“What’s not a date?” my mother asks. She’s wearing a sheet mask and looks like a terrifying lagoon zombie.

“Is it Sunday Night Beauty Hour?” I ask.

“Always,” she says, and takes a sip of the drink at her elbow. “Beauty is hard work, Addie.”

“And the harder you work, the more beautiful you are,” I say in a singsong voice. Her ritual is comforting. I can imagine the smell of grapefruit coming from her mask.

“Exactly,” she says, mask crinkling around her mouth. “Now, where are you going? I see you’re wearing a little lip gloss, at least.”

At least? Nevaeh mouths.

Mom squints at the screen. “Make sure you powder that nose. Shine is never your friend.”

Nevaeh looks hilariously outraged at that. She has made me perfectly fresh and dewy, not shiny.

“Thanks,” I tell my mom. “I just wanted to pick up and say hi—”

“Is it a date?” she interrupts.

“I didn’t say it was a date,” I tell her.

“Hm,” she says. Her serious look is a little undermined by the mask hiding her expression, but there’s a lot of disapproval in that short sound. “You certainly do not have time for dating, Adeleina. What about rehearsal?”

“I am rehearsing—” I say.

“And taking care of yourself. Look at your face. I think your cheeks have gotten a little—”

My stomach plummets because I know what she’s going to say. Nevaeh snatches the phone from my hand before my mother can finish. “Hi, Mrs. Grant! I like the beauty mask!”

“Oh, hi!” my mother says, her voice lifting. “Nevvie! Look at how pretty you are!” Nevaeh’s still made-up from her Insta tutorial this evening, in shades of gold and purple. “How are you girls? Is Katy there?”

Nevaeh lifts the phone, and Katherine waves from the bunk bed.

“We’re just studying for a big test tomorrow,” Nevaeh says truthfully. She, Taylor, and Katherine have a calculus exam. “So we’ll just let you go. Enjoy your beauty night!”

“You two smart cookies have a good night!” she says. “Addie,” she calls, “don’t forget to—”

But Nevaeh has hit the END button and tosses the phone on the desk behind her.

“You were right; I regret it,” I say cheerfully, pretending I don’t feel a little shoulder-slumped.

“Regret what? We’ve just been here sassing you up for your date,” Nevaeh says, pulling her brush from behind her ear. “Close your eyes for me.”

I am glowing when she’s done. Katherine fluffs my hair out, making it huge, pulling long curls over my shoulders, a mass of waves falling down my back. Nevaeh tugs the neckline of my cropped sweater down a bit to add a dusting of shimmer to my collarbones, and they declare me perfect over the rising buzz of butterfly wings in my stomach.