Free Sophie's Smile: A Novel by Sheena Harper Page A

new outfit and perfectly manicured hands and feet.
    “Hello, hello, hello-o,” Tiff sang happily as she brushed past me, quickly unloading the bags onto the floor and rushing out to grab more. After three trips, each time returning with armloads of adult beverages, she shut the door behind her and leaned against it, closing her eyes with a victorious grin. I shut the vacuum off.
    “Happy Birthday, Tiff!”
    “Finally, I’m twenty-one! Yay! I can finally go out with everyone to bars and clubs and experience the joys of getting carded!”
    Her smile immediately turned downward into a hard-pressed line. “Humph. I didn’t even get carded when I bought all of these.”
    Tiff pointed to all the booze as she lifted the glass bottles out of the many rumpled brown paper bags and began positioning each one carefully on the countertop. There was so much booze: Jack, Jose, Absolut, Grey Goose, Smirnoff, Captain; cases of beer (Blue Moon, Coors, and Heineken); and, of course, you couldn’t forget the mixers.
    “Can you help me with the rest?”
    “There’s more?”
    “Just bags of ice for the ice chest.”
    Relieved, “Sure.”
    Outside, the bags of ice were cast aside onto the baking cement, ice melting prematurely. I shook my head in disbelief. This was so like Tiff. Common sense would have been to bring the ice bags in first, but no, Tiff went straight for the booze.
    As we lugged in what remained of the ice, Tiff casually asked, “What are you gonna wear tonight?”
    I shrugged. “Not sure.”
    Tiff was eying me now. I could see the excitement building. She loved makeover shows and she loved making me over, especially.
    Shuddering, I flashed back to last summer when she got the urge to make me over. I ended up looking like a mix between one of Gwen Stefani’s Harajuku girls and Jane in Mr. and Mrs. Smith . It took three shampoo and conditioner washings to get the kinks out of my damaged hair, and four towels doused with make-up remover to get all the gunk off my face.
    Quickly, I added, “I’m sure I’ll find something to wear.”
    “I could help.”
    “No. I should be fine.” Tiff’s bubbly anticipation was crushed, so I added, “If I have any trouble, I’ll definitely ask you.”
    She seemed satisfied with this.
    Tiff helped me finish cleaning the kitchen and living room—she straightened the pillows, decorated, and arranged the utensils while I scrubbed, washed, and vacuumed. Music from her birthday playlist, graciously supplied by Ethan, was blasting from the entertainment center: songs from The Pussycat Dolls, The Black Eyed Peas, Gwen Stefani, Sean Paul, and Rihanna. After two grueling hours, the dishes were dried and put away, the carpet was devoid of lint and hair, the tile floor was scrubbed clean, and the counters and table tops were wiped down.
    Washing off the sweat and grime I accumulated during the past few hours was a pleasant respite to what lay ahead. Wrapped in a towel, I trudged toward my closet, hair dripping onto the clean beige carpet. I had no idea what I was going to wear, and after reviewing my meager wardrobe, I found my choices to be limiting. After much debate, I decided to go with my spaghetti strap black camisole top and white linen pants.
    Next was the hair and makeup. Opting for a simple up-do, I twisted my hair into a loose bun. I nodded to myself in the mirror, That should tame my frizzy hair and help with the impending heat of the suffocating clubs .
    Usually, my face is kept clean with a single layer of mineral makeup, a brush of mascara, and clear lip gloss, but today I dusted on a few more layers, played up my eyes with a few additional coats of black mascara and liner, added a rosy blush to the temples of my cheeks, and finished with a shiny layer of Siren red lip gloss.
    After I applied the finishing touches, silver bangles and black strappy heels, I was ready. With a love for fashion I knew how to put a nice outfit together—a gift from my mom—and I felt pleased