Knocked Up(3)

That was all Suzette needed.

She jumped up and down and took Tawny's hands in hers before practically shrieking, "Oh my god, I can’t believe you said yes. This is gonna be so much fun. Just think of it. You and me, the fearsome twosome, against the world and celebrating like crazy."

"If you say so," Tawny muttered, mentally mourning her Netflix plans with an inward groan. It was only one night. She’d be a good friend and wingman for Suzette, and tomorrow, she’d celebrate her way. With a day of PJ’s, seclusion, toffee butter crunch ice cream, and the battle for the Iron Throne.

"I do. Now come on. I gotta spread these puppies round campus"--she waved the flyers in her hand--"then we're heading to my place for a little make-over before the party."

Suzette was as good as her word. She ran to every club member and teammate she knew, then, when every fluorescent orange paper was gone, she led Tawny to her station wagon and blared the newest Beyoncé album while Tawny buckled herself in.

Suzette sang along with the lyrics as they drove through the flat country roads, whipping past the little main street, the cluster of nice suburban homes, until finally they were in the section of posh plantation-style houses.

Suzette parked in front of one of the largest mansions on the street and Tawny took a moment to marvel at the building--like she always did--before getting out of the car. She didn't know how many times she'd dreamt of a place like this when she'd been growing up. Though, really, any home at all would have done. Someplace permanent. With family pictures and memories. Without boxes that were always in a constant state of being packed or unpacked. Someplace her father could have built her a swing set and a tree house.

Of course, Suzette's parents had done her one better, they had an entire wooden castle in their backyard, left over from Suzette's younger years, and as they worked their way to the second floor of the house, Tawny smiled at all the monuments to Suzette through the years.

When they reached Suzette's bedroom door, Tawny glanced at the familiar gold "S" on the door, and then twisted the knob and flopped onto the canopy bed.

"What exactly do you have in mind?" Tawny asked warily, but Suzette didn't answer. She was already standing in front of her wide, white vanity, complete with giant trifold mirror, surveying the instruments of Tawny's inevitable destruction.

"Just come sit down,” Suzette demanded. “We've got work to do."

Tawny breathed deep, trying to push past images of her curly brown mass piled on top of her head in a helmet of hairspray. The ultra-feminine, southern belle look might work for Suzette, but a girl like Tawny would be lucky if she could pull off anything besides jeans and a t-shirt. As a matter of fact, Tawny couldn't think of a time when she'd worn anything else.

"Tonight you are going to be super hot. I mean, you're hot all the time, of course, but tonight you're not going to be so sneaky about it." Suzette winked at her in the mirror, then plugged something into the wall that was long, metal and menacing-looking.

"It's a flat iron,” Suzette explained, apparently seeing the look of wild-eyed desperation on Tawny's face. "Now, no questions and no arguments. You’re going to be a star tonight. Your whole life is gonna change. Trust me.”

The two scariest words in the English language.

Tawny closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.

If she could just get through this night without getting arrested, she’d be good to go.

But for some reason she couldn’t quell the little quiver of apprehension in her belly…





Chapter 2





Son of a bitch.

There was egg on his face.

Literally.

Luke Anderson brushed his hand through his hair and shook out the few remaining pieces of scrambled eggs from his ill-fated attempt at feeding his youngest brother, then stared out the kitchen window, silently willing his mother home with his mind. The sooner she got here, the sooner he could get out of their old, non-air-conditioned house and away from his screaming younger brothers. Rex had already left to set up for the party hours ago, leaving the dinner and afternoon activities for Luke to handle until his mother got back from campus.

And, apparently, baby Tyler was not in the mood for peaceful cooperation today.

"Luke!" Fred bellowed from the living room even though he was only about five steps away.

"What?"

"When's mom coming home?" The nine-year-old asked for what must have been the millionth time that afternoon.

"When she gets home,” Luke muttered. "Now finish your eggs."

"I don't like them."

"Yes you do, Fred. You love eggs."

"I like them with ketchup,” Fred snapped back, then crossed his arms over his chest and said, “and on these, there’s no ketch-up.” He made a little popping sound at the end of the word and Luke rolled his eyes before heading for the fridge and grabbing the ketchup from the door.