Free After by Kristin Harmel Page B

Jennica’s that made me look much curvier than I really was.
    “Voilà!” she exclaimed, stepping back to admire her admittedly impressive handiwork. I just stared at myself in the mirror.
    “How’d you do that?” I asked in astonishment.
    “I’m not done yet,” Jennica said. It took her ten more minutes to apply bronzer, blush, lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara to my usually bare face. I looked in the mirror with trepidation, expecting to see something horrific (or at least something like her over-blushed mom). Instead, I looked … good.
    “Hellooooo, hot mama!” Jennica said, grinning at me in the mirror.
    I giggled. “This is … different. You’re like a miracle worker!”
    Jennica shrugged. “Nah,” she said. “I didn’t do anything. I just played up what you’ve already got!”
    I stared at the mirror and shook my head in amazement. She was right; I did look like me. Just a prettier version.
    •  •  •

    Ten minutes later, Jennica had changed too—into jeans, heels, and a sparkly purple tank (the difference being that she actually had real curves to fill it out)—and I had persuaded her that I needed a cardigan so I wouldn’t freeze to death. Grudgingly, she had handed one over. I intended to bring my Star Beck hoodie, too, because I figured it would be cold enough outside that I’d want to layer up.
    We walked downstairs and found Jennica’s scantily clad mom removing a pizza from the oven while Jennica’s little sister, Anne, sat at the table, drinking a glass of milk.
    “Just in time for dinner, girls!” Mrs. Arroyo exclaimed. Jennica started to protest, but her mom turned firm. “Jennica! I can’t send you and Lacey out of here with empty stomachs, now can I?” Without waiting for an answer, she added, “Wash some salad mix and get the dressing out, will you? Lacey, what would you like to drink?”
    I sat next to Anne and flashed her a smile. She looked up from her glass, and I tried not to giggle when I noticed her milk mustache.
    “Hey, you,” I said. “How’s it going?”
    “Fine,” she answered gruffly. “What’s up with you?” Anne was twelve and right in the middle of that tough phase when you know you’re grown up, but the rest of the world still treats you like a kid. I knew she was trying to sound as adult as possible. I played along.
    “Not much,” I said with a shrug.
    “Got a boyfriend?” she asked, turning her gaze back to her milk.
    I looked at her, surprised. “Um, no,” I said. “Do you?”
    She glanced at Jennica, who was pouring salad into a bowl. Then she returned her attention to me. “Yeah,” she said casually, “I got a few options.”
    I looked over at Jennica in time to see her roll her eyes. It had always bugged her that Anne seemed to copy every move she made. Her younger sister had insisted she was “playing the field” when Jennica was single, but now that Jennica had Brian, Anne was always saying cryptic things about how she had lots of boyfriend options.
    “Having a boyfriend isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, kiddo,” Jennica muttered. I turned and glanced at her, wondering what that was all about.
    We scarfed down our pizza and salad in the same kind of silence that pervaded my house. This surprised me. I’d just assumed that Jennica’s family was just as it had always been.
    Apparently, I was wrong.
    After Jennica and I had put our plates in the sink and wrapped the remaining slices of pizza in foil, Mrs. Arroyo stood up to give Jennica a hug and to pinch me on the cheek, which used to annoy me when I was a kid but which I now thought was kind of cute.
    “Have a good time at the party, baby,” she said to Jennica.
    Jennica nodded. “We will.”
    “Don’t drink too much,” her mother said, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. “And call me if you can’t drive.”
    I looked at Jennica in astonishment. But she merely nodded again, mumbled a goodbye, and grabbed my hand to drag me out the door.
    “Bye!” Anne