She needed gloss.
And fast.
Would it be rude to apply lip gloss while talking to someone?
She needed to act quickly.
Because he was talking.
About the dance.
And Trisha.
Her heart dropped into her shoes.
Trisha was a girl at their school.
She had great grades.
Great hair.
A great smile.
And even worse: Great boobs.
Here was the love of her life talking to her on his game play for asking Trisha to the dance.
She wanted to cry for the second time that day, but he wouldn’t know why. And that would make her look stupid.
So she mustered up whatever she could find in her body; whether it had been dignity or courage, she would never know.