The secrets we bury

Project Makeover

That entire day, Melanie stuck to us like glue.

Perfect.

My claws had sunk right in — just where I needed them to be.

At lunch, we sat outside, soaking up the August sun. The warmth danced across our skin, the air buzzing with the sound of rumors and envy.

Everyone watched us.

Whispers passed from table to table, eyes flickering toward our group, then quickly away.

Melanie Finley? Sitting with us?

It was odd. Suspicious. Unnatural.

But no one was brave enough to say it to my face.

They wouldn’t dare.

In my mind, I was already planning.

Organizing.

Plotting.

How to turn this little ugly duckling into the perfect swan — one I could control.

This wasn’t my first rodeo.

My first project was Averie.

She was a total disaster before we found her — frizzy curls, knockoff heels, nervous as hell.

But I made her into the girl she is now.

Stylish. Polished. Loyal.

Devoted.

A perfectly curated version of herself, all thanks to me.

Soon, Melanie would be no different.

Another success story.

Another puppet with invisible strings.

I liked to think of myself as a helper of the poor, unfortunate souls.

And the level of power I held?

No one could comprehend it.

So I used it to my full advantage.

Melanie sat beside me, her tray untouched, her eyes darting every few seconds like a scared rabbit.

So timid.

So afraid.

So f*****g sheltered.

Ugh. She was worse than Averie used to be.

“Melanie,” I said coolly, resting my chin in my palm and leaning forward, my lips slowly moistening like I was about to tell a secret.

“Would you like to come to the mall with us girls after school?”

She blinked fast. Looked around.

Stuttered.

“I… I have to ask my mom first.”

I smiled, sweet and lethal.

“Oh no worries, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. We’re just going shopping. Aren’t we, girls?”

I looked at Averie and Emma.

“Yeah,” Averie chimed in. “Totally harmless.”

“We can even call for you if you want,” Emma added. “Ava’s so good with parents.”

We giggled, already knowing we had her.

“So what do you say, Mel?” I asked, my tone dripping with sugary charm.

“How about it?”

She smiled like it was the first time someone had ever included her in anything.

“Sure… um… but you’ll call my mom, right? I’ll give you her number.”

“Of course,” I said, lying through my perfect teeth.

Like hell I was calling her mom.

Fuck her mom.

I ran things around here.

And if I wanted to bring Melanie to the mall for a quick little makeover,

who the hell was going to stop me?

The school day ended.

It was time for the queen to leave her kingdom briefly and tend to the needs of the people.

Project Makeover: Duckling Edition.

We all piled into my Audi. The sun was still hot on the windshield, the kind of afternoon where everything feels loud and golden and alive.

Taylor Swift blasted from the speakers as we sped down the street — windows down, our voices loud and off-key, laughing like our lives were perfect.

And they were.

Well, mine was.

Everyone was grinning.

Except Melanie.

She sat in the backseat, pressed up against the door like it might swallow her whole.

Wide-eyed. Quiet. Clutching her tote bag like someone might snatch it away at any moment.

God.

Could one girl be so f*****g timid?

Emma turned from the passenger seat, bouncing with excitement.

“Jason’s meeting us at the mall!”

“f**k,” I muttered under my breath.

Jason Larson.

You remember him, right?

Emma’s boyfriend.

St. Augustine’s golden boy.

Football captain.

And, well…

Soon-to-be killer of me.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

I smiled like a good queen does and checked my rearview mirror, catching Emma’s reflection.

“Perfect,” I said sweetly. “We could use his boyish opinion on certain things.”

The mall greeted us with fluorescent lights and air conditioning that smelled like designer cologne and new leather.

We walked in like we owned the place — because we did.

Melanie trailed behind, her eyes darting from store to store, like she was trying to memorize everything before someone told her she didn’t belong.

“Alright, duckling,” I said, turning to her with a wicked grin. “Let’s get to work.”

