Jul 18 2009
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“Casey Parker, if you’re not out here and ready in 5 minutes I will drag you out kicking and screaming!” Heather calls to me while pounding her hand on the bathroom door.
“Not if I lock myself in here, you won’t,” I holler back, while quickly checking the locked door handle in front of me.
Catching a glance at myself in the mirror I try to figure out how I let myself get into this mess. Whatever possessed me to let her use this temporary blue hair dye on me? At least she didn’t cover my entire head in it, just a few highlighted streaks. It doesn’t really look horrible with my straight black hair and it’ll wash out easily enough, but it’s just so, not me-
“In case you forgot, the apartment’s in my name- don’t make me call Uncle Dean to bust you outta there. We’re just going to the Java Lounge Case. Come on, it’ll be fun!”
Two months ago this seemed like such a good idea. Starting at the Boston Police Academy was the perfect time to start fresh and try to make friends. It was so nice of Heather to offer to help me accomplish this, but but I should have known that she’d go overboard? What keeps possessing me to let her use me as her own life-size dress up doll? At least tonight’s just hanging out with some of her boyfriend’s friends and not another blind date, I hope-
“In case you failed to notice, it’s February out there! Do you want me to catch pneumonia?” I whine while following her into the living room, afraid to look down at the short jean skirt and dangerously high black heels she expects me to wear. “Why can’t I make friends wearing jeans and sensible shoes.”
“Sometimes you have to suffer for fashion, Case,” she replies very seriously while fastening her own leopard-print, peep-toe heels.
“Maybe you do, but not me,” I mutter before turning and bolting into my bedroom, leaving the black heels sitting where I stood a moment before.
Quickly locking the door, I turn and attempt to hop over my air mattress, not quite making it and falling very ungracefully onto my face – stupid skirt!
I quickly change into a comfortable pair of jeans and begin slipping on my favorite pair of black doc martins while I hear Heather fumbling with the door knob. The white knit top and little black vest isn’t bad, I’ll keep that on. At least she picked part of an outfit that I like this time, maybe she’s learning after all.
“You’d better not be doing what I think you’re doing!”
Plopping my dark gray fedora on my blue streaked hair, I open the door and grin at my furious best friend, “Ready when you are.”
Eying my modifications to her perfect outfit, she says through gritted teeth, “You’re so lucky we’re running late-”