“All right,” continues Amy, “so, we’ve established that Edgar is a geek. But we also know that he’s a nice guy, right?”
“Right,” echoes Felicia and I nod mutely.
“Okay.” Amy is pacing now. She reminds me of a mad scientist. “The thing is, people, geekiness is only skin deep. It’s just an image problem. And images are easily changed.” She holds out her hands as if to make a point. “Look at me. Everyone used to think I was a pushover. I had mousy brown hair and no visible personality. And then one day I’d just had enough. I looked in the mirror and decided to reinvent myself.” She snaps her fingers dramatically. “And, presto, here I am. Do you think anyone thinks I’m a pushover now?”
I just shake my head. If anything I would describe Amy as a bulldozer.
She nods. “See what I’m saying?”
“Not exactly,” I say in a timid voice. All I can think is that I’d like to get out of here, but according to the clock we still have twenty minutes.
“Okay, what if I give Edgar here a makeover—”
“Wait a minute,” says Edgar. “Do I have a vote in this?”
Amy gives him a playful shove. “Just chill for a minute.”
“But you can’t just force someone to have a makeover, Amy,” says Felicia.
Amy frowns. “Why not?”
I laugh now. Leave it to Amy to believe she can get her way regardless of anything. “Amy,” I say. “Edgar would probably feel ridiculous if you made him look like you and your friends. No offense, I think it really works for you. But Edgar is different.”
“Well, I know that,” says Amy like she thinks I’m an idiot. “I wasn’t going to make Edgar over to look like me or my friends. I was just going to make him look like Edgar, only the cool version.”
“The cool version?” Now Edgar is looking interested.
“Yeah,” says Amy with enthusiasm. “We’ll cut your hair and get you some cool duds and you’ll be a whole new guy.”
Edgar seems to be considering this now and I’m feeling nervous. “But I don’t—”
“I’ll do it!” says Edgar with more enthusiasm than I’ve ever seen come from him. “I’ve been asking God to do something to change me,” he continues eagerly. “I’ve been praying to become the kind of guy that other people will listen to.”
“See!” Amy points her finger triumphantly at him. “God must work in mysterious ways!”
“I guess so,” says Edgar. “Do you really think you can do this?”
Amy nods then she turns to me. “So, Kara, are you in?”
“In?”
“Yeah, if I can make over Edgar so that he’s not a geek, will you go to the dance with him?”
I don’t know what to say. Either answer, yes or no, would be open for misinterpretation. “I don’t know . . . ”
“Come on, Kara, be a sport,” says Felicia. “If Edgar is willing to have a makeover, you should be willing to go to the dance with him.”
“Besides,” says Amy, “what do you have to lose? Your best friend dumped you for a bunch of shallow social climbers anyway. Do you want to be like her?”
“But it’s so—”
“Here’s the deal,” says Amy suddenly. “How about if I give Edgar the makeover and if you see him and are still worried about going to the dance, then you don’t have to. Okay?”
“Well . . . ”
“And I’ll do it tonight so that you can see him tomorrow,” she offers. “You don’t even have to decide until then. Okay?”
Now I’m thinking that’s probably a safe agreement. Chances are I won’t have to go out with Edgar at all. “Okay,” I say with some reservation.
“Really?” says Edgar with hopeful eyes.
I feel like I’m going to be sick. “Really,” I say in a flat voice. What am I getting myself into? Maybe I really will be sick tomorrow.
“If you don’t like how Edgar looks, you don’t have to go,” promises Amy. Then she grabs Edgar by both hands and makes him stand up. She looks at him then laughs. “This is gonna be fun!”
Poor Edgar! I’m thinking as I finally leave the art room and head for my next class. What am I thinking? Poor me! And what on earth have I gotten myself into? I can just imagine Jordan’s reaction when she sees me at the dance with Edgar Peebles.
