Comeback

by Jessica Burkhart

  I wanted to be Ms. Snow.

  Or at least share her wardrobe.

  We got right to work after she called attendance.

  “We’ve been doing lots of reading in our textbooks about costume creation and inspiration,” Ms. Snow said. Her flatironed hair hit her shoulders, and the caramel highlights gave the cut dimension.

  “This will hopefully be of help when you and your partner begin sketching ideas for your costume for Beauty and the Beast.”

  We hadn’t been assigned costumes yet, but Cole and I had our fingers crossed for Khloe’s Mrs. Potts. Khloe, however, wished we’d get Riley’s Belle costume. I’d told her there was no way Cole and I could sabotage Riley’s costume, but Khloe had insisted she’d help us come up with something if we drew Belle.

  “With the seventh-grade production approaching,” Ms. Snow said, “it’s time to assign costumes to each pair of you. These were all a random draw, and there will be no trading of costumes.”

  A guy raised his hand. “What if we’re not familiar with all the characters?”

  “Good question, Alec,” Ms. Snow said, smiling. “We will be viewing two versions of the play—the Disney cartoon and a staged production. I’ll also be handing out information sheets to each pair with several images of the character as well as links to finding more information.”

  I’d seen the Disney movie too many times to count, and Cole had said he’d watched it too, so I wasn’t worried that we wouldn’t know a character.

  Ms. Snow opened a yellow planner and began calling out names of students in our class and the character they were assigned. The characters went fast.

  Maurice, Belle’s father.

  Gaston, the main antagonist.

  Chip, Mrs. Potts’s teacup son.

  “The character of Belle is assigned to Kiera and Luke,” Ms. Snow said.

  Cole and I looked at each other. Riley’s costume was gone. I’d never admit it to Khloe, but I was relieved. If we were going to keep trying to all get along, as Clare wanted, it definitely would not have helped for Cole and me to have been assigned Belle. The temptation to sabotage Riley’s costume would have been too great.

  A few more characters went.

  “The costume for Mrs. Potts . . . ,” Ms. Snow said.

  I tensed in my seat. Please, please, please . . .

  “. . . will be done by Adriana and Lacey.”

  Cole and I met eyes, mouthing no at the same time. Major. Bummer. I’d so wanted to create Khloe’s costume.

  I didn’t know Adriana and Lacey, but they had to do an amazing job. Or they’d have Khloe’s BFF in their faces!

  “Cole and Lauren, you will both be working on Lumière,” Ms. Snow announced.

  Ooh la la! I grinned and leaned over to Cole. “Lumière is my favorite character after Belle and Mrs. Potts!”

  “Secret?” Cole said, his voice hushed. “He’s my ultimate fave! I’m so glad we got him!”

  We touched our palms together, and I wrote Lumière at the top of a new page in my notebook. Designing a new look for the famous candelabra was going to be so much fun. I was sorry not to get Mrs. Potts, out of loyalty to Khloe, but if I had to get any other character, I was glad it was Lumière.

  IGNORANCE = BLISS

  “FRIDAY, FRIDAY, FRIDAY!” KHLOE SANG, doing a little dance in our room.

  I laughed. “This is the most energy you’ve ever had before our first class.”

  Khloe was brimming with energy this morning, and I was exhausted. It didn’t feel like the normal worked-too-hard tiredness. My muscles hurt, and all I wanted to do was go back to sleep. But I hadn’t finished my usual cup of morning green tea, and I was probably sore from the intense lessons Mr. Conner had put my team through all week.

  “That, my dear best friend, is because it is Friday. Otherwise known as the last day of school in a week.” Khloe’s reflection in her makeup mirror smiled at me. She put on a brown-and-black feather earring. “I have more.”

  I stepped into black peep-toe ballet flats. “Please. Continue.”

  “Also, Friday is known as the day before the weekend starts. And finally, for two lucky girls in this very room, this particular Friday is date night!”

  I smiled. “Indeed! Friday is the greatest day of the week per your examples.”

  Khloe put on her other earring and stood. “Why, thank you, LT.”

  “Did you and Zack decide plans yet?” I asked, walking into the bathroom. I grabbed two Tylenol and came out, then sat back on my bed. Khloe looked at the pills in my hand.

