she wanted me here when I was a smear on the family name.
Chapter 16
I didn’t sleep well in my queen size bed with the 500 thread count sheets and 101 pillows on it. I missed the cozy twin bed and the warm floral quilt at Margaret’s house. Even Peppy had been unsettled, getting out of bed several times to wander around.
I was scared to check my phone, half afraid that Alex hadn’t messaged me, half afraid that he had. If he hadn’t left a message, it might mean he’d forgotten about me already; if he had, then I’d end up lying about being with my sick mother.
But seeing his text made my heart swell: Good morning, hope you had a safe trip home. Must be good to see your Mum
Gah...I was such a fraud...What was I to say...Yes, my 15 minute journey home went very well, thank you!
I replied: Yes, it was, and my Mom is doing fine, lol
He sent back a one word text: Mum
I replied: Mom
My good mood was halted when Mom came knocking on my door. Coming in from her personal training session in a sports bra and leggings and her hair done up in a messy bun, she breathlessly made her way to my bed.
“Magnus just worked my butt off,” she said. “He had me doing star jumps and squats and lunges and planks. I nearly died.” She wiped at her forehead, though not a drop of sweat graced it. I could see where my flair for drama came from.
“Good for you,” I said dryly. My anger hadn’t dissipated overnight.
“I wanna look good in my dress tonight,” she said, raising her eyebrows and smiling. She took hold of my hand, scrutinizing my nails. “Hmmm, I suppose they’ll match your dress,” she said.
I pulled out of her grip. Mom had wanted me to have long acrylic tips, but I strongly opposed. An argument had ensued but when I told her it would be too difficult to put my contacts in and out, she relented. I’d agreed to a pale lilac shade on my short nails. Her own nails were outrageously long and painted in gold and white, the theme of the party.
“Jeremy and Shawna will be here at two to do our hair,” she said, “and Shawna will do your makeup, too.”
“My makeup?” I said with a scowl, “I don’t need anyone to do my makeup.”
“We need to pretty you up, sweetie.” One long, square shaped nail dragged across my chin, scratching on a spot.
“You don’t think I’m pretty enough?” I asked, recoiling from her touch.
“Of course I do,” Mom said, a chime of laughter ringing out. “Once we get rid of the glasses, tidy up your eyebrows and give you some eyelashes, you’ll look a million dollars.”
My heart beat accelerated, and it was pushing at my throat. I clenched my hands into tight fists and pressed my lips together in a bid to steady myself. Agitation was rising.
“You can go now,” I whispered through gritted teeth, and with a swish of her head she rose and sashayed out of the room, overtly shaking her hips as she went, rapping the words to a song. She stopped at the door, performing a dance move like she was a twelve year old, fluttered her fingers and left.
I let out a giant breath when the door closed, and flopped back to lie flat on my bed.
I had changed.
One month at River Valley High and I had changed so much.
Whereas I would have been the first to decry anyone who left the house without makeup, or wore unfashionable glasses or clothes, or, gasp, didn’t have fake nails, now I could see how shallow I’d been. Apart from that kid who’d called me four eyes, no one at RV High had commented on my lack of style or use of cosmetics, or indeed my plain hair.
But most of all, my friendships weren’t based on what sort of car I drove, or where I lived or how much money my parents had. My friends knew nothing about my real life, yet they’d seen the real me. Blair Pennington laid bare as Blaire Ashley.
Totally real.
No history
No reputation
No preconceptions
Just me.
And
Lily and Alex liked me for who I was.
In fact, Alex more than liked me!
Lily, Olivia and Chloe all messaged throughout the day. Not malicious texts about what I was wearing or gossip about any other kids, but asking me how my trip went and if my mother was doing okay.
A burdensome cross weighed heavy on my shoulders as I replied to them that everything was fine. They would die if they knew I was having my hair and makeup done in my own home and about to slip into a designer gown and attend the ritziest party in Covington Heights.
