Loofah 1. Saw off split ends. 1. Skin is generally good. A little blush and some clear gloss are all you need Congrats!
1. NO BLACK! Your hair sheds. The person sitting behind you does not need to see this. Please stick to white shirts and khaki bottoms. At least until we gets this problems under control. Dylan Marvil—knows a lot about frizzy, unruly hair from experience. (Sorry Dyl, but it’s true.)
Claire Lyons will assist with wardrobe. She’s a real expert with white (she’s from Florida).
2. Three-hour deep-conditioning treatment.
3. Japanese straightening perm.
Monkey Paws 1. Lose the orangutan-orange highlights (too much Sun-In over the summer?) 1. Dark brown eyes are nice. Features are symmetrical and well proportioned. Current use of blush and gloss work well. No notes. 1. No angora, no cashmere, no boiled wool, no chenille. Massie Block—I will run a cotton ball up your legs every two days. Should any white fluff get snagged on your stubble, you and your Gillette Venus will be sent straight to the locker room for a “time out.”
2. Go dark blond. No brown or black. Too primate-ish. 2. Intense manicure. Paraffin wax treatment, sondblasting exfoliation. Sleep with gloves oozing Vaseline for 6 months. 2. No bananas.
3. Try not to curl palms. Ever. 3. Your body is fit. Miniskirts and dresses would be cute but please shave/wax legs … thighs and toes included.
Blond Lincoln 1. Separate hair on head from sideburns. 1. WAX lips, brows, sideburns. Once we see what lies beneath the hair, we will reevaluate. 1. Sweats are fine. Track suits are nawt! Please stick to the following brands: Juicy Splendid, Pumo, Ed Hardy, and Primp. Kristen Gregory—she has no major facial hair issue (none of us do, thank Gawd!) but she does know sweats.
Bag Hag 1. Your short brown pixie cut is actually kind of cute in a French model sort of way. 1. Your complexion is clear. Your green eyes are bright. Your lips are full and nicely stained. (That’s Fresh’s Dahlia, right?) 1. PLEASE STOP BRINGING YOUR BOOKS AND BELONGINGS TO SCHOOL IN PLASTIC BAGS FROM CVS AND RALPH’S. Dylan Marvil—has great handbags. So does her mother, and she ever notices when one or two go missing (e.g. the red Birkin, black Fendi Spy bag, quilted Marc Jacobs in turquoise and lavander … ha! ha!).
2. Use the Louis Vuitton suitcase we have provides at all times. If that is too big for daily use, please consult with your beauty rep for a donation. Or visit bagborroworsteal.com and sign up to rent designer bags that will be delivered straight your home. They are discreet.
Big Mac 1. Break up goth black hair with light brown highlights. Add flirty layers around the face to prove the existence of cheekbones. 1. Wash your face Then wash it again. Then once more. Repeat. 1. NO BLACK NO SUPER-SIZE T-SHIRTS. NO RED-AND-WHITE STRIPED SOCKS. NO DOC MARTENS. 1. Massie Block—gothbuster!
2. Stick to one color of eye shadow at all times. 2. Think Marilyn Monroe, nawt Marilyn Manson.
3. Leave the white face powder for mines and senile Broadway actresses.
4. Use a small amount of pink blush on the apples of your cheeks.
5. Light pink lip gloss—yes. Red/purple/black matte lipstick—no!
Dempsey 1. Caramel-colored hair is too good to be natural. Yet it is. Nice going. 1. Green eyes pop nicely against tan. 1. Love the whole safari-chic thing. Stay rugged. Massie Block—I will check you out from time to time to make sure you ore maintaining. In the meantime, please assist us in mentoring the boys. They could use a strong male role model.
× 10
2. Please do not cut. It looks great shaggy. Skin is smooth and evenly colored. 2. Maybe a new pair of boots around the holidays. Something in a brown leather. Kenneth Cole?
3. Nice transformation.
3. Teeth are iPod white. 3. Body is fit. No more VGG (Video Game Gut).
4. Dimples are ah-dorable. 4. Nice transformation. Please maintain.
5. Nice transformation.
Candy Corn 1. Black hair looks cute. No notes. 1. Regular dentist visits. 1. NO red shirts until your teeth have lost their yellow sheen. Red makes yellow look more yellow. Dempsey—has awesome teeth.