  Her happy expression disappeared. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

  “Oh, yeah!” I said hurriedly. “I’m totally fine. My muscles are just a little sore. Riding was intense this week.”

  Khloe’s mouth and eyes relaxed. “Okay, whew. I thought you’d hurt yourself or something.” She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing her black V-neck with ruffled sleeves and adjusting the pink belt on her jeans.

  “No, not at all. I’ll be completely fine once I take these.” I tossed the pills into my mouth and washed them down with tea. I finished what was in my cup and waited for the caffeine to kick in.

  “I understand the soreness,” Khloe said. “The back of my calves are, like, I hate you! right now. Mr. Conner keeps saying ‘schooling show,’ but he’s making us practice as if we’re going to regionals or something.”

  “I’m complaining now,” I said, trading places with Khloe to stand in front of the mirror, “but I’m relieved the workouts are so intense. The last thing I want is to be unprepared.”

  I checked my reflection in the mirror. I wore a pair of Khloe’s whiskered jeans with one of my favorite shirts—a sky-blue cotton tee with a white heart in the center. I’d accessorized with thin silver hoop earrings and my beryl birthstone necklace.

  Khloe put her bag over her shoulder. “With Mr. Conner as your coach, the last thing you’ll ever be is ‘unprepared.’ Trust me.”

  I grabbed my own bag. It felt a lot heavier than I remembered when I packed it last night. You need to hit the gym and start lifting weights, I told myself. Together, Khloe and I left Hawthorne for English class.

  • • •

  Despite my excitement about tonight with Drew, the day dragged.

  And dragged.

  And dragged.

  My backpack seemed to get heavier and heavier after each class. No shock, since teachers always loaded us down with homework for the weekend, but I had to keep putting it down and picking it back up.

  The Tylenol never kicked in, and I made a big effort to keep up with my friends as we went from class to class. But any time I had a class alone, I walked so slow, I was almost late.

  I downed two Diet Cokes at lunch but didn’t feel any more awake than I had this morning. Plus, the soda was the only “lunch” I had. Nothing sounded good. Not even the tomato cheddar soup that I’d usually almost run people over to get.

  Khloe and Lexa had asked, repeatedly, if I felt okay during lunch. I’d said I wasn’t hungry and had grabbed a bag of chips between classes. They’d seemed to sort of accept my answer and then had gotten distracted talking about the e-mail Mr. Conner had sent, canceling all intermediate and advanced riding lessons for the afternoon. I wanted to be upset about the loss of a practice session, but I couldn’t. Getting through a lesson didn’t seem possible with my stomach churning and waves of nausea hitting me at random intervals.

  Even now, walking back to Hawthorne after my last class of the day, I didn’t want to admit it out loud. If I said it, it could come true. I could say it in my head, though.

  I think I’m sick.

  But if I ignored how I felt, took more Tylenol, and drank white tea—which was packed with antioxidants—I’d feel better before I even got truly sick.

  “There,” I said, closing my door behind me. “That’s a plan. No need to panic.”

  Saying it aloud didn’t stop my nerves. I couldn’t get sick! Any other time—fine. But not now. Not when I needed
every day in the arena to practice with Whisper before the show. Not when I needed to be attending every gym class and keeping myself in shape for the schooling show.

  I dropped my backpack by my desk and went into the bathroom. With one eye closed, I peeked at my face in the mirror.

  Uh-oh.

  My fair cheeks were flushed a light pink. I touched my forehead. Warm. Not hot, though. If Khloe asked about my cheeks, I could tell her I’d gotten carried away with blush. I changed out of my school clothes into comfort clothes—an old sweatshirt, tank top, and lounge pants.

  I made myself a cup of white pear tea in the common room and downed it. I found the bottle of multivitamins that Mom had sent (and I’d yet to open) in the bathroom cabinet. I took one and two more Tylenol. Hopefully, the vitamins and tea would stop whatever I was getting before it really started. I’d even call it an early night with Drew to get to bed and, fingers crossed, wake up feeling perfect.

  CAKE ON THE MAKEUP

  I’D JUST PUT AWAY THE TYLENOL WHEN Khloe walked in. Her tan cheeks were flushed, and she had an extra bounce in her step. Khloe was always animated, but this was her going-on-a-date bouncy. I smiled, despite how I felt.

