Chapter Text
Wednesday - nine days to prom
Natalie slouched against the rusted bleachers behind the field, cigarette balanced between two fingers, smoke curling up into the gray sky like an afterthought. Kevyn was sitting cross-legged in the patchy grass, burning tiny holes into a math worksheet with his lighter. Jacob leaned back on his elbows, face tilted toward the sun.
It was fifth period. Soccer practice wasn’t for another hour. The world smelled like burned paper, wet grass, and teenage apathy.
“If you could fake your own death,” Kevyn said, flicking ash into his notebook margin, “like really disappear, how would you do it?”
Natalie took a drag and exhaled slowly. “Lake. Heavy boots. No note.”
Jacob scoffed. “Classic.”
“I’m a traditionalist,” she muttered.
Kevyn tapped the lighter against his knee. “I’d go Mexico. New name. Bleach my hair. Open a scuba shop.”
Natalie raised an eyebrow. “You’re allergic to sunscreen.”
“Details,” he said.
Kevyn glanced at his watch. “You guys still down to hang later? I found that old Fire Walk with Me VHS my uncle said was cursed.”
Natalie flicked ash onto her boot. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
Jacob nodded. “Sure. Weird movies and bad weed.”
Kevyn smirked. “You bring the weed, I’ll bring the existential dread.”
“Deal,” Natalie said, tapping ash into the grass. “But if you make us listen to Tool again I’m leaving.”
“You say that every time,” Jacob said.
Natalie didn’t answer. Her eyes had already slid past the group, caught on the lone figure hunched beside the equipment shed—moving with the same unnerving precision as always.
Misty Quigley.
She was aggressively scrubbing down a pile of like they’d personally offended her. Her mouth moved—talking to herself or rehearsing lines for a conversation no one else wanted to have.
Natalie watched her for a beat too long. The way Misty’s curls bounced with each jerky, frustrated movement. Frizz haloed around her head in the afternoon light, giving her the look of a stormcloud with a vendetta.
She’d known Misty since they were kids. Not friends , not really—but classmates, teammates, small-town familiar. Misty had always been like that: strange, too intense, trying too hard in ways that made everyone lean away. She never really had anyone, and she always wanted to fit in so badly it was painful to watch.
Natalie got it. Sort of.
She was an outcast too, just in a different shape. People didn’t expect her to try. She wore her disinterest like armor. Being on the outside was a choice, for her. But Misty? She clung to the edges, always hoping to be invited in. It made Natalie uncomfortable sometimes. Not because Misty was awful—she wasn’t. She was actually kind of okay, if a little too much.
Natalie didn’t realize she’d been staring for long until Jacob turned his head to follow her gaze.
“Oh my god,” he muttered. “Are you actually watching her?”
Natalie blinked and looked away, but too late.
“Honestly,” Jacob said, grinning now, “it’s creepy how obsessed she is with you.”
“She is not obsessed with me,” Natalie said flatly—though even as the words left her mouth, they didn’t land with conviction.
Kevyn flicked ash onto the grass and smirked. “If you told her to bite someone, she’d ask which limb. And yeah, I always catch her looking at you.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “Maybe you’re the one obsessed with her, then.”
The thing was—Misty did look at her. All the time. Not like the other girls, with their half-lidded glances and gum-smacking judgment. Misty looked at her like she meant something.
Natalie flicked her cigarette and looked away.
Jacob followed her gaze and snorted. “She’s always staring at you Nat, she totally likes you”. He added, in a mocking tone.
“She doesn't like me,” Natalie snapped, sharper than she meant to. “You guys are just weirdly into projecting.”
Kevyn grinned. “Projecting what? That you have your own little admirer? Admit it—she’s got it bad.”
Natalie rolled her eyes, but the irritation sat heavy in her chest. She hated how confident they were—how smug.
“She doesn’t like me like that,” she said. “She’s just… intense. She’s like that with everyone.”
“You’re the only one she pays that kind of attention to.” Jacob said.
Natalie opened her mouth—then closed it.
Kevyn raised a brow. “Exactly.”
A pause.
Natalie blew smoke through her nose. “You know what? Fine. You think she’s that into me? I’ll prove she’s not.”
Jacob raised an eyebrow. “How exactly?”
“I’ll get her a boyfriend.”
They both blinked at her.
“I’ll find her a date for prom,” she said, voice steady now. “Someone real. Someone who’s not me. She goes with someone else, you drop the jokes. Deal?”
Kevyn snorted. “You seriously think you can just flip her off like a light switch?”
“She’s not obsessed with me,” Natalie said, jaw tightening. “She’s just never had anyone else pay attention to her. Once someone does? She’ll move on.”
Jacob leaned back, skeptical. “Prom’s in nine days. Nine days isn’t enough to change someone like that.”
Natalie stubbed her cigarette out on the bleacher, eyes on the field.
“People just need a reason to change. I’ll give her one.”
She looked up and spotted Misty still at the equipment shed, now balancing a clipboard and a mesh bag full of cones like she was playing Jenga with athletic supplies. On impulse, Natalie lifted a hand and gave her a little wave—two fingers, casual.
