of the holiday, I paint my eyes and lips black and put on a Black Sabbath shirt. Dex loves it, of course, but I know I’m in trouble when Madison and Hayes flank me at lunch.
“That’s it,” Madison says. “We’re giving you a forcible makeover.”
“Madison—”
“Seriously. Get your bag. We’re cutting.”
“What? How?”
“We have a note saying you have a Magnolia League community project again.”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe that actually works.”
“Of course it works. Come on.”
I’m hesitant, but since my only remaining classes today are Mr. Roberts’s history and gym, I give in, trailing after them to the Prius. Oddly, both Madison and Hayes are wearing all white again today. Hayes is dressed in white skinny jeans that only a toothpick could wear, and Madison has on a white flowing goddess top and snowy linen pants.
“What’s with the all-white look?” I ask. “Is it a Halloween thing?”
“Halloween is for amateurs,” Madison scoffs. “What you’re in for is way better than a costume.”
“What do you mean?”
She reaches over and yanks on my longest dreadlock. “What do you mean?” she mimics. “Do you know how much you say that? Just go with it, Alex. Life is happening to you.”
Hayes drives. At first I think we’re going downtown, but then I realize we’re driving to Isle of Hope, a seriously plush suburb on the Skidaway River. As usual, Madison’s riding shotgun and I’m in the back. On the way, neither of them bothers to explain anything about what we’re doing. In fact, no one talks at all. We just sit there listening to the music and looking out the windows. My stomach turns—there’s something eerie about their silence.
Madison’s house is a modern estate with a main house, a guesthouse, and a pool house. Everything is white and flat and glossy; I swear, an alarm must go off if someone spills a Coke. We all head straight back to the pool house, not bothering to call out to Madison’s mom to tell her that we’re here. I follow Madison and Hayes through the sliding glass door, looking around with surprise as we step inside. The shades are drawn, and the room is completely lit with candles.
“Who lit these?” I ask. As usual, I get no answer. Someone must have done this before we got here. A maid? Madison’s mom? And why is it so dark in here, anyway? I look quickly toward the bar, which is lined with old brown glass bottles and jars.
“Oh no,” I say. “No way am I letting you crazies guinea-pig me again.”
Hayes smiles. “We’re not going to ‘guinea-pig’ you, sweetie. You know about the spells now. We’re letting you in on our intentions this time.”
“Well, that’s very nice of you.”
“Sit down, will you?” Madison says impatiently.
“Fine. But I’m not drinking anything this time unless I know what’s in it.”
“Oh, come off it,” Madison says. “I saw you drink some organic snot juice the other day. What could be worse than that?”
“That’s kombucha,” I say defensively. “It’s full of antioxidants.” The truth is, kombucha is seriously disgusting, but I’ve been drinking it lately to try to lose weight. My mom used to brew it for people who wanted to speed up their metabolism. So far all it’s done is give me serious gas.
“Alex,” Hayes says soothingly before Madison and I can start bickering again, “we think the time has come for us to give you a little makeover.”
“A makeover?” I frown. “Why?”
“Here’s the deal, Alex,” Madison says. “You need a different look.”
“I don’t want a different look. I mean, sure, I’d love to have Miley bods, like you girls. Otherwise I wouldn’t be downing the snot tea. But that’s just not how I’m built. And I know you guys are super into expensive clothes and makeup, but I’ve never thought that was important. If you like who you are, then why does it matter what you look like?”
“That’s very noble,” Madison says. “And I’m sure the hippies at the commune would be pleased with that answer. But it’s just not realistic.”
“It’s not like new clothes can really change anything. You already took me shopping, remember?”
“What if we told you we could improve other things too?” Hayes asks.
I shake my head. “You girls are bizarre-o. I do not like the sound of this.”
“You have to admit it,” Madison says. “Even you think your hair is gross.”
I think of Thaddeus and how he said my dreads were “out there.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’m not that into my do anymore. Fine—the phase is