2. BritSmile visit 2. Stick to navy and black until the problem has been resolved.
3. Maintain with flossing, brushing and Crest Whitestrips.
Power 1. Darken your ash-blond hair. Something in the chestnut family. It will help us differentiate your scalp from your face. 1. Spray-tan! 1. Dark clothes only. Dempsey—has an awesome tan.
2. Maintain with Clarins self-tanner (good for boys). Eat on iron-rich diet: meat, eggs, and spinach. 2. From now own, your white long-sleeved Hanes tees should only be used for wiping excess self-tanner off your hands.
3. If you have a choice between hanging inside or outside, always pick outside.
Putty 1. See Powder 1. See Powder 1. Lose 10 pounds. Dempsey—has awesome abs.
2. See Powder.
Twizzlet 1. Hair is buzzed too close to your head. When you blush, your scalp turns purple. Please grow out your hair. 1. Practice deep breathing to avoid blushing. 1. NO RED! Dempsey—has awesome confidence and awesome hair.
2. Work on confidence 2. Gain 10 pounds of lean muscle (protein, protein, protein).
After everyone had time to digest the game plan and their cucumber sandwiches, they got busy.
Very, very busy.
BOCD
CAMPUS TIFFANY & CO. TRAILERS
Wednesday, September 16th
2:37 P.M.
Ms. Dunkel casually sniffed the blueberry-scented marker after scribbling the homework assignment on her new dry-erase board. “I just love these.” She sniffed again, then thank-you-winked at Claire for coming up with the idea.
Claire smiled back, “you’re welcome,” then checked to see if anyone had happened to catch the flattering exchange. But everyone was too busy admiring their new and improved reflections in their mirrored desks to notice.
“Now that your makeovers are complete, there should be no more excuses,” Ms. Dunkel announced, suddenly becoming very serious. “I want your history papers on my desk first thing tomorrow morning.” She unrolled the cuffs of her black silk blouse and smoothed her hands over the front of the matching pencil skirt. Even she had made the effort to dress up for their new and much-improved surroundings—thanks to the note Massie slipped in her inbox the night before.
Dear Ms. Dunkel,
I just wanted to let you know that Winkie and her camera crew will be back to do a follow-up story on the new trailers after class tomorrow. So if we all look better than usual, that’s why.
—Massie Block
P.S. I showed my stylist your Web site (I was telling her what a great teacher you are), and she said she thinks you would look very elegant in black silk. Her words, not mine. Not sure why she told me this, but I thought you might want to know.
P.P.S. I saw a great black silk blouse and pencil skirt in the window of Neiman’s, if you’re interested. FYI, it’s DKNY. Luvved it!
P.P.P.S. Black silk looks great on camera. I read that in Teen Vogue.
Thanks for being the coolest teacher ever.
Claire couldn’t believe Massie had managed to get their dowdy teacher into DKNY. But then again, the room was filled with students who had all been subject to a Massie Makeover. And no one seemed the slightest bit insulted. In fact, they looked a zillion times better for it, each one a confident “after” picture, sitting straighter, smiling brighter, and laughing louder than ever before.
“Ms. Dunkel?” Massie raised her glittery bangle–covered arm. “Mind if I make a few announcements before we go on camera?”
“Hmmm, let’s see.” Ms. Dunkel tapped a bony finger against her thin lips while pondering the question. “Should I let the girl responsible for transforming our ill-equipped classroom into a state-of-the-art learning facility say a few words?” She scanned the rows of students, hoping for some audience participation. “Well, should I?”
The NPC clapped. Then Dempsey joined in. Seconds later, everyone but Layne, Heather, and Meena was applauding. The
three girls took enormous headphones out of their Hello Kitty bags and slipped them over their ears.
“I thought so.” Ms. Dunkel gladly stepped toward the window, giving Massie complete control of the floor.
Grinning humbly, the born-again alpha sauntered down the row of mirrored desks, high-fiving her supporters like an Oscar winner. A puff of vanilla mist hissed encouragement while the hanging stars and moons reflected golden abstractions of light across her white sequined mini tunic.
The instant Massie arrived at the head of the class, the final bell rang. But no one made a move to stand. No books were gathered, no pencil cases unzipped, no chairs screeched. The only sound anyone heard was the low hum of the vibrating massage chairs.
“Thank you, Ms. Dunkel,” Massie started, then paused. She pointed at her teacher’s silk-covered butt and mimed the act of pulling something.
“Huh?” Ms. Dunkel asked.
Massie repeated the gesture, this time a little less subtly, like a frustrated charades player.
