Geek to Chic

Chapter 2: Feel the Wrath of a Teenage Girl

I woke up at exactly 6:45 and groggily yanked myself out from under the warm and inviting covers of my four poster bed. I yawned and stretched my arms up towards the blue painted ceiling of large bedroom. Putting my feet into the fuzzy slippers I keep next to my bed, I began to walk towards my walk-in closet. I presses the button to open the doors, and then the one that mutes the AI programmed to help me choose my outfits, I stepped inside. I so did not need Pat the computer yelling in my ear today. I walked over to the control panel that controlled which rack was where, I pressed the button for shirts. Walking along the rack, I brush my fingertips along the fabrics of my many tops until I find the one I want to wear. I pull its hanger off the rack and hold it out in front of me. It is a black blouse with a black tank top base. Over that it has a sheer black fabric with sheer black polka dots on it.  I decide I like it and walk back to the control panel. I press the button for skirts and the racks swish as the rearrange themselves. I pull out a light blue skater skirt to pair with the shirt and return to the control panel. I press the button for shoes, and a book-case like shelf unit comes forward, displaying my expansive collection of shoes. I go to the black section so that they will match the top I chose, and start to look for ones that match. I pick out a pair of black heeled boot-like shoes made of a shiny black material of a lace-like pattern. Finally, I go over to the chair in the closet and lay out  my outfit. Then I go put on undergarments and come back to dress in the clothes I chose. Tucking in the black blouse, I walk back to the chair and sit down to put on the heels. Fully dressed, I head out of the closet and press the button to close the doors. I make my way into the bathroom and turn on my flat iron. I wash my my face and brush my teeth, then start applying my makeup. I put on a light base, because my complexion is pretty clear, then a tiny amount of blush. I opt out of eyeshadow and simply continue to eyeliner, doing a perfect cat eye. I apply a coral-pink lip gloss and finish it off with a layer of mascara. By then, my flat iron was hot, so I set to work straightening my hair. I brush it out, so that it could be worked with (unlike its previous bedhead state) and clip up the top half. I go around my head, straightening the bottom layer, then letting the top layer fall from the clip and straightening it as well. Putting down the flat iron and turning it off, I pull my hair over to the left side of my head in a side part and run my fingers through to smooth it out. I double-check my makeup, and then leave the bathroom. I glance at my clock and see that it is 7:30. Crap! School starts at 7:45 and I have to pick up Kayla and drive us there. I run over to my desk and quickly pack my bag with the notebook, binders and books I need. I turn of the light in my room and then run downstairs. I breeze through kitchen, kissing my mom and dad on the cheek, saying a quick Je t’aime, and grabbing a croissant for breakfast. I run out to my black prius and get in quickly, shoving my bag into the passenger seat. I close the door and start the car, then pull out of my driveway. I race the 3 blocks to Kayla’s house and get there at 7:35. She runs down her front steps and practically throws herself in the passenger door lifting my bag onto her lap. She slams the door and I speed off again.

 

“You’re late,” she informs me. “It’s the first day back for over a year Eli, you can’t be late.”

 

“I know, I know. I should’ve laid out my clothes last night. It always takes me forever to pick out something good.” I respond, trying to focus on the road.

 

“I figured that was what happened,” Kayla sighed, tucking a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. She had a shoulder length cut, and it was currently died ‘Ice Queen Blue’ at the tips. Kayla had been my friend before I had gone all glamour. In fact, we went all the way back to the 2nd grade when we argued about Junie B. Jones and I ended up going to her house after school to continue our conversation. When I had come home from France, she was afraid I wasn’t going to be the same friend to her as before, but everything had soon returned to normal and we were sketching and reading and singing into hairbrushes with eachother the same as before.