Chapter 5: Makeup, Meetings, and Messy Truths

After that night, Derek Mason stopped replying. I spammed him with cat memes and existential 2 a.m. questions—nothing. Left on read, hard.

One afternoon, Noah called. He only calls when he wants something, but curiosity won out.

“Sis, I’m shocked. Our homeroom teacher actually thinks I’m being bullied! He tried to get me to open up. I didn’t even know I was being bullied!”

Now it made sense—Mr. Mason had moved on to saving Noah. If you can’t reform the older sibling, start with the younger. I laughed. Noah cussed me out but cut to the chase: “Parent-teacher meeting’s Friday. See if Mom or Dad can come. I did awesome on my finals! You’d better buy me that game skin you promised!”

I brushed him off and headed straight to the salon to fix my roots.

Six hours later, I winked at my reflection: “Just a little effort and I’m way prettier than you, kid.”

That night, I sent Derek Mason my usual good night message. To my shock, he replied.

[Although I don’t know your name, I think you’re younger than me. As a teacher, I advise you: don’t trouble my student anymore, or you’ll only hurt yourself and others.]

[Your constant trivial messages these past few days have seriously disturbed my life. I’ve said all I can. I don’t think there’s anything more I can help you with. I hope you’ll really listen.]

[That’s it. I’m deleting your contact. If I see you bullying Noah at school again, I won’t stand by.]

Me: ?

Apparently, Noah hadn’t told him I was his real sister. When I tried to message again, I got a ‘friend request rejected’ notice. He really deleted me.

Just then, Mom knocked. “Natalie, I have a meeting tomorrow, can’t go to the parent-teacher meeting.”

Her eyes said, ‘tag, you’re it.’ As the family’s number one troublemaker, I volunteered: “Mom, I’ll go.”

She gave me a look—half wary, half amused—but didn’t argue. Dad wasn’t stepping up.

By 10 a.m. the next day, I was deep in makeup trenches—foundation, highlighter, even the good eyeshadow palette (the one I save for weddings and court dates). If this didn’t impress Mr. Mason, nothing would.

Mom passed by: “Are you going to a parent-teacher meeting or a blind date?”

Curling my hair, I grinned: “Who knows, maybe I’ll catch you a son-in-law.”

She laughed and called me cheeky.

At 2:30, I entered the school with the other parents. Noah met me, showing off: “See, this is my sister—my real sister! Isn’t she gorgeous?”

I whispered, “Enough. If you keep showing off, stay ten feet away from me.”

Noah beamed, unfazed. “Sis, you look so good today, I almost want to trade places with you. Seriously, you’re killing it.”

I ruffled his hair, half plotting revenge.

A headache crept in. If there weren’t so many people, I’d have stuffed his socks in his mouth. I scanned his grade slip—English: 92. Math: 140. Science: 255. Solid. Social Studies: 122. Barely passing.

I gave him the look. He squirmed, then grinned sheepishly. “Just didn’t do well this time.”

I snatched the slip back and punched him a few times. Did you even follow my study plan? I was mid-rant when I spotted Derek Mason at the door.

Our eyes locked. For a split second, a ripple crossed his calm eyes. My fist was still raised.

I remembered his warning: [If I see you bullying Noah at school again, I won’t stand by.]

But here I was, caught in the act.

After a few seconds, he looked away. I smirked. If the mountain won’t come to me, I’ll go to the mountain.

I straightened my skirt, fixed my smile, and walked up to the podium. My heart thudded—if he called me out in front of all these parents, I’d never live it down.

“Mr. Mason, I’m Noah’s sister, Natalie.”

He stiffened, then composed himself. “Hello. Noah did well—Social Studies just needs work. If he improves, he’ll get into a good college.”

He kept his eyes on the grade slip, but his ears were probably burning. I kept smiling, watching him go from eye contact to looking away.

I drew out my words: “Is that so? Then let’s exchange contact info. My parents are busy, so I manage Noah’s studies. Let’s keep in touch.”

I slowly pulled up my QR code—the same one he’d ruthlessly deleted last night. He recognized it, and I could see the gears turning. Today, he’d have to add me back, nice and smooth.

I held up my phone, eyes full of mischief, as if I’d known all along this day would come.

“Is that okay, Mr. Mason?”

He managed, “Of course, Noah’s sister.”

As the meeting started, Derek Mason stood at the front, posture perfect, every word clear. I stared at him, refusing to look away.

At first, he met my eyes, but soon he started avoiding the center row. I clicked my tongue softly.

Noah leaned over: “Sis, why are you staring at our teacher like that? He’s handsome, but you’re making it obvious.”

I side-eyed him: “What did I do?”

Noah rolled his eyes: “Your eyes look like you want to eat Mr. Mason alive—like the Wicked Witch eyeing Dorothy.”

I forced a smile: “Say one more word and you’ll never see another dime from me.”

Noah grinned. “Look all you want, whatever.”

After the meeting, Derek Mason was mobbed by parents, answering everything from college apps to cafeteria allergies. I lingered, sneaking glances.

Suddenly, he looked up, meeting my gaze through the crowd. For a second, it was just us. Then Noah tugged my sleeve: “Let’s go home, Sis.”

On the way, I asked, “How old is your homeroom teacher? He looks pretty young.”

Noah, defensive: “Don’t judge by appearances! He’s a top college grad, already 28, super experienced.”

I replied, “Oh.” Then, “Top college? How top?”

Noah: “Columbia.”

That jogged my memory—my college roommate’s boyfriend knew Derek Mason. I texted my roommate: “Derek Mason doesn’t have a girlfriend, right?”

Noah was busy logging into his game, but his mouth was faster: “No, he’s been single since birth.”

Three seconds later, he realized: “Wait—how do you know his name? Did I tell you? Why are you asking if he has a girlfriend? Do you have a crush?!”

I shot back, “Why are you so nosy? You won’t live to see tomorrow.”

His face was pure horror. I tried not to laugh.