Step 2: Fixing and Revising

Coming up with an idea is good, but knowing how to fix and revise your work is important, too. I am currently working on a really great story about this girl (of course) who’s a superstar disguised as a normal girl. She goes to a normal school and learns that it’s not as fun as she thought it’d be. I’m still writing it, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can lag off on the revising part.

Revising is basically reviewing the entire story, or a certain part, and trying to find misspelled words, bad grammar, sentences that need fixing, etc. It may sound pretty simple, but you really need to observe your work carefully. And, when you’re finally sure you got it right, have another person take a glance over it. They may find something wrong with it. As always.

Revising is a hard process, but it’s so worth it in the end.

 

~*~*~

 

During the rest of the day, the girls walk with me, saying about how I’m a good person and how I don’t deserve him. But the thing is I am sick of being pushed around like an object. I’m sick of everyone, especially the populars,  teasing me. It’s not just about my looks, but about who I am, too. And, as they walk with me, I noticed that Shane is eyeing me warily. She knows me well. Maybe too well, I tell myself silently.

The girls finally depart, leaving just Shane and I alone together. It’s an awkward silence until Dante comes leaping in. Literally.

“Hey, guys,” greets Dante, jumping in front of us.

We stop. Shane glances at me, pursing her lips tightly. She’s unsure, I know. Maybe I know her too well.

Dante looks from Shane to me than Shane again. His face is…how can I put it? Withdrawn…cold…hard…I don’t know why, but right now, I do not care.

I leave both of them alone and go off to my last class. I slip around the corner and press my back against the wall. I can hear them talking. About me.

“Dante,” sighs Shane, “why don’t you just tell Dakota?”

“Why should I?” he asks with the same bitterness in his voice that he threw at me earlier at lunch.

“Because she should know. It’s obvious she doesn’t. After all, you know how…naïve she is.”

Am I really naïve?

“She has a new obsession. I don’t think…she wouldn’t care.”

“Have you even thought about it? Seriously,” Shane says.

“It’s no use.” Dante growled, exasperated it sounded like. “It wouldn’t get through to that…pretty, smart head of hers.”

Dante said the last four words with a softness I had never heard in his voice before. I bit my bottom lip. Maybe...maybe this new idea of mine would keep me from being a nuisance to Shane and Dante any longer. They seriously sounded like they were…I don’t know, tired of me, or something, I guess.

I walk away and head to my class, sure that my idea would work. It would take time.

 

Over the course of the week, I go shopping at tons of different stores, looking for bargains on clothes and makeup. I find lots of cute stuff at the mall. On Tuesday, I start the process by carefully scanning through magazines like Teen Vogue, Seventeen, and Cosmo Girl. I look at the latest fashions and select clothes from racks that look like them or similar. I can’t afford Prada or anything. So…we just have to stick with what we got.

Tuesday night Shane calls me.

“Girl, what is with you?” she demands.

“Nothing,” I reply. “Why?”

She sniffs at me.

“You’ve been ignoring us since yesterday! Is there something wrong?”

“No.”

“Is it about…Evan?”

“No.”

“I know that you’re up to something. Why do you have to hide it?”

“Because,” I snap impatiently, “it’s something that you wouldn’t understand!”

“But if you--”

I cut her off.

“No! Just leave me alone, will you? I heard you and Dante talking about me behind my back.”

“Oh no…what did you hear?” she groans.

“I know that you think that I’m naïve! I’m sorry I’m such a nuisance to you!”

“That? Look, Kitty, we--”

“NO! I don’t want to hear about it! Just leave me alone!”

I slam down the phone. I didn’t want to, but Shane didn’t understand. Nobody understood. I was doing this for my own good.

That night, I have trouble falling asleep because my mind is too full with thoughts of worry, confusion, and sheer anger.

 

And, of course, when I wake up, my eyes are itchy.

Again.

Trying not to rub them as I get out of bed, I put on my glasses. I glance at my alarm clock. 5:30 in the morning. See about what I told you about me not being able to sleep this past night. My eyes feel uber-heavy and I so wanna go back to bed, but I know that I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep anyway. I tromp over to my bathroom and wash the sleep from my face with face wash.