I barely recognized myself as I stared at my reflection. My brown eyes were framed by mascara (I argued that extensions were difficult for my contacts), my brows precise, my mouth full and plump with an artificial matte finish. I didn’t see this version as beautiful, as Mom and Dad exclaimed. Beauty couldn’t be painted on, no matter how perfect. Thick colorful lips weren’t as beautiful as the clear, untainted smile of Lily’s. A scarred upper lip didn’t detract from the beauty within. Enhancing my features might make me more physically attractive, but was that beauty? Alex didn’t seem to mind that I wore glasses or that my hair was an ordinary shade of brown and barely long enough to be tied in a ponytail.
Ginny and Mikayla came early, saying they were excited to catch up on all my news. We hugged, but it was all careful, like we didn’t want to crease our dresses or muss our hair. And then they filled me in on the Covington gossip. I mused over the fact that Jack hadn’t told me Mikayla was now dating Hunter, but I couldn’t confront him as he was with Bella, the two of them babysitting her younger brother. Mom and Aunt Clare were wildly disappointed that he wouldn’t be here, but Jack didn’t fall to conformity. He apologized to me and said we’d catch up tomorrow, confessing that the party was about as appealing as jumping into a river of piranhas. In fact he said, and I quote, “I’d rather jump into a river of piranhas.”
Right now, as I watched the Covington glitterati walk into the living room, I wished I had stood up to my mother. A speck of eyeshadow must have flicked into my left eye causing me to blink rapidly. And then both eyes were blinking as I saw the slim figure of Zara Raymond appear, flanked by who I assumed were her parents.
Like, what????
Why were the Raymonds at our Christmas party? The one person who had stolen my life away from me?
Momentarily ignoring the discomfort of my contact lens, I scanned the room, immediately spotting what I was looking for, Mom’s slinky gold lamé gown. Storming over to her with an expression of thunder, I tapped the back of her shoulder. How dare she invite these people into our house!
Mom turned, and in that millisecond, when she said, “Oh Blair,” I got an obscured glimpse of the people she was talking to, and my eyes widened at the flash of brown hair that jerked up, and I found myself looking into the glacial blue eyes of Alex Lord.
Who was more shocked, it was hard to say. Mom was droning on with a stream of unintelligible words, well unintelligible to me in my stupefied state. All I could see was black.
“Blair? Blair!” Mom’s voice was suddenly coherent as she placed a hand around my shoulder, gently shaking me. “This is Alex, Shelby’s guest from England. Alex, this is my daughter, Blair.”
“Hi Blair.” Alex held his hand out. In a trance, I shook it. He was dressed all in black, shirt, pants—he’d probably call them trousers, pointed leather shoes—and he looked more gorgeous than ever. Appears he did have another pair of footwear after all.
“Alex,” I breathed, retreating my hand and trying to ascertain what was happening here.
“So good to see you Blair,” Shelby Cutter said, taking me in a polite hug. “Goodness, how long is it since I’ve seen you!”
I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know how long it had been since I’d seen my old riding instructor.
“Four years?” Of course Mom would know. “Four and a half years.”
“You’ve grown into a beautiful young lady,” Shelby said. She’d always had a slightly different accent and only now I identified it as having a British twang to it. I smiled and lowered my eyes in acknowledgement. “Blair was one of my most enthusiastic students,” Shelby said, and glancing up, I realized she was talking to Alex. “She had a beautiful gray Arabian. Such a mild-mannered horse.”
Alex nodded, as did I. His gaze wasn’t quite on me. It was flitting from Shelby to Mom.
“Moonbeam,” Mom said. “Oh boy, did she love Moonbeam!” There was a strange hint of sarcasm in her tone.
“It’s a shame you didn’t keep riding,” Shelby said.
“Yes, so tragic that she didn’t keep riding,” Mom said, “after all the years spent on lessons.” It was spoken with an inference that I’d been a quitter, a spoilt brat who’d been ungrateful and lost interest.
“You had a lovely way with horses,” Shelby said kindly.
“Thank you,” I said, though knowing it really meant You sucked at riding. Horses had been my passion, up until Mom insisted I enter into competitions. That’s where I sucked. I loved riding, loved training, hated competing. And Mom, who rejoiced in the fact that there was something I was finally good at, made me compete. That was what drove me away from the sport. Her pushiness stressed me out. I didn’t perform well under pressure. I failed badly.
“You should come out some time,” Shelby said.
