A/N: okay so I did this instead of my homework, but it was worth it. Who cares about math anyway? ;) Comment and vote!

I moaned into my comforter and smashed my alarm clock down. Fourteen months and a stupid note. There was no way I getting up today. It had to be early also. The sun was too strong for that early. I would’ve never left that bed if John hadn’t crawled in through my window.

“What are you doing?” I exclaimed and moved to the farthest edge of my bed.

“It’s five in the afternoon. You weren’t at work; you weren’t answering your phone. My dad was worried, so was Chelsea, and so am I,” he narrowed his eyes suspicious.

“Chelsea,” I scoffed, “Is not worried about my feelings.”

“What are you talking about? She loves you,” he laid back on my bed next to me.

“You don’t do that to people you love,” I said too upset and exhausted to be bitter.

“Do what?” he asked and sat up next to me.

“Nothing. We can talk about it later if you want,” I offered, “But I’ve got to call Sam first and apologize.”

“I think he’ll be more happy to hear you’re alive than angry that you didn’t come into work.”

I sighed, “Either way I’ve got to call him.”

“I’ve got it,” he smiled, “Go shower or something.”

“Err, thanks?” I couldn’t believe he asked me to shower with him in the other room.

He hadn’t appeared to catch onto my hesitation when he flipped open his phone and said “you’re welcome,” to me.

I jumped into the shower without letting it heat. For some reason I was in a hush to get out. I washed myself quickly, I had been clean and polished from the spa to begin with. After rinsing off I scurried into my room wrapped tightly in a towel.

I had forgotten to grab my clothes and I wasn’t looking forward to John seeing me half naked. I stepped down into my bedroom and came to the realization John wasn’t in there. I shrugged it off and walked to my closet. I had been horrified to find out all of my clothes were dirty and the only things I had left were the packages Chelsea and I had bought yesterday.

I inhaled deeply and begun to dig my way through the piles of clothing to find something half way decent. The closes thing I could pull together was a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a low cut royal blue blouse. However it was the underwear that scared me the most. I had never worn a thing like that in my life. Black lace panties I could almost handle that, but a matching black lace push up bra that transformed my normal C-cup to a D was way out of my league. I inhaled again and forced myself into those clothes. I couldn’t bare to see this horror in the mirror. Instead I hauled myself into the kitchen.

There was no breakfast waiting for me on the island as usual that morning. However there was a John.

“Was there a plate of food there this morning?” I asked him.

“No,” he answered truthfully.

Could it have been possible Chelsea was mad at me, I thought.

“Oh well,” I shrugged, “I wouldn’t have eaten it anyway.”

“Lexi?” he asked wide eyed.

“Yeah?” I said genuinely curious why his eyes popped out of his head.

“You have cleavage,” he stated like it was a miracle.

I felt a deep blush rise in my chest, “I always had cleavage.” It was the only way I could think to respond. Wasn’t I a brainy act?

“No, what I meant was that your clothing choice today is a lot different,” he rearranged his words to make me more comfortable and I appreciated that.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. Chelsea made my buy clothes yesterday and today all my clothes were dirty, to my surprise,” I informed him and sat on a bar stool across the island from him.

“She made you buy clothes like that?” he asked curiously.

“Kind of,” I shrugged and wondered what John’s interest in my clothing was, “Most of its worse than this. Low and short or low and body hugging. All the sort of stuff that would give me butterflies if I had to go out in public in.”

“Can I see it?” he looked too hopeful for me to say no.

“Yeah,” I sighed and gestured with my hand for him to follow me upstairs.

“Wow,” he gulped searching through all the clothes. “This would be better suited for tonight instead of Chelsea’s dress.”

“Yeah, about that,” I sunk down onto my bed and watched in amusement as John dug through my new clothes like a little kid, “what is this prank exactly?”

“I told you just follow my lead,” he said as he examined a bra.

“Put that down,” I snapped than softened up, “I know I’m going to follow your lead, but what are we doing.”

He sighed and turned to me, “You aren’t going to let this go are you?”

“No,” I said stubbornly.

“Fine,” he thought about something and then added, “You wear anything I pick out and I’ll tell you.”

I nodded, “But no stripper clothes.”

