One of Them (On Hold)

Chapter 4

        I DO NOT APPRECIATE WHAT BRETT HAS IN MIND. After I called him and accepted his offer, he insisted on coming over to my house and giving me "popularity lessons." Now, he is standing outside my door with Kendra, ready to teach me how to be popular. I open the door and let them in.

        "I thought you said that if you just tell people that I'm cool, then that's enough to make me popular!" I complain to Brett. "You never said anything about 'popularity lessons.'"

        "Look, I can only take you so far," Brett replies. "If I say you're popular, then trust me, you'll be popular, but you must learn how to maintain your popularity, Otherwise, you'll just go back to being a loser within a few days. Popularity is a process. You must work very hard to uphold your popular status. Even Lucy has to work to stay popular."

        Kendra nods in agreement. "You must be very careful. Once you're popular, all eyes will be on you, so you have to be careful about what you wear, eat, say, and do."

        "Wait, why are you two here together? I thought you guys weren't talking after you broke up," I say, rather rudely. Kendra flinches as I remind her of her break-up with Brett.

        "We're not," she says coldly. "But Brett texted me and said this was a fashion emergency, so I made an exception. He was right! Your clothes are a disaster. That sweater looks hideous on you!"

        I scowl as my cheeks grow warm. I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about my sweater.

        "Don't worry," Kendra reassures me. "I brought some of my old clothes with me. My mom was going to give them away, but I decided you need them. They'll fit you perfectly!"

        "Oh, goody," I say sarcastically. I am not in the mood for a make-over.

        "Why don't you girls go up stairs and get Patrice all dolled up while I raid the fridge?" Brett suggests, opening the refrigerator. I try to protest, but Kendra practically drags me up the stairs into my room. She grins happily.

        "Oh, I'm so excited!" she squeals, clapping her hands together. "I love giving make-overs!"

        I groan inwardly as Kendra pulls out lacy pink tops, skirts, high heels, and make-up out of her bag. She rummages through all the outfits she has until she comes across a dark purple shirt and a black skirt with a sparkly purple belt. "I think these will work," she decides. I reach for the clothes, but she slaps my hand away quickly. "Wait!" she shrieks. "You have to look in the mirror first."

        "Why?" I ask, exasperated.

        "You need to see how ugly you look now so that you can truly feel the effects of how awesome you will look later once I'm done with you!" Kendra exclaims happily. I sigh. "Fine," I comply. I turn to the mirror and stare at my reflection. I don't like the person I see staring back at me. I am awkward-looking and obviously unconfident about myself. My posture is slouched and my face has a permanent scowl. My dark green sweater is two sized too big and does not match the blue sweat pants I am wearing. I am short and skinny, with knobbly knees and pointed elbows. My light brown eyes are too big for my face and my dull brown hair is flat and lacks volume. I am not ugly, but I am far from beautiful.

        "Okay, are you done looking at yourself?" Kendra asks.

        "Yeah," I reply, turning away from the mirror in disgust.

        "Good, then let's get started!" Kendra says with a grin. I slip into the purple shirt and black skirt. I am surprised at how well they fit. Kendra gives me a pair of black boots with high heels to wear. She has to spend fifteen minutes teaching me how to walk in them, but she tells me they look "positively adorable." Then, she pulls out a bottle of foundation and begins smearing make-up on my face. Each time she puts a different kind of make-up on me, she describes to me what it is and how to put it on. She even teaches me five different ways to do my eyeliner. Finally, she seems satisfied with my face.

        "Now for your hair," she says. She looks at me with a frown. Then she runs her fingers through my hair. Finally, she pulls out a pair of scissors from her bag.

        "Whoa, you are not going to cut my hair!" I shriek, backing away from the scissor.

        "Relax, I'm good at this!" Kendra says reassuringly. "I give Cassie, Molly, and Charlotte haircuts all the time. When I grow up, I want to be a cosmetologist."

        I bite my lip. "Okay," I say hesitantly. "Just don't mess up."

        "Trust me, I won't," Kendra says confidently.

        I close my eyes as Kendra snips away at my hair. My heart beats nervously as I feel the cold blades of the scissor brush my ear, but she does not cut me. Finally, she announced that I am ready.

        "Now look in the mirror," she says with a wide smile on her face.

        I stand in front of the mirror, almost afraid of what I will see. My jaw drops. I look...

        "Beautiful," Kendra says happily.

        I can't help but agree with her. The outfit looks cute on me. The shoes make me look taller. The dark purple shirt brings out my olive skin. My make-up looks amazing as well. Kendra has expertly brought out the color of my eyes and enhanced my features. She even covered up the bright red pimple on my chin. And my hair... Oh, my hair. Kendra has cut layers into it, making it look thicker and giving it more volume. She has given me side bangs that frame my face perfectly. I stand up straighter and smile. For the first time, this feels real. I am going to be popular.

        "Let's go downstairs and show Brett!" Kendra says, still grinning. I nod, but suddenly I feel very nervous. I don't want to show Brett. He has always seemed so mean and judgemental to me. What if he laughs when he sees me?

        Stop it, Patrice, I tell myself sternly. He's going to have to see you sometime.

        Kendra and I descend the stairs. I try to walk as gracefully as possible in my high heels.

        "Brett, she's ready!" Kendra calls out.

        We enter the kitchen. Brett is sitting at the table, a huge pile of contents from the refrigerator in front of him. He looks up at me, and his jaw drops to the floor.

        "Whoa, Patrice. You look... amazing."