Envy - 2 by Robin Wasserman Page A

the inevitable could only be a good thing. But final y they could wait no longer.
    “Okay, I can’t stand it anymore,” Miranda said. “How does it look?”
    “Uh … it’s different,” Harper hedged. “It’s definitely different.”
    “Wel I know that—but how does it look? Oh, forget it. I need to see for myself”

    She bounded up, but Harper leaped ahead of her and jumped in front of the mirror.
    “Before you look, I just want to remind you of what you said before, how I’m such a good friend to you.”
    “Of course you are, Harper—this was your idea, wasn’t it? I’m not going to forget that.”
    “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Harper murmured. But she stepped aside.
    Miranda’s scream would have woken up Harper’s parents, had they been home—as it was, Harper suspected it might stil have woken them up a hundred miles away in Ludlow. It might even have woken up Great-uncle Horace—and he was deaf.
    “Harper—what have you done to me?” Miranda cried, lunging toward her. Harper jumped away, searching for some large piece of furniture she could put between herself and the newly psychotic Miranda.
    “Don’t blame me,” she protested. “I fol owed the directions. I think.” She ducked unsuccessful y as Miranda threw a pil ow at her head.
    “Look what you’ve done to me!” Miranda yel ed. She slumped down on the bed and burst into—wel , Harper couldn’t tel whether it was sobs or hysterical laughter.
    “Are you … okay?” Harper asked tentatively, sitting down beside her.
    “Okay?” Miranda asked, tears of laughter streaming down her face. “How could I be okay? I look like Kermit the Frog!” Sad, but true.
    Miranda’s rust-colored hair had been changed in three easy steps, al right—her head was now topped with a frizzy mass of bright green tendrils, the color of celery. Or of everyone’s favorite Muppet.
    It was horrifying. Humiliating. And hilarious.
    Unable to control herself any longer, Harper burst into giggles.
    Miranda fel backward onto the bed, gasping for breath. “It’s not funny,” she complained.
    “I know,” Harper said, trying to force a solemn and sober look.
    “Except that it is,” Miranda admitted, breaking into laughter once more.
    “I know,” Harper agreed, laughing again herself. She felt a rush of relief that Miranda didn’t want to kil her—but she worried about what would happen in the morning, when the alcoholic glee had washed out of her system and, sober and hungover, she stil looked like a Muppet. Things might not seem so jol y in the light of day.
    After al , it’s not easy being green.
    (Just ask Kermit.)
    It was Friday night, date night, and things were going to be different. Beth was determined. Adam had been acting weird al week—though she wasn’t even sure what would classify as “weird” these days. Stand-offish? Short-tempered? Irritable? How was that any different, real y, from the way things were the rest of the time? When was the last time they’d been together—and talked —without it turning into a fight? It used to be so easy to talk to Adam, and now it was just easier not to.
    But tonight real y would be different. Tonight would be an actual date. Not a half-rushed hookup in her bedroom before her parents got home, not a stolen few minutes between classes or a stale slice of pizza after work. Tonight it was just the two of them, al night long. And it would be fun, and easy, no matter how hard she had to work at it.
    She’d suckered Adam into taking her to the Frontier Festival, an annual carnival that passed through town every October, ostensibly to celebrate the harvest (though Beth was unsure what kind of harvest a mining town, much less a defunct mining town, had to offer). Real y it was just an excuse for cotton candy, funnel cake, 4-H livestock contests, and a rickety Ferris wheel. Beth had loved it as a child, and had always dreamed of walking through the booths and crowds of squealing children on the arm