Page 10 of Little Did You Know

"Uh, what?" My fingers found the cloth of my shirt, clutching it tighter. "Like what exactly needs to be made over?"

"For starters, when was the last time you had your eyebrows waxed?"

I traced a finger over my untamed brow, silence answering for me. I’d never had my eyebrows done.

"That's what I thought." Hannah disappeared into her walk-in closet, emerging with a pair of white flip-flops dangling from her fingers. "Your feet are smaller than mine, so flip-flops will do for now."

Before I could fully slide on the sandals, she was ushering me back out of the apartment and down to her car.

The engine hummed to life, and my stomach twisted. Each turn took us deeper into downtown, past gleaming storefronts and crowds of lunch-hour shoppers.

"Where are we going?" The question came out smaller than I meant it to.

Hannah's smile widened, and something in it made my pulse skip. "My sister's place. She opened this salon downtown—" She paused at a red light, turning to face me. "Three floors of pure feminine transformation."

The word 'transformation' echoed in my head like a warning bell. Three floors meant three levels of exposure, three levels of strangers' hands and eyes. Three levels of no escape. My throat closed around an "awesome" that came out more like a croak. The crowds on the sidewalk seemed to press against the car windows, a preview of what waited ahead. I sank deeper into the seat, trying to disappear into the upholstery. Being alone had never felt as safe as it did right now.

"Perfect," I murmured, slightly sarcastic. I didn't enjoy being out in public or around other people.

The thought of entering that salon made my stomach twist. My solitude had been more than a habit—it was a shield, carefully constructed over years of staying safely in my own bubble. Now Hannah was asking me to step into a world of chattering voices and expectant eyes, where people actually wanted to look at you, to touch you. My hand lingered on the car door handle as memories of other times I'd tried to be "normal" flashed through my mind. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe I could pretend to be the kind of girl who belonged in places like this, even if just for a few hours. The sigh I let out wasn't so much exaggerated as it was a release of years of carefully maintained isolation.

We pulled up to a sleek storefront with "Tune-Up, Just for Woman" etched in flowing script across glass doors that reflected the midday sun. My borrowed sweatpants and flip-flops felt suddenly inadequate against the polished exterior.

"Deep breaths," Hannah said, noticing my white-knuckled grip on the door handle. "Hailey doesn't bite—at least not paying customers." Her laugh did nothing to settle the butterflies in my stomach.

Inside, the salon hummed with activity—the rhythmic snip of scissors, murmured conversations, and soft music blending into a soundtrack of normalcy I hadn't experienced in years. Women in various stages of transformation occupied chairs and stations, all of them looking like they belonged here in a way I never would.

A woman who could only be Hannah's twin glided toward us, her movements so similar to Hannah's it was unsettling. Same height, same blonde hair, same blue eyes—but where Hannah's gaze held calculation, this woman's sparkled with genuine curiosity. Hannah wore her hair in a neat bun, her dark blue business suit projecting competence and control. Her sister's blonde waves brushed her shoulders, complementing a bright pink floral sundress that seemed to capture sunlight.

"We're twins," Hannah explained unnecessarily, a note in her voice I couldn't quite place. "Hailey married rich, and her husband funded this place for her." The words were casual, but I caught the flicker in Hannah's eyes—part pride, part something sharper. Envy, maybe, though her smile remained perfectly fixed.

Hailey approached with open arms, as if we were long-lost friends instead of perfect strangers. "Hannah called ahead. I've cleared my schedule just for you." Her voice carried the same musical lilt as her sister's, but warmer somehow. She looked me up and down, not with judgment but with professional assessment. "Don't worry, honey. When we're done, you won't even recognize yourself."

As Hailey led me deeper into her domain, I caught my reflection in one of the many mirrors—pale face, borrowed clothes, eyes wide with uncertainty. Behind me, Hannah watched with that same inscrutable expression.

I followed Hailey up a spiral staircase, leaving behind the version of myself I'd been just twenty-four hours ago. Whatever happened next, there was no going back.

Chapter Six

For hours, I surrendered my body to stranger's hands, each touch a small invasion I forced myself to endure. I flinched at first contact, muscles coiling beneath my skin before I commanded them to relax. The technician's eyes flicked to mine in the mirror, professional smile never wavering. The waxing strips ripped away more than just hair—they peeled back layers of carefully maintained distance, leaving me raw and exposed. My fingers gripped the armrests until my knuckles bleached white. Sitting still was its own kind of battle, my toes curling with each new application of warm wax. My muscles screamed for escape, for the familiar rhythm of running feet and burning lungs that usually kept the memories at bay. But here, pinned under professional smiles and beauty implements, there was nowhere to run.

Each minute stretched like hot wax, and I wondered if this was what normal felt like—this voluntary submission to pain in the name of beauty, this trust in hands that weren't trying to hurt you. The strangest part wasn't the pain—it was realizing that maybe, just maybe, I wanted to be transformed.

When it came time for me to see myself, I was scared. I was almost sure I had no eyebrows or hair left, but I was shocked when I faced the mirror. I had well-defined eyebrows and plenty of hair, full and shiny. The make-up she applied appeared natural.

Hailey stepped back from her work, head tilted critically before a satisfied smile spread across her face. She seemed incredibly proud of herself, sweeping products into a bag with the precision of someone packing parachutes. Her nimble fingers danced across the counter, scooping up bottles and tubes. As she placed each item inside, she leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, explaining its purpose with the gravity of someone sharing state secrets.

"This," she declared, holding up a small tube between her thumb and forefinger like a precious artifact, "is non-negotiable." Her free hand sliced through the air for emphasis. "If you don't use this primer, I will personally hunt you down." She pointed the tube at me like a tiny weapon, eyes narrowing. "Don't destroy my masterpiece."

I nodded along, eyes widening at the threat, fingers unconsciously touching my newly defined eyebrows while trying to memorize the complicated names and steps. Hannah practically bounced with anticipation beside me, her feet performing a little dance of impatience.

"Ready for phase two?" Hannah asked, already steering me toward the elevator. My legs felt wobbly after sitting so long, but she didn't seem to notice, jabbing the "up" button repeatedly. "The boutique's next."

The doors opened, and my breath caught. The boutique occupied the entire third floor, a maze of silk and leather. The air smelled like new fabric and possibility, with undertones of someone else's perfume lingering like a ghost.

My designated dressing room could have housed my entire bedroom. Cream wallpaper caught the light like pearl shells, and the carpet swallowed sound with expensive plushness. Three mirrors conspired in corners, ready to catch every angle of transformation. A velvet chaise lounge sprawled beneath a crystal chandelier, supporting a mountain range of fabric—delicate things in colors I'd never dared to wear, their tags fluttering like nervous birds.

"First, we start with bras and panties," Hannah announced, her voice bouncing off mirrors with cheerful authority. The door clicked shut behind me with the finality of a jail cell.

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