But by the end of the day, I’m thinking maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing, really. I’m thinking that it might be worth going out with Edgar for no other reason than to put myself right in Jordan Ferguson’s snooty face. Suddenly I can imagine myself at the dance with Edgar, Class Geek. I can see us walking right up to Jordan and Caleb and I would say something like, “Hey, Jordan, I like your dress. Did Abbie help you pick it out? How’s your mom doing anyway? Did your dad ever finish restoring that Harley yet? Make sure you tell Leah hi for me. I saw her at the grocery store last week and I just love what she’s done with her hair.” Oh, I could go on and on, and Jordan would be stuck standing there with her ex-best friend and the geek. Or maybe we’d just be the geek couple. Oh, I’m thinking it might be absolutely divine. If only I could work up the nerve.
But by Friday morning I am feeling seriously worried. I don’t think there’s any way I can pull this off. I know it will hurt Edgar’s feelings to back out of this. But then he’s such a nice guy, and a Christian to boot. I’m sure he’ll forgive me in time.
I go into art class with a speech all prepared. I’ll say that it’s not him, it’s me, that I’m just not ready to do anything that “social” yet. Maybe later in the year. And then I see him. Or at least I think it’s him. I’m not entirely sure. A number of kids are already standing around him and Amy looks like that proverbial cat who swallowed the canary.
“Kara,” she calls out in a sing-song voice. “Come here.”
I slowly walk over to where the group is clustered around (is it really?) Edgar. His red hair is cut short and slightly choppy and the ends have been darkened to a shade about the color of mahogany. He has on a dark plum-colored shirt that is totally un-Edgar like, in fact it looks retro, but the most surprising change is with his glasses. Instead of his usual lopsided silver wire rims, he now has on a pair of black-framed glasses that remind me of Buddy Holly, or at least the guy who played him in that old TV movie I saw just last week.
“Wow,” I say as I get closer to him. “You look amazingly cool, Edgar.”
“So, you’ll go to the dance with me?”
I look from Edgar to Felicia, who seems to be in complete shock over this transformation, and then to Amy, who is grinning like a drunk monkey.
“I think I need a makeover now,” I tell them.
This makes everyone laugh.
“I can take care of that,” says Amy.
I turn back to her and take a good look at her dark dyed hair and outlined eyes and then cringe. “I’m just kidding,” I say quickly.
“I’m not.” She peers at me like she’s looking at a blank canvas now. “There’s no way you’re going out with Edgar looking like that.”
Well, I must admit I’ve let myself go in the past few weeks, but that comment does seem a bit harsh. “But I—”
“No buts,” says Amy firmly.
And so it is that I find myself giving Amy my address and she is telling me that she’ll come by right after school. “Do you have any money, Kara?”
I frown at her. “You mean you charge for—”
“No.” Although she seems to consider this. “That’s not a bad idea, but I meant do you have any money in case we need to get you something?”
“I have a little babysitting money, but not enough—”
“You’d be surprised at the bargains you can find at Salvation Army,” she says without batting an eyelash.
“Salvation Army?” I wonder if she’s serious.
“Oh, yeah, it’s the best place to get really cool stuff. That’s where Edgar and I went yesterday.”
“Did you get his glasses there?”
She laughs. “No, those were a pair o
f his dad’s old glasses that have the same prescription as Edgar’s. He just uses them as spares. But I saw them on his dresser and thought they looked pretty cool.”
I nod. “Yeah, they did. You’re actually pretty good at this, Amy.”
“I know. I think I might have to become a designer or something.”
I think Amy might be the most confident person I know. Well, at least in my age group. Lots of grownups appear to have confidence, although it might be just an act, it’s hard to know. But Amy is one of those girls who seems totally unflappable. I mean, she can get pretty mad and lose her temper and stuff. But it’s like no one ever really gets under her skin. Even when other kids (like Jordan’s crowd, for instance) pick on her or make fun of her weird clothes or whatever, she just seems to handle it better than anyone I know. Oh, sure, she might use some foul language or hand gestures, but it’s like she just doesn’t let it get to her. I find that impressive.
