| Chapter 4 |

514K 12.6K 5.6K
                                    

Chapter 4

I stared at the road ahead of me, my overnight bag slipping towards the floor with every stop I made. I constantly had to push it back; I even contemplated strapping it in but realized that I didn’t have enough time. As the light turned green, I turned down the familiar strip of road, a sigh of relief coursing through me when I saw that the red car was absent from the driveway. Parking in front of the house, I quickly got out of the car, scooping my bag up and strolling towards the front door.

“You’re here!” Marissa cried out in exuberance. I was quickly taken into a hug. By now I should be expecting these hugs whenever we see each other, but I can’t just go from never being hugged (by anyone aside from my mother) to being hugged almost every day. Despite the fact that I’d just seen her yesterday and Friday, she’s acting a bit over-dramatic. But then again, she’s Marissa and I guess she has an excuse.

“I am here.” I motioned to the room that I was standing in, my eyes gazing over the shiny kitchen equipment. I looked towards the door as she rushed over and locked it, turning the locks hastily before turning to look at me. “Where’s your brother?”

She sighed. “He made a late night run.”

“To where?” I asked, my eyebrows furrowed.

She shrugged. “Most likely the book store, the one that’s open until ten, or maybe the grocery store; we’re running low on the basic necessities.” I nodded, looking at her. “Oh, are you hungry?”

I went to open my mouth but she cut me off, running her hand through her hair. “Oh no, I’ll call Noah and have him pick something up. What do you want? Chinese food? Pizza? Indian food?”

Deciding not to turn down the free meal, I pursed my lips. “Chinese food sounds good.”

“What dish?” she asked me, picking up her cell phone from the counter. I’m guessing she’d been waiting for me for a while. I suddenly felt bad for making her wait the extra ten minutes when I decided to stop for unnecessary gas.

“Orange chicken?” I offered and she nodded, quickly pressing the phone to her ear while staring at a menu.

A few moments later, she hung up before grinning at me. “So are you ready for your makeover?”

I shrugged, following her up the stairs. Dropping my bag in the room I stayed in before, I followed her towards her own. She had the makeup already out as if she spent time setting it up. I was grateful that she even exists because if not, I’d probably be sitting at home all alone. “Sit, sit.”

She motioned for me to take a seat at the swivel chair which was pulled up to the highest elevation possible. I began twirling around until she put her hands on the back of the chair, stopping me in place. Tying my hair back and turning on the straightening iron, she began working on my dull, lifeless hair.

After she finished straightening my hair, which just gave it a shinier look, she French-braided it and managed to make it look neat. She gave it a vintage look by adding a black and white bow. I snorted, knowing that I’d never be capable of such witchcraft. I can barely put my hair into a ponytail without leaving out a chunk of hair or having lumps around the elastic band. She began layering on makeup, nodding in satisfaction whenever she closed a small container and opened a new one. Overall, there was a lot of nodding while I just sat there trying to keep a straight face.

“I hope you’re actually paying attention to what I’m doing; someday soon, you’ll be able to do this without batting an eyelash," she told and I snorted. I highly doubt that.

Once she was finished, she grabbed the clothes, which she forced me to bring, out of my bag and shoved me towards the door. I sighed and walked towards the bathroom, just managing to squeeze into the skinny jeans I used to wear in freshman year. I was surprised they fit me, even though I didn’t grow much- I surely put on a few pounds. After yanking on the shirt, I brought my original clothes back towards her room and placed them in my bag, watching as she quickly put on her makeup, not skipping a beat.

Becoming Beautiful (Wattys2014)Where stories live. Discover now