“Who are you trying to be? Colton Donovan?” Colton Donovan is one of the most famous race car drivers out there. Not to mention he’s fine as sin. I can only hope to get as lucky as his wife Rylee.
“Only if it gets me closer to his fine ass son, Zander.” Zander, his son, is a race car driver too.
The drive to the rich side of town takes fifteen minutes. We pull into a gated community of large two to three story homes, reminding me of the huge gap between my family and the Peterson’s tax brackets.
She punches in the code for her home’s personal gate, allowing it to open and reveal her long stone tiled driveway and four car garage. Amethyst’s house is a stunning seven bedrooms and ten bathrooms mini mansion that always makes me feel like I’m gracing royalty when I step into the foyer. A huge balcony hangs over the double glass front doors with a wall of greenery on the left side, making the house look like it was left behind in a zombie apocalypse. Large trees hide this house in its own personal forest, shielding it from neighbors and any onlookers who might be taking a tour of the city. Huge rose bushes and windows decorate the entire exterior of the house, adding to the forest feel.
Ame parks in her spot in the garage, in between her dad’s two-door Porsche and Connor’s green Lamborghini truck.
“Dinner doesn’t start for another two hours, so I figured we should do something we both love to pass the time.” She says as she hops out. I follow behind her, walking towards the garage door.
“And what’s that? Take a nap?”
“No, silly. We should give each other a make-over!” I groan loudly, wishing I would’ve just stayed my ass at home.
“I thought you weren’t trying to impress this guy. Isn’t that what I’m here for?”
“This isn’t for him, it’s for us! C’mon, it’ll be fun showing the guy everything he can’t get.”
“And remind me why I’m included in this make-over?” I’m instantly hit with a blast of cold air as we walk into her mudroom. They always blast the air conditioning in here as if they’re living on the sun and can’t survive the heat.
“Because I haven’t done your make-up in foreveeerrr.” She drags out forever in a low voice almost as if she’s growling.
“That’s because I don’t like make-up. It doesn’t do well with my skin.” This was a lie. I didn’t wear make-up because it reminded me too much of the life I wanted to forget.
“I got these new trial products from Fenty Beauty that I think you’ll love.”
We walk straight past the kitchen where multiple cooks are in there prepping the dinner for tonight. I can’t remember a time when I’ve seen Mrs. Peterson working the stove, or even heating up the Keurig machine. Heading up her huge marble staircase just beyond the kitchen, I peek into Amy’s dad’s open office door and notice that it’s empty. Come to think of it, there’s no sign of Connor anywhere either because I don’t hear his obnoxious music blasting from his room upstairs. I didn’t even see Mrs. Peterson smoking a cigarette through the windows showing the view of the garden outback.
“So, can I?” Amy asks me as she pauses on the stairs. I almost bump into her but stop myself just in time.
“Yea, yea,” I brush off her question, “Where is everybody?”
“Oh. My mom went to go ‘get herself together’ because my dad said whoever was coming tonight was hella important. My dad went to go handle some last-minute business and Connor is probably somewhere brooding.”
We finally make it to her room, which is of course, pink all over. The walls, the window curtains, the bed sheets, and her comforter are all the same shade of pastel pink. It reminds me of the character Lottie fromThe Princess and the Frogmovie’s room. She leads me over to the huge vanity that sits adjacent to her king-sized bed.
“Sit.” She orders me, and I raise an eyebrow crossing my arms. She rolls her eyes, pulling out the cushioned chair from beneath the vanity. “Please?”
I reluctantly take a seat, already dreading the exaggerated look she’ll give me for this dinner.
~~~
I’m squirming in the chair, my ass feeling the effects of sitting down too long, wondering why it’s taking Ame years to just throw some make-up on my face.
“Hold still,” she says from where she leans down in front of me. I can’t see because my eyes are closed, but I can feel her excited breath and the feel of the liquid eyeliner being applied to know that she’s almost done. “Wow.”
“Wow good, or wow bad?” I ask, trying hard not to bite my lip.
“When it comes to you Dem, wow isneverbad.”
“Can I look now?” I don’t have to open my eyes to know she’s nodding. I know Amy more than anyone else in the world.
When I open, I intake a sharp breath, barely recognizing the girl looking back at me. My blemishes and splotchy skin from the sun are replaced with a flawless air-brushed look. My cheeks are accentuated, glowing from whatever highlighter Amethyst used. My lips are a glossed dark brown color, emphasizing their fullness and oval shape. My eyeshadow is smudged and smokey looking, outlined with double winged style eyeliner, making my dark brown eyes pop.
“Wow.” I say, mimicking Amy just as there’s a knock on her door.
We whip our heads to see Mr. Peterson in the open doorway, hands tucked neatly in the pockets of his black jeans. A blinding white t-shirt hugs his muscled torso, showing off the bulge of his biceps and indention of his abs.