The cold water wakes me up entirely. I pat my face gently with the azure towel on the counter. I look at the face in the mirror:

Pimples dot my cheeks, mostly small ones. My eyebrows are somewhat hairy, but not overly like some. My hair is mussed and ugly.

The frown on my face deepens. I feel the tears coming on as I throw the blue towel down on the counter. My spirits lift, just a little, when I see the shopping bags sitting near my closet door. I want so much to wear those outfits now, but I can’t. Not until next week.

I comb out my hair, keeping back the tears that threatened to blur my eyes. I took a breath and let it out, relaxing myself only a little.

The rest of the day, I endure insults and nasty comments thrown my way. The populars push me around. Shane and Dante aren’t there. Instead, they’re off to the side, watching me sadly.

When I’m pushed to the ground and my books scatter all over the floor, no one helps me. Dante and Shane try to talk to me, but I either avoid them or ignore them. Soon, they get the message and leave me alone.

Walking away, I note how sad they both look, especially Dante. His almond eyes are drawn to the ground and his lips are pursed in a frown. I shake myself out of it. Soon I was gonna be popular; it was what I really deserved. Soon the populars would see how wonderful I really was. Soon they’d see that they made a mistake in the first place about judging me all at once.

Still…with this thought in my head, I couldn’t help feeling guilty as I watch the two of them disappear around a corner.

 

~*~*~

 

About my dad:

I know I probably never mentioned so far in here. Reason is because his job requires him to travel all over the place. He wanted to take us with him, but my mom felt it best for me to stay in just one place. She understood how I felt (thankfully…most parents don’t even give their kids’ thoughts the time of day; really, I’m lucky).

So, here I am, in perfect, multicultural Wakefield. Truthfully, I’m real jealous of my dad. He may not get paid much, but he gets good money. But that’s not the reason. The real reason is because he gets the world while I’m stuck in this stupid little town. Not that I got anything against it, of course. Compare to…oh, say…sitting in one place for too long? Playing the same stupid game over and over again? Yeah…now you see how I feel.

So here I am, being bored to death in one place for nearly all my life while father dear gets to travel and meet different people everyday. Catch my drift? Sure you do.

Thing is, the reason he travels so much is because he works with Wakefield Shipping. You know, shipping stuff from one place to another. My dad’s the guy who does that. Doesn’t paid much, but it sure makes up for the sightseeing and all.

Even though my dad may not be one of the big rungs on the ladder, he’s still able to pull some strings for us. Lucky me.

And you’re probably wondering “What the hell does this have to do with the rest of the story?”

Well, I’m about to tell you that.

As I explained before, my dad has connections and is able to get some really good deals with the businesses in our town. This, of course, falls right into my brilliant scheme! Heh…I love my dad’s job!

There’s this really decent beauty parlor in town that does hair, makeup, manicures, pedicures, and clothing. How cool is that?! It’s called Vida. Perfect name for the perfect place. And I haven’t even told you about my scheme yet.

Here’s the thing: I am so in love with Evan Waters! No…can’t drool. Anyway, you saw how he threw me away like trailer trash. Well…that boy is gonna be in for a surprise when I come to school Monday. I’m going to be getting a full body makeover. Saved up the money myself babysitting and from my skate guard job at the skating place, so…I can pay for it myself! I already began to get some clothing, but they’ll provide the rest for me.

Another reason is because I’ve been dissed by the populars nearly all my life. I wanna show them that I can be just as great as they are (maybe even better).

Now that you know my plan, let us begin, now shall we?

 

Okay…so, it’s Thursday and I am feeling…on top of the world. I am so excited for Saturday! I’m never gonna be the same old, ugly Dakota anymore. No…no, I’ll be…Kitten. Or Kitty. Something sexy, at least, to pair up with my new look. If I look the part, then I gotta have the greatest name for the part.

Unfortunately, Dante breaks me out of my reverie right then.

“Dakota,” he breathes in my face. Not a good sign if he’s using my first name.

“What?” I snap. “What do you want from me?”

Dante purses his lips. It looks as if he’s trying to hold something back. Something big.

“I want to be your friend. Where’s the harm in that?”

Anger boils up. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how much I’ve been tortured and ridiculed.

