What the Spell Part 1 (5 page)

And gasped.

There, staring back at me, was a glamazon. I took a hesitant step forward, half expecting the figure not to move along with me. But she did, and the closer I got, the more I could see myself staring back. New hair color, eye color, and body aside, there was enough of the old me shining through that I wasn’t a totally new person. The shape of my eyes was still the same, as was my face, though the clear skin and golden hue made me glow like I never had before. I was digging the blond locks, and pushed out my hip to test my new sass-factor.

It was me, but it wasn’t me. I was new and improved. Buffed and done up. It was like I’d airbrushed a bad picture of me. Only, I got to be like this all the time!

I turned around in circles, admiring my new self until I got dizzy and then collapsed on the floor. What would the reaction be like at school? Things had to be different now, right?
I
was different. I caught another glance at myself and winked.

Nope, being invisible was no longer an option.

When I opened my eyes the next morning, I lay in bed thinking about what I’d done to myself the night before. Part of me wondered whether it had all been a dream, and my heart began to sink at the thought. I’d been so blown away by the transformation that had taken place that I couldn’t bear to think it wouldn’t be there again this morning.

Mustering up all my courage, I launched myself out of bed and walked over to the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my door.

Oh. My. God.

What I saw reflected back at me was even better than I’d remembered. Logically, I knew that I’d been asleep for hours, probably tossing and turning in bed, but you couldn’t tell by the way I looked. My hair, though tousled, looked shiny and beautiful, just like a shampoo commercial. And the volume I seemed to have naturally was the bedhead look that people spent hours trying to achieve. My new clear skin was dewy
and fresh, and upon closer inspection, I doubted I’d need much makeup today at all.

No need to cover up perfection.

I spent about ten minutes poking and prodding myself, barely able to believe it was all me. And it didn’t matter which angle I studied myself, because I loved every bit of my new look.

I spent so much time looking in the mirror, in fact, that I ended up having to rush my morning routine in order to not be late. The time it took me to get ready was cut down considerably, though, now that I had a lot less to worry about. There were no zits to cover, no need for product to tame my wild hair. My eyes popped no matter what I wore, and my clothes just fit better. I looked hot.

I’d been in bed by the time my parents had come home from a dinner they’d been roped into with our neighbors, so I’d managed to avoid the backlash of my makeover. And this morning, I timed my departure perfectly so I could sneak out of the house unseen. It’s not that I thought they’d be mad, really, but I knew they’d have questions for me. And the truth was, I still wasn’t quite sure what I was going to tell them. Besides, I sort of wanted to see if my makeover was going to have any impact on my social life before I decided whether the confrontation was worth it or not.

Dressed in a skirt that showed off my killer legs—which had always been nice, but until now I hadn’t been confident enough to show off—and a sequined tank, I gave myself one final glance in the mirror before heading off to school.

I was so busy thinking about how people were going to react that before I knew it, I was ambling up the steps. With butterflies swarming around inside my stomach, I took ahold of the front doors and pulled them open, feeling like I was about to make my grand entrance.

As I walked inside, I began to worry that no matter what I did, my social standing at school was set in stone. I watched as kids scrambled down the hall, either trying to find their friends or hustling to their lockers before classes started. The smile I’d plastered on my face for the moment that people saw the changes in me slowly began to sag into a frown.

There was no reaction at all.

A guy brushed past me then, knocking me out of his way as he went, and mumbled an unconvincing “sorry.” But then something happened. He lifted his eyes long enough to look at me—and continued to stare as he walked away. His mouth fell slightly open, and he completely abandoned the conversation he’d been having with his buddies. This caused them all to turn and look my way, which created a similar reaction.

My smile shot back onto my face as I collected myself and began to try my best to strut down the hallway. As my heels clicked against the floor, I started to get into a rhythm and noticed excitedly that my new curves were lending to a slightly more seductive walk. Not knowing if it was working or not, I dared to place one hand on my hip, à la Ms. Tyra Banks, and walked straight ahead.

People began to whisper, quietly at first, and then I could hear bits and pieces of conversations going on all around me.

“Who’s that?”

“I bet she’s new.”

“Uh, this is a hallway, not a runway.”

Even the negative comments couldn’t wipe the grin off my face as I soaked up the attention I’d always dreamed about getting.

“Damn, girl. Looking good!” This came from Brad Pinkerton, the same guy who’d bodychecked me just a couple of days ago. I rolled my eyes. He wouldn’t apologize then, but he was hitting on me now? Yeah, right.

As one of my teachers walked by, I gave her a little wave. “Hi, Mrs. Garrett,” I said.

“Hello, Ms. . . .” she began, but then stopped. She squinted at me as if she was having trouble seeing me.

She didn’t recognize me.

“It’s me, Brooklyn,” I said, smiling.

“Brooklyn! Well, well, look at you,” she stammered, before hurrying off to class, confused.

I shrugged and then continued on to my locker. By this time I had the attention of everyone within eyeshot and was uber-aware that my every move was being watched and analyzed. Praying that I wouldn’t trip in my heels and remind them all who I really was, I took my time getting in my locker and collecting my books. I tried desperately to act like I didn’t notice everyone staring and continued on my way to my first class.

I didn’t even realize I’d been holding in my breath until I sat down in first-period history and let it out slowly.

Well, that went well.

