Potentially You and Me (Two Truths and a Lie)

CHAPTER TWELVE: VANILLA VELVET

CHAPTER TWELVE: VANILLA VELVET

"Would you stop pacing? You're creating a draft." Stephanie waves her hand in the air.

     I stop mid stride, but my hands continue to wrestle each other.

     The roles are reversed on this parallel universe Friday night. Stephanie's the one curled up in her bed while I'm dressed to go out. The only difference is she's scrolling through her phone, and it's not even that late. It's only a little after dinner.

     "Stop fidgeting." Stephanie doesn't even glance up as she waves her hand again. "You look fine."

     Another difference.

    Stephanie's usually all cool and collected, while hear I am all shaky and sweaty. My hair keeps getting in my lip gloss, and I keep pushing it out of the way. But each time I run my fingers through it, I'm reminded of the few pimples crowded around my left temple. I probably created them with the constant habit.

     "—psychopath."

     "What?" I whirl around to find Stephanie with her finger pointed in the air like Professor Collins mid-way through a speech.

     "I took a Forensics class in high school, so I was just saying that the odds of Trent turning into some crazy person ten years from now are pretty high, but right now he should be fine."

     I'm finally still as I contemplate her words. "That's oddly reassuring . . . sort of."

     Stephanie triumphantly slumps back down against her pillows while I go back to fidgeting only a little more discreetly. I settle on just literally twiddling my thumbs.

     I left my phone on my bed and watch as the black screen lights up.

     On my way be there in a few minutes.

     "Then again, college guys can be unpredictable."

    "What was that?" I whirl around again, but this time Stephanie's eyes remain glued to her phone screen.

     "Nothing." She continues scrolling with her curls all splayed out beside her head.

     I catch a glimpse of myself in the small, silver circle mirror on her desk. I used it to apply mascara before, but also found myself flipping it around to the magnified side. Every eyebrow hair, pour, and acne scar was visible—too visible, but I couldn't bring myself to apply more makeup. I never really wear makeup.

     Plus, it's just Trent.

     I also never really add anything to my hair except for some leave-in conditioner and mousse, but today Megan added a few more waves to it with her curling iron. So now my hair is leaning more towards wavy opposed to its half-wavy, half-straight self. For now, at least, if I can bring myself to stop running my hands through it.

     Because it's just Trent.

     And before I flipped the mirror back around, I relaxed against the back of Stephanie's desk chair and stared back at myself.

     "It makes your eyes pop." Stephanie had approved of the army green sweater I threw on, and I finally embraced it in that moment. Even though Trent's eyes are still greener, like some unexplainable electricity. Clear. Charge to three-hundred. Shock delivered. Blazed and sizzling. Even when his shoulders are slumped with exhaustion and his eyelids droop, his irises still remain crackling. 

     But he's still just Trent.

     At least, that's what I keep reminding myself as I finally throw on my black peacoat, and when I slip on my black moccasin slippers opposed to boots.