“Because,” I huff, “I don’t need to be made fun of anymore. I just want to fit in. For once in my life I want to actually feel like I belong.”

By this time, I’m on the verge of tears.

“I don’t suppose you understand that, do you?”

Dante keeps his cool. Something flashes in his eyes; it looks like…loneliness. But I can’t see it because it’s gone before I know it.

“I understand it more than you’ll ever know,” he countered calmly. Then, just like that, he walks away, leaving me dumbstruck.

The final bell rings, and I head to Algebra, my first period class. But I barely hear it because Dante’s words echo in my head. Through all my eagerness, the empty hole in my heart I feel grows even bigger. And I can actually feel it this time. It’s horrible. More horrible than anything else I’ve ever felt in my entire life. I hate the feeling. I just want it to disappear. Anything. Anything but this.

 

The rest of the day my best friends avoid me. Toni tries to approach me, but I completely blow her off. She gets the hint and leaves me alone. She gives a sad look, though, before she departs my side.

Can’t you see what you’re doing?, nagged a small voice in my head. You’re hurting them.

No, I countered. They’re better off without me. All I’ve brought them is misery.

They’re your friends. Are you really going to give them up for popularity? Just so people can accept you for what they think is cool?

Yes.

Then you’re making a big mistake, Dakota.

At lunch, I sit away from my friends and at the empty loser table. No one else sits there except for the occasional loner kid or new kid. But it doesn’t stay inhabited for long. Before they know it, kids eventually join the groups that share their same interests and similarities. Basically, this is The Table: The Table of Doom.

And I sit at The Table. I’m aware that everyone’s eyes are literally boring into my back, but I don’t give a crap. Soon these people would be respecting the new and improved Kitten and not the original model Dakota that doesn’t even have the kinks worked out of her yet. I was going to be a whole new person. I was finally going to leave my desired mark on the world.

Thing was:

Was this how I really wanted to leave a mark on it?

 

~*~*~

 

The day drags on by, my mind focusing too much on the full body makeover. I try to turn my attention to other things, but it doesn’t work. My thoughts eventually wander back. They bug me like knats buzzing around my ears. They just won’t go away and leave me alone.

By the time I get home, I feel like I’m about to go crazy. My backpack is lighter on my back because it’s nearer to the weekend. Considering we weren’t assigned all that much homework tonight. I walk in the door and chuck my backpack on the floor, out of the way, and sink into my favorite plush chair in the living room. I breathe in the lovely silence. But now I could hear my thoughts more clearly. Something I didn’t need.

I grab the remote from the adjacent table and flip the TV on. My house doesn’t get cable. In fact, I don’t have cable, or satellite TV, period. My mom says that she’s not paying other people for TV. So, basically she’s making me suffer when really it’s her problem.

I flip through the channels, catching glimpses of reruns of The Cosby Show on the CW and lame-o boring talk shows like Jerry Springer and Montel. And don’t even get me started on the soap operas! They’re horrible, stupid little things. Waste of time, I think. Screenwriters for soap operas should really consider something else in their job description. ‘Cause, in my world, soap operas really don’t cut it. They’re pathetic. Said and done.

In disgust, I press my thumb down hard on the power button. The TV flashes off, leaving the room once again in total silence. I shove the remote control onto the table and glance around the living room.

The walls are a soft pink, the kind little girl baby blankets are wrapped around girl infants when they’re born. The floor is a plush feel, rich and soft. It’s black in color so that stains don’t show through. And that’s pretty much it. Nothing for decoration because the room is pretty in itself.

But to me, because I’m used to it, is dull. I know that some people would love to have a living room this pretty, but it got tiring real fast. Especially when you’ve lived nearly fourteen years in it.

I close my eyes. My head and eyes buzz like bees. I can never think clearly; at least not like this. I take off into my room and shut the door gently. I lock the doorknob so that no one, whether home or not, will enter without me knowing.

I remove my horny rims from the bridge of my nose and step into the bathroom. Freckles dot the areas beneath my eyes and along my nose. They’re light, but just noticeable, nonetheless. I stick my index finger into my tub of petroleum jelly and apply a thin, shining layer to my lips. They’re dry from me licking them so much in nervousness.

