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Mr. Keeves didn't seem to notice my absence, but my friends did. 

"Hey, are you okay?" Maddie asked me as we walked to my fifth period. Her class was across the hallway, so we walked together.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" I said. 

Maddie shrugged. "I don't know, you've just been kind of distant," she said. "I thought maybe you were mad at us."

I looked at her. "I'm confused. What would I be mad about?"

Maddie chewed on the inside of her cheek. "Well, you don't seem to like it when we talk about your roommate," she answered.

"Oh," I said. "Yeah, but I just don't really believe she's as bad as everyone says she is."

Maddie nodded, understanding. "Yeah, I get it," she breathed, and looked out into the distance. "I admire that about you."

"Admire what?"

"Just . . . your ability to not take everything at surface level."

"Oh. Thank you?"

Something in her expression switched, and she patted my arm lightly. "Nevermind. We have practice after classes are over. And we have a meet soon," she groaned.

I laughed, and we parted ways for our respective classrooms.

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"Ugh," Scott groaned. We were sitting on the track, doing our stretch routine for our warm-up. 

"You know, I'm actually starting to enjoy this," Maddie said. She sat next to me, leaning over to grab her right foot.

I grinned. "See? Running isn't that bad."

"I beg to differ," grumbled Scott.

"Weren't you the one who suggested we join the track team in the first place?" Maddie asked.

"Yeah, but it was just a suggestion. I didn't think it'd be this bad."

I rolled my eyes. "You're a swimmer, Scott. You should be fine."

He frowned at me, but it was hard to take him seriously because he was sitting holding his feet together in front of his butt, in butterfly position. "Yeah," he snorted. "You'd think it would make me good at running, but it doesn't do shit."

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Practice was hard, and I rushed back to my dorm to wash the sweat off me. Noa was fixing one of the many things on her wall when I entered, but I paid her no attention, grabbing my clothes and retiring to the shower. 

The day I spent half of fourth period in the library, my main purpose was to check out another book for leisurely reading. I did no such thing.

So I pulled my Bible from the nightstand next to my bed and opened to the last page I'd bookmarked. I figured I might as well continue my study, and I had just started the book of Leviticus.

The book of Leviticus was weird to me. It focused on things that seemed so distracting from what I thought was the most important thing about being a Christian; being a good person and building a relationship with God.

Leviticus 15:19-33 states that menstruating women are "unclean" and have to be isolated in quarantine for seven days. 

Leviticus 19:19 states that you cannot wear clothes with mixed fabric.

Leviticus 27:1-8 explicitly states that women were worth half as much as their male counterparts and that babies less than a month old aren't worth anything.

Earlier in the process, I would have been in utter denial. I probably would have shut the book immediately and consulted my father, who would have reassured me and given me a reason sensible enough for me to forget about it for another year.

But after getting this far? I couldn't say I was very surprised. I wrote it down on the little sticky notes that I also kept on the nightstand. 

The deconstruction process is exhausting, mentally draining, difficult, and very lonely. But once I got started, I would plummet into a deep rabbit hole for days on end, neglecting everything else as every belief and affirmation I had conflicted with another. It definitely wasn't good for my mental health. 

I started keeping myself organized, jotting down all my thoughts so I could revisit them later. I only read a few chapters at a time, instead of losing my mind trying to make sense of the whole book in one go.

But today, I felt like I was going down that same old psychologically deteriorating route again.

"Ugh," Noa grumbled from the other side of the room, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. She was sitting on her bed with a small bag in front of her, reaching around inside. I couldn't see what she was doing, but I did notice her periodically taking something out and throwing it back in, frustratedly.

I set the book face down on my lap. "What are you doing?" I asked.

Noa glanced at me. "Nothing."

I gave her a weird look before reluctantly returning to the Bible.

But I could only process about three words before Noa disrupted me again. She had taken a bunch of things out of the little bag and was staring at one little bottle-looking thing that was open. After a few seconds, she let out a frustrated groan, putting everything back into the bag, and pulled out her phone, as if she had given up.

I slid my bookmark in between the pages of the book I was reading before closing it completely and setting it on my nightstand. Folding my arms, I raised my brows in Noa's direction. "Seriously, Noa. What the heck are you doing?"

Noa looked at me, then at the bag in front of her, and sighed. "Remember the art competition I was applying for last week? The showcase is in a few hours."

"Uh-huh," I deadpanned.

She continued, looking away. "We have to dress up nice, and I already picked out what I'm wearing, but . . ." she trailed off.

"But?"

She took a deep breath. "I wanted to try something new," she said, pausing for what I swear was for dramatic effect. "So I went to the convenience store and . . . bought some makeup."

I lifted an eyebrow. "So? Big deal."

Noa sighed. "I don't know how to use it. I was raised by my brother, Melanie. You think he knew how to use makeup?"

I shrugged. "He could've."

Noa just shook her head silently and looked aimlessly at the wall. Swinging my legs over the side of my bed, I sat upright. "Okay, okay," I said. "So, you're asking me to help you?"

