Unmasked

Valerie's POV

It was rare eating breakfast with Dad. He usually left before I got up, which was very impressive if you asked me, and other times, Simone carried a tray with all-you-eat-goodness into his office so he wouldn't forget to eat while reading through business propositions.

Ugh.

Business and I didn't see eye to eye. Mom's art genes had completely overtaken my DNA.

"I think I met his parents once—his Father, at least—at an hotel opening. Very nice fellow, polite, too."

"Yes," I nodded nipping my toast. It was coated with cherry jam. I was half tempted to lick the piece of bread clean. "Sebastian was a gentleman. He even bought me a bouquet of my favorite flowers."

I'd told my Dad about prom. Maria, too, since she was sitting in front of me drinking a cup of orange juice. The only person missing was Jackson. Good riddance. The last thing I needed was to battle his moronic jabs at my date and myself.

"They were very beautiful." Maria agreed, smiling, after wiping her mouth with linen napkin. "Shame they withered so soon. Plants and flowers are the loveliest of decors and nowadays they just don't last."

I didn't miss my Father's soft smile at her appreciation for floral life. Mom had been that way, too. The cherry flavored jam soured on my tongue. It wasn't Maria's fault, I liked that she... that she kept Mom's memory alive because I certainly hadn't been doing a good job at it.

My psychologist said it was a coping mechanism. To bury memories and traits of a deceased familiar. It hadn't been some ground-breaking crap Ms. Coleman had dished at my nine-year-old-self, but back then, it had seemed too complex. I hadn't understood why everybody wanted me to interact with kids like before, to paint and draw, to keep learning the violin.

Mom had died. She was dead.

I hadn't seen any use in returning to old routine before... before everything changed.

Lately, though, Ms. Coleman convinced me to take up art. To try and connect with people on a personal, honest level. Something I seemed to be doing well enough when it came to Ava.

Dad was wearing a Ralph Lauren suit I'd personally picked out—he had zero fashion sense—and a maroon tie Maria had bought him. It brought out the brown flecks in his mute green eyes, rejuvenating his fifty-year old face. I could almost ignore the fact he'd butchered his hair. On his little trip, Dad decided buzzing the sandy-gray hair would be nice.

Maria had doubled in laughter when he arrived from the airport, I nearly fainted. Men and their million dollar ideas.

"Well," I called pushing the chair back, standing up. "As much as I'd like to chat, I've got to go. I still want to mail my college applications." My already slightly late applications. "I'll see you two at dinner?"

Dad's gaze swung to Maria, they exchange a look of complicity. It was then I noticed my father's hand on her knee. My nose gave a little twitch. Just because I liked her and was happy for Dad, didn't mean I want to see PDA between the two.

"We're going out for dinner tonight, honey. You don't mind, do you?"

Yes. I mind. You're my Dad and I've missed you, too, a childish voice whined inside. Pulling on my big-girl pantaloons, I smiled brightly.

"Why would I mind? Have fun." I went near my Dad, kissing his cheek, waved at my step-mom. Then I whirled, marching outside the big dinning room for the sofa where I'd left my Prada handbag.

***

Yesterday, I'd calculated how much time my detour through the post office would take, so, when I arrived at school I wasn't late. I was still... I looked down at my silver wrist watch. Seven minutes early.

I grinned lifting my head as I waltzed up St. Joseph's stairway. A group of freshman girls, I think, looked when I passed them. That was normal, the envious looks at my style, the bags, make-up, the flowy hair...

What wasn't normal was giggling. They did just that. Giggled.

Should I stop or ignore?

Before my brain breached a conclusion, I'd already stopped, throwing a flinching glare their way. Two out of four stilled under it, another put a hand to her mouth, but the taller, thinner girl smirked.

"What are you smiling at?"

The little twit had the audacity to purse her lips and answer, "We were just wondering about what everyone's saying about you." I stalled an eyebrow from arching. Gossip about me? "You're always going on about how us girls should be posh and proper but you went and got with Matthews. He's like, the most unpopular sod at this school."

I swear my Prada bag almost fell.

I didn't know who this girl was, didn't want to and didn't care. Reorganizing the snappy comments, I swayed my way to where they stood, huddled like little minions of hell. All except the Brit girl took a breath and step away. I stared her dead in the eyes.