“The tag,” she whisper-shouted. “Lose the tag!”
Ms. Dunkel blindly patted her backside until she finger-bumped into the protruding white Neiman-Marcus tag.
Everyone giggled as she yanked it off and crumpled it in her fist. “Continue,” she said with a stern but grateful nod.
Massie twirled her purple hair chunk. “I just wanted to say how great you all look today.”
They smile-thanked her.
“But before you walk out there …” She pointed toward the parking lot where Winkie and her crew were waiting. “… there are a few things I’d like to remind you of.” She pulled out her Palm and tapped the screen. “First, I want everyone to feel their hair.” Massie petted her sexy side-pony.
Everyone except Layne, Meena, and Heather, who were banging their heads to whatever was blasting through their headphones, did as they were told.
“That’s what clean, highlighted blowouts feel like.” She paused, giving them time to capture the sensation.
Claire, whose white-blond hair had been styled by Jakkob’s famed round brush, fake-felt her locks to avoid flattening her camera-ready curls.
“Hands down!” Massie suddenly ordered. “Let that be the last time you touch. Once you’re on camera, you have to act like your hair looks this good all the time. And that means no twirling, touching, twisting, tugging, or taming.”
They nodded their consent.
“Next …” Massie lifted a tube of Sugar Donut-flavored Glossip Girl and applied. “… take a minute to touch up your lips. Big Mac and Loofah, remember, no scraping it off with your teeth and eating it. We know the only products that ever touched your mouths before were either medicated or mentholated, but there’s no need to advertise it.”
Claire, along with the others, opened her desk and picked out her favorite Juicy Tube. She and Kristen both picked Dreamsicle, while Dylan blended Peanut Butter (one of Massie’s GG reject flavors) with Lancôme’s Cherry Burst.
“Now, for the boys …” Massie nodded at Dempsey. “… D is passing around a tube of Vaseline. It wouldn’t kill you to dab a little on, especially you, Candy Corn. Those whitening treatments have left you a little chapped.”
He blushed and then looked down at his blue henley, allowing a curtain of jet-black hair to hide his shame-filled eyes.
“Take this down.” Massie turned to the white board and grabbed a grape-scented metallic marker off the narrow base. Without hesitation, she erased the homework assignment and started writing. Once done, she stepped aside, revealing her trade secrets. “These are the top five rules for on-camera fabulousness.”
• Act like you’re having too much fun to notice the cameras.
• Pretend perfection comes easily. Never tell them how hard you worked to look good.
• Visualize your favorite celebrity and imagine you look like them.
• Don’t ever tell anyone where you bought something. If you get a compliment say, “Thank you I got it in Europe.”
• Sell the DREAM!
The New LBRs quickly jotted down her words. Claire was tempted, knowing Massie had just revealed her trade secrets, but Kristen and Dylan weren’t writing. They were nonchalantly reapplying their mascara, like they already knew the five rules. So Claire resisted. But the more she stared at Massie’s loopy handwriting, the stronger the temptation grew. Her inner LBR urged her to take advantage of these words of wisdom, for such things were rarely, if ever, revealed.
Finally, refusing to miss out on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Claire lifted her cell phone, pretended to snap a picture of Massie, and captured the board.
“Dempsey, do you have anything else to add?” Massie rocked back and forth on the heels of her camel-colored Dolce Vita platform sandals.
“I do.” He stood, his jungle green T-shirt worn to perfection. “How about a round of applause for Massie Block.”
He was cute, Claire thought, certainly cute enough to make Cam squirm. He was tan, buff, and confident. Kind of like an Abercrombie model, but in color.
And she wasn’t the only one who noticed. Massie heel-rocked and giggled shyly every time Dempsey spoke to her. If he could get that reaction out of Massie—during a boyfast—he was definitely the right guy for Operation Jealousy. He oozed “it.”
All Claire had to do was let Cam catch her flirting with Dempsey. Then he would realize she oozed “it” too. And before long, Olivia would be a single mom.
“Thanks, Dempsey.” Massie blushed. “And thanks to all of you. Now let’s go show Winkie Porter that we’re not special—we’re fabulous!”
Everyone stood and cheered as they exited into the parking lot, except Layne, Meena, and Heather. They exchanged a group eye-roll, then a nod, then whipped off their headphones and reached under their desks. Moments later, they were shoving their way past the NLBRs, waving white poster boards that said, DOWN WITH THE MAKEOVERFLOW! and WELCOME TO THE FAKEOVER-FLOW and WE’RE OVER THE OVERFLOW.
