¹ SOME KIND OF DISASTER ─ oliver wood

[ 045 ] it was something. don't say it wasn't.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
it was something. don't say it wasn't.

IT HAPPENED SO QUICKLY nobody knew what to think. One moment they were sitting in the Great Hall dreading the beginning of a downward spiral into a massive workload threatening to pulverise their bones, the next the owls began to pour in and drop their exam result slips into their laps like leaflets on D-Day, swirling the hall in flashes of white, rocketing anxiety suffusing through the air. In the aftermath, they were left with an echo of a moment, breaths held, hearts pounding, palms growing clammy as they tore open envelopes with shaking fingers and eyes half-closed, bracing for the worst, hoping for the best. Where did all that time go?

And now...

"Hold still, would you?" Quinn grunts, trying not to jab Sawyer's eye out with the eyeshadow brush in her hand. Getting ready for the ball was a tireless effort, and with the constant chatter of their roommates serving as background noise, as Georgie preened in front of the mirror, turning this way and that, the hem of her ruffled skirt swishing around her ankles like waves, as Pauline had Vera in a chair and was coiling a curling wand around her pale blonde locks, Sawyer found it cumulatively difficult to comply when there was so much itching under her skin. It would also be the first time that they'd be doing anything together, as a small community of five. Even though they'd all been roommates for years, Sawyer and Quinn had always stuck to themselves. Getting ready together felt ritualistic, and each time one of them put on their dresses, the others would cheer loudly while they paraded around like models on a catwalk and shower them in compliments until their teeth ached.

Sawyer let out a heavy sigh and watches Quinn sink with her stomach. Five minutes ago, Quinn tried to do Sawyer's makeup with them both sitting up on the bed, facing each other, but since she wasn't an artist, nor was she any sort of makeup savvy, she'd decided having Sawyer lay back and straddling Sawyer's midsection would make it easier to manoeuvre without her shaky hand getting in the way. At first, Sawyer had been skeptical. She'd never been particularly inclined to doll herself up for anything, but since the route of conventionality was the route Quinn wanted to take, then so be it. After downing her afternoon dosage of medicine, Sawyer decided her brain had been dulled and dunked deep enough into the drug-induced haze that she could tolerate two hours of creamy chemicals and powder slathered all over her face, as unpleasant as that might be. Hence, the subjection to an hour exhausted on hazarding between deep blue eyeshadow or a smokey eye to match Sawyer's dress, the mind-numbing choices between shades of lipsticks, the glitter dusting her bed and speckling her skin.

"A smokey eye on mono-lids is going to be incredibly difficult," Georgie, who'd kindly and happily taught Quinn most of the basics of working her way around a set of makeup equipment, remarks, twisting away from the body-length mirror posted in the corner of the room to face them, smoothing her creamy hands over the skirt of her a jarringly turquoise dress, sea waves for an evening gown. "Try the white eyeshadow look I showed you."

Quinn shot her an appreciative smile and set to work. For an eternity, Sawyer clenched her jaw and let Quinn smear foundation and concealer over her acne-scarred face, painting her into colour, shut her eyes when instructed, blinked into a mascara wand when coaxed, held down a shudder when the cold gel of lipgloss ghosted her lips. And then it was over, and Quinn hummed, smirking with a satisfied smugness of an artist who knew they'd outdone themselves.

"I'm a fucking genius," Quinn said, disentangling herself from Sawyer and pulling her up to sit.

"Woah," Vera breathed, staring wide-eyed at Sawyer's face. In periphery, Vera was a glistening presence. Her dress was shell-pink with a ballerina-type tulle skirt, and it went up to her mid-thigh. It was the shortest dress in the room.