  “Are you so ready to start date prep?” she asked.

  “Ready,” I said, making sure to sound normal and not on the verge of s-i-c-k. “Drew and I are grabbing Chinese, and our plans are up in the air after that. We’ll decide after dinner.”

  “That sounds awesome. You guys have a million possibilities for tonight.”

  Nodding, I sipped the ginger ale I’d gotten from the common room and poured into a plastic glass. I just didn’t want Khloe to know how I felt. She was my best friend—she’d worry. Plus, she was so excited about her date with Zack. I didn’t want to bring down her night. It was so rare that we had free time lately with practice and school. I really did want to have fun tonight—starting with date prep with Khloe and then seeing Drew.

  We sat at our desks and opened our three-way makeup mirrors. We turned on the mirror lights, and I laid out my makeup. I looked in the mirror, and tiny dots of sweat had popped up along my hairline. My cheeks had reddened.

  I sneaked a glance at Khloe—her back was to me. Whew. A finger to my cheek confirmed what I already knew. I had a fever. No. No. No. I couldn’t be sick!

  Not now.

  Not when the show was next weekend.

  Not when I had classwork to do.

  Not when I had a date with a boy I liked.

  Stop whining. You showed in a three-day event when you had the flu and nobody found out. It’s just a tiny fever. You can hide this until it goes away. Which it totally will.

  I sat up straighter in my desk chair and pulled out a face wipe. The cooling wipe soothed my face, and I pulled off my sweatshirt. The air felt good on my bare arms. My face was going to require a little, okay, a lot more makeup than usual to cover my fever.

  “Zack has been so cute about today,” Khloe said. “He texted me a rose emoticon and said it was my pre-date gift.”

  “Aw!” I said, working fast to spread ivory foundation over my cheeks. I never wore foundation, but I had to. There was no way Khloe would let me out of the room with flaming cheeks.

  “The best part,” she said, starting to laugh, “was that Zack added that an emoticon rose was the lamest ‘gift’ ever and he hoped I didn’t expect that all future gifts from him would come through BBM.”

  I laughed too, my stomach lurching a little. “I’m so glad you two are going out,” I said. “He’s like you in a lot of ways—funny, silly, smart. And he seems like a good guy.”

  “He is,” Khloe said. She held an eyelash curler over her right eye.

  “Zack better be. All the time to my BFF. Or I will do more than send him an emoticon with a black eye.”

  We giggled together. I smoothed the Covergirl foundation, blending it along my jawline. It covered my freckles—something I wasn’t used to seeing. I curled my lashes, starting to feel a little better, and applied a light coat of brown mascara on my upper lashes. The ginger ale had helped the nausea, and the Tylenol had finally started to work.

  I smiled to myself. Maybe I had caught it just in time. I peered in the mirror, looking very closely at my face. Why hadn’t the foundation covered the red? It didn’t even look as though I’d applied blush. It looked like I’d spent a weekend at the Hamptons without sunblock.

  I fumbled through my makeup, grabbing a cover-up stick. I rubbed the heavy makeup on my cheeks.

  There.

  Redness gone!

  I’d have to come up with an excuse for why I was wearing so much (too much) makeup, but at least I’d covered the fever. Just to be safe, I patted powder on my cheeks. Clear gloss, and makeup was done.

  Staying at my desk, I ran a brush through my hair, deciding to let it stay loose and wavy tonight.

  I turned my chair and went to my closet. “Makeup done,” I said. “Now clothes. You know it’s code that you’ve got to help me choose.”

  “Of course,” Khloe said. “And I’m not setting one foot outside the door without fashion advice from Lauren Towers.”

  I looked through my shirts, ignoring that the fact that everything started hurting the second I’d stood.

  “I’m flattered,” I said. “You know the way to my heart.” Grinning, I turned to her, a hand over my chest.

  Khloe smiled, and I turned back to my clothes.

  “Um . . . Laur?”

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Did you totally change your makeup routine?” Khloe asked. “I didn’t pay attention to how you did yours tonight. Did I miss a huge EBT?”

