6:59

by Nonye Acholonu

  “Anjolie,” Petra said, leaning over the counter and giving me more of an eyeful. “I asked you questions. Don’t you wanna answer ’em?”

  I groaned. “I can’t answer your questions when your boobs are hanging out of your shirt, Petra. Cover up!” I pushed her away.

  Petra frowned at me and tried, unsuccessfully, to shield herself. “Yeesh, someone’s in a bad mood. What for?”

  “Yeah, what for?” Peter chimed in.

  I decided that they weren’t going to leave unless I answered them. Dreading it, I said, “My ride can’t take me to school anymore.” I slathered mayonnaise on the many open slices of bread spread out on the counter.

  Petra pursed her red-lipsticked lips together, thinking. When she finished, she snapped her fingers together. “That hot boy with the blue eyes!” she said. “He’s your ride, right?”

  I nodded, glad they remembered him so I wouldn’t have to spend ages trying to describe him.

  “Maybe it’s because you wouldn’t screw him,” Petra offered. “That’s why most guys bail. Believe me, I know.” She shook her head as if remembering her bad accounts with guys. “Just give him what he wants then.”

  “It’s not like that, Petra,” I said, wondering when Petra had turned into such a naughty little child. I shuddered. “He’s going to drive his girlfriend to school now.”

  “Is his girlfriend hotter than you?” Peter asked curiously.

  “No!” I blurted out. But then I bit my lip. Was Olive hotter than me? I mean she did have the whole exotic, Latina thing going for her. But I was angelic-looking and stuff. Did that mean she was—? What was I thinking? That isn’t the point.

  “She’s hotter than you, isn’t she?” Peter said, snatching up another sandwich after I finished making it. He bit into it hungrily.

  “Shut your mouth, Peter!” Petra said, smacking him over the head. Peter groaned, rubbing the back of his head. Petra gazed back at me. “What you have going for you is boring sweaters and jeans and that frizzy hair of yours.”

  I clutched my hair defensively. “It’s not frizzy. It’s curly,” I said sharply. “And it’s the middle of October — I’m allowed to wear sweaters, Petra.”

  Petra rolled her eyes. “Yeah, and it’s also Los Angeles. You have to look hot no matter what.” She pushed away from the counter and helped me finish making all of the sandwiches. “I suggest you try something new for a change. And that doesn’t mean just adding colors to your wardrobe.”

  I was starting to tire of this whole “try something new” thing. First it was the colors, now it’s my whole wardrobe? What else? Would I have to shave off my hair now?

  Petra and I finished making the sandwiches and gobbled up a few. I left the rest stacked up on the counter for when the little ones woke up in their ravenous state.

  “So will you let me fix you up tomorrow morning, sister?” Petra asked, lacing her small fingers through mine as we walked upstairs. She looked up at me hopefully with her heavily-lined eyes. “I promise no red lipstick or fake eyelashes.”

  I stared down at her, wincing at her whole look. “I’ll let you as long as you stop dressing like a clown.”

  Petra gasped, covering her mouth in shock. “Ouch,” she said, running her fingers through her black bob. But she recovered quickly. “I’ll do it.”

  “Then we’re in agreement,” I said.

  ****

  “Why does it have to be this straight?” I asked Petra the next morning as I combed through my new bone straight hairdo.

  “Do you want it to look like a lion’s mane when straight?” Petra asked, pulling on jeans. “Or do you wanna look hot?” She shrugged on a gentle pink sweater.

  I stared at myself in the mirror for a little longer before finally nodding. This morning, Petra had turned into my personal beautifier. She’d pulled out all of my “hot” outfits — skirts, leggings, tank tops — and coupled them with some of my more modest articles —.T-shirts, sweaters, jeans. Then she’d washed my hair for me — despite my protests — and straightened the entire thing. She’d even given me side-swept bangs. I completely refused all of her makeup choices until she’d given up and just applied mascara to my eyelashes. When I saw how boring I looked, she’d finished off the look with eye shadow and foundation.

