Jessa

Noah texted me in the late afternoon, right after practice ended.

Noah:

Heading home. Quick shower.

Be there at 7.

The message made my stomach fizz.

I must’ve stared at the text for a full thirty seconds before Mariah snapped her fingers in front of my face.

“Hello? Earth to Jessa. Put your phone down and sit. We need to get you ready.”

I sat at the edge of my bed and watched Mariah unzip her makeup bag — a terrifying combination of glitter, brushes, and ...