Free Chameleon by Kenya Wright

from the top lips as she smiled. “Thank you so much. You have no idea—”
    I held my hand up to stop her from saying anything else. “No worries. You can crash here if you need somewhere to sleep during the day, tomorrow.”
    “What?” Sasha placed her hand on her chest. “Are you serious?”
    “You better be joking.” Rich muted the TV. “You don’t even know her. Plus, she has fangs.”
    “My blood is nasty to vamps and besides she carried Wiz across town and kept him safe.” I pulled off the cooler’s lid and stood up. “I’m taking a shower and going to bed. Are you two crashing here , tonight?”
    Rich untied his boots , pulled out a rubber band, and placed his long braids into a ponytail. “Of course, someone will have to stop Wiz from killing Sonya.”
    “My name is Sasha.” She took off her shoe s and sank her fangs into the Ziploc bag full of dark red liquid. Slurping ensued, I flinched at the noise.
    “So gross,” Fin blurted out. “Now you’re hanging with vamps, Cameo? Gross.”
    “Yes it is.” Rich nodded his head.
    “Both of you be nice to Sasha and shut up.” I yawned and stretched my arms while Sasha ignored them both and drink her blood.
    Rich slung off his boots, exposed holey socks, and propped his big legs on Fin. “Rub my toes. They ache.”
    “Just because you outrank me doesn’t mean I have to massage your feet.” Fin shoved his legs away.
    “Actually it does.” Rich placed them back.
    “I swear I’m going to slice you from ear to ear soon as you go to sleep.” Fin groaned and crossed her arms around her chest.
    “Both of you please stop fighting.” I yawned again and stumbled into my bedroom. Exhaustion covered me like a blanket. My eyes burned and drooped a little. I switched on my bedroom light. Wiz’s head lay on my pillow. The worm lines disappeared for now, but I knew they would continue to return until he woke up. His chest rose and fell. Other than that he didn’t stir—no finger movement or wiggling toes.
    Not a good sign at all.
    Sasha wrapped him in my black and white polka dot comforter. She’d placed his sneakers on top of the nightstand next to the bed, which held my most prized comics. Faded green wallpaper coated my bedroom walls. Dark green carpet covered my floor. Black sticky stains scattered across it in some areas. My battered dresser stood next to the bathroom entrance.
    On the other side of my dresser was a large wooden board littered with cut out faces and body parts from magazines. I’d been trying to create the perfect female image through studying glamour articles and fashion journals. It wasn’t too difficult. Every time I spotted a pattern of a pretty face or body, I cut them out, taped them on my board, and wrote a few notes. Magazines tended to use the same types of models with similar looks and body frames. I’d learned that deep-set eyes seemed to be a favorite where the eyes were wide and deep within the socket and the eyelids featured a row of thick eyelashes. An upturned nose with a gentle curve beat all other kinds of noses. Full lips and high cheekbones won. And my poster went on and on with more of my research—body measurements of popular actresses, eye colors that appeared more often than others, average heights, and weights.
    I’ll have to add that chick’s hair type from the job earlier. She had perfect hair, nothing like my white bushel.
    Fin and Rich never asked me about my chart. Rich just stared at the images of breasts and behinds. Fin drew mustaches above the lips of enchanting faces when I wasn’t looking. Wiz hated the board and considered it a waste of my time. Of course he would. He already possessed the perfect image. Beautiful people never wondered how to define beauty. Instead they pondered other things in their wonderful little frames. Good looks gave more to people than they deserved. It made them rich, accepted, loved, appreciated, and rewarded not for doing kindness, but for being an eye-pleasing