Chapter 3 — Glam Squad and First Doubts

Claire

I sit cross-legged on the edge of my bed, the hem of my silk robe brushing softly against my knees. The faint scent of lavender from the candle Maddie lit earlier mingles with the crisp smell of my freshly laundered sheets. My phone rests beside me, its dark screen a silent reminder of the text that shattered my plans. Every so often, my gaze flickers to it, as if it’s a storm cloud waiting to unleash another strike.

Maddie rummages through the chaotic pile of makeup and hair tools scattered across my desk, attacking the task with the precision of a scientist on the brink of a breakthrough. When she finally emerges with a curling iron, she holds it aloft triumphantly, her lavender hair shimmering under the desk lamp.

“Alright, soldier,” she says, twirling the iron in her hand like a baton before pointing it at me dramatically. “Tonight, we’re going for soft and romantic. Think: ‘I’m unbothered by my ex, but also, look at what he’s missing.’”

I smirk faintly, though my heart isn’t quite in it. “I don’t think that’s an actual hairstyle.”

“Trust me,” she replies, already plugging in the curling iron, the faint hum of it heating filling the room. “It’s a vibe.”

She turns toward me, hands on her hips. “Claire Bennett, stop sulking. You’re going to prom with Luke freaking Carter, and we are going to make him regret every second he spent hiding in that art room like some reclusive wizard.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Wizard?”

“Yes, wizard,” she says without missing a beat. “He’s mysterious, broody, and probably has magical powers no one knows about. Maybe he’s been cursed to speak in only five-word sentences. Who knows?”

Despite myself, I laugh—a small, genuine laugh that feels like a crack in the wall I’ve been building all evening. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously right,” she shoots back, her grin wide and infectious. She steps closer, her lavender hair brushing my shoulder as she grabs the pearl locket hanging around my neck.

“This,” she says, holding it up, “is staying. It’s subtle, elegant, and totally you. Luke will love it.”

My stomach twists at the mention of Luke and the locket in the same sentence. I hadn’t even thought about whether he’d notice something like that. But then I remember the corsage he gave me earlier—the painted petal, the careful brushstrokes, the way it felt like he saw something in me I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone to see.

I shake my head, trying to push the thought away. “It’s not about Luke,” I say, my voice quieter now. “I just don’t want everyone thinking I’m the girl who got ditched by Jake Reynolds. That’s all.”

Maddie sighs dramatically, reaching for the curling iron and motioning for me to sit at the desk. “You’re impossible, you know that? Here’s a wild idea—what if, and hear me out, you stopped caring about what everyone else thinks for, like, five minutes?”

I settle into the chair, folding my hands in my lap as she starts curling sections of my hair. The soft heat of the iron presses close, the scent of singed hairspray wafting in the air.

“It’s not that simple,” I say. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, sharp and unflinching. “Why not? You already did the scary part—asking Luke to prom. You took a chance. Now you just have to let yourself enjoy it.”

I glance at her reflection, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my robe. Maddie’s always been this way—bold, fearless, unapologetic. She doesn’t second-guess herself or worry about what people whisper behind her back. She dyed her hair lavender on a whim, for crying out loud.

It’s part of what I admire about her, but it’s also why her advice feels so... unattainable.

“Enjoying it isn’t as easy as you make it sound,” I mumble. “I feel like... like I’m walking on a tightrope, and every step I take, I’m just waiting for someone to cut the line.”

Maddie pauses mid-curl, the soft clink of the iron against the desk breaking the silence. She leans forward, her lavender hair a curtain framing her face as her voice softens. “Claire, you don’t have to be perfect tonight. You don’t have to be anything but yourself. And trust me, you? You’re pretty amazing, even when you’re overthinking everything.”

Her words hit something deep, and I swallow hard, my fingers brushing absently against the cool surface of my locket.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” she says, tugging gently on a freshly curled strand of my hair to get my attention. “You’ve got this. And if anyone so much as looks at you funny, I’ll sic my lavender combat boots on them.”

I laugh despite myself. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The faint sound of a car horn drifts through my open window, followed by the low hum of an engine. Maddie grins, glancing toward the window. “Your chariot awaits, Cinderella.”

My stomach flips as I stand, smoothing down the soft blush fabric of my dress. It’s simple but elegant, with a high neckline and a flowing skirt that swishes gently against my legs as I move. I grab the corsage from my nightstand, my fingers lingering on the painted petal for a moment, tracing the delicate lines of my own smile before I slip it onto my wrist.

Maddie throws an arm around my shoulders as we head downstairs. “Ready to face the masses?”

I take a deep breath, my fingers brushing my locket one last time. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

We step outside, the cool night air brushing against my skin. The limo waits at the curb, its sleek black exterior gleaming under the streetlights like something out of a dream. Mrs. Garcia stands by the open door, her warm smile instantly calming the nerves buzzing in my chest.

“Good evening, ladies,” she says, gesturing for us to climb in. Her colorful scarf flutters slightly in the breeze, its vibrant patterns catching the light and contrasting with the sleek black of the limo.

Maddie bounds ahead, sliding into the limo with a dramatic flair. I follow more cautiously, my heart pounding as I take in the sight of Luke sitting quietly in the corner, his sketchbook balanced on his lap. The dim lighting softens the sharp angles of his face, and for a moment, he looks almost... serene.

He glances up as I step inside, his dark eyes widening slightly. “You look... amazing,” he says, his voice soft but steady.

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I fumble with the hem of my dress, suddenly conscious of every detail—how my hair falls over my shoulder, the faint weight of the corsage on my wrist, the way his gaze lingers just a second too long.

“Thanks,” I manage, my smile shy but genuine. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

His lips twitch into a faint smile, and I catch a glimpse of something tucked beside him—a charcoal pencil resting against the edge of his sketchbook. My eyes flicker to the painted petal on my wrist, and for the first time, I wonder what else he’s noticed about me that I’ve never noticed about myself.

Maybe Maddie’s right. Maybe tonight doesn’t have to be perfect. Maybe it just has to be real.