The Truths Behind the Life of Maeve Sun Lively

51

ALL OVER THE INTERNET WAS just people comparing me and Klarise together. It was to the point where people were literally stalking the both of us, one time someone had even popped out of nowhere in front of me just to ask about Klarise and me and the rivalry that was going on between us. I know this may sound dramatic, but it was just the way it had been built in my mind as I recall these memories. Because I remember, Klarise couldn't, or didn't, want to see the things and notifications popping up on her phone. People created this rivalry, it was never exactly there, but once the idea was planted in their minds it seemed like they didn't want to let it go. And slowly, each action, me and her were just reaching a climax none of the two of us wanted to reach.

One night, when I got off from filming some movie, I was surprised to see Klarise's shoes in the doorway. Usually she came back later than me.

I couldn't seem to find her anywhere though, and I searched around the place, thinking maybe I could try to cook her dinner tonight. As I called her name and feeling idly and off put about it somehow, I finally found her in the bathroom. But when I did all the thoughts were gone from me.

The sink was piled with makeup tools and fake eyelashes, the tap opened with water drops dripping slowly. That slow tap! tap! tap! sound, half already driving my mind weary. And then in front of it, looking at herself in the mirror, was Klarise. But what scared me the most was the small knife she had in her hand, held up, the sharp point narrowed and angled at her cheek. It shook in her hand. Wet tears covered her face, and her hands and bare arms in her tank top were splotched with red scratch marks. Right when that knife was about to go down and probably make a huge scar on her cheek, I screamed.

The knife dropped, missing her bare foot by a few inches. And finally pulling her gaze away from the mirror, she stared at me. Then, slowly, almost frantic and abnormal, she smiled. "Maeve? What are you doing home so early?"

I was shaking, seeing her like that scared me. I just looked at her, all the words gone from me.

That smile suddenly died when I didn't answer, and as her face became blanker than a plain piece of paper, her eyes on me started to waver. She collapsed, crying.

I got over to her so fast, but for some reason, I felt like I had been too slow. In my arms, the girl I knew to be strong, talented, and confident was all gone. I was holding someone else then.

Her hand crawled slowly for that knife, but I kicked it away. She watched it from a distance. Then, seeming to tear her eyes away from it, she gazed up at me, the tears falling down her face with such speed I felt panic wash over me that I couldn't stop it.

"I love music," she started saying in a croaked voice. Her sudden talking made me start to cry. She looked up, and her hand went to my face. My face. "You have a gifted face, Maeve, you know that right?"

"Please, if this is about..." I stopped myself, unable to finish because it just seemed too ridiculous.

Her hand dropped from stroking my face and she looked on at the knife I had kicked away. "Music is supposed to be about music and its quality. That's what I love so much about it, because it doesn't matter how you look, it's only about how good the work is."

In my lap, she took a big inhale then an exhale.

"When I was little, I had many insecurities. I spent my time in front of a mirror very often, just staring at my plain face, my small eyes. I wanted to look like those in the magazines...people who looked like you."

"Klarise—"

"But then music came to me. I found my talent, despite my parents' disapproval. It is my thing, my mojo. So instead of obsessing over how I looked, I obsessed over music, making it better. That gave me confidence." She finally looked at me from her head resting gently on my lap. That gaze, I didn't know what to feel about it. "So if music is supposed to be about its quality, if it's just that," her eyes filled with more tears now. "Why is it that they care so much about the way I look?"