I sit cross legged on the floor opposite Alyssa. My eyes are closed because she's insistent that for the process to be successful, both eyes must remain closed until she gives the signal. I rebelliously pop open my right eye to inspect what she's doing.

Her tongue is sticking out of the side of her mouth and a deep line has formed between her eyebrows. It's a tell tale sign of her deep level of concentration. I try to not take that as an insult. As if putting make up on my face is proving to be a difficult task.

She takes a big fluffy makeup brush and dips it into a skin colored powder. She begins with applying it to my left cheek, then my right, followed by my forehead, chin and nose. Alyssa takes her time slowing moving the brush back and forth against my skin. It tickles a bit, but is almost equally relaxing.

Alyssa was overjoyed when I suggested she do my makeup for tonight, practically skipping to the nearest Sephora to buy new products to match my skin tone. As much as I would kill to be the shade of tan Alyssa is able to maintain year round, I am not into a look that looks too done. And bronzing myself anywhere close to Alyssa's tone would make one well done Camryn.

"We have to be on at least mile twenty five, right?" I ask for at least the billionth time since we started this whole process, Three. Hours. Ago. Alyssa promised me it's a marathon, not a sprint, but I would have figured her pacing would be a little better than this given all the experience she has applying her own full glam looks.

I've been a girl for eighteen years now and still cannot understand why we, as a species, think it is necessary or even appropriate to waste over ten percent of each day following a beauty routine. As if it's not enough to have a whole routine to put makeup on, we also have to have a whole routine to take it off. Washing our faces with chemical filled products so we don't get acne, or show signs of aging. It's exhausting. It's more than exhausting, it's debilitating. Literally, I've been in this position for so long that I couldn't even stand if I wanted to. My right leg fell asleep twenty minutes ago. The left is not far behind it. All of this could be avoided if we just banded together and refused to give into the mass beauty market. I make a mental note to add, petition to adjust the world beauty standards to my agenda.

Even with my internal struggle, I continue to sit here and let Alyssa paint my face like a canvas. Something that I asked for, I remind myself to ensure I don't take it out on Alyssa.

"I imagine hell holds a striking resemblance to this," I say, opening my eyes once again.

"Everything is your own personal hell!" She yells in my face.

She's not completely wrong, but I'm getting better. I've widened the scope of what is considered a hell, removing some things from the list. Sitting here for three hours for a process I assumed would take thirty minutes however, is still top ten scenarios.

"What are you putting on now?" I can feel something cool being applied to my eye lids.

"Primer, so that the eyeshadow stays on and doesn't get clumpy throughout the night."

"What color? It's not a costume party. I don't want to look like I'm in costume. Or my brother in Drag." She shushes me. I want to tattoo the sound onto her body, see if she likes it so much then.

I sit as still and silent as I possibly can. To my benefit, Alyssa takes to announcing her next move before she makes it. Like a chef declaring that the eggs must be folded in to avoid over mixing, Alyssa gives notice that she's applying eyeliner, and that I must be a statue. She says it like a threat, like if I move a muscle I will create an issue that could possibly result in having to take the makeup off my eyes and start all over.

"Done!" she squeals as she jumps off the ground and to her feet in one swift movement.

I stand up slowly, allowing the blood to rush back into my legs. I give them a few shakes for good measure. Alyssa takes my hand and tells me to keep my eyes closed as she walks me over to the body length mirror hanging on the back of our door. She counts dramatically all the way from ten. When she makes it to six however, I grow impatient and open my eyes anyway and am faced with my own reflection.

I think wow falls from my lips, but I can't be sure. I'm mesmerized by Alyssa's handiwork.

"Good, right? You're already so pretty Ryn that I just wanted to...enhance your natural features," she says. I knew she was good, given the amount of beauty tutorials and influencers she watches daily, but the witchcraft she performed on my face is scary good.

I have to blink a few times for the reflection to register. The mirroring image is me, but not, at the same time. A filter has been applied to my face, but in the most tasteful way possible. What felt like an entire Sephora's inventory of makeup during the application process looks nothing like I had imagined. It doesn't actually look like I'm wearing much makeup at all. Alyssa has perfectly blended an array of foundations, concealers, and bronzers together to enhance my natural skin tone, creating a flawless and perfectly contoured face. My blue eyes are electric against the barely visible earthy brown eyeshadow Alyssa chose to use. It lays perfectly underneath the thin line of eyeliner leading into a subtle wing at the corner of each of my eyes. The look was finished with the biggest pop of color. A deep red lip stain is expertly lining and filling my lips.

Alyssa ushers me back to our closets, demanding I get dressed while she finishes getting herself ready. Another choice left up to Alyssa was the simple emerald green slip dress that she pushed my way. I only agreed because she said it would look cute with my Doc Martens. On the hanger it looked like it was made for a toddler, I even checked the size on the tag before putting it on. But as I look in the mirror again, I can't help but admire the way the dress hugs me in all the right places. It hits in the middle of my calves, but the two long slits up either side allow my legs to move freely while still accentuating their length.