Misty looked up and froze like she’d been hit with a tranquilizer dart. The clipboard slipped from her hands and clattered to the ground. She scrambled to pick it up, flustered, then looked back and waved—small, unsure, but clearly stunned.
Kevyn let out a low whistle. “Look at the effect you have on her. You’re totally screwed.”
Natalie smirked. “Wanna make it interesting?”
Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘interesting.’”
“Twenty bucks says she walks in with some dude and acts like I never existed.”
Kevyn grinned. “You’re on.”
Jacob dug into his pocket. “I’ve got ten that says she falls for you even harder before you even find the guy.”
Natalie didn’t flinch. “Double or nothing. Let’s see who’s right.”
They shook on it.
And across the field, Misty was still smiling like someone had just given her permission to exist.
Natalie was the one to look away first.
Misty Quigley always moved like she was on a mission. When Natalie caught up with her after practice, the sun was already low, and Misty was hauling a stack of sweat-soaked jerseys toward the locker room, muttering to herself under her breath. Natalie couldn’t make out a single word.
She stepped into Misty’s path like she was daring her to collide.
Misty startled, jerking to a stop. “Oh. Um. Hi Nat.”
Natalie smirked. “Hi.”
There was a pause. Long enough to make it weird. Misty blinked at her like she was still processing her sudden presence, which—to be fair—was valid. Natalie had never once, in four years, gone out of her way to talk to her. Not like this. Not without needing tape or ibuprofen.
Natalie cleared her throat. “You, uh… doing laundry penance or something?”
Misty glanced down at the jerseys in her arms. “Someone left half of these in a trash bag behind the bleachers. Mold doesn’t just wash itself out, you know.”
“Yeah. Thank god for you.”
That earned her a suspicious side-eye, but Misty didn’t say anything.
Natalie shifted her weight. “You ever do anything that’s not, like… for the team?”
Misty’s eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, like, for you . Outside of… jersey mold and whatever.” She shrugged. “Like dating. Parties. That kind of thing.”
Misty looked genuinely startled. “Dating?”
Natalie forced a casual shrug. “Yeah. You ever think about it?”
Misty blinked. Then blinked again. “Like… other people?”
Natalie almost laughed. “Yeah, like… a boyfriend. Or whatever.”
She didn’t know if Misty liked guys. Or girls. Or anyone, really. The “whatever” was insurance—casual enough to brush off, vague enough to mean nothing. Or everything.
Misty looked down at the jerseys in her arms as if one of them might hold the answer. “I mean. I’ve considered it,” she said carefully. “Statistically speaking, people who date during adolescence have higher chances of—”
Natalie held up a hand. “Okay, let’s not go full research paper.”
Misty closed her mouth but she was visibly buzzing—cheeks a little pink, eyes wide and glassy. Hopeful. Too hopeful.
Natalie fought the urge to look away.
“I just think,” Natalie said, folding her arms, “you deserve a chance. You know, to meet someone. Prom’s in nine days.”
Misty’s eyes widened a little more. “You think someone would ask me to prom?”
Natalie shrugged. “Maybe. Only if you want to. And I could help.”
“You’d… help me?”
Natalie nodded, slow and measured, watching Misty’s face like it might give something away.
“Why?” Misty asked. Not defensive—just wary. Like she couldn’t quite believe it.
Natalie shrugged. “I don’t know. Thought maybe you deserved a shot.”
Misty tilted her head. “You’ve never talked to me like this before.”
“I’m talking to you now.”
Another pause. Misty searched her face like she was looking for a catch.
Natalie didn’t offer one.
Finally, Misty nodded—small and hesitant, like the word yes might still vanish if she said it too fast.
“I guess I wouldn’t hate going to prom with someone,” she said after a few seconds. “I’ve already catalogued what kind of emergency supplies the gym can hold, so logistically I’m prepared.”
Natalie smirked. “Right. Very romantic.”
“I don’t have a dress,” Misty added. “But I could sew one if I find the right fabric. I’ve been saving some money from babysitting.”
Natalie opened her mouth to respond, but what came out was, “You babysit?”
Misty nodded. “Only for my neighbor. Their toddler has a gluten sensitivity and doesn’t like eye contact, but we get along.”
“…Okay.”
She honestly didn’t know what to do with that information.
Misty shifted the pile of jerseys in her arms. “Do you want to come over to my house? Maybe in an hour? I was just about to start reorganizing my VHS collection—by genre and threat level.”
Natalie raised an eyebrow.
Misty hesitated, then added, “We can, um… start the game plan. For this whole dating thing. If you’re serious.”
Natalie smirked. “Deadly.”
Misty looked way too pleased with that answer. “Super-duper! I’ll clear some space on my bed.”
Natalie hadn’t known what to expect, but it still wasn’t this.
Misty’s house smelled like lavender disinfectant and popcorn. Misty’s mom had greeted Natalie on her way in—polite but distant—before quickly returning to what looked like grading papers at the dining room table. She wore glasses like Misty and had the same sharp features, though her hair was neat, her blouse buttoned to the collar. Put-together. Controlled. She looked like someone who made lists in her sleep. Nothing like Natalie’s mom, who mostly lived on the couch, either chain-smoking through soap operas or knocked out on pills that made her sleep until late afternoon.