I fold my arms and glare at my reflection. It glares right back at me, just a fierce.

“Why can’t I be perfectly, naturally beautiful?” I asked my reflection softly. “Why can’t others just accept me as…me?”

I sniff and grab a tissue and blow into it. I’m not in the mood to cry, and I really don’t want to start now. Because once I start, the faucet will never be able to be turned off. The tears will just keep on flowing like a damn river.

I stroll over to my bed, confused and frustrated with these damn, messed up hormonal teenage emotions. I drop onto my bed face first and breathe into my pillow. The heat of exhaled carbon dioxide rises against my skin. I lift my head and inhale a fresh, cool breath of air. My straight dark red, nearly blood red, hair gets messy and tangled from the pillow.

Just two more days, I remind myself. Two more days of torture of being ugly. Soon I’ll be gorgeous. Gorgeous enough to be finally popular and have Evan as mine.

I grin greedily at the thought, savoring the taste of near-victory.

Things were about to get so much better.

 

“Honey? Is everything okay between you and Shane?” asked Mom. She enters my room, a concerned expression filling the contours of her lovely face.

I sit at my computer, working on my latest story idea. I turn my head to her.

“Why, Mom?” I ask. I turn to her, afraid how she might know about what’s been happening at school and between my friends and I. I tell her practically everything, but this thing is something that needs desperately to be kept quiet. Shane telling my mom really doesn’t help matters much.

“She called, asking for you,” Mom explains. “She sounded…worried about you. Is something going on?”

“No.”

“If you’re sure, Kit…”

“Pretty positive, Mom,” I say. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” she says. Mom darts her eyes to my computer screen and smiles. “I’ll let you get back to your writing.”

I smile back.

“Okay.”

“Dinner will be ready in a few,” is the last thing she says to me before she leaves.

What the heck did Shane call for? Isn’t she getting the message? I wish she would! I’m tired of dealing with her damn phone calls night after stupid night. She should just give it up.

Maybe, says the voice, interfering again, you shouldn’t give her up as a friend. She obviously cares about you if she’s calling. She wouldn’t be if she weren’t. Think about it.

Unwillingly, I think about the prospect. My conscience is right, but I can’t give up this chance to be popular. I just couldn’t it. I’ve been waiting for a chance like this for so long now. Now it’s going to be my turn to be well liked, and not loathed like stinking garbage.

Now’s my chance, and I’m taking it!

So be it, chides the voice.

          It disappears, leaving me to wallow in the joyful thoughts of the future.

 

          Friday…ah, one day closer to my goal.

          When I get to school, I proudly lift my head. I ignore the insult thrown at me. They don’t bother me anymore.

          As I pass Dante and Shane, they glance at me sadly, but don’t even try to interact with me. Just the thing I wanted.

          Alix, Nikita, and Faye, the three girls who love Evan the most and flirt with him constantly, give me dirty looks as I pass them. Nikita, a Russian exchange student and a very popular girl, sticks out her foot to trip me. I notice this and avoid it, giving her a smug smile.

          She frowns slightly, looking very pretty with her fair skin and black hair. She talks to herself in Russian, cursing probably, and speaks up to me.

          “Vell, you haff managed that, but vill you manage to steal our Evan? I tink not. He is ours. He vill always be ours, and no one else’s,” Nikita says, looking at me with malice.

          Nikita’s immediately taken aback when I smile at her.

          “Tell me, Nikita, is Translyvania a  good vacation spot? Must be if you come from there. I just love that Dracula-like accent. It’s so believable!”

          “Vhy you little…stop insulting my country! Russia is beautiful! You vill never know that. And I don’t haff a Dracula accent!”

          “Tell that to the bloodsucker himself. Bye!”

          I walk off, leaving her little pot of water steaming angrily at me. She shouts something in Russian. I smile. Heh…I always manage to quip back at them good.

          I go through the entire day excitedly. It’s all a faint blur and I forget the guilt I feel. At the end of the day I get no homework to do (thankfully!) and I go home super happily. A few more people try to make fun of me, but I ignore them.

          And then, comes the desired Saturday.

 

~*~*~

 

          “Kit, why aren’t you going to skate with me today?” Mom asks me.

