Makeover
Chapter 49
Sophia
I make up my mind. I am not going to ask Lorenzo about the rumors.
At least, not today. With the massive game tonight, confronting him now is a terrible idea.
Instead of walking toward the team locker rooms to wait for him, I say a quick goodbye to Maria.
I head straight to my regular locker to grab my jacket. The moment I swing the metal door open, a folded piece of white paper slips out and flutters to the floor.
I pick it up, unfold it, and freeze. My chest tightens so hard I can barely breathe.
Staring back at me is a sketch. Lines I drew years ago, back when my mother was still alive.
A burning wave of anger spikes through my veins, making my blood boil.
Who would do this?
Why would someone take the time to be so incredibly cruel?
Breathing heavily, I slam my locker door shut. I crumple the paper tightly in my fist, only to notice a brief scribble in sharp, black ink on the reverse side: Fucking pathetic.
I snap my head around, scanning the crowded hallway as if the culprit might still be standing there, watching me break.
Without waiting another second, I turn and storm out of the school building.
I'd bet everything I own that Vivien is the one holding my stolen sketchbook.
But confronting her right now will only make the target on my back even bigger.
As I walk down the concrete steps toward the bus stop, a glossy pink Porsche purrs along the curb right next to me. The windows roll down. A chorus of sharp, mocking laughter echoes from inside before one of Vivien's friends hurls a plastic cup of water right at me.
The cold water splashes directly across my front.
"Funny!" I scream after the accelerating car, my voice cracking with helpless rage. "Sooo funny!"
I mutter curses under my breath, aggressively wiping the water droplets off my denim skirt.
Suddenly, a sleek sedan pulls up to the curb, interrupting my downward spiral. "Hey, Sophia, get in!"
I turn to see James leaning across the passenger seat, pushing the door open from the inside.
"Wow. You are an absolute lifesaver," I breathe, quickly sliding into the dry, leather interior. I exhale a heavy breath, brushing my damp hair away from my face. "I really don't get it. Why do they waste so much time and effort just to treat me like garbage?"
"Just ignore them. They're stupid snobs," James says, offering a comforting, sympathetic smile as he pulls into traffic.
"You're a snob too," I remind him bluntly.
He shakes his head, navigating the streets. "Maybe. But I would never bully someone."
My smile instantly vanishes at his choice of words. James catches my expression and winces. "Sorry, I didn't mean..."
"No, you're right. It is bullying," I interrupt, changing the subject before the conversation gets too heavy.
I'm just glad someone else finally admits what it is.
"Anyway... I'm sorry about how I've been acting the last couple of days. I'm really hyped for your game tonight. Maria and I will be in the stands cheering for you."
"Thanks, Sophia," James smiles, his demeanor softening as he pulls up to my aunt's house. "Should I pick you up later?" he asks as I unbuckle my seatbelt.
"No, thanks. I can take my aunt's car. See you there!" I give him a quick wave, slide out, and shut the door.
I sprint up the porch stairs, burst through the front door, and storm straight to my bedroom, slamming it shut behind me.
If I am actually going to this game tonight, the ultimate question is what on earth I am supposed to wear. I need something that feels like armor. I fling my closet doors open and yank out a few options, but everything looks completely wrong.
Sighing, I pull out my phone and text Maria. She replies within seconds, telling me she has the perfect plan and is heading over the moment she finishes setting up the field.
Exactly thirty minutes later, a loud knock rattles my bedroom door. Maria bursts in, balancing a massive pile of oversized clothes in one arm and dragging a heavy makeup suitcase with the other.
I stare at her in complete disbelief. "I was just thinking about wearing a basic jersey," I admit.
"Oh, don't be silly, Sophia! This is the game. At Weststar, we don't do basic. We have to look absolutely stunning," she insists, scanning the room. "Where's your closet?"
"Down the hallway, last door on the right," I say, trailing behind her, still shocked by the mountain of gear she brought along.
"Okay, so here's the plan," Maria says, dumping the clothes onto my bed. "I grabbed a bunch of extra varsity jerseys, but I was thinking your aunt could help us pimp them up a little bit."
"My aunt?"
"Yes! You told me she's a professional designer."
"Well, yes, but..."
"Perfect. Look, I was scrolling through Instagram and found these incredible ideas on how to upgrade oversized sports gear to make them look totally sexy," she says, flashing her phone screen in front of my face.
The pictures show girls wearing customized cropped jerseys, matching pleated skirts, and stylish jackets.
"It looks amazing, Maria, but I don't know if my aunt can pull that off in under two hours," I tell her honestly.
Right on cue, Clara pops her head through the doorway. "I can do anything," Clara declares, a bright smile spreading across her face when she spots Maria. "Oh, hi, sweetie! Are you moving in?" she jokes, stepping inside to give her a warm hug.
"We are customizing our outfits for the big game tonight," Maria explains.
I watch as my aunt's eyes instantly light up with creative excitement.
Oh boy. Here we go.
For the next forty-five minutes, I sit on the edge of my bed and watch the chaos unfold. My aunt is entirely in her element—sketching, measuring, and cutting fabric with Maria, while Maria simultaneously decides my face needs a complete makeover and my hair needs a totally new style.
"Wow. You look gorgeous," Maria says softly, stepping back after applying a final swipe of lip gloss.
"Thanks?"
"No, I mean it. You're always pretty, but this..." She trails off, gesturing to my face. I just nod, understanding exactly what she means. It feels less like makeup and more like war paint.
"And here are your finished outfits!" Clara announces, stepping back into the room.
She holds up one jersey that she completely transformed into a fitted mini-dress, handing it to Maria, who lets out an excited shriek.
Then, Clara hands me a perfectly cropped jersey paired with a flawless, matching pleated skirt.
"Thanks, Clara.
"You're very welcome, sweetie. I hope you girls have an amazing night," my aunt smiles warmly, leaving the room so we can finish getting dressed.
I change in the bathroom, pulling on the cropped jersey, the skirt, and a pair of over-the-knee socks. When I step back out, Maria is adjusting her dress, which is significantly shorter than mine.
"Wow. I bet the boys won't be able to take their eyes off you tonight," Maria smirks, checking her reflection.
"That is definitely not the reason why I'm going," I remind her, knowing that she is talking about one person specifically. Still, my heart does a nervous flip at the thought of him. I look her up and down. "You look stunning, by the way."
"Ah! I'm so excited. Let's go!"