MAKE OVER

CHAPTER TWO

I don't give a damn 'bout my reputation
You're living in the past, it's a new generation

I spring up in bed and scramble for my phone to turn off the Joan Jett song that has been my morning anthem since I was twelve. Hitting the end button on the screen, I fall face-first into my comforter. "Crap, how in the world did that get turned on?"

For months, I haven't bothered to set my alarm—there is no need. The only place I go nowadays is downstairs to eat and, back to my room to study, then back downstairs to eat again. But even that routine has ended.

"Madeline, I don't hear you moving there!"

What in the world does Mom think I need to be moving for? Another day of roaming the house in a haze?

"Madeline!"

"Okay, okay!"

I slap my hand down on the mattress and lift my upper body. When I make it to my feet, I find a piece of paper stuck to my palm. The Make Over Project. I shake my hand to dislodge it but stop when the first item on the list catches my eye.

Accept a compliment without brushing it off or putting yourself down.

Scoffing at the purple ink, I crumple up the paper and toss it in the trash.

I steal a glance at myself in the mirror and roll my eyes at my haggard appearance. I'm certain that no one feels their best in the middle of this quarantine mess; my mom has been complaining about her gray hair for weeks, and my dad needs a haircut. But this isn't a new feeling for me; I haven't been comfortable in my skin for years.

I straighten my tank top and pajama pants and drag myself downstairs, yawning. I slide onto a stool at the island and put my head down. "What's going on? Is there a press conference or something I was going to miss if you didn't wake me up at 6:15 am?" I mumble into my crossed arms.

"A press conference? What are you talking about, Madeline? And why aren't you dressed? You have to be at school in forty-five minutes!" Mom says, bustling around the kitchen packing her lunch.

My eyebrows furrow. "School? Mom, yesterday was..." My eyes drift to the chalkboard on the wall next to the refrigerator, the one that's been there ever since I was in kindergarten.

August 5, 2019—Maddie's Last First Day of School!

I almost fall off the stool, choking on the air I'm attempting to breathe. "This can't be right. Something is wrong," I manage, my voice trembling.

Mom narrows her eyes and creeps toward me, putting her palm on my forehead. "Are you feeling okay?"

I turn in my seat and look back at the kitchen table where Mom set up her in-home office. The summer centerpiece of daisies and violets sits alone on the tabletop. Whipping back around, I look Mom up and down, the gray hairs she spent weeks complaining about are nowhere in sight. In fact, her wild red curls are sculpted into perfect ringlets around her head. "What? I—no, where's your, I—"

"Oh honey, I know, I know," she says, kissing me on the forehead. "I know how you feel, like the time has slipped away. But it's here, you're a senior! Now go get ready!" She swats me on the butt and motions upstairs.

Shock laced with anxiety races through me as I stare at my open closet, the clothes I bought the week before school started displayed on their hangers, with their price tags still intact. I run my fingertips over the dusty-rose blouse I bought just because it was out of my comfort zone. It was supposed to represent the bravery I swore I would have my senior year, but I never found the courage to wear it.

I yank it off the hanger, grab my favorite pair of jeans and before I know it, I'm wearing the outfit.

I give my reflection in the bathroom mirror a once-over after pulling back my hair and applying makeup. "It's all a dream anyway; I might as well make it a good one," I say before heading out to relive my first day of senior year.

I pull my ten-year-old Honda into my designated spot in the student parking lot and watch my classmates buzz around before making their way to the entrance. I've stored every detail about this moment to memory, even Clay Recker yelling, "We're seniors!" followed by an expletive, and Mr. Hanson bolting over to give him a stern warning.

Taking several calming breaths, I pry my fingers from the steering wheel and step out of my car. I don't make it more than ten steps when pounding feet race up behind me. "Maddie, wait!"

I smile as one of my favorite people in this entire world falls into pace with me. "Good morning, Matthew." My gaze wanders to his t-shirt to see what nerdy saying he has started the year with. It's no surprise that it's the same shirt he wore on our first day—elements on the periodic table spelling out genius. "Way to keep it humble," I say with a chuckle.

He straightens his horn-rimmed glasses and combs his fingers through his pale blond hair. "There is no need to downplay my intelligence."

"No, I suppose there isn't."

Matthew plucks the sleeve of my blouse. "You actually look nice today."

I cross my arms over my stomach and look straight ahead as we continue to walk. "I shouldn't have worn it. It's too—" My mind races with the first item on the Make Over list. Take the compliment, Maddie. I stop in my tracks and turn to my friend. "Thank you. I wanted to try something new."

He nods and smiles. "Well, I'm glad you did. It looks good on you."

As we enter the building, I can't help but wonder how different my senior year would have been if I could redo it with the knowledge I have now. What if I had actually stuck to the list?