The Suicide Project

Chapter 4: The Makeover

  I feel amazing as I get up. Its the first good sleep I ever got in a long time. Refreshed, relaxed, but mostly not filled with fear of the beating I get when I wake up. I relish that five lazy minutes in bed, staring at the ceiling without blinking. The bright sunlight flutters through my window, and I stare at the dust particles in the air before finally getting my butt out of bed and running down to the kitchen. I see Mr. Lambert there eating, and there's a plate full of food waiting for me in front of my chair 

 My stomach flips at the sight of my teacher. I feel oddly nervous, like this situation feels wrong. I suddenly feel bad about dragging my teacher into this. He's doing more than I ever asked him to do. He's even giving me money to completely redo myself. Of course I needed his help. How could I have not seen that from the beginning? Money didn't just come from thin air.

  "Good morning," I say as I slide in my seat. My teacher nods back at me before I divert my attention to my plate. It's a smiley face. Sunny side up eggs for eyes, curly fried potatoes for hair, complete with a bacon smile. Along my plate is a glass of orange juice. I flash back to the watery porridge and bread crusts I used to eat, and shove that from my mind before digging into the delicacies.   

  The bacon is salty, crispy, and crunched in layers between my teeth, juices and fat sizzling in my mouth before I gulp it down and it slides down my throat. The eggs are soft and warm, and slither down my throat easily. The potatoes are flavorful, the outside crisp, the inside mealy. It is simply divine. 

  "This is incredible," I say finally, gulping down the orange juice. Tart and cool and refreshing.  Mmm. "Seriously, you must be a cook."

  My teacher laughs. "I'm not so great. It's a usual breakfast." 

 "I mean it!" I exclaim, scraping the last bits of egg and bacon from the plate onto my fork. Mr. Lambert laughs once more at my nativity before taking a sip of his coffee and turning back to his newspaper.

  I stare curiously at his cup. "How does that taste?" 

 "I'd rather you not taste it," is what he mutters, laughing. 

 "Fine," I mumble. I lean back into the seat, crossing my arms. "Is it just because I'm a kid or something?"  

  "You have a lot of work to do today," he says, ignoring my question. "Remember, you're in charge of changing your appearance, and creating a new life and background for yourself." 

"I got it," I say. I get up from the table, scraping my chair back. I deposit my plate in the sink before I run up to my room and get dressed before running back downstairs. My heart pounds with excitement. Finally, I will be beautiful. I have a chance to redo myself. Mr. Lambert hands me some money.

 "Here's 500 dollars," he says. 

My eyes widen. "500 whole dollars?" I gasp. 

 "Use it wisely Alex, and bring me back the change," is all he says.    

  "Yes sir!" I promise him before running out the door, on my own. I decide the first thing to do would be to change my hair style and looks. I walk to the local hair salon and at the door I'm greeted by a short young lady with straight brown hair. She looks young, in her mid twenties and has a red streak on the right side of her hair. She smiles at me as I walk in.   

  "Hello Miss," she greets. "How can I help you? Would you like a trim or a new cut?" 

"Um, no thank you please," I smile back politely. "I want something that will completely change my appearance." I look at my stick straight long, dark hair. "Make me look as different and as pretty as possible, I guess."   

  "Alright, let's have a look." She sits me down in a chair and studies me from all angles, before I see a smile appear on  her face. "I know just what to do. I will make you gorgeous. I promise."

 "Err... ok," I nod, unsure of what to say.   

  I hear the sink running and heaters blowing behind me and I let the lady do her magic. I can't see or feel what she's doing to my hair, but I feel her cutting some of it. I feel strange, getting this much treatment. I haven't gotten a hair cut in a couple of years, so it feels weird. And that was me getting a pair of scissors and snipping off a few inches of my hair. This feels different. I feel her lathering sweet smelling shampoo into my roots, and the pads of her fingers massaging my scalp.It feels... nice. No wonder Natasha, May and the rest of those girls are so spoiled rotten. If I got treatment like this all the time I'd probably too.   

  The woman finally stops and I feel her pull the sheet off me before unclipping another sheet. I'm facing away from the mirror, so I can't see what I look like. Finally, I am spun around and I face a girl with long, wavy brown hair. Front bangs generate to side bangs across my face, illuminating it. The waves are perfect, and my hair is in bouncy layers, light and carefree. I look amazing. I stare for a few seconds, eventually pressing my index finger against the mirror to prove I'm really there. 

 Is that really me? Is it possible that I can actually look that beautiful? 

"It's beautiful," I say. "Thank you. I just have one more thing though." 

"And what's that?" the woman asks, intrigued. "Have I done something you didn't like?" 

 "No, no, it's nothing to do with the haircut," I assure. "It's..." 

 "Yes?" 

 "Could you make my hair blonde?"