Page 41 of Collision
“And is that true?” she asks hesitantly, putting away a green dress.
“Of course it’s true! And he knows it. He’s a beautiful boy, I’m not blind. But that doesn’t change anything. He just caught me in a moment of weakness. And then“—I scrub a hand over my face, frustrated—“I’ve got a boyfriend, dammit!” A laugh escapes Tiffany at these words.
“I think someone like Thomas is just what you need right now.” She takes two sheath dresses from the closet, one red and one black with lace details. After a few seconds of indecision, she chooses the black one, which highlights her fair complexion.
I look at her with a frown. “You shouldn’t be telling me these things, Tiff! You should tell me that I am a bad person for letting myselfget taken in by someone like him, that I’m disrespecting my boyfriend. You should tell me to leave him alone because guys like him are nothing but trouble.”
“Look, even though I can’t stand him, I do wish my brother well and I am truly sorry that things between you two are going badly. But it’s pretty clear to me that your story has come to an end. I would be a hypocrite if I only told you what you wanted to hear. Should you let it go because guys like Thomas are nothing but trouble? Yes, of course. That’s what you should do. But we both know you’re not going to. When someone like that sets his sights on you, there’s no way out, baby girl.”
I rise up on my elbows, ready to retort. “Do you know what separates us from animals? It’s our ability to choose how we behave. We can control our instincts, especially when they’re leading us in the wrong direction.”
“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t do that.” She turns around and asks me to zip up her dress.
“I can’t tell if you’re crazy or what. Are you really pushing me into the arms of someone like Thomas?”
“No, not into the arms of someone like Thomas, but into new experiences. I’m just saying: your love life has been pretty limited. You’ve only had one real relationship, a long and demanding one. You got into it when you were very young and fragile and now you’re going through a period of change. You need to have fun, to live life, make mistakes, try new things. Instead you spend all your time trying to figure out the most correct and responsible thing to do. You will have your whole life to do that; now is the time to be irresponsible.” She slips on a pair of rhinestone-encrusted heels and touches up her makeup.
I frown at her. “So what am I supposed to do? Table dance in the cafeteria and get drunk every night at some crappy party?”
“Surely you shouldn’t spend every day fighting with your boyfriend, though, don’t you think?” She looks at me in the lighted mirror as she runs a styling wand over her coppery hair. She admires herself, pleased.
I am so confused about all of this that I don’t even know what to say to her. Sensing the turmoil of my thoughts, she decides not to pile on. “Come on, let’s go,” she says instead, smiling sweetly. The next moment, however, she gives me a thoughtful look.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“I’m thinking about what you should wear.”
“Oh, but… I thought I would wear this.” I look down at the clothes I’m already wearing—a pair of black leggings and a cashmere sweater—then I look at Tiffany again, begging her to take pity on me.
“I’m not letting you go to the party looking like that!”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“They’re…sloppy!”
“Hey, what happened to all that talk about not caring about appearances? About being unconventional?” I accuse her sullenly.
She shakes her head. “You can be unconventional and wear cute clothes at the same time.”
I refrain from answering back; it’s a losing battle.
“I’ll take care of you,” she announces proudly. “Come here, we’ll start with makeup.”
Oh God, no.
Tiffany sits me down at the makeup station and begins painting me with a product I’ve never heard of before: primer. After applying foundation and a bit of blush with expert hands, she focuses on my eyes. She chooses a purple eyeshadow and emphasizes the look with a line of black eyeliner, thin and perfect, and no less than three coats of mascara. To finish, she applies a nude lipstick and turns me toward the illuminated mirror.
I stand speechless. The result is crazy. I lean toward my reflection, incredulous.
“See what I mean when I call you gorgeous?” she retorts.
Made up like this, I can in fact see it. I look…sexy. I think she’s also done something to my eyebrows because they are darker and more defined.
“You did great, Tiff, but don’t get used to this.”
“Now we have to think about the dress. Let’s see, let’s see…” She pulls an array of garments out of her closet and throws everything on the bed. Lost in thought for a moment, she taps a finger on her chin, then picks up a dress, eyeballing it. She gives me a side-eye and pronounces, “Nah, too anonymous.”
“Anonymous is perfect!” I squeak, but she pretends not to hear me. She picks up another one and brings it over to me. I can tell from her pleased expression that she thinks this is the one. It is a very short black dress, sleeveless, and the neckline is surrounded by small studs. Eyes wide, I give her a flat “no.”
