The green dress hung on the back of the dorm room door like a specter of the impending future. For two days, it was the first thing Amelia saw when she woke up and the last thing she saw before she fell into a fitful sleep. It was no longer just a dress; it was a symbol of her leap into the unknown.
The night of the gala, the room was a whirlwind of controlled chaos.
"Okay, deep conditioning mask is done. Rinse, and do not, I repeat, do not rub your hair with that sad, sandpaper towel," Chloe commanded, pointing a hairbrush at Amelia like a scepter. "Use the t-shirt. The soft one."
Amelia, wrapped in a bathrobe, obeyed. The air was thick with the smell of her best shampoo and the steam from the shower. This wasn't just getting ready; it was a military operation, and Chloe was a five-star general.
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Amelia muttered, carefully patting her hair with the designated soft t-shirt.
"You didn't let me. I insisted. Survival of the fittest, baby. And in that world, 'fittest' means 'best hair and makeup'." Chloe was already laying out her arsenal of cosmetics on Amelia's desk, transforming it from a study space into a battlefield command center.
An hour later, Amelia was sitting in her desk chair, a towel turbaned on her head, while Chloe studied her face with an artist's intensity.
"We are not going for 'pretty'," Chloe declared, selecting a foundation. "We are going for 'powerful'. We are going for 'I-am-so-intellectually-superior-I-don't-even-need-to-be-here-but-I-am-for-some-reason'."
Amelia managed a weak laugh. "Is that a specific makeup look?"
"It is tonight." Chloe went to work. There was no heavy contour or dramatic, smoky eye. Instead, she applied everything with a light, precise hand. She evened out Amelia's skin tone, added a hint of definition to her cheeks, and made her lashes look impossibly long and dark without being clumpy. For the eyes, she used a soft, shimmery taupe that made the green in Amelia's hazel eyes pop. The lips were a classic, creamy red.
"Bold lip," Amelia said, her voice tight with nerves.
"A bold lip says you have something to say," Chloe countered, not looking up from her work. "It says you're not afraid to be seen. Now, sit still."
When the makeup was done, Chloe carefully took the towel down and began to blow-dry Amelia's hair. She didn't curl it or style it into an updo. Instead, she worked to give it a smooth, glossy, natural-looking wave. "Your hair should look like you just air-dried it after a dip in the Mediterranean, not like you spent three hours with a hot iron."
Finally, it was time for the dress.
Amelia stepped into the emerald silk, the cool fabric whispering against her skin. Chloe zipped her up, the sound definitive, like a sword being sheathed. Then she stepped back.
"Okay," Chloe said, her voice suddenly quiet. "Turn around."
Amelia took a deep breath and turned to face the full-length mirror stuck to their closet door.
The girl who looked back was a stranger. A breathtaking, formidable stranger. The dress fit her perfectly, the column of green making her look taller, more graceful. The open back was a daring slash of skin that felt both vulnerable and powerful. Her hair fell in soft, shiny waves around her shoulders, and her face… her face was her own, but enhanced. The makeup didn't hide her; it highlighted her. The red lip was a declaration.
She didn't look like she was playing dress-up. She looked like she belonged in that world, but on her own terms. She looked like she could argue with philosophers and dance with billionaires and hold her own in both arenas.
"Wow," Amelia breathed.
"Yeah," Chloe agreed, a proud smile spreading across her face. "Wow. You look… expensive. And not in a boring way. In a 'this-artifact-was-forged-by-ancient-gods' way."
A horn beeped politely from the street below. Amelia's heart slammed against her ribs. The car was here.
"Okay, shoes." Chloe shoved a pair of simple, black heels into her hands—borrowed from a friend of a friend who miraculously had the same size. "Remember to stand up straight. Shoulders back. You are not a scholarship student tonight. You are a goddamn mystery."
Amelia slipped on the heels, the added height making her feel even more unsteady and yet more commanding. She grabbed the small, beaded clutch Chloe had also procured, her hands trembling.
"What if I trip?" she whispered, the fear finally overwhelming her.
"Then you trip with style," Chloe said, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Listen to me. That boy in there? He's scared, too. He's surrounded by sharks. You're not his arm candy; you're his life raft. So go be a badass life raft. Now go, before you're late."
With a final, bone-crushing hug, Chloe pushed her toward the door.
Amelia walked out of the dorm and into the hallway, the click of her heels echoing in the quiet corridor. She descended the stairs, each step feeling like a march toward her destiny. She pushed open the main door and stepped out into the cool evening air.
A sleek, black town car was idling at the curb. A uniformed driver stood beside the open rear door.
For a moment, Amelia hesitated on the steps, the gulf between her ordinary life and the one waiting in that car feeling impossibly wide.
Then she thought of Adrian's face in the classroom, his plea for something real. She thought of the girl in the green dress in the mirror.
She lifted her chin, smoothed the silk of her gown, and walked toward the car.