Hunting the Fairy Tale

Chapter 25 - Boyness

Becca

"Come on Becks don't be like that. Of course, they still remember you. They're very excited to see you again."

"I'm not the person they used to know, Bee." Beth and Ryan are dragging me out tonight to meet up with some of my old school friends. I am not sure about this outing at all.

I'm no longer used to mingling with people I might actually like. I'm terrified of not fitting in. My empathy for Willow's plight has multiplied manifold since Beth told me about this outing.

I'm becoming more and more nervous the longer we spend in my room giving me a makeover. Well, styling my hair and painting my face, at least. I haven't looked this flashy in years. It doesn't feel right anymore. I say as much.

"Flashy? Oh, my word, Becks, you make it sound as if I'm sticking 6-inch lashes on your eyes and painting you in bawdy colours. This is all very subtle and enhancing. You look stunning!"

I glare at the mirror. The face glaring back at me looks like me and yet it doesn't. The woman in the mirror looks fresh and alive, not half-dead inside. I smile. Women who are fresh and alive usually smile a lot, don't they?

Beth is right, the makeup is subtle and enhancing. My hair looks bouncy and healthy. The smile grows brighter, more sincere.

"Thanks, Bee," I say, grabbing her hand and stealing the brush. "But there's no way I'm going out with my hair all flouncy like a young girl's."

"I swear, Becks if you set your hair in a roll, I'm going to shave your head! Look at Willow, she's embracing her new freedom. She wears what she likes, and she braids her hair in rather fancy ways that Charlotte Mayfair would not have approved of. Be as brave as your daughter."

I nod my head, smiling fondly. "She is developing a style all her own, isn't she?"

"Yes, and you are going to see that style evolve more and more until her freak flag is flying high."

"Her freak flag?" I ask, feeling more than a little apprehensive.

Beth laughs. "You know what I mean. She's playing it safe right now, but I've seen the outfits she makes for her dolls. She is going to blossom into a very interesting butterfly."

I shake my head, frowning. "You do know that butterflies don't grow on trees, right?"

Beth growls at me. "Give me that brush or you're going to wish that you grew on a tree. I'm in charge of making you pretty."

I laugh, handing her the brush. She'll never change. I've learned early in life that it's better to never argue with Beth. She is the one person in the world I've always trusted with all my heart and happily allowed to have things done her way. Her way is almost always pretty good for me.

"Fine, Elizabeth Drake, you'd better not screw this up or you'll be the one stuck up a tree."

"What?!" she squeals. "That doesn't even make sense!"

"Oh, and your threat did?" I laugh.

"You've been hanging out with Hunter too much," Beth grins.

She brushes my hair in silence for a while, a sweet smile touching her lips. Then she suddenly gasps, looking at me in the mirror with eyes wide with inspiration.

Oh, dear!

"Remember when you had that 1920's flapper kind of wavy bob hairstyle with the sun streaks and the low lights?"

I remember. It was around the time I met Grayson.

"That did look pretty good," I admit.

"It was stunning! We should do your hair like that again," Beth is playing strands of my little longer than shoulder-length hair through her fingers, smiling nostalgically at me in the mirror.