“Of course not,” he scoffed in fake offense. “All you’ll really being doing is coming with me. Walk hand in hand, no big deal. It’s a harmless prank.”

“So I’m going to be your fake date?” I blushed a little at the thought, “Chelsea might be better for that.”

“You’re perfect for this,” he stated almost proud then added, “And stop underrating yourself. You and Chelsea are two totally different people, that’s true, but it’s not like you don’t demand the same amount of male attention she does. Except for when she's stripping, but that’s different,” he trailed off.

I decided not to speak about my low self-esteem with John so I changed the subject. “You left your box here.”

“I moved it to my car while you were changing,” he dismissed me.

“Oh,” I said lamely.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed eye balling a dress at my body.

“That’s not perfect,” I corrected, “I’m not sitting with you in that.”

“Would you prefer pants?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yes!” I yelled in relief.

“Too bad,” he stuck his tongue out at me.

“Don’t tease me like that,” I glared at him.

“Of course not,” he threw the dress in my face, “Go changed.”

“Fine,” I sighed, “Wait here.”

I trudged into the bathroom and switched outfits. This one was much more reveling to my disappointment. The dress was navy blue and body hugging. It wasn’t as if someone could see everything, but it still made me uncomfortable. It cut off just above the knee and the neckline was plummeting. However on the bright side it was short sleeved and possibly the softness article of clothing I’d ever worn.

I took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. “Is this good?”

“You look gorgeous,” he smiled, “Just do your make up and we’re good to go.”

“Make up?” I gulped.

“Tell me you know how to apply make up?” he sighed, “Lexi, you are so much work. Any other girl on the planet would know how to do this. Maybe we could call Chelsea.”

“Please don’t,” I whispered barely audible.

He gave me a quizzical look, but didn’t press the subject. Instead he suggested I call Trish. I happily agreed. About an hour later Trish finally made it with a case of make-up.

“I must be making history here,” she grinned as she mocked me, “Lexi Dales letting someone give her a makeover.”

“No makeover just makeup,” I corrected.

She rolled her eyes and began to work, “Your nails are painted, your clothes are hot, and soon you’ll be wearing makeup. That’s a makeover.”

“Keep the makeup light,” John interrupted, “I think she may have to wear pants too. I don’t want my friend to think she’s a whore.”

“Yes!” I exclaimed.

“Don’t move!” she warned.

“Sorry,” I smiled happily that I wouldn’t be stuck in a dress all night.

“No, I think the dress is fine,” John said.

“You better not be teasing me again,” I warned.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he mocked.

“John, stop talking to her,” Trish commanded and backed it up, “She always feels the need to reply with you.”

We sat in silence until Trisha finished up. It wasn’t all that bad. Sure I had eye shadow on and lip gloss too, but it could’ve been much worse. The massacre was a hassle to get on- I blinked every time Trish came near me with that stick of death- and the lip gloss took a full ten minutes to dry before she let me move my lips. At least my skin wasn’t caked with cover up and the make-up that was there was subtle, natural, and hardly noticeable.

“Nice, Trish,” Jack grinned at my face.

“Yeah, thanks,” I smiled wearily.

“No problem,” she grinned, “When are you two supposed to be going?”

“We’re going to dinner at eight, so we’ll be leaving at seven thirty.”

“Umm, guys,” she waved her watch in our faces, “It’s seven forty five.”

“Crap,” he exclaimed, “Lex, pull your hair down and throw on one of those shoes you bought yesterday.”

“Which ones?” I asked exasperated and in the mist of letting out my hair, “Chelsea made me buy ten different ones I’ll probably never wear.”

“Get over it and grab the black heels. You can put them on in the car,” He pulled me by the hand to the door.

“Trish, lock up? I’ll just pick the keys up next time I see you at work?” I threw her my spare key and she tossed me a small purse that definitely wasn’t mine. It was probably hers.

“See you,” she called as John shut the front door behind us.

He opened the car door for me and slammed it shut once I was in. I quickly found out not to get in a car with John when we were in a rush. He cut people off, forgot to use his blinker, and cussed at half the people on the road. Not to mention everyone was a dangerous driver when they tried to put on stiletto heels. Every time he turned I almost stabbed an eye out.

“We’re here,” John sung in a rush.

“Great,” I rolled my eyes.