Freefall ✓

02 | cinderella

But the damage was done the moment our eyes met

—david jones

▬▬▬ SONG: ▬▬▬

 (first verse of)  All These Years - Camila Cabello (from cd shop)

▬▬▬ ✦ ▬▬▬

AUDREY

"Just pick the turquoise one."

It was around 6 o'clock in the afternoon on the last Saturday of the summer, and of all the places in the world where I could have been, a nail salon at a busy mall certainly wasn't one of my top preferences.

I had nothing against painting my nails. Let me rephrase that: I had nothing against painting my nails myself while chilling on the couch of my living room and listening to lo-fi music, with an open window. The atmosphere at this nail salon didn't quite match the former description.

I don't know what exactly had gotten into Sydney this morning but she decided that we were in desperate need of a glow-up before school. And as the first step to that, we were getting a manicure. 

While I couldn't care less about how I looked in school, Sydney evidently did. It wasn't surprising. She was much more outgoing and sociable than me, so her existence was acknowledged by many people, unlike mine. But hey, you don't see me complaining about it; I actually preferred it that way.

I coasted my way through the whole of high school like a chameleon, blending in with the school's walls in the hallway and hiding behind my backpack in the classrooms. I don't think many people managed to notice me.

Which is probably why—while undecisive Syd was struggling to choose between bright cherry red or turquoise with rhinestones— I had long ago settled on my unobtrusive plain peach matte. Stylish and simple.

"Excuse me, Miss, will you please come with me," said a sweet voice which, I supposed, belonged to my nail technician.

I glanced at Sydney. The idea had been to do our nails at the same time but she was still gazing at the display book of nail polish colors, deep in thought. Sighing, I stood up and followed the nail lady.

Whatever. That girl needed to work on her decision-making skills.

I sat on the stool, its leather cold against my thighs.

Today, in honor of the last weekend before school, I'd gathered my last bits of self-confidence and dressed in a rather daring outfit. Well, as daring as I could go anyway.

I rebelled against the stereotype of two ponytails being a childish hairstyle and tied up my dark, wavy hair into two, with velvet scrunchies. Then, knowing that I'd probably never venture to wear one like this in school, I put on a black and white striped dress— that was tight enough to make me feel insecure about wearing it— and a pair of summer slip-ons, to complete the outfit.

As for the make-up, I had brushed over just the slightest tinge of mascara and had stroked on nude lipstick.

Inhaling the citrus scent of air freshener, I watched as the nail lady started carefully buffing my nails. The fluid movement of her hands, as she proceeded applying layer after layer of rich peach-orange polish; and the buzz of conversation in the background were beginning to make me feel sleepy.

I must have dozed off, mentally at least, because before I knew it the lady was done and waking me up from my daydream.

"Sure you don't want anything else?" I shook my head lightly. Her perplexity wasn't a surprise — it must have been the simplest order of her career.