  When we finished, she tried turning me around like they did in all those movies, but I just shooed her away and looked at myself in the mirror. Wearing something Hudson would wear, I liked what I saw.

  Petra, on the other hand, hated her new look. “I look like a grandma!” she cried, shielding her nude face. She’d worn the outfit of my choice — dark jeans and a purple V-neck sweater — and only applied mascara to her big eyes. I personally thought she looked great, and her age. “If I didn’t love you, Anj, I would hate you. Let’s go.” She grabbed my hand and led me out the door.

  Chapter Fifty Two

  Cameron

  The whole next week was now a routine for me. I would wake up, actually spend some time at breakfast with the lovebirds, watch some TV, and then leave with Olive once she came over. We would then go to school together, spend our free time in the hallways linked together, hang out whenever we’d see each other in the hallways, then we’d go home together. The two of us would hang out at my place or her place (after I made up with Abby) and then I’d spend my last hour doing my unfinished homework. Then we’d do the same thing the next day.

  Everything was perfect and routine for the whole week, with no distractions or fights. It was all peachy. Only two things threw monkey wrenches into our happiness.

  One being Anjolie and her new look. The first time I saw her walk down the hallways in her high heels and new outfit, I couldn’t stop my jaw from hitting the floor. I mean, Anjolie is a very pretty person — one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen. But when she walked through those doors, I knew that even Hugh Hefner hasn’t seen better looking. Her white-blond hair was bone straight, blown out long and thick. She’d worn a skirt and a clingy top that accentuated her curves. Her heels were higher than any I’ve ever seen and her legs went on for miles. Staring at her, I felt as if I were an extra in those movies, watching as the Plain Jane walked in slow motion down the hallway, donning her sexy new look. And when she passed me, her cinnamon smell engulfed me.

  I nearly fainted.

  It had taken me all week to get over her new look. Every day she would come in wearing new clothes and that amazing perfume. Whenever she’d talk to me, I couldn’t even formulate words. Olive had to be the one to compliment her.

  “Cute new look, Anjolie!” Olive had said, looking her up and down. “Where was this bombshell hiding all these years? My goodness.” She twirled Anjolie around allowing herself — and me — to take in her new look. “Is this a product of Midnight Models?” she asked.

  Anjolie just shook her head. “No, it’s my little sister. She’s into fashion and stuff.” She smiled shyly.

  Olive gave her the thumbs up. “Well, awesome. Who wouldn’t want to go to Homecoming with you?”

  And that was true. Anjolie ended up getting so many offers to go to the dance, even I was getting sick of it. What? So she decides to wear form-fitting clothing. Big deal.

  But it was. It was a huge deal.

  Anyway, enough about Anjolie’s new look. The second thing that threw me off was when Olive decided she wanted to go to the dance.

  “But I thought you hated dances,” I said as I drove her home on Friday. “I thought you hated dancing.” Her declaration to go to the dance was huge news! Since when did Olive want to attend a high school dance?

  Olive sighed and stretched her arms. “I did hate dances,” she said. “Mostly because I couldn’t dance and because I didn’t have a date.”

  I glanced at her. “But you don’t know how to dance and you don’t have a date.” I desperately hoped that the next words coming out of her mouth had nothing to do with Cam. But, knowing Olive, they definitely did.

  “Cam has been teaching me how to dance a
ll week,” she said, combing her fingers through her thick, dark hair. “He says I’m dancing like a pro these days.”

  I cleared my throat, avoiding getting angry at her. That was one thing I hated the most — when guys blew up on girls. I understood arguments and disagreements, but I despised it when guys freaked out on girls. It just wasn’t right. So I behaved myself. I decided to take a few deep breaths before asking, “All week?”

  Olive nodded nonchalantly. “Yeah. I told him about the dance and he wanted to make sure his date felt comfortable on the dance floor.”

  More deep breaths. “His date?” I asked, my voice cracking.

  She nodded again as if this wasn’t tearing me up inside. “Yes! Just think, this will be our first dance — and as a couple! And, as a bonus, Cam actually knows how to dance so you’ll look good out there.”