Misty’s bedroom looked like it hadn’t changed since childhood—except it was spotless, almost staged, like she’d vacuumed the carpet with a ruler. Yellow striped wallpaper lined the sloped ceiling, matched to frilly curtains and a bedspread so coordinated it felt surreal. Stuffed animals sat in a perfectly straight row at the foot of the bed, like witnesses.
Her vanity was cluttered but intentional: framed photos, porcelain figurines, tangled necklaces draped over lamps, cut outs from magazines stuck to her mirror. She also had a corkboard plastered with school prizes memorabilia, cutouts, and a few faded ribbons.
A bulky red landline phone sat next to a pristine VHS-TV combo and a stack of tapes labeled in loopy handwriting. On the windowsill, a small telescope stood beside a potted plant and a cassette stereo that looked barely touched.
It was cozy, but not comfortable. Like a room someone had memorized instead of lived in.
Misty offered her a cup of lukewarm tea and a pack of animal crackers. Natalie sat on the floor, legs crossed, eyeing the precision with which Misty poured water into the mug like she was measuring out acid.
“So,” Natalie said, “back to the whole dating thing.”
Misty perched on the edge of her bed like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to sit on it. “Yes?”
“What are you… looking for? In a guy?”
Misty blinked, hard. “In what sense?”
Natalie tried to phrase it differently. “Like, if you had to make a list of traits. Ideal prom date material. What would he be like?”
“Oh. Um.” Misty’s hands fluttered at her sides. “Someone with… good hygiene. And an appreciation for structure. Preferably not allergic to feathers or birdseed. I guess… someone who doesn’t mind long silences. Or facts. Or birds.”
Natalie blinked. “Birds?”
Misty nodded, already talking faster. “Not just the obvious ones. I mean, yes, owls are fascinating, but corvids—crows, ravens, magpies—they’re incredibly intelligent. And doves have this entire symbolic framework that’s totally misused in popular media—”
“Okay, okay,” Natalie cut in. “So… clean, quiet, feather-tolerant bird enthusiast.”
“I’m flexible,” Misty said quickly. “It’s not a dealbreaker if they prefer mammals.”
Natalie stared at her. Then smiled.
This was going to be ridiculous .
She leaned back. “Anything else I should know?”
Misty hesitated, glancing down at her lap like she wasn’t sure if she should say it. Then:
“I wouldn’t mind someone a little… unpredictable. Someone who doesn’t follow rules just to follow them. Maybe a bit damaged,” she added, almost shyly. “But smart. Not fake-deep. Like, the kind of person who actually thinks about stuff. Even if it’s dark.”
Natalie blinked. That was… weirdly specific.
For a split second, it sounded like Misty was describing her . But she shoved the thought aside as fast as it came.
“Right,” Natalie said, dry. “Feathers and danger. Got it.”
She stretched her legs out across the carpet, leaned back on her elbows. Misty was still watching her like she was waiting for permission to breathe.
“So, you really want to go to prom don’t you?” Natalie asked, suddenly quieter.
Misty looked down. “I’ve never been asked.”
“That was not my question.”
Misty hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
There was a beat of silence. Natalie’s eyes met hers and—there it was. That look . Wide open. Full of wanting.
Natalie hated how soft it made her feel.
She cleared her throat. “Alright, then. If we’re doing this, we’re starting with the basics. Makeover first.”
Misty perked up. “Makeover?”
“Yeah. Nothing crazy. Just… clothes. Hair.” Natalie said. “Just… things to make you seem a little more open to interaction, and less like you’re about to grade everyone.”
Misty tilted her head. “I didn’t know I gave off that energy.”
Natalie gave her a look—eyebrows raised, lips pressed into a half-smirk that said you definitely do, but also it’s not the worst thing in the world.
“Oh,” Misty said. “Okay.”
Natalie stood, brushing off her jeans. “Tomorrow. After school. Mall. Five o’clock. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t be,” Misty said quickly. “I’ll set an alarm and prepare a short checklist in case—”
Natalie was already halfway out the door.
Outside, walking down the driveway, Natalie paused and glanced back once. Misty was standing in the window, watching her go, her face unreadable behind the glass.
For a second, something in Natalie twisted. Guilt, probably. The kind that came from watching someone change just so you could win a stupid argument.
She pushed it down and lit a cigarette.. This wasn’t that deep.
This was fine.
It had to be.
Misty would never find out—not if Natalie kept it clean, kept it simple.
Thursday - eight days to prom
Misty was already sitting by the time Natalie got to the mall cafeteria they’ve agreed to meet at, her eyes fixed on a little plastic bowl of chocolate ice cream. She held the spoon in both hands, very still, like she was waiting for someone to give her clearance to start eating.
Natalie dropped into the chair across from her and set her coffee down with a dull thud.
“Dinner of champions,” she muttered.
