someoneâs dad getting Botox and another girlâs sister who got a boob job for her eighteenth birthday.
Zoe, an artsy girl whoâs more Evieâs friend than mine, shakes her head. âIâd never want to be so fake.â
The guy next to her glances at her healthy chest. âEasy for you to say.â
She slaps his arm. âWe should accept who we are. Anything else is phony.â
The others nod.
I straighten my shoulders. âPeople should make their own choices. As long as they arenât going nuts with a bunch of surgeries, itâs their decision. Just like dyeing your hair or going on a diet. Who are we to judge?â
Everyone stares in silence. Evie squints intensely at me.
Zoe tugs at a multi-pierced earlobe. âAll those air-brushed ads make people feel horrible about themselves if they donât measure up. I refuse to buy into it.â
I say, âWe donât have to hold ourselves to Hollywoodâs impossible ideals. But most of us alter ourselves every day to be more attractive. If you wanted to be one hundred percent natural, you wouldnât wear deodorant or style your hair.â
Jackâs shocked expression is almost comical, but heâs able to sputter, âYeah, I donât want anyone telling me what I can and canât do. I can say no to the stupid stuff.â
Evie doesnât stop staring at me.
Jack motions toward the kitchen. âYou want something to drink?â
I have a quick flashback to Drewâs party. âMaybe a soda?â
Jack smiles and heads off. The kids around me transition from plastic surgery gossip to a new all-ages club downtown.
The guy next to Zoe says, âThey had some nasty E there last week. Tory Simmons had to get her stomach pumped.â
Zoe sighs dramatically. âDamn, if people arenât re- molding themselves physically, theyâre doing it mentally.â
I point to her cup. âLike with beer?â
Everyone laughs, even Zoe, whoâs smart enough not to argue the point. Persuading others to see things my way is potent, filling me with energy and giddiness.
Evie yanks my elbow. âGot a sec?â
âSure.â
She leads me into an empty garage that smells of turpentine. The door has barely closed when she whips around. âWhat the hell is going on?â
âWhat do you mean?â
She counts on her fingers. âYou texted Jack. You
went out
with him. You came to a party without me begging or you puking. And now youâre the center of attention. Basking in it, even. After last weekend, I canât believe this is possible.â
I try to contain my grin. âYouâre the one whoâs always claimed that exposure therapy is the be-all, end-all. Maybe it finally kicked in.â
âExposure therapy gave you a major meltdown at Drewâs party.â
âSo, what else could explain it?â Iâll admit, Iâm having fun with this.
She crosses her arms and paces. âI donât know. Maybe Iâm just the one freaking out now because youâre so not the Aislyn Iâm used to.â Her jaw is set tight.
It seems cruel not to let my best friend in on the news. Besides, she already knows somethingâs up, and Iâll implode if I try to keep it from her any longer.
Taking a deep breath, I lean toward her. âIf I tell you something, would you promise never ever to tell anyone else?â
She rocks on the balls of her feet. âYouâre okay, right? This isnât going to be something horrible?â
I smile. âNot a bit. Promise not to say a word?â
âOf course. Now tell me.â
I brace my shoulders and swallow. âOkay. Thereâs a doctor at Nova Genetics whoâs working on a gene therapy to make people more sociable. And on Sunday I got a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to try it.â Oh, God, sharing my secret is the hugest rush.
Evie cocks her head. âHow? Like Prozac? Or more
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