Get Ready With Me

Although her parents had been hinting at the ridiculousness of her morning routine for years now, nothing could stop Aliyah. She was up three hours before the 7:20 bell at school, patting expensive serums and creams into her glistening skin. The few times her mother would come to wake her, she was already up, holding a handheld fan to dry a face mask more quickly or resting against her headboard with two slimy, gold crescents beneath her eyes.

“What do those even do?” her mother asked once, tracing half-circles under her own eyes with an index finger. Aliyah answered without opening her eyes, careful not to move her mouth too much and disturb the patches.

“Keeps me pretty, ma.” Aliyah heard her mother hesitate in her doorway for a few more moments, saying nothing. Then, when she heard the soft click of her bedroom door, she slipped out of bed and into the bathroom to start on her makeup.

Every paycheck Aliyah earned from her weekend barista gig went to skincare products or high-end foundations, concealers, primers. She no longer listened to music as she primped and prepped but filled the bathroom with the latest beauty influencer’s voice. Before her school days even began, she was a student of the cat eye, the cut crease, the perfect contour style for her oval-shaped face. There were 15 minutes scheduled into the morning, right after straightening her tightly-curled hair, just to admire the finished look. In these minutes, her anxiety buzzed the loudest, a faint humming between her ears that only quieted when her focus was elsewhere.

On the morning bus, the looks and whispers as Aliyah pressed towards the back had long stopped. Her classmates were used to the makeup now, and every now and then she even got a compliment from one of the freshman girls who just started experimenting with makeup herself. And yet, when she arrived at her typical seat towards the back, Aliyah always sat alone.

Whenever her parents asked her about her sudden interest in makeup—“interest” being the gentlest way they could rephrase “obsession”—Aliyah insisted that it was a way for her to connect with the popular girls in her grade. She reassured her mother that it was working, that the head of the group now stopped by her locker to compliment her eyeshadow. She didn’t have the heart to admit that the hours of sleep she lost every morning had been pointless so far, or that her anxiety had graduated from the soft buzz of one bee to the frenzy of a whole hive.

She was always a loner, socially awkward and able to slip in and out of any room unseen. The one time she was noticed during her freshman year, it was by Bailey, a sophomore cheerleader who lived one bus stop away. On Aliyah’s first day of school, she wandered through the bus trying to find a place. She stopped near Bailey and her noisy entourage, drawn by their high-pitched laughter. Bailey locked her eyes on Aliyah like fresh prey before the surrounding group followed suit. The back of the bus was silent as it lurched forward again.

“Can I help you?” Bailey’s voice was sweet as sugar while a few girls around her giggled behind their fresh manicures.

“Uh…I’m new here. Just trying to find a place to sit.” Aliyah couldn’t bring herself to ask if the empty seat next to one of the girls was available. She hoped they would sense her helplessness and save her the embarrassment. But Bailey saw the opportunity to make her squirm and took it.

“And what does that have to do with us?” The girls behind Bailey laughed louder now. Aliyah wanted to throw up.

“Well there’s an empty seat here and I—”

“No plain Janes in this area,” Bailey said. Her friends remained silent this time, perhaps to allow the full weight of her statement to settle on Aliyah. When it did, Aliyah’s shoulders visibly deflated. “There’s a few empty seats in the back.” And just like that Aliyah was dismissed, “plain Jane” branded like a scarlet letter. This was when the buzzing between her ears began.

Aliyah thought of Bailey and her group for that entire school day, their perfectly arched eyebrows and airbrushed faces, their hair in long silk presses and expensive sew-ins. She promised herself on the bus ride home that she would become one of them, learn their secrets and slip into the group with the same level of stealth in which she could leave a room unnoticed. Two years later, Aliyah had become one of them, but only in looks. Her assimilation to their Barbie standards hadn’t led to their acceptance. She boarded the bus each school day, beautiful and by herself.

Halfway through her junior year and after Christmas break, Aliyah climbed the bus stairs, acknowledged the driver with her usual silent nod. She shuffled back to her seat only to find a new girl already there, a transfer student. Her hair was in a beautiful afro, and Aliyah could see her cheeks lightly dusted with a purplish blush. She looked up from her phone to meet Aliyah’s confused gaze, her eyes the same dark brown shade.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Is this your seat? I can move!” The new girl made to sling her bookbag onto her back and stand, but Aliyah stopped her.

“No, it’s okay. I can find another seat.”

“Or we can sit together! I don’t mind.” The new girl shifted her bag to the floor, letting Aliyah decide. Aliyah felt a smile forming but tried to hide her excitement.

“What’s your name?” Aliyah asked as she slid into the seat beside her.

“Jasmine,” she responded. But before she said anything more about herself, she leaned in to examine Aliyah’s face. “Is that the new Fenty foundation? I’ve been thinking about buying it!”

Aliyah let herself smile fully. The buzzing in her head turned down slightly, and she felt it.

Taylor Byas, Ph.D. (she/her), is a Black Chicago native living in Cincinnati, Ohio. She has authored two chapbooks and her debut full-length I Done Clicked My Heels Three Times, which has won multiple awards. She is also a co-editor of Poemhood: Our Black Revivial, a YA poetry anthology.