There's a picture of Carlie on the side!

Delaney

"I am going to make you look beautiful," Lizzy declared, giving me a thoughtful glance. "Not that you aren't already, of course, but, you know, a little mascara never hurt anyone!"

I groaned. Every second was making me regret this decision more and more. After all; how terrible could my parents' plan be? Surely not as torturous as having makeup forced onto my face.

"Hold on, lemme get a different color." As Liz dug through her makeup bag, I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to imagine what I'd look like once she was done. At the moment, my chestnut brown hair hung limply, just a little bit past my shoulders; I could make it pretty if I tried, but I never really had the drive to do so.

"Do you think this color eyeshadow will match your eyes?" Lizzy asked. I looked at the pink compact in her hand and shrugged indifferently.

"My eyes are the color of dirt," I muttered. "Anything should suffice." Rolling her eye, Lizzy went back to digging in her seemingly bottomless bag.

"And some blush," she was saying, "to make you less pale."

"I'm not that pale," I grumbled, glancing at Lizzy's own snow-white skin.

Lizzy had me take off my glasses, then narrowed her eyes at me, biting her lip and twirling a mascara brush between her fingers.

"Close," she commanded. With a sigh, I did as she said. The brush tickled my eyelashes, and I had to restrain myself from swatting it away.

"I'm trusting you with artificial products on my face," I warned, "if you screw up or poison me, you're dead."

"Don't open your eyes yet," was all she said. And for the next ten minutes, Lizzy put who-knows-what-kind of crap on my face, until I swear I could feel every little grain of makeup.

"Hey, Liz, how about you stop now?"

"Fine. Open." It took a moment to open my eyes, what with the mascara sealing my eyelids shut, but when I finally did, I could hardly recognize the—rather blurry—face in the mirror. My eyelashes were up to my eyebrows, like how Carlie Heights' seemed to be on a daily basis, any blemishes were caked with foundation, and my cheeks was slightly flushed with blush. Whatever eyeshadow Liz had chosen actually looked good, the light rosy pink color that almost matching my fair skin tone.

But no matter how impressed I was with the outcome, my face still felt like it had been coated with mud.

"Lizzy, I feel gross," I whined, reaching for my glasses. She slapped my hand before I could.

"No! You can't wear those, your eyelashes will brush against them. Uh...here!" She shoved a package of contacts into my hands; I could just barely read "Color Enhancers" written across the front.

"This is my spare set, I haven't opened them." When I hesitated, she shook my shoulder. "Just wear them, Delaney." I sighed. I knew that Lizzy had eye problems, and that she wore contacts instead of glasses, but I also knew that her eyes were nowhere near as bad as mine.

Which was probably why, when I put them on, my vision was spotted with blurs.

"I can't see," I informed my best friend, "and this is giving me a headache."

"But you look gorgeous!" she squealed. I looked in the mirror again, which was attached to her fancy white vanity. And I had to admit, makeup didn't make me look too bad.

But it was still gross.

○●○●○●○

"Honey, if you bothered to brush your hair on a daily basis, it would make this much easier for me." Lizzy was yanking a brush through my dark hair, which always seemed to find a way to get itself tangled.

"I do brush it," I retorted, wincing as she pulled through a particularly tight knot. "I just don't usually feel the need to look exceptionally wonderful."

My best friend sighed and shook her head, finally finishing with the brush and massaging mousse into my scalp. "What do you want me to do with it?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Whatever."

Lizzy flashed an excited smile. "Just what I was hoping to hear."

Eleven minutes and fifty bobby-pins later, she was done. I had to go up close to the mirror to see it, but she had done some intricate braided thing across my head and had managed to make my hair, which usually had a bit of a wave, completely straight.

"Damn, Liz," I said, in awe. "You're good."

She grinned, already starting on her own hair and makeup. "I know."

"And so modest!"

With her free arm, Lizzy elbowed me. "Whatever, Del! Go pick something out of my closet. You definitely cannot wear that to like, one of the biggest parties of the year."