Misty glanced up. “Caffeine suppresses appetite. That’s a common trick in elite-level endurance training.”
Natalie stared at her. “I just like the taste.”
“Yeah. Right.”
They sat in silence for a beat. Around them, the mall food court buzzed with fluorescent lighting and teenagers pretending not to look at each other. Somewhere nearby, someone was getting yelled at for stealing fries.
Misty finally dipped her spoon into the ice cream. “This is nice.”
Natalie arched a brow. “What, the cafeteria?”
“No, this. You. Talking to me.”
Natalie took a long sip of her coffee. “Don’t get used to it.”
“I won’t,” Misty said too quickly. “I mean—I’ll enjoy it appropriately. Without expectation.”
Natalie snorted and leaned back in her chair. “Alright. Let’s talk strategy.”
Misty perked up immediately. “Like a training module?”
“Kind of. Think of it like… behavioral guidelines. There are certain things you do, and don’t do, if you want someone to like you.”
Misty nodded. “I’m ready.”
Natalie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t need to take notes.”
Misty lowered the pen she had definitely pulled out of her purse.
“Rule one,” Natalie said, sipping her coffee. “Don’t be too available. You have to make people work for your attention a little. If you hover, they lose interest.”
Misty frowned. “But I want to show them I’m interested.”
“Sure. But you don’t want to seem desperate. It’s about balance. Be present, but not clingy. ”
Misty looked down at her ice cream. “Okay. I can do that. Less clinging.”
Natalie hesitated. “Rule two: eye contact. Confidence. When you talk to a guy, just… hold his gaze. Relaxed. Natural. Don’t make him feel like he’s under a microscope.”
“Natural,” Misty echoed. “Like a crow watching a squirrel.”
Natalie blinked. “Maybe less… predator energy.”
Misty nodded solemnly. “Got it.”
Natalie let her smile crack through. “Rule three—don’t talk a guy’s ear off. Ask questions. Listen. Make him feel interesting, even if he isn’t.”
“That’s manipulative,” Misty said, tilting her head.
“It’s survival,” Natalie replied. “You want to keep someone around? You make them feel seen. And safe. And smart.”
Misty stirred her ice cream absently. “I’ve never really made anyone feel any of those things.”
Natalie studied her. The honesty in Misty’s voice wasn’t self-pitying—it was just… true.
“You don’t have to fake it,” Natalie said, surprising even herself. “You’re weird, but you’re not incapable. You just need to package it better.”
Misty blinked at her. “Like rebranding?”
“Exactly.”
“I have experience with that,” Misty said proudly. “I once got my guinea pig adopted by renaming him ‘Sir Wigglesworth’ and gluing a little paper ruff around his neck for the flyer.”
Natalie stared. “Of course you did.”
“Well, presentation influences perception. That’s just science” Misty said cheerfully.
Natalie drained the rest of her coffee and stood. “Come on. Time for step two.”
They made their way out of the food court and past a Sunglass Hut blaring late 90s pop music. Misty trailed slightly behind, head swiveling at every store window like she was cataloging intel.
Natalie headed toward a boutique with heavy black curtains and mannequins in layered skirts and cropped jackets. The kind of place with clothes that looked effortlessly cool and expensive without actually being either.
“This one,” Natalie said, pushing through the beaded curtain.
Misty hesitated outside the door. “Are you sure I’m—”
Natalie turned. “What?”
Misty looked up at her. “Just. This doesn’t seem like… my habitat.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “You don’t need a ‘habitat.’ You need pants that fit and a shirt that doesn’t say ‘Just Beak It’ with a picture of a goose.”
Misty looked wounded. “That was a gift from my great-aunt.”
Natalie grabbed her wrist and tugged her inside. “Come on, we’re starting over Misty.”
Inside, the shop was dim and smelled like incense. A girl with blue hair and eyebrow piercings gave them a nod from behind the counter and went back to folding band tees.
Natalie walked straight to a rack of fitted jeans and shoved a pair into Misty’s arms. Then a cropped sweater. Then a jacket. Misty stared at the pile like it was radioactive.
“I’m not sure these will—”
“Try them on,” Natalie said, already nudging her toward the changing rooms. “Trust me.”
Misty blinked at her. “I do.”
Natalie paused.
It was too sincere. Too soft. Like Misty had just handed her something small and beating, and trusted her not to break it.
“Cool,” Natalie said, turning too fast. “Hurry up.”
She didn’t watch as Misty disappeared behind the curtain.
She sat on a bench just outside the fitting room, arms folded, trying not to look like she cared. She tapped her boot against the floor, restless, and avoided eye contact with the wall mirror in front of her.
Behind the curtain, there was shuffling. Hangers clinking. A frustrated grunt.
Then Misty’s voice: “These pants feel… intrusive.”
Natalie smirked. “That’s kind of the point.”
Another pause.
“I think the sweater might be backwards.”
“It’s a crop top. There’s not really a front.”
“I don’t think I’m anatomically designed for it.”
Natalie leaned back, smiling against her better judgment. “You’re not supposed to dissect it, Quigley. Just wear it.”
Silence.
