I Gotta Kill the Prom Queen

Ch. 11 "Bald is not beautiful"

I woke up the next day feeling great except for a giant crimp in my neck and a bruise on my hip the size of an orange. I don't remember how I got home or who took me, but I had clothes on and was close to my bed so I assumed the robots carried out the task.

The folks were out and about early so I have no idea if anything was said about a bunch of prom queen look a likes carrying me in. I assumed I'd hear about it later. I felt better than I had in days and actually got to school early. It was still long and boring (let's face it, it was a wonder drug not a magic pill), but I made it all day without feeling the ball of bike in my stomach.

When the last bell sounded I met the girls at Tiffani's car for today's outing. Another 30 mins of Tiffani's driving and the anxiety was back, and it brought relatives. I swear that girl has to be partially blind. No one could swerve and make people run for cover that bad without having a documented deficiency.

First stop, the local post office to pick up the package. We questioned its content the entire ride until it was finally revealed by Tiffani that it contained a one of a kind Fermelli dress and was packaged in a maximum security way. Tiffani didn't want the dress tracked so she sent it to three different post offices knowing there's no way the postal service could track all that.

When we got back to her house we stood around in a cult like circle as Tiffani put on rubber gloves and a mask and carefully opened it while we all sat in stunned silence. I don't know who died in the dress, but whoever it was knew how to pick a dress. It was gorgeous. We all took Tiffani's advice and opened our own pre-packaged large yellow kitchen gloves and put them on.

With our hair tied back, goggles on, and gloves we looked like a team of scientists inspecting a mutant strain of bacteria, but we were legitimately scared of the dress. We all knew the legend. The sweat from the wearer ends up wetting the poison which soaks into the victim and kills them hours later. It's a classic. And believe me, I was sweating bullets. I didn't want to touch the cursed dress at all, much less rub more poison into the inner stitches.

Tiffani handed me a smaller box with seal still intact and a small knife. I snapped my hands to my side and glanced around. Me?  Why the hell should I do it?  But then I thought about the robots. Truth is, they'd probably kill us all by dropping it or wiping their gloves on a towel. Ugh. I reached out and took the box. Inside was a container filled with a white paste with a silver sheen.

Carefully I applied a thin layer to the dress making sure to stay on the center where the pleating was thick and it would be right next to the skin. My hands shook and I could hear the other girls breathing which didn't help.

"Aria. Stop being a twit. Goop it up. There's two days until the party, it will dry."   Tiffini's words spewed out like snake venom and I had an instant flash of coating her face with the paste. I shook it off and added another layer, much thicker than the first.

We left the dress inside out to dry and hung it up in a clear plastic dry cleaner bag. The girls squeaked with happiness that the job was over and I braced myself against the cupboard with one hand and put the other to my stomach to try and smash away the wave of gut wrenching nausea that seemed to be my new normal. We disposed of the goggles and gloves with more gloves and when we were done I reached to take out my pony tail and attached to the small elastic band was a large clump of my hair.

The girls stood gaping at it and searched my head for a bald spot. Tiffani smirked. "Well, looks like someone isn't holding under the pressure. Keep in mind I don't keep ugly minions. Go see Kiki and get checked out. And if you can't pull it together I'll have to step in."

I followed her pointing finger up the stairs towards Kiki. Sure, some people would say you should see a doctor when you're so stressed out you lose hair, but in this circle, you see a magician hairdresser. Of course you do.

"Girl, what did you do to yourself?  You look like you partied with Brittanie Spears, sit down."

Kiki worked her magic and I relaxed in the chair. My mind swirled with scenarios of things that were going to go wrong. If I needed up in a state issued orange jumpsuit it would be fine, as long as I was charged with Tiffani's murder. She had to be stopped.

Kiki handed me a small plastic Baggie with a few white tablets inside.  I put my hands up in the normal stop position. "No thanks. I don't do drugs."

Laughter filled the air. "Drugs?  I'm a hairdresser not a pusher. These are multivitamins. The mini ones for easy swallowing. They'll help your skin and your hair but as far as your brain, that I can't help you with.  Drugs. Please. You can't look as fabulous as I do and take drugs!"

I pocketed the tablet filled Baggie and marched down the stairs. It was late, I'd attempted murder, got a makeover, and still needed to plan on how to kill Tiffani. I was exhausted.

As I passed the closet where the dress sparkled from the teardrop chandelier above the room, I paused. Was it really a dress someone died in?  We're there really more Tiffani's in the world killing people to get ahead in things that didn't matter at all.

Tiffani sat in a chair hidden in the shadows with only the whites of her eyes and gleaming white teeth illuminated. She crossed her legs and the leather from her knee high boots squeaked loudly in the silence. She looked at me and then towards the closet I had been staring into.

"You want to try it on?  I'll bet it's just your size now that you've lost those extra ten pounds.  Although it won't look half as good on a bald chick."

I didn't have the energy to argue. I took myself and my tingling relaxed scalp put the door and walked to the running car where the robot girls waited. Every head in sync bopping to Justin Beiber on the radio.

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So now you get my point right?  I mean if you don't, do not pass go, so not collect 200 dollars because you are crazy!  It's too late to come clean and I'm too deep to get out. There's only one answer. Somebody isn't going to survive this semester, and I'm praying its not me!