          “’Cause I have something big to do. And I have to do it alone,” I hint to her. A disappointed look comes over her face. I feel guilty, I really do, but Mom wouldn’t allow me to do what I’m about to. All the more reason to be alone. “Can’t we skate next Saturday?”

          “Sure,” she says with a sad smile. “I guess since you’re growing up and all, you need some time to shop by yourself and enjoy spending money. Go have fun.”

          “Thanks, Mom,” I say, hugging her tightly. She waves me off, shaking her head and smiling in sheer amusement.

          I run of the house and down into the town. By the time I reach Vida I’m all sweaty and my hear is mussy from the wind blowing against me. I enter the cool building. The air conditioning throbs somewhere in the back of the building, pumping up ice cold air. I shiver from the transition from arid conditions to the arctic climate in the building. I swear that the sweat drops on my nose turn to icicles.

          My hand is immediately drawn to my pocket where my wallet is, stuffed with at least $200. The secretary at the desk is too busy answering the constantly ringing phones to notice my entrance.

          “Vida Beauty. How may I help you? Yes, Mr. Walden, your appointment on the 25^th is still scheduled with Franz. Shall I check again? No. Okay. Thank you for calling. Vida Beauty. How may I help you? You would like an appointment? Ah, yes…Alana is free on the 30^th. Is that good for you, Ms. Peterson? Okay, sure. I’ll make sure to ell her that. Have a good day…”

          It went on like that for a few minutes until the phones ceased to ring. The secretary inhaled a deep breath; in the middle of it, she noticed me.

          She looks at me like I’m a child, but partly filled with disgust at my appearance. I guess seeing beauty everyday, you eventually get used to it. So, once faced with reality, you grimace. I guess I’m a little disheveled from the run.

          “Yes, may I help you, young lady?” she asks crisply.

          “Hi…um, my name is Dakota Hemingway. I’d like to schedule an appointment for one of your best beauty specialists,” I say.

          “I’ll see if we have any appointments right now.” She pretends to scan her book and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any spaces left. But you can come back in January or August.”

          She smiles tauntingly at me, silently urging me to leave. I don’t give up so easily as others. After all, I had money. I frown slightly (pretending, of course) and take out my wallet. I take out all the tens and twenties I had earned and held them up to her smug face.

          “But I have money. And I was so willing to make an appointment.”

          Surprise flashes in her eyes and she smiles happily at the money. Hah, thought so. She looks at her book for real and nods approvingly.

          “We do have an opening right now. With our best specialist. Her name’s Leana. Shall I tell her that you’re here, Ms. Hemingway?”

          “Sure, go ahead.”

          As she calls up Leana, my mind reels a thousand times.

          Heh. She called me “Ms. Hemingway”!

          I almost giggle at the thought, except the secretary  looks up at me and I straighten out.

          “She’ll see you now,” she says kindly. “Go ahead in. She’ll take it from there.”

          “Great. Thanks.”

          I walk down the hall. A tall, curved woman about the age of thirty with strawberry-blond hair and sparkly green-blue eyes smiles at me from beneath her perfect glasses. Was it really possible to wear glass and to actually look good in them? Wow. I never thought it possible.

          “Hi,” Leana greets me, “I’m Leana Linden. Please, call me Leana. And you are Ms. Hemingway? Any relation to Gregory Hemingway of Wakefield Shipping?”

          “Yeah,” I say, “he’s my dad.”

          “Excellent. I’ve met him once and he seems to be nice. Good reputation, too,” she comments. “So, what kind of makeover are you going for?”

          I try to conceal my excitement. Unfortunately, some leaks into my voice.

          “A full body makeover!” I squeal.

          Maybe all of it leaks into my voice.

          Leana smiles at me and chuckles to herself. She seems really nice. Nicer than that snippy secretary, at least.

          “What for?” Leana asks.

          I shrug and raise my head. I suppose a sly gleam appears in my eyes because Leana c***s her eyebrows at me in curiosity.

          “I just feel it’s time for a major change. Think you can fix me?” I ask sneakily.

          “Ms. Hemingway--”

          “Call me Dakota. I insist.”

          “Dakota, I’ve fixed worse than you. And because you’re a stranger, I’m not afraid to say what I think. I think I can fix and revise you. It’s not going to take that long. I’ll guarantee it. Only an hour.”

