Joan the Made (Throwbacks Series, Book 1)

Chapter 10

Sparkle is up at dawn to begin her elaborate process of getting ready. Sleeping through it is out of the question. If I were her, I'd roll out of bed, wipe the drool off my cheek, and head out the door, since she's stunning even when she has bedhead. But dolled up, she's glamorous, and I tell her so.

"I get that you're new to this, but you understand that there aren't enough compliments in the world that will make me sit beside you at lunch, right?" she asks, without tearing her eyes away from her mirror.

"Understood," I say with a salute.

I carelessly shove the makeup kit Mom bought me into my leather backpack. I'll need it for my first class. Sparkle notices and groans.

"You're in Costumes and Makeup this morning?" she asks.

"Sure am," I say, struggling to make my backpack close with the bulky kit inside.

"Careful, that's a top-of-the-line makeup system!"

Sparkle's makeup kit is a slim gray bag that's scuffed and tattered. The zipper is broken, so she's pinned it shut.

"You lucky dog," she says.

In response, I bark, and she struggles to keep a straight face. I'm going to win her over eventually.

"Let's trade kits," I suggest, since learning makeup techniques is not high on my list of life priorities. I'll be leaving this one behind in the fall, anyway.

"I couldn't," Sparkle says breathlessly, sounding just like the original Marilyn Monroe in the old movies. "It's worth a year of my mom's salary. It even has the glow kit used by professional makeup artists when they want their leading lady to light up the stage, literally."

"Sounds alien."

"Wait till you see it on. It's magical," Sparkle says with a sniff, and then leaves without saying goodbye.

Inside the Little Theater, everything is dim and quiet. Yesterday's elaborate set is gone, replaced with a midnight-blue background.

The schedule on my tablet says that Costumes and Makeup is in a room backstage, so I climb the stairs on the side of the stage. My footsteps echo as I cross it to stand in the center. I pause and look out at all the empty chairs, trying to imagine them filled with people. There's something electrifying about the idea of holding a crowd that size in my thrall, as they hang on my every word. Not as thrilling as saving someone's life, of course, but the appeal is undeniable.

The sound of talking and laughter drifts out from backstage. Behind the heavy curtains draped on the wings of the stage is a hive of activity, filled with light and bustling students running to class. I catch a glimpse of Harriet entering a room before I have the chance to catch her eye.

Damn, she's in another class. Two doors down is a room paneled with huge mirrors lined with LED lights. High tables and stools placed throughout the rooms slowly fill with my classmates.

Most of the students are recognizable clone types that I've seen in movies before, even if I can't name them. Sparkle comes in, laughing, with a James Dean and the Bruce Lee I saw yesterday at the elevators. They choose a table together, where a Taylor Swift and a Halle Berry are sitting. They are easily the most beautiful and recognizable clone types at the school, exactly who Sparkle wants to be associated with.

There are other kids in the class whose faces are familiar, too, and everyone is perfect looking. It could give me a complex, if I let it.

The tables are filling up, but everyone avoids sitting near me. As a Historical, I appear to be a potential carrier of what we referred to in kindergarten as "cooties." Good. I'm weeding out all of the douchebags in the class quickly.