DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Woe is me, sob, sob, etc, etc . . .
A/N: Hmm. The last chapter I posted received the lowest amount of reviews since the story began. If I'm doing something wrong, please tell me. I do love constructive criticism, so please feel free to offer it. Thanks to those who did review, and, of course, Purple Rhapsody for beta reading this chapter.
ASK ANNIE
Ask Annie your most complex interpersonal relationship questions. Go on, we dare you! All letters to Annie are subject to publication in the Clayton High School Register. Names and e-mail address of correspondents are guaranteed confidential.
Dear Annie,
My best friend has been really quiet lately. She's usually a happy person, who's always ready to listen and help people and she's very kind. But lately she's seemed really withdrawn, and I think something major has happened in her life to upset her, but she hasn't said anything about it. Should I ask her what's wrong, so I can see if there's any way of helping her, or would it be a) rude, and b) none of my business?
Worried about my friend
Dear Worried,
If you are genuinely worried about your friend, ask her what's wrong, and if you can help. Stress that she doesn't have to tell you what's up if she doesn't want to, but that you'll always be there to lend an ear, if she's in need of one. However, if you're one of those girls who just wants to know so that you can spread the latest gossip 'round the school- don't bother. She's better off without you and your 'I'm so worried about you' farce.
Annie
"Omigod, Jen! It's perfect! The colour suits you perfectly! And it will look ah-mazing with those pale blue jeans of yours. Grab it in your size, pay for it, and then let's go check out the shoes!" Trina gushed.
We were shopping for a new outfit for me, for after my makeover- the one that would, absolutely, no question about it, make Scott listen to me. Still, the shopping experience hadn't actually been too painful. I mean, Trina and I don't exactly have the same taste in clothes (you only have to look at our Spring Fling dresses to see that- mine was (as usual) the whole girl-next-door thing, and hers was a black 'village Goth' piece, with alarming amounts of cleavage, which resulted in an equally alarming amount of attention from almost every male at the dance.), but the top she had picked out, I too had fallen in love with.
It was an off white colour, with a single piece of embroidery- five small blue forget-me-nots in the right-hand corner, and sleeveless, with a swooping v-neck. It was made of silk, and, when I tried it on, it clung to my body in a way that gave the illusion that I actually had curves! Yes, I know! Amazing, isn't it? The only drawback was the price tag. But still, I had all that babysitting money saved up- I ought to treat myself sometime. I mean, I was meant to be saving up for the gorgeous blue VW Bug, that I was meant to be paying half of (my parents had agreed to fork out for the other half, as long as I paid for insurance and gas and stuff), but one top won't hurt, will it?
And it was going to a good cause- the 'get Jen and Scott back together' cause.
And it would go with so many things- I could practically wear it everyday, if it weren't for the fact that it had to be cleaned.
Oh, all right. It was $89.99
Just don't tell my Mom . . .
The shoes were easier. Trina decided for me that I would wear the top with my really pale blue jeans, but because (according to her anyway) I have reasonably long legs, I didn't necessarily need shoes with heels.
We browsed the shoe shops, and eventually narrowed the list of possible purchases down to five, and out of this five, I chose a pair of white ballet flats, with a bow on the front. The shade of white exactly matched my top, and though it wasn't exactly a practical colour (I dread to think what'll happen if it rains, and I accidentally walk into a puddle!) they were only $5 (in the sale) so I guess I can't complain.
You know, things weren't going that badly. I mean, when Trina had said "makeover" I immediately thought she'd deck me out in a bikini top, a very miniskirt and the kind of boots Julia Roberts wore in Pretty Woman, but the clothes she'd picked out for me were very surprising. For one thing, I actually liked them and could see myself wearing them, for another they actually had more than a couple of square inches worth of material in them, and for a third thing, I looked good in them.
I tried the new top and shoes on with my faded blue jeans at my house whilst Trina went next door to "fetch her supplies" (God help us all!) and even I could see that I didn't actually look that bad. I thought Trina would just put my hair up, give me a slick of gloss, and wowee! I'd be ready to go!
Or not . . .
So I wasn't prepared for the giant rucksack (I kid you not) she'd come 'round with. By now, it was four forty-five, and I'd expected to be at Scott's house at five. (Today's Register meeting had been cancelled, as the two freshmen girls were on a field trip, Kwang was off sick and Geri-Lynn had said she couldn't make tonight's meeting, so Scott decided that, as we were so low on numbers, there was no point getting together, thank God.)
But Trina had other ideas, and dumped the bag on my bed. She opened it and brought out: a miniskirt (uh-oh . . . ), a bottle of shampoo and a bottle of conditioner, curlers and a set of straighteners, hair spray, foundation, blusher, eye-shadows, lip-glosses and lipsticks, mascara, and last but not least, about seven trillion hair ornaments.
"Umm . . . Trina?" I asked, nervously. "Why have you brought that skirt around?"
"Because you're going to wear it, of course!" Trina exclaimed, as if it were obvious.
"Er, no I'm not. I bought that top because it goes with my jeans, remember? And the shoes, too. I'm not wearing the skirt- I can't!" I told her.
