Miss Perfection Personified

8. | My new BFF

8. | MY NEW BFF

IN TYPICAL fashion, both Anastasia and I pretended the conversation we had the night after Kitty's poetry slam never happened.

I felt a little nervous rocking up to school the following Monday, wondering if she'd call off the whole thing to punish me for my insolence. But she signalled that all was well between us by promptly sending me a text just as the final bell rang, reminding me that I had to get my costume fittings done that afternoon.

"Jesus, fuck – "

I caught my reflection in the floor-length mirror and gasped in horror at the sight of myself. Tobias, the costume design student, had somehow managed to squeeze me into ridiculous bright pink pantaloons at least two sizes too small. I inched forward but Tobias tsked impatiently.

"Elliott, do not move," he snapped.

I yelped again as I felt a stab of pain in my inner thigh. Tobias was poking and prodding at me with needles now but seemed unperturbed by my obvious distress. Layla Evans, also in charge of costuming and torturing, sniggered at my cowardice.

"Oh, here you are."

I would've turned at the sound of Jane's voice were it not for the warning scowl on Tobias' face for me to stay put. She walked around and stopped in front of me. Humiliated, I tried not to let the flush creep into my face. So what if I was wearing pantaloons?

Jane's lips twitched. She glanced at Layla and they both burst out laughing.

"Oh my god." Jane clutched at her stomach, tottering on her own ridiculous biker boots as she struggled to stay upright.

"Yes, yes, laugh away," I sighed, defeated. "I never want to see you re-post another story on your Instagram about men breaking gender roles."

"That's a sacrifice I'm willing to make," Jane snickered. "In fact..."

Before I could protest, I felt the flash of her camera blinding my eyes. My eyes were only just re-adjusting when I saw the fresh new Polaroid in her hand, her face delighted at the sight of her new prize.

"This is going on my bedroom wall," she smirked. I raised an eyebrow.

"You want a picture of me in your bedroom?" I asked.

I didn't mean for it to sound like that. It was just a thought that popped into my head. At least it wiped the smirk right off her face and I was pleased to see a bright, pink flush creeping up her neck to her cheeks.

"Right," she said, business-like. She gestured to the door with her thumb. "You, me - we need to have a look through all the stuff we've got so far for the article. I've got way too many pictures of Anastasia and you need to choose which ones fit the vision of the article."

Ah. Vision.

"Of course," I said confidently. She didn't need to know I didn't have a vision.

Not yet. But I was confident it would come.

"Tobias, look, I'm getting out of this fucking thing now and I — gaah!"

I had just started to speak but, unfortunately, having underestimated how constricting the pantaloons were on my movement, stumbled backwards, toppling - face first - into one of those creepy mannequins the design students used for their costumes. I clutched the mannequin for dear life as it flew sideways to the floor, taking me down with it.