"Do yourself a favor and stop talking right now. I'd prefer to live out the rest of my days at this school in peace, but if you give me more attitude I'll make sure your life a living hell." Her lips dropped the smile inch by inch. I continued with a cutting tone. "Good choice. Now, one of you is going to tell me where you heard this. Right now."

It wasn't Brit girl who stepped up, she actually swallowed looking anywhere else. It was the smallest of them, a girl with pretty braid over her shoulder who spoke.

"We just heard it outside English yesterday... from... from..."

"Well, spit it out. Whoever it was can't be worse than me."

The girl stared back at me with bug eyes.

"It was Brenda. She... was talking to other girls about it. How you and Matthews danced at the party and last afternoon everyone learned Christian got suspended—"

And obviously Christian spread the word on how and why. People knew I'd accused—defended Finn from him. And our dance... How could I have been so stupid? Just because I had two weeks left at St. Joseph didn't mean I could drop my popularity status!

Grinding my teeth, I turned on the foursome and roamed inside school. If I found Brenda I was going to pour acid down her throat. Gossiping about me? My life? She'd always a had a competitive streak with me, but I never thought she'd be stupid enough to cross me.

I was just in the midst of fantasizing what nasty secret to expose about her when a hand touched my bare arm, causing me to jump into a door.

A masculine laugh bubbled from behind.

"You're so bad," came Ava's scolding tone. The too-adorable-for-their-own-good duo was here. What bad timing. "Are you okay, Valerie? I didn't mean to scare you."

I looked over a shoulder breathing out.

"No, I'm not okay." I snapped. Thomas' eyebrows drew together. "I just have to find Brenda and exfoliate her brain. After that, I'll be fine."

Ava's big brown grew even bigger making her look like a Disney cartoon. Thomas whistled behind her. A thought hit me.

"She's in your English class, isn't she?"

"Yeah?" she hesitated. "What's going on?"

"Nothing you need to worry about." My voice sounded somber, I pushed from the wall heading to Art class. I considered telling Ava what I'd heard but instinct told me to keep it under lock and key. Trust didn't come easy. What was the point in getting too close to someone? They all left.

The art room was open, our teacher and a couple more students were standing behind her trying to stare at something she was holding. One was even on her tiptoes. The hush of conversation peeked my interest and I drew nearer, I had to push and shove to get a glimpse of...

I recognized what Ms. Bishop was holding immediately. It was my canvas. The art project I'd been working on—my final. But it was... torn. Not just that, it was completely violated. Someone painted black streaks over the aurora borealis. The glaciers and snow had been ripped through, like someone shoved a giant pair of scissors and performed sloppy surgery on the painting.

Looking at it... it was like having a jackhammer punch me in the stomach. It was a horrible mess... I'd worked so hard and... it was... it was...

"Valerie?" I faintly heard Ms. Bishop's voice over the loud pounding of my heart, the blood rushing to my ears keeping me from going deaf. "Dear, I'm so sorry about this. I got here and the storage room was open—Valerie? Valerie wait!"

It was an impossible request because if I stayed—if I waited, everyone would see me crying. I barreled out the door running, wiping at the corner of my eyes furiously. At the first bottom lip tremble, I picked up my pace. Crying in public was the last thing my rep needed, I almost crashed into someone and tripped, but I pushed away and kept going, head low.

Just as my chest started shaking with sobs, I slammed both hand on the lady's bathroom door. I stepped inside so fast I almost hit a girl who was trying to leave. I shook black hair to frame my face, hide the redness stinging eyes. I ducked around her and into a stall.

I only relaxed a minute later. The girl left and I didn't hear anything else besides my fast breathing.

I hung my bag on the stall's door hanger and lowered the toilet lid to sit on it, burying my face in my hands.

If any other painting had gotten trashed I wouldn't be such a mess. But that one... That one held special meaning, it was the first one I ever painted from the depths of my heart.

I bit on my lip to stifle a sob.

When I was little, Mom used to tell me stories. She had a wild imagination and she used to write stories for me... My favorite had always been about the stars. She said whenever I was unhappy I should think of stars spread wildly across the deep mantle of blackness. They were always sparkly, shiny. Always happy and dancing with the moon and planets. Then, when the sun came up, they'd go to sleep. And there was this event each year, that brought all the stars together. The Aurora Borealis. There, the stars would meet their partner and combine into one. Brightening the sky more.

I knew it was just a story she'd made up, but it meant something—too much. Thinking about Mom and what we used to have was my Achilles heel.