Then, slowly: “Okay. I think I’m ready.”
Natalie sat up.
The curtain peeled back—hesitant, like Misty was unsure the room wouldn’t explode the moment she stepped out.
She emerged stiffly, arms pinned to her sides, wearing a pair of dark jeans that actually fit her and a muted green cropped sweater that clung just slightly at her waist. Her curls were even messier now, like she’d battled the neckline and lost. The jacket was still slung over one arm.
Natalie blinked.
It wasn’t a makeover miracle. It wasn’t a magazine reveal.
But it worked .
And worse: it worked in a way that made Natalie’s stomach clench.
“Well?” Misty asked, eyes darting up nervously. “Do I look… normal?”
Natalie stood and circled her once, arms crossed like a critic. She could smell Misty’s shampoo—something sharp and herbal. It hit different in a space this small.
“You look fine,” she said coolly, not warning to give anything away. “A little stiff. Like a substitute teacher pretending to be 18. But the clothes aren’t the problem.”
Misty nodded, trying to take the feedback graciously. “It’s my posture.”
“No,” Natalie said. “It’s your… whole vibe.”
Misty blinked. “My vibe?”
“You look like you’re waiting for someone to accuse you of shoplifting.”
“I always feel that way in retail environments.”
Natalie sighed. “Okay, new rule: You have to own it. Head up, shoulders back. You look good, now you just have to believe it.”
Misty tried to adjust her stance. It looked unnatural. Robotic.
Natalie laughed. “Okay, stop. Don’t force it.”
Misty frowned. “But you said I need to be more confident.”
“Yeah, but confidence isn’t… a switch. It’s how you make people feel when you walk in the room. And right now, you’re radiating please don’t perceive me .”
Misty’s shoulders sank a little. “I’m trying.”
“I know.”
Natalie didn’t mean for her voice to soften, but it did.
They locked eyes for a moment. Close enough to hear the hum of the air vent above them. Close enough that Natalie could see the little flecks of gold in Misty’s otherwise hazel eyes. She was still clutching the jacket like a shield.
“You don’t have to change everything,” Natalie said, a little quieter. “Just… let people see the good parts. You’ve got them.”
Misty looked stunned. Then: “Like… what parts?”
Natalie opened her mouth. Then closed it.
Shit.
She didn’t have an answer that didn’t sound like flirting. Or worse—truth.
“Put the jacket on,” she said quickly, stepping back. “You’re gonna need it if we’re hitting a second store.”
Misty nodded, flustered, and turned toward the mirror.
Natalie let her eyes drift downward for a second—then immediately hated herself for it. She turned away before Misty could see the flush creeping up her neck.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
They ended up buying two outfits—nothing dramatic, just jeans that actually fit, a cropped hoodie that didn’t look like it was designed by a camp counselor, and a black skirt with a subtle stripes print that Misty hesitated over for five full minutes before Natalie said, “Just get it Misty, it will look good on you, trust me.”
Misty turned beet red. Natalie pretended not to enjoy that.
At checkout, Misty tried to pay with a meticulously folded envelope full of cash and a handwritten coupon for “one free hug,” which the blue-haired cashier mercifully ignored.
Outside, the sky was a dull gray, the parking lot buzzing with flickering overhead lights and the faint sound of mall music bleeding through the doors.
Natalie stretched her arms behind her head and lit a cigarette. Misty hovered beside her, holding the shopping bag like it was made of glass.
“You’ll wear one of those tomorrow,” Natalie said, like it wasn’t a question.
Misty glanced at her. “At school?”
“No, in the woods with the squirrels. Yes, at school.”
Misty adjusted the bag. “Do you think people will notice?”
“That’s kind of the point.”
Misty was quiet for a moment. “And… if they don’t?”
Natalie blew out a stream of smoke. “Then screw them. But they will.”
Misty looked down, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
“You’ll be fine,” Natalie said. “Just don’t freeze up when someone talks to you. Or start monologuing about migratory patterns.”
Misty turned to her, suddenly serious. “I only do that when I’m nervous.”
Natalie raised an eyebrow. “So… always?”
Misty frowned. “I’m working on it.”
There was a beat. Then Natalie smiled, quick and real. “Good.”
They stood in the cooling dusk, the silence between them stretched but not uncomfortable. Misty swayed slightly on her feet like she wasn’t sure if she should leave or wait for permission. Natalie flicked ash onto the pavement and kept her eyes forward.
“You need a ride?” Misty asked, almost like an afterthought.
Natalie shook her head. “I took the bus. I like the route.”
“Okay.” Misty smiled, small and soft. “Thanks for today.”
Natalie didn’t say you’re welcome. She just nodded, then turned, walking off toward bus stop.
Behind her, she could hear the sound of Misty’s shoes squeaking slightly as she headed towards her car.
Friday - seven days to prom
Natalie leaned against her locker, barely listening to whatever Van was saying. Her attention drifted past a cluster of freshmen, the janitor wheeling a mop bucket, the flicker of an overhead light struggling to survive.
She hated mornings. Everyone smelled like deodorant and anxiety. Plus she hadn’t even had a cigarette yet.