          “Okay. So, are we going to start?”

          “We already have.”

          Leana leads me into a big room filled with a vanity, a hair cutting station to wash, dry, and style hair, a clothes rack with (by the looks of it) all the clothes that celebrities were currently wearing, and a manicure and pedicure station. The vanity had hair products, makeup, nail polish, perfume, brushes, combs, and skin products on it. The place was the ultimate beauty station.

          This time I didn’t even try to hide how surprised and giddy I was. I giggled happily as I looked around the room, staying by Leana’s side as she led me in. And, out of nowhere, appeared more specialists. They looked down at me.

          “This is my team. I always have them when I’m doing someone over. And you are a special case, Dakota,” Leana says.

          “Then do me over, Leana. I’m ready.”

 

~*~*~

 

          “Okay, kiddo,” says Leana, “first comes the hair. Bend your head.”

          I do so. She makes a disapproving clucking sound with her tongue.

          “Your hair…it’s horrible. Greasy and flaky. Do you wash it?”

          “Frequently,” I answer.

          “Oy…” Leana shakes her head. “Stan, shampoo and conditioner.”

          As she says this, a man hands her what she requests. She leads me over to the hair station and tells me to sit down. Actually, I’m lying down. She begins the faucet in the sink beneath my head. She rinses my hair gently. Leana begins to shampoo my hair and washes it thoroughly of the oils and flakes. She washes the shampoo out and conditions the ends of my hair. She handles my hair tenderly like a newborn infant. She rinses that out and tells me to sit up.

          Leana combs out my hair gently so that it’s straight.

          “Scissors,” she orders, splaying her hand out expectantly. Stan, who I guess if her right-hand man, hands her a pair of black scissors. She trims the ends of my hair, which hasn’t been taken care of in a while.

          “Okay, come over here.”

          I follow Leana and she sits me down in a chair adjacent to the hair washing one.

          She told me to close my eyes. And I did.

          “What should we do with her hair?” asks someone on her team.

          “Spray a little with this, then take the curler iron.”

          I feel someone spray something on my hair. The musky smell of hairspray fills the air. I sniff; it smells bad. Then they begin to use the curler iron.

          “Don’t move, Dakota,” says Leana.

          And I don’t. I do as she says and sit still and straight. When the hot iron touches my hair, it hisses loudly and then fades into nothing. Someone else pins up my top layer of hair.

          “What kind of shampoo and conditioner did you just use on my hair?” I ask.

          Her voice answers from in front of me. My eyes dart around in the blackness of my eyelids.

          “Hair replenishing. It’ll rejuvenate your hair for a nice healthy shine. The conditioner will help prevent split ends.”

          “Cool.”

          “My dear, we’re just getting started. That’s it, Stan, you’re doing great,” she says.

          Soon all the layers of my hair are done and pinned back out of my face.

          “Open your eyes.”

          I do, and I find Leana grinning at me.

          “There may just be hope for you yet,” she says, looking at my hair. “Your hair is really amazing. When I washed it, out came all these natural highlights that were hidden beneath the grease.”

          “Really? I never noticed before.”

          “Because you weren’t washing with the right stuff. It takes us to right someone’s wrongs.”

          Next, Leana moved me onto the nails. She asked me to remove my sneakers. My bare feet are exposed on the pure white linoleum. Again, Leana makes those clucking sounds. Both my toenails and fingernails are ragged and long.

          She led me to a lounge chair and told me to lay back and relax. I did. I placed my hands on the arms of the chair. There was a person waiting for each of my two hands and feet. They began at their work, Leana supervising them carefully. They clipped and filed my nails to perfection. Then they buffed them up to make them shiny and attractive. Once they were pretty and perfect, Leana wheeled a cart over to me. It had all kinds of nail polishes on it. My eyes bulged.

          “Choose a color, Dakota.”

          “Um…I guess I’ll choose…” A certain color caught my eye and I smiled. “I’ll choose the Passion Pink.”

          “Will do.”

          The Passion Pink was a mix of magenta and hot pink with tiny sparkles shimmering in it. It looked even better on my nails when they applied it. When they finish, I look at my nails in wonder.