As I smiled and nodded, Mom interjected with, “Goodness, would she know the front from the back nowadays?” And laughed in her own little world. One champagne too many, I suspected.
Not wanting to spend another second in Mom’s company, I said, “I’ll show Alex around, shall I?” And I grabbed his hand and steered him out of the room and along the hallway, my legs automatically heading downstairs. I passed the wine cellar and hesitated outside the laundry. Releasing his hand, I opened the door, running my hand along the wall for a light switch. Alex followed me in. I hardly ever came down here, and looking around I was surprised at how large the room was. Margaret’s laundry was basically a washer and a dryer and a sink in a cupboard.
Noticing there was no lock on the door, I leaned against it, hesitant to make eye contact. So far neither of us had said a word, and there was a fluttering in my chest wondering how I was going to explain any of this. I was finding it hard to swallow, but he seemed to be waiting for me to speak.
“I...I can’t imagine what you’re thinking...” I let my voice trail off, hoping he’d interject.
“I don’t know,” Alex said with a shrug and a bewildered shake of his head, his arms folded firmly across his chest. “I was told to dress up for a fancy party at the house of the people who own Whittakers Ice Cream, a billion dollar company here in River Valley. And I’m introduced to Mrs Pennington, who doesn’t look ill in the slightest, and she introduces me to her daughter Blaire, who...” He let out a frustrated sigh, “...who seems to be a complete double for a girl I know who goes to River Valley High. Except that Blaire lives with her Great Aunt in a tiny little house. So, actually, I have no idea what the heck is going on.” His eyes rolled off to the side, as if he too was impressed by the size of the laundry.
“My name is Blair Ashley Pennington,” I said. “Blair without an E.”
“Without an E?” He huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh no, don’t tell me that your Great Aunt isn’t really your great aunt.”
“Margaret is our housekeeper,” I said sheepishly, biting down on my lower lip.
“O—kayyyyy.”
“I got suspended from Covington Prep,” I said. “I was accused of stealing a ten thousand dollar bracelet.” I gave him the details of how the school had conducted a locker search and it had been found in my locker. I assured him that there was no way I could have stolen it, that there was no need for me to steal it, that I wasn’t a crazy kleptomaniac.
And he believed me.
But he was confused, “So, why the disguise?”
“Because I’ve shamed my family name,” I said, tears forming without warning. “I embarrassed my family. Mom wanted to send me to board
ing school out east. But Margaret said I could stay with her.” Tears were dribbling down my cheeks. I reached up to wipe them away, but Alex stepped closer, taking hold of my hands, his thumbs running across my cheeks.
“So, the glasses aren’t real?”
“They’re real, but I’m wearing contacts now,” I said with a sniff, realizing that whatever had been in my eye earlier had now disappeared. “I had to have a haircut, like my hair used to be long, down to the middle of my back. And I was blonde.”
“Blonde?” Alex quirked an eyebrow in amusement.
I pushed against his chest, letting out a choked sob. “Yes,” I whispered, “I’m afraid you got the real version of me. The basic model. No enhancements.” More tears flowed and I was incapable of stopping them.
“Hey,” he said, his thumbs gentle as he mopped my cheeks again, “I kinda liked the basic model.” He leaned in a little more. “She was easy to kiss.” He pressed a finger tip against my lips, the pad of it coming away with a plum colored stain. “I don’t wanna end up looking like a zombie again.”
Butterflies fluttered by, leaving me star struck as I stared into his eyes, only now I was brimming with joy. In a mad rush I flung open cupboard doors. Surely there had to be a washcloth or towel in here. Grabbing a tub of wet wipes, I pulled on one, but got a dozen. I rubbed at my lips, grimacing at the soapy, antiseptic taste. At the sink I splashed cold water over my mouth and then presented myself in front of Alex.
“Kissable?” I asked with hope. “I might taste a little soapy.”
Alex grinned. Do you know how it is when someone looks at you, like deeply, unwaveringly, like you’re all they’re seeing. Only you. Your lungs and heart stutter like they’ve forgotten how to function.
That’s how it was when Alex’s lips swept across mine, a magical moment where a kiss in a laundry room was the best thing that had ever happened in my whole existence.