"Yes, you are," Trina replied. "Look, I said you should wear the top with the jeans because, if I'd said, "Hey, that'll look great with my denim mini!" you'd never have bought it. Also, summer's set well in by now- it's, like, ninety degrees at night, so if you wear jeans, you'll melt!"
Whilst it was hot, it wasn't that hot. And I WASN'T going to wear the skirt. I told Trina this, but she just scoffed at me. "Rubbish!" she snorted. "You are going to wear the skirt, Jen, like it or not!"
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are, because trust me, it'll make Scott sit up and take notice, so all you have to do is blurt out how terribly sorry you are, and that you weren't cheating on him because you love him so much, and-"
"Trina, Scott's not that kind of guy," I broke in. "He thinks with his brain, not his . . . you know . . . He just would be like that."
"Look, Jen, if this is about you being insecure about your appearance, don't be! You look really pretty, you just need a bit of . . . tweaking here and there. But everybody does- it's normal! I mean, even celebrities wear padded bras, or have their acne scars airbrushed out, or have their teeth perfected- it's normal! If you were, like, Cara, or someone of her shape, I'd say, no you're, right- don't wear the skirt, you'll look awful, but you're not Cara, and you'll look fine!" Trina said.
"Trina, this isn't about me being 'insecure' about my appearance. This is about the fact that it isn't going to work. Scott won't just make up with me because of the way I look, or what skirt, or jeans, or dress, or whatever I happen to be wearing or not wearing. It's not because I think that I'm fat, or anything, it just WON'T WORK! Can't you understand that?" I retorted.
She looked me in the eye and her expression softened. I thought that I'd won, that she realised what I was saying and Scott wasn't that type of guy. That he's not superficial like that.
And then she opened her mouth and said, "You wear the skirt, or I accidentally let slip that you're Annie."
Which was, frankly, below the belt. I mean, did she really have to stoop that low? It wasn't fair. The really stupid thing was, I couldn't tell if she was bluffing, or if she actually would 'accidentally' let slip to a couple of people that I was Ask Annie. I doubted she would . . . but I wasn't going to risk it. I didn't need the stress of people finding out about it. So I put the damn skirt on.
"There," Trina replied, throwing a benevolent smile in my direction. "That wasn't too bad, was it?"
I glared at her.
Once I'd put my top and shoes on, she dragged me over to my dressing table, thrust me down into the chair and wet my hair with a flannel. She then straightened my almost-but-not-quite grown out fringe, and curled the rest of my hair, before putting it up (though thankfully not in a way that made me look like Marge Simpson, which was what happened last time she did my hair up. Except that my hair was still brown, but whatever) and fixing it there with hair spray.
Then she started applying foundation, to my face. "Normally, you should exfoliate and cleanse and tone, and all the rest of it before a big night, but we haven't got time. Close your eyes," she commanded, and started putting eye shadow on. Which, you know, I am capable of doing myself. Ditto foundation. And mascara. And lip-liner, lipstick and lip-gloss, and whatever else she was slathering on my face like there was no tomorrow.
"There," she said, finally. "Done. And, if I do say so myself, you look great."
I glanced at myself in the mirror. Yes, I did look better than I usually do, but it was all superficial. Sure, Courtney Deckard and her posse might be more willing than usual to stage a conversation with me about the sale at Abercrombie and Fitch, but I'd much rather be having a conversation with Scott about the sale at Barnes and Noble. And, dressed like I was, I would say that that wasn't likely to happen.
"How far away is Scott's house?" Trina asked. "Because neither of us have our driving licence, so you'll have to walk, but in new shoes that might not be such a good idea."
"It's only about a mile," I replied. "I'll manage."
So off I bravely went, not to sail in un-chartered waters, not knowing what I would find there (a new world, full of savage natives? Plague? A mall?), but to walk a mile through the streets of sleepy old Clayton, Indiana, on a mission to convince my ex-boyfriend to take me back.
I'll try anything once.
Read: I was desperate. Yes, that's right, I, Jenny Greenley, was desperate enough that I had managed to convince myself that Trina's plan would work. After the impassioned speech (oh, alright, sulky argument) I had presented to Trina about Scott just not being That Type of Guy, I was now telling myself that, y'know what? This might work.
Ha, ha, ha.
So, there I was, walking down Laburnum Coppice (a cul-de-sac), trying to find number thirty-four, wearing a top, skirt and shoes that, though they did, admittedly, rub a tiny bit, made me look gorgeous, when I spotted a car that made me think, hmm, that looks familiar. It wasn't Scott's car (though it was parked very near to his house), so I just figured that perhaps it belonged to someone at school (I had a feeling I should know who it belonged to).
I was about to cross the road, when I happened to look up and see Scott's front door open. He was the one opening it; showing someone out of his house.
That someone was Geri-Lyn Packard.
A/N: I know, I know, not much of a cliffhanger. Sorry. Review, and I will love you forever. Well. As long as 'forever' means 'as long as it takes to read said review'.