Status: hiatus-ish
Days Like Masquerades
romance
I blow on my electric blue nails all the way back home to the apartment. Mom swings the door open when I knock, a pained look on her face. "I thought you'd be out longer," she says. "Did you eat dinner?"
"Yeah."
We look at each other and then turn away, parting ways. Mom goes back to the TV and surfs the basic channels. I shut my door and sit at the desk, burying my face into my arms. I look up and grimace at the mirror decorated with singers. William Beckett from Warped 2008. Andrew McMahon from the Hammers and Strings Tour. Freddie Mercury at the piano. Fiona Apple before her major breakdown. I don't know what I want; I moved out here with my mom because she thought maybe, she could find a man with a talented son (or daughter) and get married again.
She doesn't believe in my talent; she just doesn't want me to be a loser. Mom's not sure I have any talent.
I'm not even sure if I have any talent.
> >
Selena, the Jennifers' manager, looks me up and down and waves a hand. "We need to make you look like the others," Selena says, shoving me into a room. A man with green eyeliner in his hand pushes me into a chair. The Jennifers hold my arms down.
"What is going on!?" I shout as someone yanks my hair.
"You need to look presentable," Curly-haired Jennifer says.
"We're going into a photo shoot," Blonde Jennifer says as the makeup artist coats my face in foundation.
Within minutes, the makeup artist is done, and my face doesn't look the same. My hair has a shine that I've never seen, my skin flawless. He smudges lip gloss on me and fixes the eyeliner.
I look into the mirror, the green eyeliner bringing out my eyes, my face smooth. No freckles. I try to smile.
I look fake.
The Jennifers drag me out of the makeup room and into the dressing room. A man and woman toss clothes towards us, and we slip them on. By the time we're rushed out in front of a camera, I have no idea what I'm wearing.
The lights flash, and I see stars. I look into away from the camera as the girls smile into it. I can feel the expression on my face growing colder and colder. The Jennifers look like the sort of girl you want to be: beautiful, dainty, popular.
And then there's me. The loser. The awkward kid. I look like part of the camera crew accidentally caught in the picture. I feel like an idiot standing here, make face coated with layers of foundation and emerald eyeliner smudged on my face.
The Jennifers put their arms in the air and cover my face. They pose like Charlie's Angels and block my face. They blow kisses at the camera and stick their hands in my face.
The photographer shows us the pictures, and for the most part, my face is hardly visible. "Don't they look great?" he asks, the Jennifers nodding vigorously. I clamp my mouth shut and smile.
> >
Camille and a girl with wheat-colored hair hang out in the lobby, the Jennifers throwing their bags at me. "Carry them up to the apartment," Brunette Jennifer says, tossing the keys at me. I stomp into the elevator, Camille and the other girl right behind.
"You're just going to let them treat you like that?" Camille asks, shocked. Her cheerleading outfit is slightly wrinkled.
"You should stick up for yourself!" the other girl says.
"Just leave me alone. I can take care of this myself." I step out of the elevator and look for the Jennifers' apartment. I open the door and throw their stuff on the couch. I sprint out and shut the door.
"Gen, this is Jo," Camille introduces, and we shake hands. Jo gives me a weary smile. "She and Kendall have a thing going on."
I raise my eyebrows. You know, for some reason, things never work out right. I think Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk said it best: The one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person. When I first read that line, I thought it was a joke. I think after reading that book two years ago, I've been slapped in the face with this news about five times.
It's not the kind of news you want to hear, but it's the kind of news you need to hear.
"Oh, Camille," Jo says, blushing. "There's nothing really going on between us."
Camille grins. "Whatever you say, girl." She looks at me. "So, who's your favorite out of all of them?" she asks, batting her eyelashes. Her expression changes into an intense glare. "Don't say Logan. He's mine."
I shrug. "I don't know."
Of course I know.
The Jennifers step out of the elevator and snarl at Camille and Jo. "Gen, we're going to tan. Change into your bikini," Curly-haired Jennifer commands. "Meet us downstairs."