I really didn't understand what was wrong with my jeans and gray t-shirt, but I shuffled through Liz's bright pink room to her walk-in closet on the other side without argument. If it's possible to be swallowed up by clothes, that is what happened to me at that moment. I'd been in Lizzy's closet thousands of times—whenever she got a new outfit (which was a lot)—so I knew what it was like. But every time, I seemed to find myself speechless at the sheer number of clothes in there.

Lizzy's parents weren't rich, but they had enough money to buy their kids most of the things they wanted. Which is why my best friend's closet was not much different from a department store in the mall.

Overwhelmed, I decided to start in the reds. Liz had everything color-coded, from red to purple, all the way down the spectrum with every shade accounted for. I pulled out a loose crimson top that was actually really pretty, only to remember that Lizzy was several inches taller than me, and thus a size larger.

Oh, the joys of being short.

I rubbed my eyes, the fuzzy splotches in the contacts making my brain hurt. I was down to the greens, but was really only giving a halfhearted attempt at searching for an outfit. Generally, I was a jeans and sweatshirt kinda girl, unless my mom forced some frilly, girly thing on me and told me she'd take away my computer if I didn't wear it.

"Find anything?" Even though I was only halfway through the closet, Lizzy, standing in the doorway, seemed really far away.

"I'm too vertically challenged to fit any of this, hon," I told her.

"You're just so skinny." Lizzy shook her head as she walked past me. With an air of expertise, she reached into the section reserved for black clothing and pulled out a skirt. Or at least, I think it was a skirt.

"Here, wear this." I gaped.

"Um, just wondering: what is it?"

"A skirt," Lizzy replied absently. "I outgrew it a while ago, but I just couldn't bear to part with it." She stroked the fabric lovingly.

"Honey, that is not a skirt. That is a bandeau for your butt." I took the hanger from her and stared in disbelief at the black piece of cloth that couldn't have been more than five inches long. "And there is no way on Earth that I'm ever gonna be caught dead wearing it." Shuddering, I threw it back to her.

Lizzy sighed. "Fine then, jeans. You can't go wrong with jeans."

"I'm already wearing jeans," I reminded her.

"But not the right kind of jeans."

Unfortunately, none of Lizzy's "right" jeans fit me. In the end, she ended up chucking an pair of shorts and a tank top at my face.

"We don't have enough time," she said, "so just wear these." I examined the outfit while she hurriedly picked her own.

The shorts were dark jean cut-offs, the kind whose pockets always hang out the bottom. And they were sparkly. Like, really sparkly. They'd beat out a vampire in a sparkling contest any day. The tank-top was simple, tight and deep purple with a scoop neck and thick straps. I waltzed back into Lizzy's room to change; she came out a minute later, dressed in a gray pencil skirt and dark blue camisole.

"You look great!" she squealed, looking at the time. Her eyes widened. "Crap, we've gotta go!" She grabbed my arm and pulled me out the door. I barely had time to snag my phone and glasses on the way out.

○●○●○●○

One of the upsides of living in a city like Seattle is that you can find transportation to anywhere, at any time. Lizzy and I took one of the many cabs roaming the evening streets and gave the driver directions to the Jackson residence.

I heard the music from the front gate, and it got louder and louder as we approached the house until I couldn't hear myself think. Stevie's house was huge. In fact, it couldn't even be considered a house; it was a freakin' mansion.

There was no one out front on the perfectly groomed lawn, but as soon as we approached the steps leading to the doorway, I could see a mass of bodies moving inside. There was a Swiper at the foot of the porch, and Liz and I both swiped our student cards. It was a small white machine, about four feet tall and shaped like a parking meter, with a card reader and digital key pad on its head. I'd never used a Swiper before, but I knew that they were used to track party-goers, so that points for attending social event could be added to their Rank. A person could swipe once per event, and every swipe added a fraction of a point.

After going through the Swiper, Lizzy led me up the white steps. I leaned against the decorated railings and gripped onto the strap of my purse, suddenly feeling nauseous.

What am I doing here? I wondered nervously. I was a Loser, and these people were Popular. Losers and Populars do not mix.

Lizzy ended up having to drag me in, causing me to stumble over the doorstep and slam into some random guy.

"Sorry about that," I muttered, feeling my face turn red. He grunted noncommittally and kept walking.