The pain of loss still felt raw no matter how many years passed, no matter how much I said it didn't matter. No matter how many counseling sessions I had with Ms. Coleman.

What was done to that painting... It felt like my Mother's memory had been violated. It hurt.

For a long time I stayed like this—face dug into my palms, shoulders shuddering from time to time as pain iced my veins, as I kept the crying silent and wiped my cheeks.

No one came looking for me. No one texted or called to see where I was. I was torn between relief and pain. The most popular girl in school—the prom Queen—went missing and no one came searching.

No one cared.

A hollow laugh left me. This was the truth about popularity, most times you were surrounded by everyone and still you were the loneliest person in the room.

It was the path I'd chosen eight years ago. Because loneliness was easier than loss and if you never got too close, you could never truly lose anyone. It was better this way. My way.

Making sure the coast was clear, I edged outside after washing my face and cleaning the ruined make-up and re-applying it.

I only turned a corner before crashing into something hard. Like a board. Why would someone put a board here?

Hands fell over my shoulders. I blinked, boards didn't have hands. Looking up, I stiffened.

"I've been looking all over for you."

"Why? Did Ms. Bishop tell you to?"

Finn's face twisted with confusion.

"Huh, no. I was just walking to class when this crazy girl came out of nowhere, crashing into me. Almost tripped over my feet." He dodged my eyes, a muscle flexed in his jaw. "Turns out that crazy girl was you. I called. But you kept running."

Like I couldn't fight the gravitational pull, I followed the slate-gray irises. They were so intense, especially when he was angry. The gray got thicker, like mercury, but they could also be soft, reminding me of a summer storm. I'd seen them angry. This was the first time I saw their softness, though.

A pinch in my chest made me jump back, unsure. The survival instinct I'd owned over eight years caused me to snap out of whatever trance, I whirled in the direction of our art class. I needed to show everyone I was alright. Weakness killed. It was the way the world worked.

A firm hand coiled around a wrist, tugging me right back where I started. A little closer to him than before, because my free hand ended up knocking into Finn's chest. The first thing I noticed was that he wasn't wearing uniform, which made sense, since our first class was art and we never painted while using St. Joseph's uniform.

He was wearing a gray T-shirt a size too small on his shoulders. My breathing flared. Stop ogling! My mind shouted.

"What are you doing?" I hissed digging into the special, cold place in my chest. "Let go of me, Matthews."

I could feel the gears turn in his mind. Finn's gaze didn't dither from mine, like all those times before it held strong, with quickening force that messed with a lost piece inside my chest. It was the reason why I needed to get away from it—from him.

"No," he said pulling on my arm. My hand sunk deeper into Finn's muscles. Oh God. "Not until you tell me what happened."

"Why do you care?"

Sighing, he eased the hold on my wrist. I tugged away. Nothing happened. Darn it, if he was so strong why hadn't he punched Christian's lights out?

"I don't know," Finn confessed under his breath. "But neither of us is leaving this spot until you tell me. So do yourself a favor and tell me, sunshine."

I cocked my head giving a total murderous glare. He wanted to play rough? Two could play at that game. I lifted a booted foot and crashed my heel over his foot. Finn's lips clammed together in a desperate way of keeping in a scream. It must've hurt real bad because his fingers slipped off my arm.

I edged back, crossing my arms, watching as he hilariously jumped on one foot and tried to maintain his balance by leaning on the wall.

"You think this is funny?"

"I warned you to let go. You should've listened." I shrugged one shoulder. "Listen," I said bringing all the seriousness into my words. "I'm sorry if you got confused by what I did—the dance and what happened yesterday with Christian—but we're not friends. You saved me from being run over. I repaid you by giving you the privilege of dancing with me. Yesterday, it was revenge against Christian for almost sending me to a hospital. Or worse. You owe me nothing. I owe you nothing." I had to breathe deep for my next words because they... they tore some chunk out of my soul. "We're nothing to each other, Finn."

I couldn't be anything to him. To anyone.

The closer I'd been to someone after Mom... It was Jackson. Fate had found a way to mess it up, too. Bringing our parents together.

My therapist would say human contact was necessary. Well, I said screw it. I'd been surviving frozen for almost nine years. It was all I thought about when I turned around, walking for art class, following down the seemingly endless corridor, holding my head high and putting on a bland expression.

I had things to focus on. Like Brenda spreading gossip and rumors. And whoever ruined my painting, tarnishing Mom's memory. Whoever did it, was going to pay dearly.