  I slammed a little too heavily on the brakes when we reached a red light. “Wait, so what you’re saying is Cam is going to go to Homecoming as me?” My mind was spinning so fast; I felt as if I were on a hijacked merry-go-round. This is not how I pictured my first dance to be. Not at all.

  Olive was laughing. “This so reminds me of those "twins" movies when they’d switch places! This is classic!” She wiped her eyes.

  I forced a smile. “So he’s going to the dance?” I asked again.

  “Yup,” she said. “He already picked out his suit. I’m wearing a royal blue dress and he’s wearing a black suit with a royal blue tie. He bought everything himself.”

  “How?” I asked, fuming from this conversation.

  “His new job at your dad’s agency pays a lot. That’s how he could afford it.”

  “When can he work? Doesn’t he have to do missions?”

  “He doesn’t do them anymore. He says they put you in danger. Isn’t that nice?” She flashed a bright, carefree smile at me, unaware of the anger boiling inside me. She had this whole thing planned out then, huh? And she decided to tell me all of this the day before the dance. I wanted to scream.

  “What are you getting all mad for?” Olive asked, finally noticing the fire blowing out of my ears. “You really weren’t going to find a way to go to the dance?” She looked shocked.

  I shook my head. “I just wasn’t going to go.”

  “But you’re on the court! How would that look if you were a no-show? You should be happy Cam is doing this for you. It will be the first time he’s been in a school.”

  She was right. I should be happy that I would be able to show myself — even if it wasn’t really me. That way, people wouldn’t think I was rude for not representing those that voted for me. I had to go to the dance.

  But that meant that Cam would be in control of my actions that night. Whoever he talked to, whoever he danced with, whoever he made contact with would think he was really me. I had to pray that he wouldn’t mess things up.

  And as for him going with my girlfriend, well, I guess that made sense. Olive and I were a couple — everyone knew that now. If Olive didn’t show up, then it would look like I hadn’t asked her. If Olive or Cam showed up with another date, it would look like we broke up. If I didn’t show up and she did, I’d look like an idiot who didn’t appreciate his girlfriend or his school. No matter what, I had to be seen with Olive on my arm at that dance. And Cam would have to do that for me.

  So as much as I completely disapproved, I had to swallow my jealousy and play along. “So Cam knows how to dance?” I asked.

  Chapter Fifty Three

  Cam

  I finished knotting the royal blue tie around my neck, smiling at myself in the mirror. “Well, hello, Mr. Hot-Stuff,” I greeted my image, flexing my biceps.

  “You look legit, my man,” Armando commented, opening up the contact lens box he brought me. Dressed in a neatly tailored suit, his hair slicked back behind his ears, he looked like a million bucks. He handed me the light blue contact lenses. “Pop these in and you’re good to go.”

  I took the box and stared at the contact lenses, knowing that if it were a few weeks ago, I would have ditched the lenses and rocked my own gray eyes.

  But this was Cameron’s body — and he didn’t have gray eyes.

  I plucked up each one, sighing as I inserted the contacts. Once they were in, I stared again at myself, realizing that the contacts weren’t the only thing different about me this evening. Without the gel, my hair was limp, falling over my forehead in wisps of whitish, blondish strands — the color change would just have to work. I also skipped my nightly tan; Cameron never fake-baked. Now, finally spritzing on some of his cologne — not the expensive one I usually wear — I was Cameron Sloane, ready for his first dance.

  Armando’s hands came down hard on my shoulders, interrupting my mental dialogue. “I think you’re ready,” he said and gave me a bright smile.

  I returned his smile. “More than ready, dude,” I responded.

  We headed down the stairs, joining Cameron’s dad and Mila at the bottom of the staircase. They oohed and aahed at us like most parents do. But unlike most parents, they had professional photographers snapping away at us, the flashy lights consuming the entire room.

  “You guys look awesome,” Cameron’s dad praised, patting the both of us on the back. “Hottest guys in L.A., I tell you that.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he took in our fancy attire. I felt sort of uncomfortable in this suit. Usually, when I’m clad in a suit, it’s for the missions, not school dances.