"Why do you keep attracting trash?" Brunette Jennifer asks, crinkling her nose.
"I'll see you later," I say as Jo restrains Camille. I go to my own apartment and change into my royal blue swimsuit, taking a magazine to hide my book in. At the pool, the Jennifers are already sprawled out, relaxing. I join them, slathering SPF 60 all over my pale skin.
I know, it's stupid to even think that love could exist when you're in high school, but there are always those few couples that stay together. Look at Andrew McMahon and his high school sweetheart, Kelly. William Beckett and Christine Bandy. I don't feel like I'm asking for much; I just want to find someone who cares about me and has the same interests as I do. I don't want just anyone.
Is it too much to ask to find that guy who sees beyond your face and your chest? Is it too much to ask for a guy who, I don't know...loves you? For once, I want to be Andrew and Kelly. William and Christine. I don't want to end up like my mom, drinking too many martinis alone at the sports bar. I don't want to end up like my dad, losing custody of the kid he loved so much.
I turn to Blonde Jennifer. "Are you interested in any guys?" I ask, realizing the mistake I just made.
"Of course I am, Genevieve. I'm a girl," she replies, rolling her sapphire eyes. She lowers her sunglasses. "I have my heart set on Zac Efron." Blonde Jennifer pushes her glasses back up. "Do you have your heart set on any guys, Genevieve?"
Of course she'd ask me. The whole idea revolving around asking a question just so you can talk about your feelings toward the subject. It wasn't intentional, and I doubt she'd listen to my answer anyway.
"Yeah, I have my heart set on someone," I say, lying on my back. I flip open All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy and skim the page to see where I left off.
"Oh?" Blonde Jennifer raises an eyebrow. "Spill the beans, girl," she encourages, a smile spreading across her face.
"Oh, you probably don't know who he is."
She flips her sunglasses onto her head. She gives me a sly smirk. "Try me," she says.
"His name is Dorian Gray," I reply nonchalantly, ignoring Blonde Jennifer's gasp. She reaches for my shoulder.
"I've heard of him...somewhere. Is he gorgeous?"
"Oh, very."
I try not to laugh.
"Yeah."
We look at each other and then turn away, parting ways. Mom goes back to the TV and surfs the basic channels. I shut my door and sit at the desk, burying my face into my arms. I look up and grimace at the mirror decorated with singers. William Beckett from Warped 2008. Andrew McMahon from the Hammers and Strings Tour. Freddie Mercury at the piano. Fiona Apple before her major breakdown. I don't know what I want; I moved out here with my mom because she thought maybe, she could find a man with a talented son (or daughter) and get married again.
She doesn't believe in my talent; she just doesn't want me to be a loser. Mom's not sure I have any talent.
I'm not even sure if I have any talent.
> >
Selena, the Jennifers' manager, looks me up and down and waves a hand. "We need to make you look like the others," Selena says, shoving me into a room. A man with green eyeliner in his hand pushes me into a chair. The Jennifers hold my arms down.
"What is going on!?" I shout as someone yanks my hair.
"You need to look presentable," Curly-haired Jennifer says.
"We're going into a photo shoot," Blonde Jennifer says as the makeup artist coats my face in foundation.
Within minutes, the makeup artist is done, and my face doesn't look the same. My hair has a shine that I've never seen, my skin flawless. He smudges lip gloss on me and fixes the eyeliner.
I look into the mirror, the green eyeliner bringing out my eyes, my face smooth. No freckles. I try to smile.
I look fake.
The Jennifers drag me out of the makeup room and into the dressing room. A man and woman toss clothes towards us, and we slip them on. By the time we're rushed out in front of a camera, I have no idea what I'm wearing.
The lights flash, and I see stars. I look into away from the camera as the girls smile into it. I can feel the expression on my face growing colder and colder. The Jennifers look like the sort of girl you want to be: beautiful, dainty, popular.
And then there's me. The loser. The awkward kid. I look like part of the camera crew accidentally caught in the picture. I feel like an idiot standing here, make face coated with layers of foundation and emerald eyeliner smudged on my face.