It’s not that I’m ready to become best friends with Amy. For one thing, I doubt that she’d even be interested in someone like me. And, besides that, I don’t really want to get involved in her particular kind of lifestyle. But at the same time, I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. Now it looks like I will.
seventeen
MOM AND BREE ARE LOOKING AT ME LIKE I’VE LOST MY MIND WHEN AMY and I walk into the apartment with our Salvation Army bags. They haven’t met Amy before, and I suppose she’s not exactly the kind of friend they’re used to seeing with me.
“What’s up?” asks Mom. I can tell by the sound of her voice that she’s trying to act like, “Hey, I’m cool. I can handle this.” Parents can be so clueless sometimes.
So I quickly introduce Amy to my tiny family and start to head for my room.
“We’re doing a makeover on Kara,” Amy explains to them, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, which reveals the dragon tattoo she sports on her wrist. I can tell she’s oblivious to their amusement at her slightly unconventional appearance.
“That’s, uh, nice,” says my mom, but I can tell by her tone that she’s not entirely convinced. In fact, I’m sure she’s feeling pretty worried right now. But that’s okay.
“This way,” I say as I lead Amy to my room. I can hear Bree suppressing giggles as I close the door behind us.
“Do you really know what you’re doing?” I ask her as I set my bag on the bed. I’ve already made it perfectly clear that we are not going to cut or dye my hair. It’s one of the few things about myself that I still actually like.
“Just chill,” she tells me for the umpteenth time. Then she begins pulling stuff from the bags.
Meanwhile, I sit down on my bed and just watch her. Her jet-black hair, her strange layers of dark clothing, her tattoos and numerous piercings are starting to make me feel nervous. I am such a fool for getting myself into this. What was I thinking?
“This is so cool,” she says as she holds up a dress straight out of the sixties. “I can’t believe no one snatched up this little gem already.”
“I can.” I frown at the minidress in her hands. The fabric looks like an unfortunate explosion of black and orange daisies.
“But it looked so good on you at the store,” says Amy. “Of course, it’ll look better when we get you finished.”
Soon she has me dressed in the minidress, black fishnets, and these knee-high black boots that are made out of some kind of shiny plastic material that I’m sure won’t be able to breathe. Not that breathing is a prerequisite here.
“Now for your hair and makeup.” She points to the chair at my desk. “Sit down.”
I know by the look in her eyes that there’s no use in arguing with her now, so, feeling like I’ll soon be the “fashion don’t” example in Mademoiselle, I obediently sit down and stare at my legs. The black strings from the fishnet stockings are beginning to imprint neat little Xs across my knees. It’s actually sort of interesting looking.
“Hold your head up,” she tells me as she brushes then back-combs and styles my hair. I can’t imagine what it’s going to look like. But finally she seems to be done.
Then she clips some big black hoop earrings onto my ears and slips several large chunky bracelets on my wrist. I think they’re all made of plastic. Plastic must’ve been big in the sixties.
“You can’t look yet,” she warns me. “We’ve got to do your makeup.”
I look at Amy’s dramatic eye makeup and think maybe this is where I should draw the line. “Oh, I don’t—”
“Hey, this is my makeover,” she tells me with narrowed eyes. “Don’t start freaking now.”
So I continue to submit, preparing myself for the worst. Finally, she steps back and I can tell she’s done. She’s glancing at her watch now and looking a little nervous. This is not reassuring.
“Okay, I guess you can look now.”
I stand up and slowly walk over to where the full-length mirror hangs on my closet door. Bracing myself, I look. And then I look again. Then I begin to laugh.
“What’s wrong?” she demands.
“Who is that?” I finally say.
“It’s psychedelic Kara.” Amy’s snickering now.
I study the whole outfit and am surprised that I don’t hate it. In fact, it’s kind of interesting in a weird, slightly theatrical way. “Tell me the truth, Amy, do you think I look ridiculous?”
“No way. I think you look hot. I’m actually kind of jealous that I didn’t keep that outfit for myself.”
I stare at the image in the mirror again. Part of my hair is piled high on my head and the rest is down my back. The makeup is more than I would normally wear, but it seems to go with the outfit, and I think I like the pale lipstick.
“So,” she looks impatient now. “What do you think?”