  I smiled in response to Mr. Sloane’s praises, unable to say anything else because, right at the moment, Hudson appeared at the top of the staircase. We stared in awe as she descended the stairs.

  She was dressed in a purple evening gown that was sprinkled with zillions of jewels and diamonds. Her hair was heavily teased and fell down her back in luscious curls. She almost looked like a purple Cinderella, if you asked me.

  She smiled for the cameras and joined Armando, who was waiting on the bottom of the steps with his mouth gaping in astonishment. “Oh, stop gawking at me like that,” she said, thwapping Armando’s shoulder and smiling playfully.

  Armando just shook his head in amazement. “It’s Homecoming, Hudson,” he said, ruffling the fabric of her dress, “not prom.” He rolled his eyes at the word.

  Hudson shrugging was her response to his eye-roll. “Hey, it’s Los Angeles. People do it big here,” she explained, twisting a finger through her ringlets. “To us, Homecoming is like prom and prom is like a wedding and a wedding is like a—”

  “Please don’t remind me,” Armando said, interrupting her words with a kiss. “We’ll cross that super-expensive bridge when we get there.” Hudson giggled.

  Suddenly, the smell of cinnamon encased my nostrils. Turning my head to the right, I saw that Anjolie had already descended the stairs, standing next to me in her ruby-red dress. I didn’t even notice her entrance; she was that quiet.

  “You look lovely, Anjolie,” Mila was saying, even though all of our attention was still on Hudson’s dress. I immediately felt bad. While everyone was listening to Armando and Hudson’s conversation, no one stopped to gaze at Anjolie’s appearance.

  “Lookin’ hot, Anj,” I offered, squeezing her shoulder. Hudson and Armando joined in the praise, but Anjolie just gave us half-hearted smiles, apparently still hurt from our lack of attention.

  I was about to praise her some more, but was struck silent as I saw Olive begin to make her way down the stairs. She looked absolutely stunning in her silk, royal blue dress and diamond jewelry. The dress clung to her curves, stopping mid-thigh, showing off her shiny, brown legs. She topped her outfit off with crystalline stilettos. Her hair fell down her back in voluminous curls, framing her beautiful face.

  It wasn’t long before I couldn’t help my jaw from dropping to the floor. “Holy moly” was my only response to her when she joined me at the bottom of the staircase.

  She giggled and took my hand in hers, planting a kiss on my stunned lips. “You look like a deer caught in headlights,” she said, batt
ing her super long eyelashes at me. When I didn’t respond, she just shook her head and grabbed my hand, leading me over to the photo shoot area.

  ****

  After pictures, we hopped into the limo, deciding that it was about time we headed out. In the car, I noticed the video camera in Anjolie’s hand. “What’s with the camcorder?” I asked, rubbing my hand up and down Olive’s leg.

  Anjolie shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. “I’m taping the dance for Cameron,” she said, and began playing with the buttons on the camera.

  I nodded, realizing that Cameron would most likely want to see this dance. I wanted to smack my forehead, angry at myself for not thinking of that idea first. Here I was, attending his dance with not a care in the world, while Cameron’s stuck, sleeping in my head, unable to do a thing about it. I sighed, making a promise to myself that I would make it up to Cameron one day. If I could help it, he’d attend a dance if it’s the last thing he does.

  I watched as Anjolie opened up the camcorder and began filming us in the limo. “Everyone, say hi to Cameron!” she said, smiling as she panned the camera around the car.

  “Hiiiiii!” everyone responded, waving into the camera.

  “Sorry you couldn’t be here, Cameron!” Armando called into the camera.

  “Yeah, we wish you could be here with us,” Hudson said, pouting her full lips.

  “You’re totally missing out,” Olive said. “But Cam’s here, so he’ll keep us company.” She cuddled up into me, her eyes still on the camera.

  “Yeah, man, but don’t worry, I got this,” I said into the camera, giving him a thumbs-up. “I’ll get you that crown.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  Anjolie then spun the camera over to herself and smiled into it. “We’re thinking about you Cameron,” she said gently, and then closed the camera.