The Jennifers put their arms in the air and cover my face. They pose like Charlie's Angels and block my face. They blow kisses at the camera and stick their hands in my face.
The photographer shows us the pictures, and for the most part, my face is hardly visible. "Don't they look great?" he asks, the Jennifers nodding vigorously. I clamp my mouth shut and smile.
> >
Camille and a girl with wheat-colored hair hang out in the lobby, the Jennifers throwing their bags at me. "Carry them up to the apartment," Brunette Jennifer says, tossing the keys at me. I stomp into the elevator, Camille and the other girl right behind.
"You're just going to let them treat you like that?" Camille asks, shocked. Her cheerleading outfit is slightly wrinkled.
"You should stick up for yourself!" the other girl says.
"Just leave me alone. I can take care of this myself." I step out of the elevator and look for the Jennifers' apartment. I open the door and throw their stuff on the couch. I sprint out and shut the door.
"Gen, this is Jo," Camille introduces, and we shake hands. Jo gives me a weary smile. "She and Kendall have a thing going on."
I raise my eyebrows. You know, for some reason, things never work out right. I think Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk said it best: The one you love and the one who loves you are never, ever the same person. When I first read that line, I thought it was a joke. I think after reading that book two years ago, I've been slapped in the face with this news about five times.
It's not the kind of news you want to hear, but it's the kind of news you need to hear.
"Oh, Camille," Jo says, blushing. "There's nothing really going on between us."
Camille grins. "Whatever you say, girl." She looks at me. "So, who's your favorite out of all of them?" she asks, batting her eyelashes. Her expression changes into an intense glare. "Don't say Logan. He's mine."
I shrug. "I don't know."
Of course I know.
The Jennifers step out of the elevator and snarl at Camille and Jo. "Gen, we're going to tan. Change into your bikini," Curly-haired Jennifer commands. "Meet us downstairs."
"Why do you keep attracting trash?" Brunette Jennifer asks, crinkling her nose.
"I'll see you later," I say as Jo restrains Camille. I go to my own apartment and change into my royal blue swimsuit, taking a magazine to hide my book in. At the pool, the Jennifers are already sprawled out, relaxing. I join them, slathering SPF 60 all over my pale skin.
I know, it's stupid to even think that love could exist when you're in high school, but there are always those few couples that stay together. Look at Andrew McMahon and his high school sweetheart, Kelly. William Beckett and Christine Bandy. I don't feel like I'm asking for much; I just want to find someone who cares about me and has the same interests as I do. I don't want just anyone.
Is it too much to ask to find that guy who sees beyond your face and your chest? Is it too much to ask for a guy who, I don't know...loves you? For once, I want to be Andrew and Kelly. William and Christine. I don't want to end up like my mom, drinking too many martinis alone at the sports bar. I don't want to end up like my dad, losing custody of the kid he loved so much.
I turn to Blonde Jennifer. "Are you interested in any guys?" I ask, realizing the mistake I just made.
"Of course I am, Genevieve. I'm a girl," she replies, rolling her sapphire eyes. She lowers her sunglasses. "I have my heart set on Zac Efron." Blonde Jennifer pushes her glasses back up. "Do you have your heart set on any guys, Genevieve?"
Of course she'd ask me. The whole idea revolving around asking a question just so you can talk about your feelings toward the subject. It wasn't intentional, and I doubt she'd listen to my answer anyway.
"Yeah, I have my heart set on someone," I say, lying on my back. I flip open All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy and skim the page to see where I left off.
"Oh?" Blonde Jennifer raises an eyebrow. "Spill the beans, girl," she encourages, a smile spreading across her face.
"Oh, you probably don't know who he is."
She flips her sunglasses onto her head. She gives me a sly smirk. "Try me," she says.
"His name is Dorian Gray," I reply nonchalantly, ignoring Blonde Jennifer's gasp. She reaches for my shoulder.
"I've heard of him...somewhere. Is he gorgeous?"
"Oh, very."
I try not to laugh.