Chapter 02

MONICA

I stayed away from school for a whole week, locking myself away from the whispers, the stares, the judgmental eyes that never stopped haunting me even in my sleep.

And honestly I thought I would never come back, I thought maybe I'd just stay hidden in my room forever, which would've been a good plan

However I wished that Dad would notice something was wrong, but he was too busy with the night shifts, too busy mopping other people's footprints to pay attention to how broken his daughter had become. Maybe that was good because I didn't want him to see me like this. I didn't want him to see the girl who gave her body away for a boy who thought twenty grand was worth more than her heart.

So I chose to disappear until the world forgets me.  Let them move on to some other scandal. But Julian refused to let that happen, he called it my "second redeeming self-aptitude" and even though the name sounded like something straight out of his sass dictionary, he was dead serious about it.

Every day that week he dragged me out of my room, out of my pity, and into stores that smelled like perfume and new fabric.

"Try this one," he'd say, holding up a red dress against my body while wrinkling his nose. "No, too hot. People will think you're desperate. You're not desperate, you're dangerous. There's a difference."

I'd roll my eyes, laughing despite myself. "Dangerous in red polka dots? Really?"

"Fine, then this," he'd hold up a sleek black skirt with a slit running high. "Dangerous and classy. It says I know what I'm worth, and if you don't, then die."

We would argue over shoes for hours, him insisting heels made me look powerful and me whining that I'd probably twist my ankle before making it through first period.

He'd shove a pair of glossy stilettos into my hands anyway. "Pain is temporary, Monica, but the image of Damian drooling when he sees you in these? Eternal."

I never thought I'd laugh so much after what happened, but Julian had a way of forcing it out of me. He made the world look less ugly, like he was painting over all the black with neon colors that screamed too loud to ignore.

One afternoon, in the middle of the makeup aisle, he stopped and studied me seriously, holding a lipstick up like it was a holy relic.

"This," he declared, uncapping the tube to reveal a bold shade. "This is your war paint."

I shook my head instantly. "No way, Jules. That's too bright. I'll look like a clown."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "You'll look like a county goddess. You'll look like someone who owns the room Monica, you need this."

I gave in, because I always do when he gets that dramatic tone, and when he painted my lips with that shade, I barely recognized the girl in the store mirror. She looked fierce, nothing like the girl crying in stadium bleachers.

The days blurred into this routine: shopping, trying on outfits, Julian dragging me into dressing rooms while making exaggerated gasps every time I stepped out. He'd clap his hands like a proud mom. "Yes, queen, give them the new you."

And every night when I went home and peeled the dresses off, I would stare at myself in the mirror wondering if I actually wanted this.

On Sunday night, Julian and I sat in his room surrounded by shopping bags and boxes. He was lying on his stomach across the bed, scrolling through his phone while I sat cross-legged on the carpet, sorting through everything we'd bought.

"You know," I said, holding up a pair of ripped jeans, "my dad is going to kill me when he sees these receipts. He already thinks I spend too much on snacks."

Julian snorted. "Relax, it's on me. Consider it an investment. On Monday when you're strutting through those school halls making Zoey wish she was invisible, you'll thank me."

"Why do you even care so much?"

"Because you're my best friend. Because you don't deserve what they did to you."

"Too bad you're gay," I teased, trying to lighten the mood. "We'd make a killer couple."

He smirked, tossing a pillow at me. "Trust me, babe, if I liked girls, Damian wouldn't even be on your radar."

We burst out laughing, rolling around in the mess of pillows and bags.

"Tomorrow, Monica Harris rises from the ashes," he announced dramatically when we finally calmed down.

"My last name isn't Harris, Jules."

"Doesn't matter, it sounded better for the moment," he shrugged.

That night, I packed my bag carefully, slipping in one of the new uniform Julian got for me because apparently my normal sized skirt was too long and this short as hell plaid one was just perfect.

Now, here I was, standing at the front entrance of Havenstone High with my stomach twisted into knots. My palms were clammy even though Julian had given me a pep talk that morning while sipping his green detox water out of his Stanley cup.

"You are fire, Monica. Walk in there like you own every brick of that ugly-ass building. Heads up, chest out, ass slightly popped, you got this."

I inhaled deeply, squared my shoulders, and pushed the door open.

The second my heels clicked on the tiled floor of the hallway, it was like a ripple went through the crowd. Heads turned. Conversations paused. Someone even dropped a pen that clattered way too loudly.

I kept walking with my eyes straight ahead. No glasses this time, no pigtails. Just me, with contacts that made my eyes look brighter, waves of red hair spilling down my back, and light makeup that Julian had declared "subtle but lethal."

There were gasps and whispers, wayyy too many loud whispers. "Who is that?"

"Wait... is that a new girl? I want her."

"I wanna wear her skin."

They thought I was a new girl? I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling, but inside I wanted to scream thank you Julian.

Halfway down the hall, I froze for just a second when I saw Damian. Leaning against the lockers with his usual squad of overgrown idiots who laughed too loudly.

His head tilted when he spotted me, his smile dropping in slow motion as his eyes dragged from my hair down to my new uniform.

I ignored him immediately not giving him the light of day and kept walking towards my locker.

"Holy shit, who's that hottie?" one of them muttered, not even bothering to lower his voice.

Damian didn't answer. I noticed his jaw flexed through my peripheral vision, his smirk trying to return but failing halfway. I turned my head deliberately and I walked right past them.

Julian appeared out of nowhere like he'd been waiting for this exact moment, jogging toward me with his cup in hand, his grin stretching so wide it nearly split his face.

He looked me up and down dramatically, dragging it out like he was on a runway panel. "Gurl! That's what I'm talking about! You look hot. Like, snatch-his-breath-away-and-stomp-on-it hot. Takeaway hot."

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I looked down, trying not to grin too wide. "It's all thanks to you," I said quietly.

"Damn right it is," he replied, flicking his wrist like a diva. Then he softened, tilting his head at me. "But really, you did this. You are brave for showing up."

"Still..." I started but he cut me off.

"Nope. No buts. Now, remember what I told you. Posture straight, head high, confidence glaring. These losers won't dare mess with you if you walk like you know they're beneath you." He winked. "Because they are."

I laughed a little, my nerves easing. "Okay, okay. Heads high. Confidence... glaring?"

"That's my girl." He gave my shoulder a squeeze before looking at the clock. "Shit, I'm late. Okay, queen, strut to your locker. Let them choke. I'll catch you at lunch." With that, he spun dramatically and disappeared into the crowd.

I turned toward my locker to quickly get my things before my own classes start.

"Is that her?"

"Yeah, she's so pretty."

My fingers fumbled with the combination lock until it clicked open. I shoved a few books inside, grabbed what I needed for class and just when I thought I'd make it with a smile...

"And who might you be?"

I stiffened, my grip tightening on my books. Slowly, I turned around, plastering the smile Julian had forced me to practice in the mirror over and over until my cheeks hurt.

Zoey. It just had to be Zoey. She raked over me from head to toe. Her lips twitched like she was trying to figure out if she should sneer or smile.

"Monica?" Olivia, gasped in shock.

Fuck.