Five Steps | Chaelisa

Chapter 20

Roseanne's POV

"Okay. Step two: dress to impress. Now that you got her number, you've gotta get all of"—she motions vaguely at my clothes—"that together."

"Lisa, shouldn't this step have come before step one? I mean, shouldn't I have been dressing better before I got her number? So I could make a good impression right from the start?" I ask, following my hunch that she's just making stuff up as she goes here. Not that I can really complain too much. I mean... it's working. Isn't it?

"Okay, first of all... I didn't know how bad the wardrobe situation was until I saw you wear the same plain T-shirt in three different colors." That's a fair point. "And second, I wanted you to get her number just as you are. If she gave it to you dressed like that, just think about the possibilities when we get you put together a little better." She pauses, flinching at herself. "No offense."

"I think you're being a little dramatic. It's not so bad," I say.

"Roseanne—and I'm saying this as a friend—I'm truly terrified to open that closet door...." She looks me up and down.

"Fine," I reply with a huff. We might as well get this over with. She steps past me to stand in front of it.

"You have Suzy's number now. We have to get this nailed down, because step three is coming and you are not ready," she tells me. I don't even bother asking what step three is, because I know she won't tell me.

Also, I don't just have Suzy's number. I've been using it. After I replied to her at Alice's, when Lisa told me not to, we talked on and off for the rest of the day. I decide not to say anything to Lisa, because, to be honest, I'm a little scared to tell her that I went rogue. Plus, I've got enough on my plate today with step two.

"Let's see what we're working with." She pulls open the door to my closet. "Organized," she says more to herself than to me, then immediately starts tearing through it like a category 5 hurricane.

"Roseanne!" she yells, feigning a posh English accent. "How many sweatpants does one girl need!?" She whirls around and holds a stack of what I call my "weekend lounge pants" out to me but drops them straight onto the floor with the rest of my clothes before I can grab them. Her hands immediately grab for more hangers, but when I don't laugh, she peeks over her shoulder at me, dropping the crappy accent. "That was Tan from Queer Eye."

"Yeah, I don't live under a rock." I scoot to the edge of my bed, looking at all the destruction she's caused in the few minutes she's been in my dorm room. "But do you have to throw everything on the floor?" I ask. My skin is prickling just looking at the chaos.

But as I watch her, I start to realize maybe this isn't a bad thing after all. It just means that I'll have to clean up later. And maybe while I'm at it, I'll just do a full- on room reorganization. Suzy would probably laugh if I told her that. Last night she texted me that Abby has been leaving her bowls of unfinished oatmeal on their coffee table every morning and it's been driving her nuts. Yet another thing we have in common.

Lisa holds up blouse after blouse, criticizing each one before tossing it behind her.

"Is this from QVC?" she says, pulling out a purple flowy tank top with green jewels sewn into the neckline that I'm pretty sure I wore to my eighth-grade graduation. And never since.

"Did this come with matching Bermuda shorts?" This time it's a pink-and- black plaid button-down that I got for Christmas in high school.

"No?" I reply, embarrassed, but the second the word leaves my mouth, she's already found them. She gives me a judgmental look and drops them onto the floor with everything else before digging right back in.