There was something inherently ridiculous about faking a breakup when your wolves kept sneaking off together for midnight cuddles.
Celeste stood in front of the mirror in her room, adjusting the collar of her “casually devastated” leather jacket. Lisa was behind her, nodding like a deranged fashion director who also specialized in emotional manipulation.
“Okay,” Lisa said, tossing a scarf dramatically over her shoulder. “You need to look like you’ve just cried in the rain but also like you’re the one who broke it off because you’re better than this.”
“I didn’t cry,” Celeste said flatly.
“Well, obviously, but they need to believe you did.”
“And I’m not wearing the sparkly eyeliner. I draw the line at glitter tears.”
Lisa pouted. “Fine. But at least let me mess up your braid a little.
