Ten of Me ✓

Thirty-Three

NICOLE

When I got home the first thing I did was take a shower. I washed out all of my hair dye and scrubbed every last trace of makeup off of my face and figured that it would be the last transformation I'd ever do. The last transformation I'd ever use to escape, that is--because I had a few things up my sleeve in the future that I'd need a disguise for.

Then I went back downstairs to the kitchen table, where I saw Mom sitting with her forehead pressed against the glass and her arms wrapped around her head.

"Mom?" I asked quietly, approaching her with quiet footsteps. I hadn't expected her to be home from the salon yet--she stayed out as late as possible in order to spend as little time at the house with Dad as possible.

When she lifted her head, I saw her cheeks were dotted with tears. "Your father moved out today, Nicole," she said softly.

I stared at her for a few seconds, the shock registering while my stomach tumbled down to my feet. I'd known my parents were getting a divorce, but somehow, I'd expected more time to let it sink in. I'd needed time for it to register before my father just got up and left without even saying goodbye.

"Is he going to keep in touch?" I asked. As much as my father and I had fought over the past few weeks, I didn't know what I'd do without him in my life. Just the thought of never seeing him again seemed to constrain my chest as if I'd never be able to breathe again. I thought of the photo frames in the family room of me when I was little, sitting on my shoulders as if I'd be able to conquer the world.

Mom's forehead was wrinkled with stress. "He said he'll keep in touch with you," she said. "And he still has to get the rest of his things from the house. He moved in with a friend for a while, though."

I sat down at the table next to her as she put her face in her hands, thinking about what I'd decided in the shower. "Mom," I said, gaining her attention and causing her to look up at me again, "I'm going to stop with my makeovers."

"Why?" she asked. She wasn't trying to persuade me, and she didn't sound angry--she just seemed curious. As if she couldn't understand why I would ever want to stop. There was a side of my mother that was like that: naive and innocent, uncertain how her teenager daughter's actions could affect so many others.

I stared down at my nails, which were bare, jagged, and cracked. "It's caused so much trouble," I said, not daring to look up at her because I knew if I'd see her crying, I'd tear up, too. "Look what it's done. Dad's gotten angry at me, and because of it he got angry at you and now he's gone. I've lost myself so many times I don't even know who I am anymore. And Morgan--if I'd just been honest with her from the beginning, she never would have died." Now my voice did crack, even though I was still studying the smudged glass of our table. "I only ever started my makeovers so I could discover what was up with Noah, and now I have."

"You have?" asked Mom interestedly, somewhat distracted from why she'd been crying before.

"Yes." I tucked a piece of dark hair, still slightly damp from my shower, behind my ear. "He's using me. He couldn't care less about me. And I know that now, so why do I need to keep becoming someone else?" Exhaling loudly, I buried my own face in my hands and said, my voice slightly muffled, "I just want my simple life back."

"Nicole, look at me." Mom sounded serious--more serious than she'd sounded in a long time. When I met her eyes, I saw they were steely. "You're never getting your simple life back," she said. "Your transformations didn't cause all this trouble, and the trouble they did cause is irreversible. If you think stopping them now is going to change things, you're wrong."