“It’s really different, but I actually kind of like it.”
“Kind of?” She looks mad now. “Listen, Kara, I think you look really hot. In fact, I’m getting worried that I spent so much time here that I might not have time to fix myself up. And now you’re saying that you only kind of like—”
“Okay,” I tell her. “I like it. I really do, Amy. You did a fantastic job. Thanks so much!” I look at the clock by my bed. “And I hope you still have enough time to get ready. Didn’t you say you guys were going late anyway?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” She studies me now. “So, really, do you like it?” I nod. “I never would’ve done something like this myself. But I really do like it. And the makeup is fun. It really looks like the sixties. I feel like I just stepped out of an old movie.”
She smiles. “Good. It was fun doing it.”
“You really could do this for a living,” I tell her as she gathers up her backpack and stuff. “I feel like I should pay you or something.”
“Nah. You and Edgar were just my guinea pigs. Someday I’ll get really good at this and then I’ll start charging.” She laughs. “And then you can say, ‘I knew her when . . .’”
I thank her again as we walk to the front door.
“Oh, my word!” Mom is staring from the kitchen now. The freezer is wide open and she’s got a bag of frozen corn dangling from one hand. But she looks totally shocked.
“What do you think?” asks Amy. She pauses by the front door and waits for my mom’s reaction.
My mom shoves the corn in the freezer then covers her mouth with her hand, but I can tell she’s smiling. “Oh, Kara, you look adorable.”
“Adorable?” I frown at the sound of that, but Amy just laughs.
“Okay, that’s the wrong word. You look very cool, Kara. Now, turn around so I can see you better.”
So I do a little spin. “Isn’t Amy talented?”
Mom nods. “She sure is. Good work, Amy.”
“Thanks, it was fun. But I gotta split.”
My mom is still staring at me after Amy leaves. Only now she has this kind of dreamy look. “Kara, did you know that I used to dress like that? Honestly, I had a dress almost exactly like that in junior high?
”
“Really? I actually thought it was kind of ugly at first. Like revenge of the daisies.”
“Well, that’s the sixties for you.” Mom takes a loaf of bread out of a grocery bag. “It was like a mix of ugly and cute. But I think you look cute. But what are you planning to do all dressed up like that?”
“I guess I’m going to the Harvest Dance.”
“You guess?”
“Well, this kid in art, Edgar Peebles, invited me to go with him. We’re just friends though, and he’s really sort of a geek. Although he’s looking a lot better since Amy gave him a—”
“Kara!” squeals Bree as she emerges from her room. “Look at you!”
I hold out my arms and attempt to walk like a runway model through the living room. “What do you think?” I ask as I tilt my chin up.
“I think you look totally cool. Can I borrow that outfit sometime?”
I shrug. “We’ll see.”
“Kara’s going to the Harvest Dance,” Mom announces as she returns to putting groceries away. I can tell that she’s happy I’m going out. I’m sure she’s probably been concerned about my mental health lately.
“We should take her picture before she leaves,” suggests Bree.
“Good idea.” Now Mom runs off in search of her camera and I am subjected to an impromptu photo session, but it’s not really so bad.
I start getting nervous as the time draws near for Edgar to pick me up. I don’t even know whether he drives or not. I think he’s a junior, but somehow he’s always seemed younger to me. I wonder if his parents will have to drive us tonight. I imagine this frumpy middle-aged couple driving up in a white Dodge minivan. It probably has all those religious sort of bumper stickers on it. The plan was to go out for dinner before the dance, because, according to Felicia, that is what people do. Still, I’m wishing I had only agreed to go to the dance. I imagine Edgar and me eating some really lame dinner, probably at Nate’s Chuck Wagon where you get your food cafeteria style. Meanwhile, his parents would be waiting for us out in the minivan. Maybe they’ll be reading their Bibles or listening to religious music. Or, here’s a scary thought, maybe they will join us for dinner. I can just see the four of us at the Chuck Wagon. Oh, crud, why did I ever agree to this in the first place?
Dark Blue: Color Me Lonely with Bonus Content Page 10