Dating Games #1 Page 4

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  Emma knew that she and Devon made a strange pair. Where Devon was flashy, Emma was frowzy. Where Devon had curves, Emma had bumps. But their moms had been best friends since their college days, and Emma and Devon had been friends since diapers. Somehow, despite their being in different schools the past few years, the friendship had stuck. But sometimes, like today, the oddity of their friendship caught Emma off guard.

  “Maybe you should just give up on me,” Emma told Devon as they sat together in Emma’s room. Devon had been trying to talk Emma into changing her appearance—again. Like it was even possible. Devon’s last-ditch effort, it seemed, was forcing Emma to stare at herself in the mirror. That wasn’t helping. If anything, it only made Emma feel worse. “It’s hopeless,” she declared.

  “It’s not hopeless. I refuse to give up on my best friend,” Devon said stubbornly. “Let’s focus on your strengths.”

  Emma obediently remained in front of the full-length mirror, the mirror she normally avoided. How was she supposed to do an inventory of her dowdy appearance when all she could see was stringy dishwater-blonde hair that needed a wash, pale skin with a couple of random zits that never seemed to go away, faded blue eyes, a nondescript mouth, and a straight nose which was probably her best facial feature? “Not much to work with from the shoulders up.” Her eyes moved reluctantly down. Although her faded sweatshirt concealed her lack of curves, she knew that her body had even less potential. “Really, Devon, I should just drop out of the DG,” she said dismally.

  “Why?”

  “Because having me in it is going to mess it up for the rest of you.”

  “How’s that?” Devon gathered Emma’s hair, holding it up loosely as if she were trying to imagine it shorter. Like that would help. It had taken Emma two years to get her hair this long—barely past her shoulders. Her hair, similar to the fingernails she chewed, did not grow fast. But not because she chewed on it—thank goodness!

  “You know,” Emma continued, “because of the no girl left behind thing. Having me in the DG will ruin it for everyone else. Eventually you’ll all hate me for slowing you down. So why don’t I just quit now, before it’s too late?” She pulled her hair out of Devon’s hand, letting it fall loosely on her shoulders. She felt like crying but didn’t want to look like a big baby.

  “No way.” Devon stood next to Emma now, frowning at the mirror with a finger on her chin like she was thinking hard. “You’re one of the main reasons I wanted to create the DG in the first place.”

  Emma turned to peer at Devon. “Why?”

  Devon smiled. “Because you’re such a great person, Em. You are the sweetest person I know. But most people can’t tell that by looking at you. It’s not like you put any energy into your looks.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “The point is, you’re sending a message.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you don’t have much self-worth.”

  “Maybe I don’t base my self-worth on my looks,” Emma said. “I know I’m smart, and I have a few talents. I’m a good artist. I’m just not a beauty queen. I never will be. Besides that, it’s not healthy to obsess over your appearance.”

  “I know that. But completely neglecting yourself isn’t healthy either.” Devon sighed. “I know there are guys out there who would really like you—if they could get to know you. Seriously, Em, lots of guys would totally get you and appreciate you. But you’ll never give them the chance, will you?”

  “What difference does it make?” Emma felt her resolve to remain strong weakening.

  “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

  Emma shrugged. “Why bother? I mean, God made me the way I am. I can’t complain about that, can I? What really matters is what’s on the inside, right?”

  Devon turned Emma around to face the mirror again. “Be honest, Em. You don’t like your looks, do you?”

  Emma still wanted to make a point. “Beauty is only skin deep,” she told Devon. “God wants us to love and accept ourselves as we are.”

  Devon rolled her eyes like she wasn’t buying this.

  “Okay, I know you’re not really a Christian anymore.” Emma was speaking carefully now. “I mean, you’ve made that clear. But I thought you used to be a Christian . . . back when you and your parents went to church.”

  “I only went to church because Dad made us. But after he left Mom, we quit going altogether. And to be honest, I don’t miss it at all. I’m not saying you’re a hypocrite, Em. But my dad is. A lot of other people are too. I just don’t need that kind of falseness in my life.”

