My Rich Classmate Gave Me A Makeover — Then I Discovered Her Secret Motive
Part 1
I moved to the most expensive school in my district on an academic scholarship and immediately felt like the ultimate ugly duckling.
Every car in the student parking lot cost more than my family’s entire house.
The air smelled like expensive perfume and privilege the moment I stepped off the public bus.
Instead of actual book bags, all the girls carried designer purses that probably cost more than my rent.
Keeping my head down, I pulled my thrift-store jacket tight against the chill of being an outsider.
Seeking refuge during lunch, I found a secluded wooden bench to read my book in peace.
Midway through a dense chapter, a tall shadow suddenly fell across my pages.
Squinting against the harsh sun, I looked up and felt my heart actually stop.
Standing before me was Tyler, the undisputed king of the senior class.
With his perfectly messy dark hair and a strikingly handsome face, he possessed the kind of presence that made people forget how to speak.
He nodded slightly, his gaze dropping to the worn paperback in my hands.
Is that classic poetry, he asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle.
I blinked several times, caught off guard by the fact that he was acknowledging me.
Yeah, how did you know, I managed to stammer out.
He smirked, a devastating half-smile that made my stomach execute a flawless flip.
I have been around the block a few times, he murmured.
And then he just turned and walked away like the interaction was nothing.
As soon as his shoulders disappeared into the crowd, someone else materialized beside my bench.
It was Heather, the terrifyingly perfect queen of Westbrook High.
She possessed flawless blonde hair and radiated the kind of manicured energy that proved she owned this place.
Let us be friends, she announced, her tone implying the matter was already decided.
Two impossibly popular, untouchable people had acknowledged me in the span of five minutes.
Someone actually wanted to talk to me.
Sure, I replied, a nervous laugh escaping my throat.
Great, she squealed, suddenly grabbing my wrist and pulling me up from the bench.
Come over tonight for a massive sleepover.
Before I could formulate a single excuse, the shrill bell rang.
She released my arm and practically floated away.
That night, I nervously packed my favorite clothes from Goodwill into a faded duffel bag.
When my mom dropped me off and I finally saw Heather’s house, I actually gasped out loud.
Her house was a sprawling, gated mansion.
Hey, she screamed the second I reached the massive mahogany front doors.
She grabbed my bag and dragged me directly upstairs to a bathroom larger than my entire apartment.
Without asking for permission, she sat me down on a velvet stool and began orchestrating a total, ruthless makeover.
She handed me new silk clothes, applied layers of expensive makeup, and worked her curling iron through my frizzled hair.
I barely recognized the polished stranger staring back at me in the massive vanity mirror.
While she worked, she talked non-stop.
The topic eventually landed on her ultimate crush.
What exactly do you like about him, I asked.
She tilted her head, looking at me through the mirror.
His family is completely loaded.
We would be exactly like the prom kings and queens in those vintage movies.
Would you still like him if he did not have any of that money or status, I pressed softly.
She laughed loudly, a sharp, piercing sound.
As if, she snorted, tossing a contour brush onto the counter.
People think being at the top of the food chain is a lucky coincidence, but it takes serious work.
Like, the only reason I invited you over tonight was because now everyone will see what a charitable person I am.
And you will finally be able to make more friends, so we both win in the end.
The air in the bathroom suddenly felt suffocatingly heavy.
I did not even know how to begin responding to that level of casual manipulation.
The next morning, I walked into the crowded school hallway looking like a completely different person.
Suddenly, people who had deliberately ignored me yesterday were intensely interested in my existence.
They waved, they offered me seats at their tables, they asked for my social media handles.
I was no longer the invisible scholarship girl.
I was Heather’s newest, shiniest pet project.
It felt intoxicatingly good to be noticed, but it also felt entirely hollow.
I felt like an imposter wearing someone else’s expensive, borrowed life.
After the final bell rang, I was walking heavily toward the public bus stop when I saw him again.
Tyler was leaning casually against the brick wall near the exit.
When he noticed me approaching, he stopped scrolling on his phone and just stared for a long, heavy moment.
My pulse instantly kicked into a frantic rhythm.
You look so much like Heather now, he observed, his voice completely devoid of the teasing warmth from yesterday.
I forced a bright, nervous laugh, clutching my backpack straps tight.
Well, yeah, she really helped me out with the transition.
His dark eyes scanned my face, and his expression shifted into something softer.
It looked almost exactly like profound disappointment.
You really did not have to do that, he murmured softly.
Before I could even open my mouth to ask him what he meant, Heather materialized out of thin air.
She hooked her arm aggressively through his, plastering on a dazzling, possessive smile as she pulled him toward the parking lot.
She shot me a triumphant smirk over her shoulder, and that is when the sickening realization hit me like a physical blow.
He was the boy she had been talking about securing all weekend.