"Oh my god, Delaney, isn't this amazing?" Lizzy was staring in awe at the huge room, which really was awe-inspiring, even when viewed through blurred vision. A giant chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a spiral staircase snaked up the center of the space. There were couches on one side, all of them filled with people, while the other half of the room had been converted into a dance floor, with a huge stereo and everything. All around there were people dancing, eating, or talking by the white walls.

"Yeah," I breathed. "Amazing." My stomach was twisted into a knot.

"Hey, Lizzy, good to see you!" I turned to see my best friend embracing a tall blonde boy. When he pulled back, I realized that it was none other than Stevie Jackson. "And who's your friend?"

"Oh, this is Delaney," Lizzy said happily.

"Delaney...don't think I know you," Stevie said, a frown forming on his handsome face. "But whatever, nice to meet you!"

"You too," I said quietly, reaching out my hand to shake his. Much to my surprise, he leaned forward and gave me a quick hug.

My first, idiotic, girly, Loser-like thought was, Oh. My. God. Stevie Jackson just gave me a hug. I quickly snapped out of it, though, when he waved and moved to greet some other latecomers.

"Come on!" Lizzy pulled me through the crowd, shouting over the music, whose volume was quickly escalating. As we edged our way around people I lost grip on her hand and tripped over the edge of a rug, running right into someone. Someone with long, blonde hair.

"Ew, what the hell are you doing here? Get away from me, Loser," Carlie said loudly, causing people to look over. I squinted to see better. She was hanging on the arm of her boyfriend, Caleb Payne, the most Popular guy in school. Caleb frowned and gave her a look.

"Babe, be nice," he warned. He only spared me a passing glance, like he didn't even recognize me. He probably didn't; the only reason Carlie even knew my face was because she was in three of my classes.

"But Caleb, she's a—"

"Stop it, Carlie," Caleb said seriously. I took advantage of the distraction and hightailed it out of there, looking for Lizzy's head—she had covered her hair in glittery spray—in the mass of people. My impaired vision didn't make it very easy. I couldn't find her, but a large group was forming, so I went to see what that was all about.

I stuck close to the wall, wanting to watch whatever was going on without drawing attention to myself. Unfortunately, due to my curse of shortness, I couldn't see over anyone's heads. So, utilizing the one positive aspect of being little, I squeezed between people to get to the front. At five feet tall, I doubted that I'd be in their way.

Right in the middle of the circle of people were two girls, probably my age. Their faces were blurry, but one was a tall redhead, and the other a short girl with dark brown hair. They were both dancing, doing perfectly synchronized choreography in time with the music. Everyone was cheering as they did crazy flips and jumps, bending their bodies in ways that I didn't think was physically possible.

I got caught up in the excitement and actually found myself laughing and clapping with the crowd, reassured by the fact that practically no one here knew who I was, and since I was wearing so much makeup, anyone who did wouldn't recognize me.

Just then, a cold hand touched my shoulder. I jumped and whirled around to see Lizzy right in my face. Her heavy eyeliner was smearing a bit on one side. I was just about to tell her when she held up a plastic cup filled with ice and some kind of unidentifiable pinkish liquid.

"What is that?" I shouted. She shrugged, letting me take a sip. Immediately, by head began to buzz with energy, a strange but not entirely unpleasant experience.

"Dunno! It's good, though! Want me to get you one?"

I nodded automatically; I really didn't care whether she did or not, but the effect of the drink was kind of cool. As long as I didn't know what it was—I was kind of afraid of the answer—I was fine.

Lizzy gave me a thumbs up and was immediately swallowed by the sea of bodies. I realized that, while I was talking to Liz, I had been pushed to the edges of the group surrounding the two dancers. As I turned to push my way back in, I caught sight of my reflection in an ornamental mirror on the wall about three feet away.

With my straight and styled hair, thick makeup, and bold outfit, I hardly looked like myself. At first, I didn't even recognize my own face. For a long moment, I couldn't look away. I looked completely different. Actually, no, I didn't just look different.

I looked Popular.

~~~~~~

A/N: Don't worry, this teenfic-like thing doesn't last for very long. We'll get into the real plot very soon :).