Sylvia was a girl who was 2 years older than us. She was the hottest girl in the suburb and quite possibly the hottest girl on the planet. And she was...the stereotype hottest girl in school. Only dated hot guys with cool cars, always looked immaculate with her long straight hair and wasn't particularly a nice person either. But every guy in school wanted some of it. We were going to get our share. Tim carefully counted the houses as we crawled noisily up the heavily overgrown pathway. The gate. Then she showed me how to use a little brush pad to put a shiny buff beige on my eyelids and a lighter less shiny shade above my eyelids but under my eyebrows.She used what she called a classic pink beige on my cheeks. Finally she got a lipstick she called blossom and a dark blossom lip liner.I looked in the mirror at the results. I fought off another panic attack. I didn't just look like a girl any more. I was beautiful. I figured I was just as pretty if not prettier than Gina and Nadine, and. But this was art school and I hadn’t done anything wrong as far as I knew. Mr. Michaels was a good guy, though, and I didn’t think he cared if I was seen smoking on school property. His wife taught there too, sculpting, and they’d both been at the school forever. He really surprised me. “I was wondering if you’d have any interest in modeling for my advanced drawing class on Thursday nights?” he asked. “We’re losing our model and we’d pay you, of course.” I loved the idea of making some extra. Her mother had once, only once, alluded to waiting for her wedding night, and how it hadn’t been a success. She’d been drinking with Marylin, and she wasn’t used to it, so a couple of glasses of Pinot Noir meant she was 100% over her normal limit. Mr Harvey was away on business and they had decided to have a ‘girls’ night’ a romantic movie and an Indian takeaway and “shall we get some wine? Oh why not? I’m sure he’s having a lovely dinner in some swanky hotel” (actually he was eating his room.
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