I slip my boots on and step in front of the mirror one last time. I can't help it, I feel pretty. I consider myself lucky that I'm usually satisfied with how I look, something that I know a lot of girls struggle with. But an added layer of confidence has settled over me. I welcome it, I'm going to need an abundance of it to make it through the night.

The cherry on top of this weekend sundae is finally telling Taylor how I feel. I have to lay it all out on the line and hope that he reciprocates, or at the very least lets me down easy. I was hesitant to move forward with my plan after the way he acted last night. First he treated me like I was an inconvenience, and then like possession that he only wanted because he was feeling insecure. Alyssa, however, assured me that even if Taylor denies the obvious chemistry between us, I can't not say anything. Drunk words are sober thoughts, she had said as I anxiously paced through every store we entered at the mall. Even though Taylor's drunk words were jumbled and nearly incoherent, I think in a roundabout way he was just telling me what he feels.

"He's going to die when he sees you!" It's getting scary, just how well Alyssa can read my mind.

We step outside to wait for the Uber that will take us to the banquet hall at the university hotel. The air is cold, so Alyssa and I huddle together on the curb. The material of our dresses begins to flow in the breeze. Alyssa uses the hand not holding onto me to swat at the fabric of her almost identical black version of my dress. Her's however, has more lace details trimming all the edges. Her petite body is standing almost as tall as me as we wait. I questioned her choice of five inch heels as we left, and do so again right now as she takes longer than necessary to walk the two feet to the car that approaches. Each time Alyssa only hisses, "They are cute, but evil."

The Uber drops us at the front of the building and then the revolving door of the hotel entrance deposits us into the lobby. It's a space that is typically uneventfully decorated but has been outfitted with decor designed to entice its guests. Recycled balloon arches from Friday's family dinner are still housed throughout the space, but all the signs for Family Weekend have been replaced with similar ones that read, Football Alumni Banquet.

The university always reserves this weekend's events for a long weekend. It provides the perfect opportunity to pack all three days full of activities that attract family and alumni. As far as the football program is concerned, it's a chance for former football players and their teammates to mingle with the current talent. It's a chance for them to swap war stories and well wishes for their bright careers. But I know it's just another chance to invite the biggest alumni donors to the campus, hoping they will pledge to fund a new locker room or scholarships, as if the university is skimping by on the measly millions this program brings in every season.

It's another tradition I haven't been a part of since my father was able to force me to attend, back when my mom was still a fixture in all our lives. Back then the image of his perfect family wasn't so much of an illusion. I even believed it could be a reality. That portrayal of the faultless family man is exactly why I'm here. I threw in my attendance at this banquet as an added draw for my dad to help me in getting Shea and Nora here.

Alyssa and I follow the flow of people all entering the banquet hall. Alyssa quickly excuses herself when she spots Anderson and his parents. I tease her before she walks away, asking when I can expect the wedding invitation. She just winks in my direction before throwing her arms around his mother and pulling her in for a hug.

I spot my father near the stage. I take a deep breath and walk in his direction. I agreed to come, but I didn't agree to spend my entire night near him. I want to get our interaction out of the way so I can focus on the more important matter at hand. I didn't talk to him after the game yesterday, but I do need to thank Katie for her treatment of Shea and Nora. She kept them company while I had to sneak away to shoot for the paper. When I returned, Shea and Katie were exchanging numbers. Katie promised to visit her when she's in Texas to see her sister next month. If Katie is anything, it's loyal. She's true to her word and will no doubt visit the Reed's. I resent her for the fact that she will see where Taylor grew up before I do. That is if he ever wants me to.

I only make it to the large cardboard cutout of the school mascot standing next to the door before I'm intercepted by a suited figure. When his eyes catch mine, it stops me in my tacks. Taylor is standing across the room with his hands deep inside his pockets. He's standing with a group of others all lost in conversation, but they fade to nothing when we lock eyes. His black suit is tailored to his body with a measure of perfection. The slim pants hug the muscles of his legs before expertly tapering through his calves. The blush on my cheeks won't mask the heat that fills them. We stay like this, staring, unmoving, for what feels like an eternity.

Taylor doesn't move or rush across the room to me. He doesn't close the gap between us like his life depends on it to sweep me into his arms like I had hoped he would. I feel stupid. I shouldn't have let Alyssa talk me into this. I exhale and let my shoulders relax. My head falls forward bringing my gaze away from him and to my feet. I count to three and before raising it again. Taylor's eyes haven't moved. He's watching intently as I internally struggle. It makes me think of the night on Cal's balcony. I had only just learned his name, but the urge was already there to know more. It wasn't a want as much as a necessity to ask him every single question I could think of until there were no more left. For months now, I've needed to know him like I need air to breathe. Even when I fought it, he's still a vital piece of me.

The look on his face right now is unreadable, but the intensity in his eyes speaks volumes that only I can hear. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but he doesn't give in. I could be the one to move in first, to grab him and ask what he's worried about. But I don't. I keep my place right here next to a life sized bulldog cutout. I refuse to appear desperate. I can't make my move until the timing is absolutely perfect.