Some girls do

Chapter 19: Chaewon

I look down at my phone, frowning at the text from Sunghoon: you busy tonight?

I know he's got another big game coming up, which is our usual arrangement, but I heard a rumor that he's been "blowing off steam" with Jang Wonyoung ever since I started ditching him. I wish he'd just text her and keep me out of it.

"Something important?" Kazuha asks, and I flip my phone over before she sees.

"Nope." I smile.

We're lying on a giant fuzzy rug on her bedroom floor, face-to-face with our books and laptops—well, her laptop; I don't actually have one—spread out between us, along with some papers and the rest of our packet, which is just about finished.

I have another pageant in a little while, one of those crappy mall ones where you just get dressed up and stand in a line. We're supposed to look hot and hope maybe there's a modeling contract in it for some of us—but there never is. Mom says it's good "for experience." If I could roll my eyes any harder, I would.

When Kazuha heard I had one today, she offered to come to my house to study instead. She thought it would be easier than me carting all my stuff here, but I said no. She might live in a little apartment, but it's a nice little apartment. Quiet and meticulously clean. And my place is rarely the former and never the latter. Especially not with both Junhyung and my mom around.

"Okay, so I think we have everything we need to write our essays," Kazuha says, filling in the last answer. "Which means we officially need to figure out what we want to do for the presentation."

I sigh. "Not looking forward to that part."

"Seriously?" She bites the eraser on her pencil with an incredulous look.

"Wait, did you think I actually liked class presentations?" I crinkle my forehead. "Nobody likes them."

"Well, not normal people, but I thought . . . I mean, you're not . . ."

"I'm not what?" The implication that I'm not normal instantly raises my hackles.

"Not like everybody else," she says.

"How?" I ask, my heart nose-diving into the dirt. Everybody else around here knows I'm trash; I guess it was just a matter of time before Kazuha figured it out too.

"Oh, come on." She sits up and kind of waves her hands in front of me like I should know what that means. "You're . . . You do pageants and stuff. I saw you onstage; you're a born entertainer! It was . . . You were amazing."

I look away, blush creeping up my neck, my ears, my cheeks, and down to my toes from the sound of her voice. Because "amazing" is not a word used to describe me, and she keeps throwing it around like it's no big deal.

"Thanks," I mumble, sitting up quick. It suddenly feels a little warm in here, a little too close, with her soft eyes and her smile just a few inches away from mine. I scramble backward until I hit her nightstand, grabbing my notebook after and trying to make it seem deliberate.

She lets out a little laugh as she pulls out a fresh sheet of paper. "So, I think for the presentation—" The alarm on my phone cuts her off.

"Shit."

"What?"

"I have to get ready. Sorry." I can't tell if she's disappointed or relieved when I jump up and grab my bag. I can't tell which one I am either.

"Can I watch you?" Kazuha asks, padding after me toward the bathroom, and her question sounds so innocent but feels so heavy.

"Sure," I say, like my heart isn't pounding in my ears at the thought. She perches on the edge of the tub, watching me intently as I pull out my arsenal: my contouring tools, eye shadows, setting sprays, primers, blushes, lipsticks, lip liners, lip glosses, and everything else it takes to transform me from regular Chaewon to Pageant Chaewon™.