“Did you study for Belli’s quiz?” Van asked, popping a piece of gum into her mouth.
Natalie was about to say something dismissive when the noise around her seemed to dip—just slightly, like the air in the hallway thickened. Something shifted. Heads turned. Voices quieted in that subtle, half-suspicious way that meant someone unexpected had entered the scene.
Natalie glanced toward the front entrance.
And then she saw her.
Misty.
Walking down the hallway in that black striped short skirt they’d bought at the mall and the green hoodie Natalie had picked out—sleeves pushed up to the elbows like she didn’t even realize how different she looked. Her hair was still wild, but it framed her face better now, and she was wearing lip gloss. Just a little. Enough to catch the light.
Natalie thought she even noticed mascara, too—subtle, but there. Just enough to darken her lashes behind the lenses of her big glasses.
It shouldn’t have made a difference. But it did.
She wasn’t doing anything. Just walking, looking at the ground like always. But somehow the energy around her had shifted.
Natalie straightened, unthinking.
“Whoa,” Van said beside her, halfway through blowing a bubble. “Is that… Misty?”
Natalie didn’t respond.
Van leaned forward, craning her neck. “Okay, what the hell. She looks—like, actually good.”
Natalie kept her face blank. “Guess miracles happen.”
Van shook her head. “People are staring.”
Natalie already knew. She could feel it too. Boys nudging each other. A couple girls whispering behind cupped hands. Misty didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she was pretending not to.
But Natalie definitely noticed.
Lunchtime. Cafeteria. Same buzzing fluorescent lights, different headache.
Natalie sat slouched in her usual spot across from Kevyn and Jacob, picking at the crust of her sandwich while Kevyn monologued about a new conspiracy theory involving the school nurse, the cafeteria spaghetti, and mysterious funding from the CIA.
Jacob was only half-listening. His eyes were fixed on something past Natalie’s shoulder.
“Oh my god, ” he said. “Is that Misty Quigley?”
Natalie didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to. Ever since that morning, the new and improved Misty was stuck in her head.
The skirt, the lip gloss, the way her hair caught the light—like she wasn’t even trying. Like she didn’t know people were going to see her differently. Like she didn’t know Natalie was going to see her differently.
She could feel it again—heads turning. A ripple down the hallway like someone had set off a tiny bomb.
“She’s, like… not terrible-looking actually,” Jacob said. “Is she… kind of hot?”
Natalie’s jaw tightened.
She shot him a sharp look. “Don’t be gross.”
Kevyn raised his eyebrows, grinning. “Wow. Okay. Someone’s protective.”
“I’m not,” Natalie said, too fast.
Her face felt hot.
Jacob whistled. “No, but seriously—credit where it’s due. What did you do, cast a makeover spell?”
Natalie rolled her eyes but finally turned to look.
Misty was sitting alone at a table near the windows, her tray practically empty except for a small, sad-looking salad and a carton of milk. She poked at the lettuce with her fork like she was waiting for it to do something.
Maybe she thought it might impress someone to look like she was trying. Or maybe she just didn’t know what people were supposed to eat when they wanted to seem normal.
No one was sitting with her.
Even with the new look—even with the shiny hair, the mascara, the skirt that actually fit—even with the whispers and glances trailing behind her all day like perfume, she was still orbiting alone. Like the makeover had changed the picture, but not the frame.
Natalie watched her for a long moment, pretending not to care how familiar that isolation looked. It was stupid how it still got to her—like she wasn’t the one who’d built her whole personality around not needing anyone.
Still, something twisted in her chest.
She turned back around. Picked at her fries. Tried to focus on whatever Kevyn was saying about the band flyer he was designing. But her eyes kept drifting back.
Misty, eating slowly. Chewing like she was concentrating.
Still wearing that green hoodie. Still looking like she’d been dropped into the wrong cafeteria in the wrong decade and was trying not to flinch about it.
Natalie sighed. Loudly.
Kevyn glanced at her, mid-sentence, but she was already twisting in her seat.
“Hey, Misty.”
Misty looked up, startled like she hadn’t even noticed anyone watching her.
Natalie waved her over, trying to look casual. “You wanna join us?”
For a second, Misty just stared—like maybe she thought she’d imagined it. Then she scrambled to grab her tray, nearly tipping over her bag in the process.
Natalie looked away before their eyes could meet too long.
Misty sat down next to Natalie, her eyes flicked nervously between Kevyn and Jacob, tray clenched in both hands like a shield.
Jacob gave her a two-fingered salute, his grin surprisingly neutral. “You look good today, Misty. I’m impressed.”
Misty blinked, thrown. “Thank you?”
Her voice tilted upward like it might tip into panic at any second.
Kevyn tilted his head. “Is that… mascara?”
“Yes,” Misty said quickly. “Natalie recommended it.”
Natalie didn’t say anything. She just stared down at her fries like they were more interesting than they’d ever been.
She hadn’t expected Misty to say that. Hadn’t expected her to sound proud.
Somehow that made it worse.
