“Can we look?” she asks. “Just a look. Really.”
I roll my eyes a little but follow her in. This store, Athena, is a hotbed for teen girls looking to catch up on the latest trends. At least eighty percent of my own wardrobe originates from here.
Asha fingers her way through a rack of dresses toward the back of the store. She pulls some out—ranging from the pretty to the god-awful, and all of them way too big for her tiny frame—and holds the hangers up to her chin. One in particular is just a crime against fashion, and for that matter, all laws of nature—this horrible shade of orange with poofy sleeves and a giant bow at the hip. Tacky to the max.
“What do you think?” she asks, trying to keep a straight face but barely suppressing a grin. “Fabulous, right?” She spins in a circle with the dress pressed to her front, and we both laugh.
My laugh stops short, however, when I turn my head and catch sight of Kristen Courteau all of six feet away. She has a few dresses draped over her arm and is staring at me.
The funny thing—not ha ha funny, but, you know—is that she looks shocked. Upset, even. Only for about two seconds, of course, before she masks her expression with her default bitchy face. The perfect look for an ice princess, I can’t help but think nastily.
Except my feelings toward Kristen aren’t all nasty. They’re… complicated, like everything else in my life. Because, stupidly, I miss her. Even with everything that happened. Even if our friendship was never the same after she hooked up with Warren. All I want at this moment is for her to look at me and smile like she used to. The smile that made me feel important, because Kristen is important, because people want to look like her, date her, be her, and she chose me as her best friend, so that had to mean something.
And maybe she meant some of that crap in the article, about how bad she felt about what happened to Noah, and it wasn’t just damage control. Part of me wants to believe she does. I want to believe that I wouldn’t ever be friends with someone completely heartless.
Tessa steps out from one of the dressing rooms. “You should totally buy the pink one,” she says. “It’s so hot. Brendon will die.”