SAVANNAH
I didn't reply Blake.
Brenda, on the other hand, twirl in her new dress, the soft fabric catching the light and transforming her into someone who belonged in a magazine. She looked absolutely perfect.
"Well?" she asked, stopping her spin to face Blake. "What do you think?"
Blake stood there with the birthday cake in his hands, his expression unreadable. "You look... different."
Brenda rolled her eyes. "Different good or different bad? God, Blake, it's like pulling teeth with you."
"Good," he muttered. "You look good."
Brenda beamed, then pointed at me. "Savannah did all of this. She helped me pick the dress and did my makeup. Isn't she amazing?"
Blake's eyes flicked to mine, confusion written across his face. Something shifted in his expression, disbelief, maybe, or shock. Before I could decipher it, he placed the cake down on the table with careful precision.
"I need some air," he said flatly, and walked out.
Brenda sighed, watching the door close behind him. "Always a jerk."
I laughed, the sound nervous even to my own ears. For a moment, I thought I'd seen something in his eyes—something beyond the usual contempt.
Brenda turned to me with excitement. "Don't tell him I said that."
"Of course not. I would never," I promised, then added, "He is truly a jerk, though."
She laughed, then flopped onto her bed, patting the space beside her. "Come sit. We still have an hour before people start showing up."
I joined her, smoothing my jeans as I sat. The silence between us felt comfortable, which was still new to me. Having a friend, a real friend, was like discovering a language I'd always known but never had the chance to speak.
"Blake wasn't always like this," she said suddenly, picking at a loose thread on her comforter. "He used to be... I don't know, lighter somehow."
"Hard to imagine," I said, thinking of all the times he'd called me names, knocked books from my hands, made me feel less than nothing.
"What did he do to you exactly?" Brenda asked, turning to face me. "You never really told me the details."
The question caught me off guard.
"He called me names," I began, the words coming easier than I expected. "Savvypotamus was his favorite. He'd moo when I walked by. Once, he put a 'Wide Load' sign on my desk."
Brenda's eyes widened. "Blake bullied you?"
I nodded, swallowing hard.
"I can't believe it," she whispered, shaking her head. "Blake is a jerk, sure, but never a bully. He hates anyone who bullies women."
"What do you mean?"
"He always dealt with my bullies at my old school," she explained. "Everyone respects me now because of him. They know I've got Blake Kingston in my corner."
"You were bullied?" I asked, unable to imagine anyone targeting someone as beautiful and confident as Brenda.
"Yeah," she said, her voice softening. "Because of my illness."
I raised a brow, confused. "Illness?"
"I'm a sickle cell patient," she said simply, as if announcing the weather.
I gasped and reached out to hug her instinctively. "Brenda, I had no idea."
She laughed against my shoulder. "I'm fine, really. I've had it my whole life. I know how to handle it now."
I pulled back, studying her face.
"But let's not talk about that," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Let's talk about Blake."
"What about him?" I asked, trying to reconcile the Blake I knew with the one who apparently defended Brenda from bullies.
"Did you know Blake was actually really jovial and cheerful years ago?" she asked, leaning back against her pillows.
"No way," I scoffed.
"It's true. Until he lost his brother due to our parents' negligence," she said, her voice dropping. "Since then, he's hated them. That's why he moved out as soon as he could."
"I didn't know he had a brother," I said, shocked to realize how little I actually knew about my tormentor.
"Dave," she said, a sad smile crossing her face. "Blake's twin. They were inseparable."
"What happened?" I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
Brenda sighed, picking at the thread again. "Dave started convulsing in the middle of the night. Blake and Dave were home alone because our parents were out of town for some meeting with the President. Blake called them over and over, but they didn't pick up."
My heart squeezed painfully in my chest.
"So Blake put Dave in the car and started driving to the hospital himself," she continued. "He was only fourteen—he barely knew how to drive. They got into an accident. Blake was knocked unconscious, and a stranger found him and took only Blake to the hospital. But in all the confusion..."
"Dave was left behind," I whispered, piecing it together.
Brenda nodded, tears welling in her eyes. "By the time Blake woke up and managed to get back to the car, Dave had already died. They didn't know Dave was in the car. Due to the crash, he had dropped to the floor at the back of the seat."
"Oh my God," I breathed, my hand covering my mouth.
"Blake blamed himself for months," she said. "He needed therapy just to function again. Eventually, he transferred all the blame to our parents. He told them if they'd been home, maybe Dave wouldn't have died, maybe dad could have driven Dave to the hospital instead of Blake, who had barely started learning to drive."
I sat in silence, absorbing this new reality. Blake, the boy who had made my life a living hell, carried this kind of pain inside him. It didn't excuse what he'd done to me, but it shifted something in my understanding of him.
"Anyway," Brenda said, suddenly jumping up from the bed. "Enough of that depressing stuff. It's my birthday!" She threw open her closet and pulled out a red dress, tossing it at me. "Put this on."
I caught it automatically, then shook my head. "Oh, no, I can't—"
"Yes, you can," she insisted, adding a pair of block heels to the pile in my lap. "My guests will start arriving soon, and you need to look the part."
"The part of what?"
"My amazing friend who's going to make everyone jealous," she said with a grin.
I hesitated, but her pout was impossible to resist. "Fine," I sighed, standing up.
"And makeup too," she added. "I want to boast to my classmates about my gorgeous friend."
"I don't wear makeup," I protested.
"Please?" she begged. "For me? It's my birthday."
I couldn't ruin her day. Not after everything she'd shared. "Okay, fine."
Twenty minutes later, I stood in front of her mirror, staring at a stranger. The red dress hugged curves I usually kept hidden under baggy clothes. The makeup Brenda had applied highlighted features I'd never paid attention to, my eyes looked bigger, my lips fuller, my cheekbones defined.
I looked... pretty. No, more than pretty. There was no denying it—I looked stunning.
"You're gorgeous," Brenda whispered, standing behind me. "Blake won't be able to take his eyes off you."
"Blake?" I turned to her, confused. "What does he have to do with anything?"
She just winked and left to answer her phone.
I turned back to the mirror, smoothing my hands over the dress. For once, I didn't hate what I saw. I didn't feel like hiding. I felt like someone who deserved to be seen.
The door opened, and I stood up, holding the hem of the gown to show Brenda how I looked. But it wasn't Brenda who walked in.
Blake froze at the door as our eyes locked. His gaze traveled from my face down to my toes and back up again, his expression transforming from surprise to something I couldn't name.
"What the fuck?" he cursed loudly, his voice echoing in the sudden silence.