Some girls do

Chapter 17: Chaewon

"Oh!" Kazuha says when I unceremoniously drop into the seat across from her at the library. "I was starting to think I'd been ditched." She looks at me for half a second, her cheeks flushing when our eyes meet, and then quickly looks away.

I scrunch up my forehead and then remember the makeup. As in, the metric ton of pageant makeup currently covering my face. I'm still picking up extra classes, and today I was stuck working with Eunbi's littlest students. I bribed them by offering to let them watch me do a full face at the end of class if they behaved. To them, it's not a burden. To them, it's magic. Unfortunately, it also made me late.

"Yeah, sorry. I know I look like a clown," I say, pulling a pencil out of my backpack and trying to shove down the embarrassment. "I would have been another hour if I actually—"

"I like it," she says, all quiet, and for a second the embarrassment mixes in with something else. "You do a pageant every weekend, then?"

"No." I scribble my name on top of the packet and slide it back over to her. "This was actually for a class I'm teaching. I'm sort of bartering with my pageant coach right now for extra lessons. I help her lead classes and demonstrate makeup techniques, and in exchange she helps me not bomb the interview portions of my competitions."

"Wow, that's dedication."

"Hardly," I mumble.

"What does that mean?"

"Don't worry about it."

She writes her name neatly, right under mine. "If you don't really love it, then why do you do it?"

Her question startles me, both the assumption that I have a real say in the matter and the suggestion that if I did, I wouldn't choose this.

"Who says I don't love it?"

"The expression on your face."

I sigh. "Fine. My mom was a beauty queen before she had me. It means a lot to her that I follow in her footsteps." I tack on that last part, like that covers it. Like we'll just skate over all the other complicated crap that goes along with living with and loving my mom and just leave it at that.

"Do you always do what people want you to do?" Her face is so sincere, so honest. She's not just making boring conversation; she really, truly wants to know.

"Only when it comes to my mother. Life's a lot easier that way." And I'm so grateful that my caked-on makeup covers the shame that comes with admitting something like that. Especially to someone like Kazuha. Someone who lives so loud and real, in ways I could never dare.

"I'm sorry," Kazuha says, turning back to the book in front of her.

"Don't be; it's fine."

"Okay, then I'm not," she says, and flips one of the pages.

I bet she's giving me a chance to change the subject or challenge her on it or something. And for some reason—I don't know why—I desperately want her to know that I do try, but I have to work with what I have, to fight the battles I can actually win.

"I'm entering the county pageant, though," I say, and she looks up. "That one I do want to win. For me."

"Really?" She taps her pen against her lips like she's trying to figure me out. I almost think about letting her.

"Yeah. The top six finishers get a scholarship to the community college. There's an automotive program there, and if I got accepted and could afford to go . . ." I trail off, losing my nerve. I've never said this out loud before, not even to Karina. What is it about Kazuha that makes my mouth run off like this? "Forget it, it's stupid."

"It doesn't sound stupid." She leans back in her seat, still studying my face. I can tell when her eyes catch on my lips, overglossed and brightly colored, lingering just a little longer than necessary and sending a jolt of electricity down to my toes. Her expression right now . . . I don't know. It's like she's fascinated. Like she's discovering a new species or something and really, really excited about it. Like I'm some great find or something.

I look away before I do something we'll both regret.

"What's stupid about it?" she presses.

"You're probably going to a really great school, so."

"It sounds like you are too."

I raise my perfectly painted-in eyebrows. "I'm sitting here telling you that I'm trying to scam my way into having a pageant pay for an automotive program at a community college, and you're, like, a D-I athlete or whatever."

"Not yet. And maybe not ever if I don't play nice with my old school."

I flick my eyes to hers, a question on my lips, but she waves me off. Fine. Let her. We should be keeping this conversation to the assignment anyway.

"I think the automotive program sounds awesome," she says suddenly, her face breaking into a smile so warm and genuine it ties my stomach up in knots. "I'm guessing by your car you have the skills to pull it off. I'm, like, completely in awe of you right now."

"Why?"

"Because you're doing something that matters! You fix things and make them whole again. That's important! It's kind of amazing." She blushes and bites her lip. "All I do is run really fast."

I clear my throat and look away, her attention suddenly feeling too heavy. I don't want it to stop, but I need it to.

"Okay, the Endangered Species Act," Kazuha says, turning to the first page of the packet. Like nothing is happening. Like we're just two students working on a project again instead of . . . whatever that just was.

Or maybe that was nothing.

Maybe heat doesn't pool in her belly when she looks at me, the way mine does when I look at her. Maybe she doesn't think of me at night when it's quiet. Maybe this is all in my head.

That would be for the best, honestly. Because the alternative is that she's just that perfect. That she can read me already, can tell when I get lost in my own head, and knows exactly how to get me out of it. That she knows when to push and when to give me space.

I pull out my phone, not willing to fall any farther down this rabbit hole.

"Here," I say, pulling up some websites I saved last night and rambling off some facts I learned. She smiles again, occasionally looking up as she writes down the answers I already found.

"What?" I finally ask when her smirks and glances become too much to ignore.

She keeps writing, not even missing a beat. "Nothing."

"No, seriously. What?" I ask again, the good feeling bleeding into self-consciousness.

She still doesn't look up. "You're just really full of surprises."

And yeah.

I kind of like the sound of that.