          “You guys are amazing.”

          “You haven’t seen anything yet, kiddo,” says Leana. She grins slyly. “Time for the makeup. My absolute favorite part. Come on.”

          Leana sits me down, telling me to face her.

          “Close your eyes.”

          I do, and I feel something cool being applied to my face. It was wet, so I figured it was water. She was washing my face.

          “Don’t worry. I’m not going to make you look ugly,” Leana joked. “I’m just washing your face of the dirt and oils. Your pores are in very good condition.”

          “Thanks…I guess.”

          Minutes later, she dried my face off with a towel as soft as rose petals. Leana then started to wax my eyebrows and the hairs above my lips.

          “OW!” I shriek loudly.

          “Chill, girl. It’s not that painful,” Leana laughs.

          “So not funny!”

          “Yeah, yeah…stop wiggling and let me actually do you over.”

          “Fine,” I say grudgingly.

          When she was finished, I feel relieved and relaxed. Now came the last and final part of the ritual. Makeup!

          “Keep your eyes closed, Dakota. Don’t open them until I say, ‘kay?”

          “Okay.”

          I feel brushes and soft pads touch my face. Wetness lines my eyelids. A light layer of thickness covers my skin, but nothing serious. They work on me until I can handle no more. Before I know it, they’re finished on me.

          “Now for the outfit, Dakota. Let me choose something for you.”

          “Okay,” I reply. “Can I open my eyes now?”

          “Sure.”

          “Can I look in the mirror yet?”

          “Not until you have your outfit on.”

          Leana rushed over and laid down a gorgeous pair of sandals; you know the super high ones with the wooden heels. Those. There also was a mid-length fluttery jean skirt with fake jeweled butterflies dotting the hem and the pocket areas. The shirt had a big, multicolored butterfly on it with the colors of pink, purple, and red in it. The background of the shirt was a tie-dye combination of dark purple and hot pink that swirled side to side vertically. I removed my own clothes. They folded them up for me.

          “Have you shaved your legs?” Leana asked. “You good at it?”

          “Yeah. I’ve been doing it since I was twelve. Why?”

          “That’s good. Shaving or waxing your legs wasn’t on the list of my things to do.” She glances at my legs. They were smooth and hairless under the new clothes I had just put on.

          “May I look in the mirror now?” I ask impatiently.

          Leana grins at me slyly.

          “You may. Enjoy it! My team and I will leave the room so you can enjoy it.”

          And, so, they left, leaving me nervous and bubbly.

          My stomach bubbles with anticipation. I close my eyes when I know I’m in front of the mirror. I inhaled and exhale shakily, hoping to God that this was worth it. I place my hands on the table of the vanity and brace myself as I slowly open my eyes.

          I gasp in astonishment.

          There stood an angel with no horny rims, perfect skin and great curled hair. Her skin was smooth and freckles that actually looked…good. Her eyes glitter in happiness and relief. I notice my glasses on my clothing that’s folded up. They must’ve replaced my glasses with contacts. I hold up my nails to my eyes. They glitter and shimmer. I turn to my reflection again.

          The skirt showed off my every curve perfectly; my eyes were brought out with a little liquid eyeliner and some mascara.

          I burst into a grin.

          “YEAH!” I yell. “WHOO! YEAH! THANKS, LEANA!”

          I run out of the room and give Leana a big hug, but the heels delayed me a little. She hugs me back and looks at me proudly.

          “You like it. I know.”

          “Isn’t that obvious?” I retort bubbly. “I’M PRETTY! HAH!”

          I fish out my wallet and try to hand the money to her, but she declines.

          “Pay at the desk, missy. And, Dakota?”

          “Yeah?”

          “Enjoy.”

          I grin.

          “You know I will. Thanks again!”

          “You’re welcome.”

          I walk away down the hall and approach the deck where the secretary sat. Her eyes positively bulged when she saw me.

          “Here,” I say, smacking the $200 down on her desk. “My regards to Vida Beauty.”

          I walk out confidently, my clothes in my hands. She stares after me, smiling slightly.

          Now I’m fixed and revised. Time to strut my stuff! Wait until they saw me on Monday. Everybody will be so surprised! I just know it.