They sat in silence for a beat or two, the kind that stretched too long to be comfortable. Misty arranged her napkin, then her fork, then adjusted her tray by half an inch.
Then, abruptly: “No boys talked to me today.”
Jacob choked on his soda. Kevyn turned to look at her, wide-eyed.
Misty ignored them, eyes fixed on Natalie now. Almost accusing. “You said people would notice. They noticed. But no one talked to me. I think they’re intimidated.”
Natalie leaned on her hand, trying not to shift under the weight of Misty’s stare. “You’re not invisible anymore. That kind of thing freaks people out. Give it time.”
It was the best she could offer without sounding defensive—or worse, guilty.
Misty looked down and poked at her salad again. “What if no one ever says anything?”
Jacob muttered, “You could always just yell ‘Mate with me!’ in the hallway. Cut out the middleman.”
Natalie kicked him under the table.
Misty looked down at her tray. “I just thought… I don’t know. That something today might be different.”
Natalie opened her mouth, not sure what was going to come out, when a voice cut in.
“Hey.”
Taissa slid into the space next to Natalie with the ease of someone who never asked permission. She set her tray down and popped the tab on her soda with a loud crack.
“Party tonight,” she said, taking a bite of her apple. “Lake. Bonfire. You guys should come.”
Kevyn looked up instantly, already intrigued. “There gonna be beer?”
Taissa gave him a look. “Obviously.”
Jacob grinned. “Then obviously I’m in.”
Natalie leaned back slightly, her shoulder brushing Misty’s as she glanced sideways. Misty was sitting very still now—too still. Her fork hovered midair over her untouched salad like she’d forgotten how utensils worked. Her eyes flicked toward Natalie, then quickly away again.
Taissa, already distracted by a friend calling her name from another table, stood and grabbed her tray again. “Eight o’clock,” she added.
She gave Natalie a quick “See you later” and headed off toward the senior girls’ table without waiting for a reply.
Kevyn and Jacob stood too, gathering their stuff with the chaotic rhythm of boys who’d never cleaned up after themselves a day in their lives.
“We’ll meet you at the lake around eight,” Jacob said as he slung his backpack over one shoulder. “Good?”
“Sure,” Natalie muttered, watching Misty out of the corner of her eye.
The boys wandered off, already loudly debating whether weed or mushrooms paired better with bonfire vibes and which one had led to last summer’s canoe incident.
Natalie turned back to Misty, who was still staring at her down at her tray.
“You wanna go?” she asked casually.
Misty looked up, blinking fast. “With you?”
Natalie gave her a dry look. “Yes, with me. We’re a team now, remember?”
There was a flicker behind Misty’s glasses—something between disbelief and a kind of fragile hope.She nodded, too quickly. “Okay. Yeah. That sounds… fun. I can pick you up at your place. Eight sharp?”
Natalie’s stomach twisted.
She couldn’t let Misty pick her up. That would mean letting her see where she lived.
The sagging trailer with the busted screen door and the yelling inside that never stopped. The gravel lot that reeked of spilled beer and regret. Letting Misty see that part of her… it felt too raw. Too real. Too close. And she wasn't ready for that.
“No,” Natalie said quickly. “My street’s… under construction.”
Misty tilted her head. “Oh. Okay.”
Natalie thought fast. “I’ll meet you at 441 Oak Drive. It’s close. Just park near the tire shop.”
Misty smiled. “Got it. See you at eight.”
Natalie nodded, then stood to toss her tray.
She didn’t look back at Misty. Not even once.
Misty was waiting at 441 Oak Drive right at eight, just like she said. She stood on the curb in her dress, clutching a small purse, and waved when she saw Natalie’s car pull up—like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The dress was pale blue, tight in the waist and thin at the straps—simple, kind of vintage, and definitely more skin than Natalie had ever seen on Misty Quigley. Her curls were pinned half-up with shiny barrettes, and she’d done her makeup with an unsteady hand, but she looked…
Hot. That was the word. No way around it.
“Where’d you get that?” Natalie asked, trying not to sound surprised.
Misty beamed. “It was my mom’s. I found it in the back of her closet. I think she wore it to some office Christmas party in the ’70s.” She glanced down at herself, smoothing the fabric over her hips. “I had to take in the seams and reinforce the zipper. The hemline’s totally era-specific. You can always tell by the hemline.”
Natalie blinked. Misty was rambling. She did that when she was nervous.
“It’s nice, it suits you.” she said after a beat.
Misty’s face went still, like the words had landed somewhere deep.
“Thanks. I wasn’t sure if it was too much.”
Natalie glanced over again as they walked toward the car. The dress was slightly too tight across the chest and sparkled in a way that felt daring, even for Misty.
“You’re not too much.” The words left before she could think better of them.
Misty glanced sideways, a little thrown. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I wanted to try something different.”
She hesitated. “People look at me differently now. Because of the clothes. The makeup. It’s stupid, but… it feels good.”
Natalie didn’t know what to say to that.
“You look good,” she repeated, more sincerely this time.
Misty’s smile widened, but it was quieter now. Like she was holding it close.
“Thanks,” she said again, this time softer.