But the NPC and the NLBRs were too busy not noticing Winkie and her camera crew to care.
WESTCHESTER, NY
RIVERA ESTATE
Wednesday, September 16th
6:14 P.M.
Alicia’s scalp itched.
It had started on Josh’s bike, when he doubled her home from school. More than anything, she wanted to take off her pink New York Yankees cap and air out her hair, because it was ah-bviously thirsting for oxygen. But what if there was a bigger problem? Like dandruff? The Soccer Stalkers and excrushes were biking behind them, and she didn’t want them caught in a flurry of white flakes. Besides, if even one speck landed on her black cotton Diane von Furstenberg minidress, she’d be done.
So the hat stayed.
And now all she could do was press her head into the back of Josh’s gray corduroy blazer and rub it against his spine—a gesture he mistook for affection. Which was obvious, once they entered the Riveras’ twenty-two-person state-of-the-art screening room. While Strawberry, Kori, Kemp, Plovert, Derrington, Cam, and Olivia raced to claim their own love seats, Josh didn’t hesitate to share Alicia’s.
“Here it comes!” Kori shouted at the giant screen, kicking her long, thin legs in the air like a circus dog juggling a ball.
Strawberry and Olivia squealed with delight. Alicia, on the other hand, channeled her inner Massie and acted like appearing on the local news was something that happened to her every day.
As soon as the story about a stolen baseball card collection ended, Colton Hedges, a romance novel cover model turned soap star turned local news anchor, addressed the viewers with a dashing brow-lift. “After the break, Winkie Porter will join us with a real”—he chuckled—“jewel of a story about change, transformation, and new beginnings. Stay with us.” He wink-nodded as the show’s fast-paced key-clacking theme music boomed in THX surround sound. A wide shot of Colton shuffling papers about who knew what, considering everything he said was written on the teleprompter, dissolved to an ad for a pill that stopped a
llergies but caused diarrhea.
“Ew!” Alicia finger-tapped MUTE on the touch-screen panel. “Does anyone want another sundae?” Her silver stacked ring–covered index finger wiggled above the intercom button marked MAIN KITCHEN.
“All fullllll,” burped Derrington, who was sprawled out on the puce-colored suede couch directly in front of her, his muddy Adidas dangling off the armrest.
“Very nice.” Josh leaned forward and smacked his buddy’s head. He apologized to Alicia with an eye-roll on behalf of his snickering friend.
“S’okay,” she mouthed and meant it. Which was weird, considering Dylan’s whole word-burping thing had been one of her pet peeves since forever. But it was different now. Now it reminded her of the things she missed.
Not quite sure how to please her new friends, Alicia asked about the sundaes again. They rubbed their full bellies and groaned.
With the NPC she never had to ask. Never had to wonder what they wanted. Never had to question her role. She just knew. The uncertainty made Alicia crave her old friends. But what could she do about it? Like a mosquito bite, her longing left behind an itch she was forbidden to scratch.
“Nothing? Not even a fro-yo float?” she pressed, desperate to make them happy. After all, she’d lured them away from the skate ramp with the promise of a great time. And if she didn’t deliver, they’d be get-me-outta-here glancing in no time.
But the Soccer Stalkers and ex-crushes seemed perfectly comfortable in the Riveras’ screening room, where each guest sat in full view of the fifteen-foot hi-def screen. Even baby Kate had her own couch. Olivia had mounted her between six grass green cowhide pillows to keep her from rolling onto the clay-tiled floor.
“It’s back on,” announced Plovert, pulling his brown-and-yellow Burton snowboard cap over his elfin ears.
“Volume!” demanded Strawberry from the front of the room. Her wavy pink hair spilled over the back of the couch like My Little Pony’s bubble-gum-colored mane.
Winkie’s hi-def poreless face suddenly filled the screen. The reporter was standing in the BOCD parking lot, wearing a navy Escada Sport tunic dress over matching wide-leg pants. “It feels like another beautiful summer day, but don’t be fooled.” She smirked, her berry colored lips pursing together ever so slightly. “Fall is fast approaching, and with that comes change. And no one knows more about that than the handful of students who managed to turn those …” A “before” shot of the dingy white trailers appeared. “… into these.” The camera pushed past her, zooming in on the gleaming double-wide Tiffany & Co. boxes as if lit by Gawd himself. “Here they come now,” she whispered with the hushed enthusiasm of a bird-watcher.
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