Meanwhile, at her perfectly organized home, Diane sat before her vanity mirror, a shrine to meticulous effort. Her beautiful, copper-red hair was in the process of being sculpted into soft, perfect waves.
She smiled faintly at her reflection, a fragile, sheepish smile that held the remnants of her successful performance from the previous night. She recalled the sequence with Dave in the pool, and the memories were refracted through a thick lens of delusion.
He was so attentive, she thought, running a brush through her styled locks. She remembered the moment she'd feigned dizziness and grabbed his arm. It hadn't been an accident; it had been an opening. And when she'd stumbled near the steps, and Dave had instinctively placed his hand on her waist to steady her, her heart had hammered—not from fear of falling, but from the thrill of his touch. In her memory, that touch wasn't protective; it was a lingering, suave possession. And his worried gaze as he asked if she needed water? That was pure undiluted affection. That was his confusion at feeling something so strong for her, right under Leah's nose.
She rose and walked to her closet, pulling out a crisp, deep-green linen dress. Green. His favourite colour. She had discovered this preference last semester, purely by accident. She reminisced about that semester in junior year when he'd complimented her looks for the first time.
Diane was sixteen that year, barely adapting into her pubescent body, standing by her locker, feeling acutely self-conscious in a new, bright-green halter neck top. Dave and Chad had passed by. Chad was talking about football. Dave stopped, his expression completely neutral and friendly.
"That's a good colour on you, Diane. Really pops."
He had walked on without a second thought, but Diane had pressed herself against the cold metal of the locker, swooning internally, convinced that in the chaos of high school, Dave had found time to send her a secret message.
Back in the present, she held the green dress against her body. Her eyes drifted back to the mirror, and the critical assessment began, cold and merciless. She started with her hair.
"Too red. Too loud." She sighed, touching the vibrant copper strands. She envied Leah's shimmering, brilliant blonde—the colour of light and popularity. She would have dyed it years ago had her traditionalist father not strictly forbidden it.
Next, her complexion. She was fair, with a scattering of light freckles across the bridge of her nose.
"Like porcelain," she whispered, but the term was a judgment, not a compliment, especially next to Leah's smooth, unblemished beige skin.
Diane could only praise her own green doe eyes, but even that felt insufficient when compared to Leah's large , sky-blue doll eyes—the kind that looked perpetually surprised and innocent.
The final, and most damaging, comparison was her body. While Diane was not flat-chested, she was toned and slender. But Leah… Leah was busty, her figure curvaceous and perfectly balanced, with a perky butt and tall, flawless legs. Leah looked good in everything, even a sackcloth. Diane, in contrast, had to meticulously select the right waistline, the right cut, the right length to achieve a similar impact.
Her gaze finally rested on an item hanging protected in the corner of her closet: her Crescent High cheer uniform. It was newly cleaned, pressed, and subtly, yet crucially, altered. This semester, the passive competition was over. She was done being outshined.
The sharp, insistent voice of her little sister, Mia, pierced the fragile silence of her internal world.
"Diane! Dad says breakfast is ready! Stop doing your face and come eat!"
The moment shattered. Diane sighed, her fantasy collapsing back into reality. She quickly smoothed her dress, giving herself one last determined look.
Dave Carter would be hers.