Better than expected, actually. And all the attention, albeit exciting, was a little bit odd, too. I was still the same person I was before—only blonder, with better skin and a butt that belonged in a music video.

I was still me.

I was so totally lost in thought that I didn’t even notice when Eliza and Wheatley walked in and took their regular seats just a few away from me. When I finally looked up from my desk, I saw them both staring in my direction. It wasn’t the same way that the others had been looking at me; this was more like curiosity than awe or heated interest.

I turned to make sure they weren’t looking at anyone behind me, but saw that I was the only one in their line of sight. As I turned back around, I knocked my pile of books off my desk
and they landed with a clatter on the floor. My face growing hot, I scrambled to retrieve them as subtly as I could.

Oh, why couldn’t there be an anti-clumsiness spell?

When I finally got everything back on my desk, I snuck a glance at Eliza and Wheatley, who had gone back to focusing on their own stuff. Still, I noted, a glance from The Elite was better than what I’d gotten before, which was a big, fat nothing. And they
had
been looking at me, so the makeover couldn’t have been a total flop.

As others filtered into the room, I got more surprised looks. And when the noise in the class began to rise, I couldn’t help but think everyone was talking about me. Whether it was good or bad, I couldn’t tell, but one look around and I knew it was true.

Finally, the teacher showed up and quieted everyone down, although that didn’t stop people from staring. I tried my best to act like everything was business as usual, but it was hard to do, considering the fact that I’d never had this much attention focused on me in my entire life. Even forcing myself to concentrate on the lecture we were being given on the Roman Empire wasn’t working. After a few minutes, I gave up and picked at my nails instead.

My next few classes were just as hopelessly distracting, and I began to develop a new appreciation for celebrities and what they had to go through every time they went out in public. Being stared at was hard to ignore. It sort of made you feel like a monkey in a zoo. Only, I’d put myself in this cage, hadn’t I?

By the time the bell rang for lunch, all I could think about was escaping. Instead of sauntering down the hallway and letting my hips sway back and forth like earlier, I found myself power walking beyond the cafeteria, to Ms. Zia’s office. I skipped the Monkey Business and headed straight for her door.
Only, when I was about halfway there, my path was blocked.

I stopped short to keep from running straight into them, letting out a little gasp as I did so. There, having appeared just like a mirage, were the last five people I would’ve ever expected to see in front of me: Gigi, Camden, Wheatley, Rhodes, and Eliza.

The Elite.

I mumbled, “Excuse me,” and tried to make my way around them, but as I moved, they moved too, putting us once again face-to-face.

“Hi,” Gigi said with the slightest hint of a smile.

I was so caught off guard by the fact that she was speaking to me that I couldn’t think of anything to say. Nothing that would be worthy of a conversation with someone like her, at least.

“I’m Gigi,” she added, filling the silence. “And you are?”

I knew this one. “Brooklyn,” I said quickly. “My name’s Brooklyn.”

“What an interesting name,” she said. Then, as if it was an afterthought, she added, “I visited New York once with my dad and we went to this cute coffee shop in Brooklyn. They had these amazing little cappuccinos. . . . Have you ever been there?”

“No.”

Gigi looked at me like she was expecting more to the story, so I obliged. “My parents don’t really like to travel. They have this weird thing about needing to know where the closest hospitals are and stuff.”

She just nodded. Her expression hadn’t changed, so I couldn’t tell if I’d given her the response she’d wanted or had utterly failed whatever test she was giving me.

“So, Brooklyn,” she said, staring at me intently, “where have you been hiding?”

“Uh . . .”

“Are you new or something?” Eliza cut in perkily.

Her question surprised me. Considering the fact that I’d been sitting just rows behind her in first period for the past few months and had been at the same school as all of them for the past three years, I thought maybe she was kidding. But one look at her face and I knew she wasn’t. Was it really possible that she didn’t recognize me? That none of them did? Talk about self-absorbed.

“Not new, really,” I answered slowly. I didn’t want to make them feel stupid for not recognizing me, so I chose my words carefully. “But I
did
sort of just go through some . . . changes.” I absently reached up to touch my long, blond locks.

Eliza squinted at me and then took a step back. Looking me up and down, she studied me critically. “Who’s your surgeon?”

“Huh?” I asked, totally confused.

“Who did your work? I had my nose done last year and my guy did an okay job, I guess—I told him I wanted Dakota Fanning’s nose, but he gave me Kristen Stewart’s—anyway, I’m thinking of getting it redone, because nobody takes Kristen Stewart seriously nowadays, and possibly even my boobs. Are yours real? Anyway, I just wanted to know who your doctor is because he obviously did a good job. I don’t even
recognize
you.”

When Eliza finally stopped to take a breath, everyone stared at me, waiting for a response. Only, what was I supposed to say? I had magical plastic surgery? Nope. Not an option.

“Um, thanks?” I responded, my head still spinning from the bizarro turn the conversation had taken. “But I didn’t have any of that done. My boobs are the same ones I’ve had since I was thirteen. I guess it’s just a really great bra?”

Eliza opened her mouth and then closed it again as she processed what I’d told her.

“Please forgive Eliza,” Gigi said, reaching out and touching my arm. Inside, my head was screaming,
Gigi is touching me! Gigi is touching me!
but I just smiled at her. “A casting agent just told her that she looked too ethnic to play the girl next door. She’s sort of obsessed right now.”