Marney in the Middle

Chapter 26: Change

"No."

I gape at Toria from the bathroom doorway. "What do you mean 'no,'" I demand.

She nonchalantly shrugs without looking up from the magazine she's flipping through, "I guess just like it sounds." Glancing up at me with her brown eyes, she says, "No."

I can't help but continue to stare. What does she mean no? "It wasn't a question, Toria. It was a statement: I'm done with this stupid makeover."

"I heard you, but the answer is still 'no.'"

I stomp my foot, winning a look from her that lasts longer than five seconds. Wrapping the towel tighter around my abdomen, I stalk to my desk and drop onto the chair. My headache has all but subsided while my entire body is tormented with pain. I glare at my feet, which are crisscrossed with angry pink lines, and try to come up with words that convey how done I am with this makeover and how much it is so not her choice.

"Listen," Toria says, setting her magazine aside and swinging her legs over the edge of her bed. "I'm sorry you had a rough night, but—"

"A rough night?" I snap. "A rough night would be the Netflix subscription running out or there being no milk after you've already poured yourself a bowl of cereal, Toria."

She squints at me, "Why are you eating cereal at night?"

I groan and cover my face with my hands. "That's really not the point," I mutter into my palms. My right one is still slightly puckered and pink from the splinter. Lowering my hands, I lock eyes with my sister. "The point is I'm done. Last night was probably the worst experience of my life, and I think I screwed things up with Reese – all because of your stupid makeover."

"My 'stupid makeover?'" She uses air quotes around the final two words before crossing her arms, "I've already told you that this isn't for my benefit. It's for yours."

I shrug, a little bit of my anger spent. The pulsing between my temples is on the return. It's making it difficult to stay irritated and not grimace with each word. "Yeah, well, I'm no longer benefitting."

Toria appears to mull this over. Running a hand through her ashy brown hair, she tilts her head to the side.

I use the momentary silence to change into my Middle Earth pajamas. Honestly, I don't want to fight with her. Our arguments are usually petty and easily forgotten, but this could prove much different than those. And I'm not a fighter; in fact, I despise confrontation. I'm just not made for it.

As I'm sliding in between my covers, letting out a long sigh, she frowns. Her delicate features contort with the expression as her gaze remains unfocused.

Whatever. Who knows what she's mulling over and, at this rate, who cares? My body and mind require rest. Then it's time to buckle down on the homework I put off to attend Reese's bust of a party.

A flip.

My heart hangs low as I think about the bad boy. I shake my head inwardly and gnaw at my cheek – I should really stop calling him that. That's Toria terminology. And he's proven numerous times that he's so much more than a pair of fists.

"You're right."

"Huh?" I snap out of my thoughts to peek at her over the top of my comforter.

"I said, 'you're right.'" The way she practically spits out the final two words as she grimaces says she's not playing at anything.

She's serious – I'm right.

Propping myself up on my elbow, I study my older sister. I am?

"I guess I got caught up and didn't realize that maybe"—she shrugs without meeting my gaze—"my way isn't necessarily right for you."

I nod. That's exactly right. Toria's gorgeous and experienced and boys are a breeze for her. Not me, though. Factor in that I'm almost completely inept in social situations, this makeover has me way in over my head.

"So, what're you saying?"

Toria shrugs. Pushing herself off her bed, she crosses to her desk and turns on our TV. She channel surfs in a way that says she's not actually paying attention to what's on. I can tell she's beating herself up pretty bad and I hate to be the cause of that.

Misguided or not, my sister was only trying to help me.

Sighing, I force myself to sit up. My body aches with my movements. As much as I want to just sleep for seven whole days, it can wait.

"So I, um, I never actually told you about last night," I say after a second of staring at her back. She turns around with an expectant expression that's still laced with guilt. I don't really wanna talk about last night, but it'll distract her for a little. Maybe give her a good laugh.

"Do you wanna hear about it? It's a real doozy of a story."

Despite the creases of a frown still casting her eyes into shadow, she chuckles with a small smile. I allow myself to smile, too.

"Sure," she says, smiling a little bigger and leaning back against her desk.

As I recount everything I remember, Toria keeps quiet. Not that it matters – her facial expressions say everything I need to know. When I tell her about my kiss with Reese, her eyebrow arches up as a coy grin plays across her lips. And when I get to our second kiss, both her eyebrows are halfway up her forehead. I have to ignore the heat that slips up my cheeks as I keep on track.

The only thing I leave out in the end is Malcolm. Not that I'd know what to say. It's no longer that I think she'll be disappointed that I sort of like him, I'm just unsure of him in general. He seems to only further convolute the already confusing state my life is in. So I keep our almost-kiss to myself.

"Oh, Marn." Toria sits down on the end of my bed and pats my knee.

Her expressions had turned to ones of pity and concern while she shifted deeper into guilt as I closed in on the whole Donny part. She went full-on protective sibling mode when I mentioned how much I drank, but I assured her nothing happened beyond kissing. Malcolm had assured me of that much, too. And, to be honest, I trust him. He has no reason to lie.

We settle into silence when my recounting is over.

As she stares off, deep in thought, I wonder about the rest of the night. Some of it's coming back, but I'm still completely unsure of what happened between Reese and I. He seemed so off when his mom's friend, Greg, dropped me off at my house.

Walking me up my walkway, he couldn't even look at me. I had apologized at least a dozen more times for getting so drunk to which he just kept replying, 'it's fine.'

Is it, though?

In some ways my apologies were less about my drinking and more about Donny. But how could I tell him that? I don't want him to hate me. My first kiss followed immediately by my first fallout? I just can't.

"I'm really sorry your night was so rough," Toria says.

I shrug and scoot back to rest against my headboard. I don't mention that it's comforting she's sorry. It sounds weird to say 'thank you' to an 'I'm sorry.' I press my fingers into the crook of my elbow and watch the skin turn shades of white before pink.

"But," she says slowly. Running a hand through her hair, she looks at me with a timid sort of expression. "I still don't think the makeover should be over because of it."

A groan crawls up my throat as I let my eyes slide shut. Seriously? And here I thought she was sorry.

"Hear me out," she adds quickly. "I think there's still a lot you could benefit from it – from me. So, maybe we dial back all the boy stuff for now and skip ahead to other aspects."

I peek at her through half-open eyelids. Despite how exhausted I feel with this whole makeover and everything from last night, I tilt my head to the side to say, "I'm listening."