We started at Sephora — trial runs of blush, lip gloss, and concealer to “brighten her face.”

Then Zara, where Averie picked out three mini dresses and Emma grabbed heels and low-rise jeans she said were “so 2005 it’s iconic again.”

I handed Melanie a crop top, deep blue, the kind that would finally show she had a waist. She stared at it like it was radioactive.

In the fitting room, we handed her outfit after outfit.

Each time she stepped out, a little more of her armor cracked.

The glasses came off.

The hair went up.

She started to smile, just barely.

Jason met us outside the salon with a Jamba Juice in hand.

He looked her up and down like she was an alien.

“You clean up nice,” he said, and Melanie blushed like it was the first compliment she’d ever received.

We laughed. I rolled my eyes.

Typical Jason — charming if you liked emotional damage wrapped in muscle.

Then came the final step.

The hair.

She sat in the salon chair, clutching the armrests like she was bracing for surgery.

The stylist, a guy named Luca with lavender nails and sharp cheekbones, ran his fingers through her limp, greasy hair and winced.

“Oh, honey,” he said. “We’re gonna fix this mess.”

I showed him a picture — a short, bouncy bob with soft highlights that would bring out the pale blue in her eyes.

Luca smirked. “Say less.”

Scissors flashed. Blondes dropped in chunks.

The blow dryer roared like a jet engine, and then…

There she was.

Still awkward. Still a little hunched.

But cleaner. Brighter. Softer.

Pretty, even.

Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

“You like it?” I asked.

She nodded slowly, lips parting just slightly.

“I… yeah. I think I do.”

I leaned in, resting a hand on her shoulder like a proud mother.

“You’re welcome.”

I dropped her home just before sunset.

Melanie stepped out of the car, arms overflowing with bags — so many that she nearly tripped over her own feet halfway up the driveway.

I almost hoped she would. It would’ve been the most dramatic thing she’d ever done.

And then I saw her.

Melody.

Standing at their front door like a disapproving mother.

Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Eyes narrow.

This b***h.

I grinned, rolled down the window, and shot her a middle finger.

Then I sped off without a care in the world.

Oh, she was fuming.

But I didn’t care.

My plan was in motion.

And she’d be stupid to try and stop it.

Next was Averie. I dropped her off with a quick air kiss.

Emma had ditched us after the mall to go off with Jason.

Typical.

I wished she’d leave that boy alone, but she wouldn’t.

Not until he broke her completely.

When I got home, the sun had already dipped behind the hills, and the shadows danced in our driveway like ghosts.

I pushed the door open and was greeted by the familiar sound of clinking glass.

“Mother,” I said, dryly.

She stood in the foyer in full glam — wine glass in hand, dress so tight I thought she might actually suffocate.

“Hi, sweetie,” she cooed, like she hadn’t spent the last three weeks in Cabo “expanding the brand.”

“How was school?”

“Eventful,” I replied, vague and short. Just the way she liked it.

Then came the man of the hour — my father.

Forever on his phone.

Forever business-like.

Forever pretending I was invisible.

“Ava,” he said flatly, barely glancing up as he walked into the kitchen, still mid-conference call.

“Dad,” I snapped, my voice laced with attitude.

No reply.

Of course not.

I rolled my eyes and headed upstairs, tossing my bag into the corner of my room before collapsing onto my bed.

I pulled out my phone and typed into the group chat.

Me:

So what do you think, girls?

Will Melanie blend in?

Averie:

Maybe… but we have Melody to worry about.

Emma:

That’s true.

Melody will be a problem.

I sent back a laughing emoji.

Me:

Let me deal with Melody.

Then I typed again.

Me:

Averie, did Thornton confirm the details for the frat party this weekend?

Averie:

Ooh let me text him and get back to you guys.

I can’t wait.

I smiled, tossing my phone beside me as I laid back and stared at the ceiling.

What a blessing it was to be me.