  Emma pressed her lips together. She already knew this. She and Devon had had this conversation numerous times over the past year—and it disturbed Emma and made her question their friendship. In fact, lately Emma was starting to think the only thing they really had in common was that both of them had been pretty much abandoned by their dads. Well, abandoned was probably too strong . . . but it felt like that sometimes.

  “I’m sorry.” Devon sighed. “I didn’t mean to go into that again. I know you don’t like it when I get on my anti-Christian soapbox.”

  “It’s okay. Just so you know, though, I’m still praying for you. So I guess that makes us even.”

  Devon laughed. “Now back to the problem at hand. You never answered my question.”

  “What question?”

  “Do you like your looks? And don’t start preaching about how this is the way God made you because I’m not buying it. I mean, just because I’m not calling myself a Christian or going to church doesn’t mean I quit believing in God altogether. And sure, God made us a certain way, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t expect us to better ourselves. Like my mom wasn’t born with glasses, but she can’t see without them.”

  “That’s different.”

  “I don’t know.” Devon frowned. “What about my cousin Bernice? She was born with a cleft palate. That was how God made her, right? But her parents didn’t just let her stay like that. They paid thousands of dollars to get her mouth fixed. Do you think that was wrong?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “So why can’t we do a few little things to improve your appearance?”

  Emma pressed her lips together.

  “Why not?” Devon pressed. “Give me one good reason.”

  “Because it’s useless.” Emma walked away from the mirror, flopping onto her bed with a discouraged groan. “Remember, you tried it once. It didn’t work. I ended up looking like a total freak.”

  Devon started laughing. “Oh, Em, you can’t hold that against me. I was only thirteen and I’d just gotten that makeup kit for Christmas. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “Yeah, and you painted me up and let me go to youth group looking like a hooker clown, and everyone made fun of me. I thought I’d never live that one down. You want to do it again?”

  “That was a long time ago and you know it. You’re just using it as an excuse. And it’s a totally lame one.”

  Emma sat up and looked at Devon. The truth was, Devon had come a long way since then. She seemed to have figured out how to make the most of her own appearance. Of course, she had something to work with. Her hair color alone was stunning. In fact, Emma remembered a time when it had been more brown than red. “Do you do something to make your hair that color?” she asked Devon.

  Devon reached up and patted her hair. “This marvelous auburn shade?” She giggled. “You don’t think it’s natural?”

  “Well, it didn’t used to have that much red in it. But it does look natural. Did it just change as you got older?” Emma frowned. “Mine did. It used to be more blonde, remember?”

  “I do remember.” Devon made a devilish grin as she checked out her own image in the mirror. “As a matter of fact, I do help my hair color out—just a little bit. My aunt introduced me to a hair product that’s easy to use. Just a rinse that’s also a conditioner. I put it on about every three to four weeks. Don’t you think
it looks nice?”

  Emma nodded. “And natural. I can’t believe I just figured out that it wasn’t real.” Suddenly she thought perhaps she was foolish not to trust Devon.

  “So are you ready to put yourself in my hands?” Devon asked.

  “I guess so. As long as you promise not to completely humiliate me again. And you need to understand that I don’t have a lot of money to spend on this,” Emma admitted. “I can’t ask Mom. She’s barely making it as it is.”

  “I already told you, it doesn’t have to take much money. My aunt still does hair sometimes. Since her license is expired she can’t even accept pay for it. She just does it for the fun of it sometimes. As long as you can cover the cost of the hair products, which shouldn’t be too expensive, I’m sure we can come up with something cool for you.”

  “Do you honestly think she can help me?” Emma ran her fingers through her fine hair.

  “I’m sure of it.” Devon’s brown eyes glimmered as she held up her cell phone. “Want me to call her right now?”

  Emma let out a groan. Why was she letting Devon bully her into this? And yet . . . why not? “Sure,” she said without enthusiasm. “Knock yourself out.”

