College Ruled

thirteen

| 13 |
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AFTER ZERO hours of deliberation and absolutely no input from me, Grayson sends a text—via Christina because he refuses to ask for my number and I refuse to give it to him unasked—demanding I dress as a vampire for the Halloween bash.

That was five minutes ago. Tonight is Halloween. And my ride is already on his way.

If I haven't said it lately: Grayson Katz is an ass.

"This is ridiculous." It's nearing minute four of staring at the back of Christina's head while she throws literally everything I own onto my bedroom floor. And by everything I mean the endless stream of jeans, sweaters, and hoodies that my wardrobe consists of. None of which is deemed worthy enough for her, apparently, if her grumpy muttering and annoyed stomping on my clothes is enough evidence. "Vampires can wear jeans. I can wear jeans. If Grayson wanted me to look like a pre-Levi's bloodsucker then he should've given me more than—oh, I don't know—a fucking second heads-up!"

"Quit squirming." Leyla jabs me in the forehead with the capped end of her eyeliner. She scrunches her nose in concentration and resumes painting my face the second I'm finished rolling my eyes at her. "Do you want to look hot or not?"

"I really don't care—"

"Oh, shut up." Christina collapses on my bed and folds her arms under her chin, pouting toward us. My closest sits open behind her, absolutely empty. She actually took out every single piece of clothing I own. Every. Single. One. "You will care whenever Grayson's drooling all over your sexy ass."

I almost fail to hold in my pathetic snort. If only they knew.

"I agree," Leyla chirps. I level a glare toward her. She was supposed to be on my side. She tosses her eyeliner into the tub of makeup on the floor and leans back on her heels. "Which is why I made you look like this, and which is why you cannot just wear the same old pair of jeans you always do."

"I have more than one pair of jeans," I mumble under my breath, but I grab the mirror she throws my way without protest.

My eyes are clouded with makeup—smokey shadow, winged liner. My lips are dark, accented with the fake blood she masterfully placed on the corner of my mouth. And my hair—my annoyingly stubborn hair—looks perfectly wild. Dark waves frame my face and cascade down my back in a purposefully messy way, all frizz tamed away (for now).

I look exactly as I figured I would under Leyla's guiding hand: I look like a stranger.

Just the way I like it.

"Okay," I blow out a breath. "I look hot as fuck."

Leyla smiles. "Fuck yeah you do."

And okay, maybe it would look a little off if I wore my regular clothes when my face doesn't even look like me, but at least I'd be comfortable.

I sigh. "At this rate I'm going to end up wearing nothing. What's the consensus on nude vampires? Yes? No?"

"Still better than the jeans," Leyla says at the same time Christina offers a wistful, "Always, always a yes".