Bookishly Ever After (Ever After #1)(19)
“Yes, you are socially inept. You also have this incredibly big heart, which is so much more important than being socially savvy. It’s all part of what makes you Phoebe and why we love you.” She dropped the outfit on a chair with a pair of dark tights and made her way towards the bathroom door. “Okay, put that on while I get all my hair stuff ready. You’re curvier than me, but they should fit.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. I changed into the clothes, yanking up the skirt when it caught on my hips and alternating between pulling up the deep v of the shirt and tugging it down to reach the skirt’s waistband. With more than a little bit of trepidation, I slowly made my way in front of the full length cheval mirror and stared at myself in shock. What was schoolgirl prep on Grace was punkier, shorter, and tighter on me. I looked kind of badass. And I’d never shown this much leg outside of gym class. “Are you sure I won’t get in trouble with the dress code police?” I called in the direction of the bathroom.
“As long as it’s fingertip length, you’re okay.”
I straightened my arms at my side. The tips of my fingers just passed the bottom of the skirt. “I have freakishly long monkey arms, remember?”
“So, scrunch your shoulders a little and you’ll be okay. This isn’t a Catholic school. Nuns aren’t roaming the halls with tape measures.”
“I don’t know.” I wandered into the bathroom, turning a full three-sixty in the doorway.
Grace looked at me from head to toe. “You’re hot in that. I’d do you.” As I blinked at her, unsure of what to say, she grinned. “Actually, I wouldn’t, but you have to admit it sounded a lot less egotistical than ‘I am the most awesome stylist ever.’” Grace pointed at the vanity seat with her hairbrush.
I grimaced as I sat, squirming a little in my seat. “You know that weirds me out. It would be just as freakish if Alec suddenly said something like that.”
“I know. It’s fun to see you freak out sometimes.” She started sliding out the curlers until my head was a mess of Shirley Temple-like ringlets. “But I’ll try to be better, oh delicate one.”
As she messed with my hair, fluffing and spraying at the curls, I tapped my fingers on the top of her spindly white and gold vanity. “I ran into Dev at the mall yesterday. Well, actually, he ran into me while I looked like an idiot in my costume.”
“I’m sure you were very adorably Phoebe,” she said gently. “And what happened?”
“I don’t know. He was actually really sweet.” My tapping turned into a staccato rhythm. “I’ve known him for, what, five years? And I never really realized how his eyes kind of sparkle when he says something funny.” My heart did something strange when I thought about that grin.
“Okay, stop or I might die from all the saccharine.” Grace turned me away from the mirror, saying something under her breath about my not needing foundation. Instead, she came at me with an eyeliner pencil. “I know you’re not big on makeup every day, so I’m not bothering with anything fancy.” I tried not to flinch as she practically touched my eyeball with that thing. “Now, it sounds to me like someone’s developing a crush.” Just when I thought she was finished, she grabbed another pencil and attacked my eyes again. As she drew around my eyes, her mouth made a little O of concentration.
It was hard to talk while fearing an imminent blinding poke in the eye. “Is it really bad if I say I don’t know?”
Grace shrugged. She took a step back and studied me for a second before pulling out a tube of mascara. “It’s not like you have to know right now. It’s a lot more important for you to take your time figuring out how you feel than to just jump into something because you think everyone expects it.” She wiggled the mascara into my eyelashes. “But, you know, it might be good to figure it out eventually. Until then,” she turned me back around, “you can rock a look like this.”
The black and copper eyeliners made my grey eyes actually bright and not stone-like. My hair fell around my face in pretty spiraly curls and waves. I looked like I’d stepped out of the nineteen-forties, in a good way. “Woah. It doesn’t even look like me.” I could be a different person, not just bookish knitting Phoebe. There was so much potential.
Grace grinned. “It’s definitely you, only more dramatic. I can’t wait to see what people think. Things are going to get really interesting tomorrow.”
11
Marissa had Operation Save Cyril. This was day one of Operation Figure Out Dev.
Standing in the doorway of my A.P. English class with about sixteen pairs of eyes staring at me was pretty much on par with those nightmares of realizing you’re naked in a crowd. Makeover reveal scenes always had the character growing bolder and happily glowing with the attention.
Marissa even sashayed her way into her classroom. I wanted to hide behind my color-coordinated binder. Instead, I took a deep breath and, imitating Maeve’s badass walk into the Fae court, pulled back my shoulders and headed for my desk.
Like Marissa in Hidden, I casually slung my messenger bag over my shoulder as I stepped into the classroom, but, unlike Marissa, messenger bags and miniskirts didn’t mix on me. Five steps in, I had to stop and tug on my skirt to keep it from riding up into suspension territory. Ten steps in and I resorted to holding the hem of my skirt down with one hand while walking.