It didn’t take long before I arrived at Amanda’s house. Her place was a simple, yet elegant white manor-style two story home, making America’s White House a mere shadow of the past. Unaffected by its grandeur by now, I parked my car in the driveway and began the walk up to her house, knocking once I reached the door.
“Hello, Isabella. It’s good to see you again,” their housekeeper answered. “Amanda’s up in her room waiting for you,” she said with a cheerful smile as she held the door open for me.
“Thanks, it’s good to see you, too,” I said, sending a small wave over my shoulder as I walked up the stairs.
Amanda’s room was located on the second floor and easy to spot out, with its distinct black door and poster reading, “Knock before entry . . . or else”. Obediently, I pounded my knuckles against the wood.
Amanda whipped it open, and pulled me inside. “Finally, you’re here.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” I chuckled, kicking the door behind me.
The phrase “come on over to the dark side” was more than just a phrase when it came to my best friend. Now, I wasn’t one for labels, but she was a contradiction to herself. Despite her bubbly personality (sometimes slightly temperamental), and upbeat happiness that always trailed behind her like a fog, she was constantly intact with her “wild side.” It amazed me that her personality still hadn’t changed over the years I’d known her.
She was still the same Amanda I knew six years ago . . . even the style of her room hadn’t changed. It consisted mostly of pictures of hard core punk bands and girls and guys wearing too much make-up with distraught looks on their faces. Yet, on the other hand, the furniture was dark wood and contemporary, clearly picked out by her parents.
“So . . . why are you here so late, anyways?” she asked with a cocked brow. “You’re usually here by three.”
“I’m hardly that late,” I deflected. I wasn’t exactly too keen on telling her about what had went down after school.
“It’s after three thirty.” She gave me a look as she sat down cross legged on her bed.
“Well,” I finally sighed. She was more than likely going to hear about it later anyway. “I had a little . . . run-in on my way here,” I said absently, as I thought about Thomas and his friends.
“Yeah? What happened?” she asked.
“Well, Thomas and his friends—”
“—Thomas, the fucking meathead? What did he do to you?” she asked, quickly.
“Um . . . ” I began to say, hesitating at her reaction.
“What did he do?” she demanded, balling her fists together.
“He kind of . . . well, he was being, Thomas . . .” I mumbled.
“Elaborate,” she said, pointedly.
“He caused a scene by intentionally tripping me, then he made me beg him for my glasses before he turned me into a laughing stalk,” I rushed out. Maybe if I said it quickly, she wouldn’t catch how embarrassed I felt telling her this.
“He did what?” she yelled, shooting up from her bed. “That prick!”
“Calm down, it’s fine. I’m used to it,” I said nonchalantly, attempting to bring her down a few notches.
“No, Izzy, I won’t! I hate seeing you like this,” she said, her eyes dimming.
“It doesn’t matter, it happens all the time.”
“You shouldn’t allow people to keep treating you like this, it needs to stop.” I watched as the wheels began turning in her head; she was definitely going into phase one of her plotting and scheming.
“I know just how to settle this.” She smirked. “We’ll prove how good looking you are at this party tonight.” The determination that sparked in her eyes scared me a little.
My eyes narrowed. “How?” I asked.
“I’m going to turn you into the hottest chick there,” she said simply, as if it would be easy . . . or even possible for that matter.
I scoffed and barked out a short laugh. “Yeah, that’s never going to happen.” I pointed at my body. “Do you see this? This . . . is not capable of being hot.” The idea was absurd.
“You’re joking right? It doesn’t matter what your body looks like, you’re still pretty.” She shrugged as if it was obvious.
“Yeah, sure,” I said to pacify her, not believing it for a second.
“Trust me. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be agreeing with me,” she sang as she giggled.
“Right, and Ryan Gosling is taking me to prom,” I said with a chuckle.
“Oh, I’m sorry . . . I thought we were stating the impossible?”
Amanda rolled her eyes as she took out her phone, quickly dialing a number. She placed it next to her ear and ignored my inquiries as someone picked up at the other end.
I listened as she barked orders to the other person on the line for a good few minutes. She soon was sitting it back down with a triumphant smile on her face.
“Well Izzy, they’re going to be here shortly.” She grinned smugly. “I can’t wait for tonight!”
“Great,” I said feigning my happiness.
This was going to be a long night . . .