Chapter Three

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Chapter Three

When I opened my eyes the next morning, I lay in bed thinking about what I’d done to myself the night before. Part of me wondered whether it had all been a dream, and my heart began to sink at the thought. I’d been so blown away by the transformation that had taken place that I couldn’t bear to think it wouldn’t be there again this morning.

Mustering up all my courage, I launched myself out of bed and walked over to the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my door.

Oh. My. God.

What I saw reflected back at me was even better than I’d remembered. Logically, I knew that I’d been asleep for hours, probably tossing and turning in bed, but you couldn’t tell by the way I looked. My hair, though tousled, looked shiny and beautiful, just like a shampoo commercial. And the volume I seemed to have naturally was the bedhead look that people spent hours trying to achieve. My new clear skin was dewy and fresh, and upon closer inspection, I doubted I’d need much makeup today at all.

No need to cover up perfection.

I spent about ten minutes poking and prodding myself, barely able to believe it was all me. And it didn’t matter which angle I studied myself, because I loved every bit of my new look.

I spent so much time looking in the mirror, in fact, that I ended up having to rush my morning routine in order to not be late. The time it took me to get ready was cut down considerably, though, now that I had a lot less to worry about. There were no zits to cover, no need for product to tame my wild hair. My eyes popped no matter what I wore, and my clothes just fit better. I looked hot.

I’d been in bed by the time my parents had come home from a dinner they’d been roped into with our neighbors, so I’d managed to avoid the backlash of my makeover. And this morning, I timed my departure perfectly so I could sneak out of the house unseen. It’s not that I thought they’d be mad, really, but I knew they’d have questions for me. And the truth was, I still wasn’t quite sure what I was going to tell them. Besides, I sort of wanted to see if my makeover was going to have any impact on my social life before I decided whether the confrontation was worth it or not.

Dressed in a skirt that showed off my killer legs—which had always been nice, but until now I hadn’t been confident enough to show off—and a sequined tank, I gave myself one final glance in the mirror before heading off to school.

I was so busy thinking about how people were going to react that before I knew it, I was ambling up the steps. With butterflies swarming around inside my stomach, I took ahold of the front doors and pulled them open, feeling like I was about to make my grand entrance.

As I walked inside, I began to worry that no matter what I did, my social standing at school was set in stone. I watched as kids scrambled down the hall, either trying to find their friends or hustling to their lockers before classes started. The smile I’d plastered on my face for the moment that people saw the changes in me slowly began to sag into a frown.

There was no reaction at all.

A guy brushed past me then, knocking me out of his way as he went, and mumbled an unconvincing “sorry.” But then something happened. He lifted his eyes long enough to look at me—and continued to stare as he walked away. His mouth fell slightly open, and he completely abandoned the conversation he’d been having with his buddies. This caused them all to turn and look my way, which created a similar reaction.

My smile shot back onto my face as I collected myself and began to try my best to strut down the hallway. As my heels clicked against the floor, I started to get into a rhythm and noticed excitedly that my new curves were lending to a slightly more seductive walk. Not knowing if it was working or not, I dared to place one hand on my hip, à la Ms. Tyra Banks, and walked straight ahead.

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