o'clock, when Claudia would arrive, and nowhere to be but my bedroom and bathroom. The answer? A day of beauty. I must have spent two hours in the bathtub with my new literary obsession, an Elizabeth George mystery. I drained a little of the tub every time it got tepid, then refilled it with steaming hot water. I gave myself a manicure and pedicure, I did an exfoliating body scrub and a face mask, and I devoted hours to figuring out the grand puzzle of my hair. While the relaxed locks fell perfectly for the emo look, without the makeup and clothes to match, I just looked mullet-y. I couldn't wait for my curl to come back, but I still had up to two months. A curling iron might have helped, but I didn't own one, and neither did my mom.
After massive wrestling, pulling several muscles in my arms, and desperately wishing I were double-jointed, I somehow managed to work my thicker top layers into braids that came together in the back and spilled downward. It looked pretty, actually. Kind of girlie but sophisticated.
My wardrobe had been severely limited by Mom and Karl's culling, but I scrounged together a pair of black ballet flats, dark jeans, and a super-cute purple V-necked top with ruffle pintucks around the neckline. Very casual, very flattering, very normal so I wouldn't have trouble getting out of the house. A little makeup and I was ready—just as Claudia rang the doorbell.
Mom answered it. I, of course, remained quarantined upstairs until we actually left.
"Claudia!" my mom gushed. "Look at you! You look gorgeous! I can't even believe it! Not that you don't always look beautiful, of course, but..."
Interesting. In eleven years of friendship I'd never heard my mom sound so shocked over Claudia's looks. I was dying to peek, but I wouldn't do anything that might get Mom to even consider changing her mind about the party.
I didn't have to wait long before Claudia struck a pose in my bedroom doorway. "Ready for a Populazzi party?" she asked.
"Claudia!" I screamed, and immediately understood why my mom had freaked. First of all, Claudia's hair was unbraided. It cascaded in gorgeous waves halfway down her back and framed her face, magnifying her delicate features.
Then there was her outfit. On top she wore a little charcoal-colored wool pleated jacket with ruffled trim along its front. It was beautiful, and as I squealed my approval, she took off the jacket and spun around to show me the rest: a short-sleeved gray babydoll dress, the bodice a few shades darker than the skirt. Its scoop neck showed off a simple silver chain with an angel wing charm.
The effect was subtle, sophisticated—and completely unlike anything I had seen her wear in the last decade. Claudia shunned fashion. It was too standardized for her. She chose unique outfits based on the emotional reactions they inspired in her. Denim jumpers made her look about five years old, especially with her braids. But they made her feel playful and adventurous, so they were a regular part of her wardrobe. They rotated in with vintage floor-length dresses, flouncy skirts with ruffled tops, and her favorite camouflage capri pants that she swore paired perfectly with anything.
I always thought Claudia looked great. What she didn't look like was anyone else.
Tonight she could have stepped out of a fashion magazine. I was amazed.
"You went shopping!" I cried.
"I thought the occasion warranted it. What do you think?"
"How does it make you feel?"
Claudia grinned. "Popular."
There it was. That's what this evening would be for us. For one night we'd rewrite history and be the girls we always should have been—the girls we'd have been if The Incident had never happened.
I couldn't wait.
We ran downstairs, both of us calling out goodbyes to Karl. He had barricaded himself behind his bedroom door in a show of dissent.
"Remember, call me from a landline the minute you get there," Mom said, "and I need to speak to an adult. Back by eleven!"
"Got it," I said. "Bye!"
"You know we can't ask for this guy's parents," Claudia said once we were in the car.
"I know, but I have to do what she says. I get caught in a lie tonight and I'm dead."
"I could pretend to be his mother," Claudia said. "I could do a fake voice."
She proceeded to try out several fake voices, all of which sounded exactly like Claudia putting on a fake voice.
We were doomed.
We pulled up to Eddie's car-lined street and found a