She didn’t stop smiling the whole drive to the lake.
And Natalie spent most of it trying not to look at her.
By the time they parked, the party was already in full swing—bonfire going, music thumping from someone’s portable speaker, half the senior class scattered across blankets and beat-up folding chairs. Natalie spotted the soccer girls by the fire: Shauna, Taissa, Lottie, and of course, Jackie—glittering as always in a low-cut tank top and denim skirt.
The second they walked up, Jackie turned, her drink sloshing in one hand.
“Misty?” she said, surprised—but not mocking. “Holy shit. You look hot. ”
Misty flushed so fast it was like watching a cartoon thermometer explode.
“Th-thank you,” she stammered.
Natalie’s jaw clenched before she even realized it.
Jackie had that effect. She could compliment a rock and it would blush. Still—it didn’t sit right, seeing Misty so… flustered. For someone else.
They all settled by the fire, the team welcoming Misty like some lost cousin returning from exile. Someone handed her a cup. Natalie sat close enough to keep tabs but not so close it would look weird.
Misty sipped and giggled at something Lottie said.
Natalie lit a cigarette and told herself this was fine.
Fifteen minutes in, Kevyn found her and yanked her up by the arm. “Come on, we’re doing shots by the dock with the idiots from marching band.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “Pass.”
“Too late. You’re drafted.”
She glanced back at the fire. Misty was talking to Jackie and Lottie now, knees pulled up to her chest, her dress shifting with every movement. The girls leaned in close, laughing. Misty didn’t even look Natalie’s way.
She looked… okay.
So Natalie let herself be pulled away.
Thirty minutes. Four shots. A regrettable sip of orange soda mixed with what tasted like gasoline. By the time Natalie made it back to the fire, her buzz was setting in—but Misty was nowhere to be seen.
She scanned the group. No pale blue dress. No frizzy curls.
“Hey,” she asked Taissa, who was stacking cups. “Where’s Misty?”
Taissa shrugged. “Thought she was still here. She was talking with Jackie a while ago.”
Natalie looked around. Her stomach tightened.
It was Misty’s first real party. She could’ve wandered off. Gotten lost. Someone could’ve said something weird. Done something worse.
She took off in a slow circle around the bonfire area, eyes scanning the crowd. Her buzz dulled under the weight of rising irritation—no, worry. She hated how easily those two things tangled.
Then she stopped.
Down by the waterline, near the wooden pier, Misty was standing close to a boy—tall, dark hair, hands in his pockets. She was smiling. Talking. Laughing.
And not the nervous giggle she gave when she was trying too hard. This was light. Relaxed. Comfortable.
Natalie narrowed her eyes. She recognized the guy—sort of. One of the quiet theater kids, maybe? Soft-spoken, always sketching in notebooks.
Van appeared at her elbow, chewing the edge of her straw. “Aww,” she said, following Natalie’s gaze down to the lake. “Looks like Misty’s about to have a boyfriend.”
Natalie didn’t respond. She just kept watching—Misty, standing a little too close to Eli, her hands flailing in some overly passionate explanation, Eli grinning like he didn’t mind a bit.
Van nudged her with an elbow. “What? You jealous you’re not getting her full attention anymore?”
Natalie forced a shrug. “Funny.”
But her throat was dry.
Van didn’t press. She just smiled like she knew something Natalie didn’t want to admit. “Let’s give them their space,” she said, already turning. “I’m sure she’ll tell us all about it after practice on Monday.”
Natalie didn’t move.
Because she didn’t have a reason to stay. Not one that would sound normal if she said it out loud. Just wanted to make sure she’s okay? Just curious? Yeah, right. It was a party. Misty wasn’t in danger.
And yet—
She was just watching. That was all.
At least, that’s what she was telling herself.
So when Van called her name again, Natalie finally nodded, pulled her eyes away, and walked off beside her. But it felt like her body moved while the rest of her stayed planted at the edge of that dock, still staring. Still waiting for something she couldn’t even name.
An hour passed.
The fire burned lower. People got drunker and louder. The dock was less crowded now—some people had gone skinny dipping, others were passed out in truck beds or drunkenly debating Nirvana vs. The Strokes.
Natalie sat alone for a while, knees pulled up to her chest, smoking slowly.
Misty never came back.
She wasn’t by the dock anymore. Natalie checked. Then she checked the side path near the woods. The bathrooms. The car.
Nothing.
She wasn’t worried, exactly.
But she was done.
She got up and made her way back to the fire. The girls were still there, huddled together with Lottie braiding someone’s hair and Jackie roasting a marshmallow with zero success.
Natalie stood behind them until Taissa noticed.
“Hey—where’d you go?” she asked.
“I’m heading out,” Natalie said. “Tell Misty when she shows up that I left with Kevyn and Jacob. Don’t want her to worry.”
“Everything okay?” Lottie asked.
“Yeah. I’m just not in the mood anymore.”
Taissa gave her a weird look but nodded. “I’ll let her know.”
Natalie turned and walked back toward the lot. The party kept going behind her, firelight and bass thumping against the trees.