Prologue
I opened the bathroom door and walked over to the mirror, wincing as I glanced at my face. My hair was sticking to my terribly applied concealer, which wasn’t doing its job. My mascara was clumped up and my "cat eyes" were uneven. What compelled me to come to school like this?
I heard a sniffle and I turned around to see Marissa Rivers exiting the stall, her mascara running down her face. She didn’t seem to notice me until I coughed. “A-are you okay?”
She sighed and shook her head. “I hate my brother so much.” I knew about her brother’s reputation despite the fact that I don’t really talk to anybody. You don’t have to converse to hear the things that they say in the halls. He is mean and doesn’t have any friends, which isn’t surprising considering the fact that he’s cruel. He’s infamous, in some ways, but at the end of the day- he’s known. I guess being related to Marissa gains you popularity automatically.
I was slightly shocked that I didn’t get a scowl in return. I wasn’t exactly up there on the popularity chart. I don’t hear anything about Marissa being mean. She just isn’t outgoing when it comes to making friends; she has her group and doesn’t reach out to other people. “I wouldn’t know about sibling fights; I don’t have any.”
“Lucky you, my brother is a jerk. But of course you know that right?” she asked as she dug through her bag until she reached her cell phone. She began typing away.
I nodded. “I’ve heard a few things, of course I don’t know if they’re true or not.”
“Trust me, they’re true. Any rumor that is spread has a bit of truth behind it,” she stated. What she said wasn’t fully true. Rumors were once spread about my old best friend in middle school that she had a tattoo. She didn’t, maybe she does now, but when we were eleven she didn’t. Or maybe she did, who knows?
“I’m sure he has some good qualities,” I told her awkwardly. I didn’t want to hate on her brother with her. It just didn’t feel right, especially when I don’t even know the guy. Aren’t siblings supposed to be close and, in a way, friends?
“Are you sure about that?” she asked as she continued texting.
I nodded. “Yeah, he’s cute. I guess he’s mysterious.”
She snorted. “If he heard you call him cute, he’d throw a fit.”
“Well, most guys don’t like being called cute- so I guess it’s understandable,” I concluded.
She looked up and me and did a double take. “What happened to you?”
I offered a quiet laugh. “I don’t know how to apply makeup. I wanted to give myself a makeover, but I obviously failed.”
She nodded, walking over and grabbing a few paper towels. She offered me some and I couldn’t help but smile at her as I took them. I placed them under the water before scrubbing at my face. “So you think my brother is a good guy?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know him well enough to pass judgment. I don’t know if he’s a good guy or a bad guy, but I doubt he’s as bad as people make him out to be.”
“If you had the chance to get to know him, would you?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. I pursed my lips.
“Sure,” I told her as I rid my face of the makeup. It was hard to do and it took a lot of scrubbing. I’m glad I didn’t put as much as the girl in the tutorial did. Maybe that’s why I look as bad as I do. “He probably wouldn’t like that, but I mean, I’d try. What is there to lose?”
That was obviously the wrong thing to say because she scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe your dignity?” She began applying makeup, rubbing it onto her face with a special brush. She had a whole kit in her bag! When she started putting on mascara, I noticed that hers didn’t clump up like mine did and she didn’t have to open her mouth.
“You’re good at that,” I told her as I watched her, trying to take in all of the things she was doing.
She capped up the mascara. “Years of practice, I guess. So why did you want to give yourself a makeover?”
I felt my face heat up from embarrassment. “I don’t know.”
Nodding as if she understood, she also groaned, rubbing her temples as she put her mascara down. “I have the worst hangover ever.”
I frowned. “I also don’t know what that feels like.”
She turned to me with furrowed eyebrows. “You don’t drink?” I shook my head and she nodded, smiling to herself. “Interesting. Do you have your license?” I nodded again.
Marissa had a smile on her face. “How about we make a deal? Me and my friends will give you a makeover if you agree to be our designated driver when we go to the next few parties?”
I shrugged. How bad can it be? Reaching out and shaking her extended hand, I smiled. Maybe I’ll become beautiful.
