Page 8 of Take 2
His eyebrows pull together. “What?”
“The Oscars. I’m hosting a watch party.”
“Right, those are tomorrow. Can I come to see you nerd out over movies?”
My face heats. “Oh, when I say party, it’s probably not what you would ever consider a party to be.”
“What is your Oscars party like?”
“Just a few friends at my house, and we’re kind of dressing up for the occasion. Apps and champagne and stuff.” My words come out in a speedy jumble.
“Is it a girls’ night?”
“No.” That would have been a good opportunity to lie and stop this madness, though! He’s making my brain work too slowly.
“If I promise to learn to tie a bow tie, can I score an invitation?”
“Ties are not required.” What the hell is happening?
“Well then, if you decide you’re willing to let a potential axe murderer crash the party, text me your address. I’ll bring a bottle of champagne.”
I nod like an idiot, and he goes back inside. What just happened?
Morgan and Cece are at my sides immediately, proving we were in fact being watched. “I saw phones,” Morgan says. “Please tell me you just scored that amazingly hot guy on your birthday.”
“No.”
“Why are you hyperventilating?” Cece asks.
“Because I think I invited him to the Oscars party. Or he invited himself. I don’t know.”
Morgan’s eyes bulge. “Oh my god! Okay, well then, I’m so glad we put off dress shopping until tomorrow, because I’m going to need you to be in a very different kind of dress than you would have bought otherwise.”
“No, no, it’s not like that.” I shake my head like that can stop the momentum this disaster already has.
“It’s gonna be,” Cece says. “It’s gonna be like that. Just you wait.”
The next night, Cece plays fairy godmother. Except there is no magic wand, so it takes a lot longer. I think we’re hours into the beautification process.
“What part ofit’s not like thatdo you not understand?” Not that my complaints have gotten me anywhere all day, but I keep trying.
Cece continues shaping each long princess curl with tender care. “The part where you don’t think we canmake itlike that.”
“Maybe I don’t want to score the hot jock.” Because, you know, who wants a gorgeous, tall, athletic type who might even also be nice?
“I’m not trying to get you married, Cinderella. Just some fun.”
“That’s not the kind of fun guys like him want to have with girls like me.” My small stature makes mecute.Not hot. Not beautiful. Always cute. “He’s way too hot to want cute.”
“Honey, you are smokin’.” She turns me toward the mirror to take in her magic. There actually seems to be some dimension to my brown hair as it flows over my shoulders, covering the spaghetti straps of the form-fitting dress. The gold beaded pattern over black fabric is straight out ofThe Great Gatsby, and the skirt ends perilously high on my thighs. My eyes look bigger than they have any right to, and I’m pretty sure the faint shimmer on my skin is fairy dust.
It's surreal to look like this in the bedroom that used to have beanie babies on the bookshelves.
“Does it all go to hell at midnight? Or are your powers stronger than the fairy godmother’s?”
“This can only be messed up by rough sex.” She winks at me.
“So super permanent. Cool.”
