"Can I look yet?""No."
Nicole's face is set in a look of intense concentration. For a girl whose makeup skills seem to include eyeliner, eyeliner, and more eyeliner, she seems to be pretty handy with blush brush.
"I don't see why you don't just zap it on," I complained. Sitting perfectly still with my back to the bathroom mirror is starting to make me twitchy.
"Let me enjoy my artisticness." She swirls her brush in the sparkly eyeshadow we, er, borrowed from Stella. Then, holding the brush poised above my eye, she asks, "Unless you wanted to try your hand at zapping yourself some facepaint?"
I can't see my face, but I'm pretty sure I pale at the suggestion. The memory of my last powers snafu--where I ended up in a bathtub full of blue Jell-O--don't ask--is still fresh on my mind. And my toes. I think they're still a little blue around the edges.
"Thought not," she says, then goes back to dusting shimmer on my brow.
I have to trust her. She could totally zap my tongue into a frog if I didn't. Besides, she has way more style quotient than I ever will. Even if that style is a little heavy on the punk rock side.
And she managed to find something totally date-worthy in my very limited wardrobe: a short white skirt from my one attempt at playing tennis (trust me, hand-eye coordination and I aren't on speaking terms), a super-soft red v-neck sweater, and the pair of plain white Keds I'd borrowed from Stella. I feel ready to take on Valentine's day. Or Venus and Serena Williams.
A few seconds later Nicole leans back, gives my face one last inspection, and pronounces me done. As I spin around to inspect her work, Nicole says, "Griffin won't know what hit him."
Tune in tomorrow to find out what happens next. [Part 3]
Hugs,
TLC
No comments:
Post a Comment