Damselfly by Jennie Bates Bozic Page B

forcing me to pick a husband? What reason does she have for thinking it would actually work?
    She has to realize she can’t threaten me every step along the way without some negative consequences. She’s observed me for too long to think that would be possible, even with drugs.
    What is it I’m missing?
    The clock on the wall changes to 3:01, and the door swings open and my hairdresser (can’t remember her name) flicks on the light. I fling my arm over my eyes and groan. The rest of the entourage follows the hairstylist inside, and they shut the door. Not a single one of them apologizes for waking me up. What on earth are they doing in here so early?
    They’ve each dragged in their personal workstations, and now they’re lining them up along the walls. Buttons are pushed and the stations unfold themselves into things resembling desks.
    The hairstylist clasps her hands together, bends over at the waist, and scurries over to me as if she’s about to have a conversation with a small child or a dog. Her hair is a mass of wiry gray-streaked brown curls; her face is a lesson in how not to apply makeup.
    “Hellooooooo, peeeexieeeee!”
    I have never met a more distasteful person in my life other than Dr. Christiansen. I open one eye and fantasize about shooting needle darts into her flaring nostrils.
    She claps her hands again. I grit my teeth.
    “Rise and shine! Up up up! It’s time to get you ready for your romantic sunrise pictures!”
    So that’s what this is about.
    I clear my throat. “What’s your name again?”
    “Tina! We have rhyming names—isn’t that so exciting?” She nearly hyperventilates from all the “excitement” as her gold eye shadow sparkles in the fluorescent light. If Tina were ever to slice open a vein, I’m pretty sure she would bleed glitter.
    The makeup artist pokes her head to the side of Tina’s hair. Her name is Susanna, and she’s the only person in the entire entourage I like. “We’ve got breakfast for you, Lina. Are you hungry?”
    If anyone else had asked me that question, I would have said “no,” but Susanna treats me like I’m one of her girlfriends and we’re getting ready for a normal day. Somehow she manages to do it without diminishing the situation or being condescending. It’s a breath of fresh air and enough to make me realize I’m ravenously hungry.
    “Yeah, what do you have?” I stand up cautiously, the cotton in the pillow shifting under my feet.
    “One sec—I’ll bring you the tray.” She disappears behind Tina’s hair and then returns with a breakfast tray nearly overflowing with sliced berries, cracked grains, mini-omelets, and me-sized pancakes. I grab a plate and load it up with a little bit of everything before sitting down on the edge of the tray and eating as much as I can stomach. Susanna brings me some freshly squeezed orange juice and sits on the floor in front of me, cross-legged. She’s not much older than me—probably in her early twenties. She’s got shoulder-length dark brown hair that’s ridiculously shiny, and the rest of her is very pretty as well. If I was to ever pick an older sister, I think it would be someone like Susanna.
    “So,” she says, “did anyone explain to you what’s happening today?”
    I shove another bite of pancake into my mouth and give her a look that says, What do you think?
    “Sorry. I thought—” She stops and sighs. “I should have known better. Next time, I’ll make sure I brief you every night if I hear something has changed.”
    I swallow a too-large lump of pancake with a grimace. “Thanks. It’s not your fault.”
    “No, but still.” She rearranges her feet. “So today we have two hours to get you all ready, and then we’re doing sunrise photos on the hill with the Toms.”
    “What hill?”
    “The hill they built at the west end for this photo shoot. It’s actually a mound of dirt with some sod on top. I didn’t get a good look at it.”
    “Fabulous. Do you have any