  I kept my gaze on my clothes, pretending to be concentrating on a shirt. “You didn’t miss anything at all. I added extra cover-up because I had some really gross breakouts that came out of nowhere. Perf timing, right?”

  “Ugh, I hate when that happens. I always break out at the ‘ideal’—not—moments. Thank whoever invented Clearasil! An invention that has saved countless people from going into hiding when a monster pimple popped up.”

  I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t. My eyes watered nonstop, and I swallowed saliva. And kept swallowing. I took a huge breath through my nose and sat on the chair next to my closet, forcing myself to focus on the shirts I’d picked. By “picked,” I meant grabbed before another bout of nausea hit.

  “I can’t wait to hear what you think about the Chinese place,” Khloe said. “It’s about time we got Chinese on campus. Cold noodles with sesame sauce, kung pao chicken, and orange chicken are my ultimate faves.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and blew a big breath through my mouth. Hot and cold swept over my body, almost at the same time. Just the mention of that food—I couldn’t even think about the specifics—had me five seconds away from running into the bathroom. The ginger ale that had tasted good moments earlier rose in my throat. I sat absolutely still. Our room felt like a boat on rough waters and I was seasick.

  “Lauren.”

  The tone of Khloe’s voice made me open my eyes. Slowly.

  “Need help with something?” I managed to get out, trying to keep my voice casual.

  “I really do,” Khloe said. “I’m trying to figure out why my roomie looks like she’s about to throw up and isn’t telling me.”

  My shoulders slumped. I leaned forward, the shirts falling, and clutched my stomach.

  Khloe was kneeling beside my chair in an instant, a hand on my arm. “Laur, what’s going on? Please tell me so I can help.”

  “Nauseous,” was all I could say.

  “You’re doing the right thing. Keep your head down and stay still.” Khloe switched from date mode to in-total-control mode in a millisecond. “If you feel like the room’s spinning or you’re dizzy, shut your eyes, too.”

  “’Kay,” I whispered. White spots swam in front of my closed eyes.

  “Do not move. I’m going to the bathroom to get a cold washcloth. I’ll be right back.”

  I heard Khloe’s ba
re feet hurry across the floor, and she muttered at the water to come out faster.

  She knelt back beside me. I still had my eyes closed, but I felt her knee brush my foot. She put a cozy blanket over my now shivering shoulders, and I wrapped it over my arms and across my chest. I heard the mini-fridge door open, and a soda can popped open. Khloe brought over a ginger ale with a straw and PeptoBismol tablets.

  I lifted my head slightly, opened my eyes, and took small sips and chewed the tablets. Khloe stayed beside me while I waited to see if the medicine would help. After a few minutes, the nausea lessened enough for me to talk.

  “Thank you. I’m so sorry, Khloe. I—”

  “Shhh. Not right now.” Khloe’s brown eyes were wide with concern. “Just listen to me. If you’re able to sit up all the way, and you can keep your eyes closed if it helps, I’ll put a cool washcloth on your forehead. It’ll help with the nausea.”

  I stayed bent over, taking a breath.

  “You’re going to be fine, Laur. Promise. Lots of things could have made you feel sick all of a sudden. You skipped lunch, so you might be really, really hungry. Or if you had a snack, maybe it upset your stomach. It might be something that goes away just like that.”

  I slowly raised my head. Khloe was going to find out about my fever the second she touched my forehead.

  “Good job,” she said, her voice soothing. “Does anything else feel wrong?” She held the pink washcloth, ready to apply it to my forehead.

  I reached for the washcloth and swiped it across my cheeks. One at a time.

  “Omigosh, Lauren!” Khloe said, touching my blanket-covered arm. “You have a fever! It looks like a bad one. Oh, no.”

  “Please let me apologize this time. Khlo, I felt sick all day. I thought if I ignored it, then it would go away. I really thought I was sore from riding when I took the Tylenol this morning, but I kept feeling worse and worse.”

  “You should have left class and gone to the nurse,” Khloe said. Her tone wasn’t judgmental, just sad.

  “I couldn’t. I didn’t want to even think about the possibility that I was, okay, am sick. I can’t be sick now. There’s so much going on. I can’t miss one day at the stable, and I was so excited about tonight for both of us. I’m ruining it now.”