TweetyGram

15 - #TreatDay

I spent hours going through my old photo albums in my room, trying to find the perfect photos for Louise's TweetyGram. By the time I finished, I'd never felt so accomplished and terrible at the same time.

Looking at my old photos made me realize how different my life was from seven years ago. I couldn't wear tank tops and short shorts in public anymore, I couldn't sunbathe on the beach anymore, and I couldn't even afford to fix my broken AC even though a heatwave was sweeping across California.

A heavy feeling sank into my stomach, but the gentle knocking on my bedroom door fished me out of my inner hell.

"Hey." Bree stood at the door in a maroon blouse and black pencil skirt, her hair tied up in a prim-and-proper bun. Glancing at the stack of photo albums on my desk, she asked, "Taking a trip down memory lane?"

"I'm choosing pictures for Louise Constantine Stéphanie Claudine de Sardines's TweetyGram profile."

She furrowed her brow. "You couldn't pick a shorter name?"

"It's a pretty name." I pouted.

Letting out a tiny chuckle, she stopped next to me and glanced at the photos on the table. "You said the Wolf could be one of your old friends. Wouldn't they recognize you?"

"Yes, which is why Jake and I are going to TweetyTune these photos and merge my face with his, Kristen's, and Olivia's, who are more than happy to help, by the way." I pulled up Louise's TweetyGram page and showed Bree the profile picture.

The teenage girl in the photo had Kristen's silky golden-blonde hair and amiability; Olivia's striking features and elegance; Jake's kind eyes and zest; and my once-radiant smile.

"Wow," Bree said.

"Unrecognizable, right? I'm meeting with Jake tonight to make more of this."

"Oh, you have a date with Jake?" As my jaw dropped, Bree teased, "So that's why you went to the salon today."

An unexpected blush heated my cheeks. "It's not a date. It's work." I could tell Bree didn't believe me, so I quickly stressed, "Work." As Bree's lips curved into a teasing smile, I added, "And I went to the salon because it was time to get my hair done. I mean, I hadn't had a haircut in almost a year, and didn't you notice my hair was dull as heck?"

"Your hair was just fine before."

"Yeah, right," I scoffed.

I hadn't been planning on spending any money at a beauty salon. But on my way to the grocery store earlier this afternoon, I spotted numerous women stepping out of the Beauty Bar with bouncy, silky, TweetyGram-worthy hair. The next thing I knew, I was handing over my credit card to the cashier, my hair about five inches shorter and a tad bit shinier than before.

I loved my new, trendy, shoulder-length haircut. I loved it so much I took a selfie—okay, tons of selfies—and posted it on TweetyGram. I even used the photo as my new profile picture.

But I would, without a doubt, hate my credit card bill next month.

"Linds, are you okay?" Bree studied me with concern. "You don't seem like yourself lately."

"I'm fine," I reassured her. "The more important question is you're not going to work, are you?"

"I am."

Bree was a workaholic, but still. I didn't expect her to go to work on a Sunday afternoon.

"Bree, this is Sunday. Don't you think you've worked yourself a little too hard? You need to rest. You look like a Panda," I joked.

Shock widened her eyes, and she darted her gaze to the vanity mirror behind me. Yet when she saw her reflection, she regained her composure, having realized I was exaggerating.