"I'm not asking you for anything. I'm just telling you why I'm—Hey, you asked."

I smiled suddenly, and Nia looked concerned as I walked up to her. "I'm going to help you with your makeup."

Noa stared at me. "What? Why?"

"Because you need it."

She raised her eyebrows. "Wow, thanks."

"What I meant was, you're obviously struggling and, as I've said before, I'm a decent person, so . . ."

Noa didn't say anything. I looked at her, and she looked at me. I took that as an invitation to slowly sit down on her bed, and she watched me with an unreadable expression as I did so.

Noa was still staring at me, and she started to shake her head. "I didn't—You don't have to—"

"Relax, Noa. It's just makeup, I'm not gonna kill you," I said. Then I put my hands on my legs. "Okay. Can I see what I'm working with?"

"Um," Noa said, and awkwardly pushed the little bag toward me.

I looked inside. It was a random assortment of beauty products, each had nothing to do with the other. It was like she had just grabbed random items off the shelves. Half of the coverage makeup wasn't even close to her skin tone.

I picked up a very dark little bottle of liquid foundation, then looked at Noa with my brows raised. "Did nobody look at you weird while you were buying this?"

"I—I don't know, I wasn't paying attention."

"Clearly. They might have thought you had some dysmorphia or something." I teased.

She didn't say anything. As I sifted through the bag, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She looked so cute just sitting there, clueless and waiting for me to tell her what to do. I almost laughed.

After I had scrutinized every item in the entire bag, slightly bullying her along the way, I looked up. She was staring at the bed cover, silently tracing her finger along the designs.

"So, what look are you going for?" I asked.

"Uh . . . could you give me options?" she said.

I blinked. "What's your goal, Noa? Like, are you trying to look clean and put-together? Or maybe fun and creative, or maybe serious and unapproachable . . ."

"I—I just want to look pretty. I thought that was what makeup was for."

I chuckled at her naiveness. "You're already pretty, Noa." Noa's furrowed eyebrows relaxed. "Makeup is about accentuating certain features," I added quickly.

"Okay. Then I don't know. Just do what you want, but don't make it too big. And don't make me look weird," she said, waving a hand in the air dismissively. Perhaps I was imagining it, but her cheeks were slightly pink.

"Great," I said, already unscrewing the cap of an eyeliner. Shifting closer to her, I said, "Now close your eyes."

She did, and I began applying it to her face. Tilting her chin upward with my free hand, I hesitated as a slow realization washed over me. 

Noa was . . . attractive. Like, really attractive. And with her eyes closed, I admired her features. Her skin was soft against my hand, and having full access to her entire face meant I could do and touch whatever I wanted.

Which scared me.

I'd never been this close to her before. It made me nervous, but that didn't mean I wanted to leave. She looked so peaceful, her lips soft and pink. I wanted to touch them. But that would have been weird.

It was getting too quiet.

"Hey Noa, I have a question."

"Hm?" she hummed.

"Don't your parents know about all this? Or are they just like, super laid back?"

"My dad's incarcerated," Noa answered immediately.

My jaw dropped, and my hands froze where they were, shocked.

Wondering why I'd stopped, Noa opened her eyes. She looked a little cautious, probably because my hands were still hovering centimeters away from her face. Shaking my head and recollecting myself, I stuttered out a: "Oh my gosh. Wow. Um, I'm so sorry I keep doing that."

I rambled on. "I'm sorry. That was inconsiderate and so ignorant . . ."

Noa just watched me, a little concerned at my freak-out session.

She shrugged. "It's okay. I don't really care."

I gaped at her. "But—" I took a deep breath and shook my head. "What about your mom?" I squeaked.

Noa shrugged again. "Died giving birth to me."

I let my face fall into my hands. "I'm a horrible person," I groaned.

Noa didn't say anything, which, fine, I was being pretty terrible.

"Are you going to finish?"

Sitting up straight and brushing stray pieces of hair behind my ear, I nodded once. "Right."

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"Done," I said roughly fifteen minutes later, screwing the cap back on a mascara.

Noa opened her eyes, blinking, and glanced at the bag containing all the makeup products she had bought.

"But we didn't even use half of it," she protested.

I pulled out a particular concealer from the bag. "You told me to keep it light and simple," I said, opening it. "And are you sure you want to use—" I squinted as I read the label. "'Deep Ebony?'"

Noa glanced at the product in my hand, then at me, and the color in her cheeks intensified. She frowned at the bag. "So what am I supposed to do with the rest of it?" she asked, gesturing to the products we hadn't used.

"I don't know, return it? They might still accept it if you take the stuff back soon enough."

"Okay."

Noa looked at me, and I looked at her. I hadn't realized how close we were sitting until now. Our knees were almost touching.

"Don't you want to see the finished product?" I asked.

Noa was staring at me, and she blinked as if somebody had snapped her out of a trance. "Oh. Sure."

A/N:

I feel like I used way too much brainpower for this one chapter lol

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