  Emma stared at the light on her ceiling as Devon talked to her aunt. Hopefully her aunt would be too busy. She had several small kids. How could she possibly have time to do something like—

  “She said to come over around 1:00,” Devon announced triumphantly.

  “Seriously?” Emma sat up.

  Devon nodded. “I promised to watch her kids for her while she works on your hair. She said we need to go to this hair supply place that her friend runs. She’s going to call and tell her friend what we need to pick up.”

  “How does she know what I want?”

  “I already told her.”

  “I heard you, Devon.” Emma frowned. “You didn’t say one word about my hair or what I—”

  “I told her before.” Devon was pressing numbers on her phone again. “Remember when I tried to get you to do this before school started?”

  “Oh . . . yeah.”

  Devon talked to her mom on the phone, asking if she could use the car to go to her aunt Amy’s house for the afternoon. Finally she closed her phone and grabbed Emma by the hand, pulling her up. “Get your purse,” she told her. “Amy said the stuff we need to get should be about twenty dollars, and that’s a bargain.”

  Emma started to question this, but Devon was already out in the family room, telling Emma’s mom about the makeover plan. “Don’t you agree that Em really needs it?” Devon said to her in a conspiratorial tone. “I’ve been trying to get her to do this for ages.”

  Emma’s mom smiled like she was amused. But then she always seemed to be amused by Devon’s antics. “I already think Emma’s a pretty girl, but I can’t wait to see the results,” she told them both.

  “Can Em spend the night at my house?” Devon asked. “Please?”

  Before Emma could protest—not that she particularly wanted to, except that she didn’t like Devon bossing her around so much—Mom agreed. “But don’t forget we’re going to Grandma and Grandpa’s for dinner tomorrow after church.”

  “Great.” Devon turned back to Emma. “That way we can finish your makeover at my house.”

  “Just don’t be late for church in the morning,” Mom warned. “Are you coming too, Devon?”

  Devon made a plastic smile. “I don’t know for sure, but I promise to think about it.”

  “Good.” Mom nodded, oblivious to Devon’s insincerity. “How’s your mom doing?”

  “Okay. She’s still getting used to her new job.”

  “Well, tell her hi for me—and that we need to get together soon. Maybe we can do lunch next week.”

  “Sure,” Devon said. “I’ll let her know.”

  Emma grabbed a few things and they were on their way. As they walked, she wondered how many times she’d made this short trek back and forth to Devon’s house. She could probably find her way there blindfolded. Go four blocks down Simpson, turn right, cross the street, three more blocks, and there you are. The Fremonts’ two-story brick house used to be in better shape, back before Devon’s dad lost all interest in being a family man. The white trim paint was starting to peel. Lately Emma had also noticed that their yard, which used to be one of the nicest in the neighborhood, had started looking a little raggedy and sad.

  But things at Emma’s house had become run-down too. That was what happened when parents split. Her mom was so busy trying to keep everything together that it was only natural that some chores went undone. Grandpa used to do repairs before he started having health problems last year. Emma’s brother, Edward, used to do yard work, but then he got a summer job, and now he was off at college. Emma did what she could to help occasionally, but most of the time it seemed like a losing battle. Why bother?

  As the friends walked in the autumn sunshine, Devon chattered cheerfully about Emma’s makeover. She was so enthused that Emma wasn’t sure whether to be offended or worried. But Devon seemed to have it all mapped out—from head to toe. She’d obviously been planning this ambush for ages.

  “After Amy finishes with your hair, we’ll go back to my house and we’ll both try out this new facial recipe that I found online. It’s all natural. You mix yogurt and honey and oatmeal and just slather it on. Then we’ll do manicures, and I’ll work on your eyebrows, and by tomorrow you’ll be a totally new woman.”

  Emma laughed nervously. “Yeah . . . right.” But as they went into Devon’s house, Emma decided that this attention was kind of nice. Hopefully Devon wouldn’t be too disappointed when it was all said and done. Because Emma knew better than to expect much. Life had taught her that long ago.

  “One of the only perks from my parents’ divorce is the way Mom lets me use the car so much,” Devon told Emma as she drove them over to her aunt’s house. “Before the split, I didn’t think I’d ever get to drive. But now it’s like my mom doesn’t really care.”

  “She cares,” Emma assured her. “It’s just that she’s pretty laid-back.” Emma tried not to feel jealous that Mrs. Banks rarely said no to Devon.

  “I guess. Although I thought the divorce might’ve changed that—especially when she decided I had to switch schools. But last night I heard her on the phone fighting with Dad over money, and it made me think she moved me to Northwood just so she could stick it to him with my tuition.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’re there,” Emma told her. “You’re lucky your mom’s so easygoing. My parents’ split turned my mom into a paranoid freak.”

  “She just loves you,” Devon said.

  Emma wasn’t so sure. Sometimes it felt more like fear than love, and it had gotten even worse after Edward left for college. Mom was so overprotective that Emma sometimes felt like she was suffocating. And although Emma liked going to church, it was like her mom had become an addict. Whenever the doors were open, Emma’s mom was there. Fortunately, she didn’t insist that Emma do the same. As long as Emma made it to a Sunday service and an occasional youth group meeting, Mom was pacified. But if she had any idea of what Devon was really like (slightly boy crazy) or what kind of “influence” she brought (including this new Dating Games club) she wouldn’t be nearly so supportive of their friendship. Not that Emma planned to tell her.

  “I wish your mom could convince my mom to lighten up,” Emma said wistfully as Devon parked in front of her aunt’s house.

  “Lighten up how?” Devon grabbed the mysterious bag that they’d picked up at the beauty supply store a few minutes ago.

  “Like with dating. I can’t even imagine what Mom would say if she knew I was planning to start dating.” Emma rolled her eyes. “Like that’s even going to happen. I mean, Isaac McKinley doesn’t know I exist.”

  “It is going to happen,” Devon said confidently. “You’ll see.”

  “Even if Isaac was interested, I’d still have my mom to deal with.”

  “I’ll talk to my mom,” Devon p
romised as she rang the doorbell. “She’ll get your mom to see that she needs to let go some.”

  “Devon.” Amy opened the door with a relieved look. “Your cousins are in the family room. I promised you’d take them to the park.” She pointed at Emma. “You, my dear, can head straight for the kitchen.” She took the bag from Devon, and the next thing Emma knew, she was getting her hair washed in the kitchen sink.

  “Oh, Emma, I’ve been wanting to get my hands on your hair for a long time,” Amy said as she towel-dried Emma’s shoulder-length hair. She peered down into Emma’s face. “Can you trust me?”

  Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. I hope so.”

  “The style I have in mind is short, but it will be easy to keep up,” Amy told her as she combed through the damp hair. “The color will make you look bright and fresh.”

  “Really?” Emma still felt uneasy.

  “I promise. You’re going to love it.”

  “What if I don’t?” Emma reached up to touch her hair. “It’s taken me so long to grow it.”

  “That’s the problem, Emma. Some people should just give up on long hair. You’re one of them.”

  “But what if I don’t like short hair?”

  Amy laughed as she snipped. “We’ll get you some hair extensions.”

  Emma swallowed hard. There was no backing out now.

  “I’m just going to cut off the length first,” Amy explained. “Then I’ll do the highlights. After that I’ll cut your hair into a killer style.”

  Emma knew it was silly to feel like this, but tears filled her eyes as she watched strands of dishwater blonde hair falling to the kitchen floor. It had taken so long to grow her hair, and now this. Why had she agreed?

  Emma kept her worries to herself, sitting quietly while Amy chattered and worked. “It’s so nice to have a break from the kids,” she said as she wrapped pieces of hair in foil. “I love doing hair. Although I’m not sure I’m ready to return to the salon yet. I want Benji to start preschool first.”