"Ladies and gentlemen, the class of 2012!"
Our principal said these last few words with a smile, gesticulating all the while in the loving manner of a mother. With this simple statement, she sent four hundred plus students, all graduating from our large private high school, off into the adult world. Not knowing where to go next, not knowing anything about the world outside our pristinely groomed football field and wrought-iron gates, we proceeded to throw our graduation caps into the air, screaming, laughing, and crying all the while. And just like that, we were high school graduates.
"Hey! Jo!" I tried, to no avail, to get the attention of my best friend, who was sitting three rows behind me. After a few more unanswered calls, I followed her unnaturally blonde curls to the nearest row and tapped her on the shoulder. "Jo! We did it!"
"Um, yeah, duh," she said, smiling through the sarcasm. "Of course we did it. Or shall I say, of course you did it, Miss Harvard University. I wasn't quite sure if I'd make it out in four years, but I had no doubt about you."
Needless to say, Jo wasn't the best student. Plenty of our classmates were much worse off than her, but she had potential; she simply valued her social life more than the grades on her weekly Physiology tests. On the other side of the spectrum, I fought tooth and nail my junior and senior years, taking primarily AP and honors classes, to ensure an easy college acceptance. Corresponding to my dedication and hard work were my acceptances to eight of the nine schools to which I had applied. In the fall, I would be off to the east coast with Jo, me attending Harvard pre-med courses and her studying cosmetology at Boston University. Despite our obvious differences, we could not stand being separated for too long.
"Your hair looks gorgeous today, hun," I say genuinely. Although some girls would kill for her natural, straight brown hair, the blonde curls suited her nicely. She had one of those faces that shone brightly no matter what framed it.
"Thanks, Stell. Have you given any more thought to my offer?" she asked slyly, eyeing my dark brown hair with a desperate look. For years she had always said I would look better with blonde highlights, "a little accent here and there." However, I just didn't care about my appearance as much as she obviously did. I frequently straightened my curly and unmanageable hair, but I preferred my converse to her sky-high stilettos, always carried my ripped and frayed shoulder-sling bag instead of her stylish Coach purses, and only wore makeup on occasion, contrary to her consistently flawless face.
"Thanks, but no thanks. I don't think I'm ready to go full out sorority girl before I'm even on campus." I constantly poked fun at Jo's desire to be accepted by the most elite sororities during Rush week.
"Haha, very funny," she said without humor. "You look very pretty today…" Her voice stretched out at the end so I knew that was not the end of her opinionated sentence.
"But…?"
"But…are you sure you don't want to look a little more stylish for your date tomorrow night?"
I smiled, knowing she was referring to our concert plans. We bought last minute tickets for the One Direction show, treating ourselves after a long and hard senior year. We planned to drive up to Los Angeles directly after our graduation celebrations and spend the night in the city. Then the next day, we would see the show, spend another night, and then drive back down to San Diego Monday afternoon. Our parents surprised us with an amazing reservation at one of LA's most famous hotels. They really knew how to get on our good sides.
Jo knew I had a soft spot for Harry Styles, the most attractive member of the band, in my opinion. His beautiful British accent made me melt, and his voice, especially when it was wrapped around the band's touching lyrics, sounded like an angel's. "Hmm, what exactly did you have in mind?" I smiled, sensing a full-blown makeover on its way.
Surely enough, at my words, I could practically hear the cogs start whirring in her brain. She started speaking, rambling, hardly making sense: "Well, let's start with your hair. I mean, we could highlight it blonde, or we could give you some lowlights, or just make you a ginger! You would look good with any color really, because your skin tone is just perfect! I think you take it for granted, because you don't even know how many girls would kill for your ivory color! Speaking of skin, we could go to the mall before we leave tonight and grab some Mac. You'll need some concealer, blush, eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. Oh, and while we're there we should definitely shop for some new dresses! I know you have a lot of dresses, but you should get a new one for our trip! I need a new dress too…I think I'll get a bubble skirt one. Or do you think I should get a sexier style? What am I talking about? Back to your hair: we should definitely give you some layers, or maybe just cut a few inches off the bottom. It's almost to your hips now, nobody will even know the difference. But what if we gave you a bob?! It would give you a new look for college and—"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. First of all, I am not getting a bob. And I seriously doubt whether I should let you near my neck with a pair of scissors in the first place. And I am not dying my hair any color, no matter what my skin tone. I can use your makeup instead of buying a whole bunch of face paint that I'll never use again." Here she looked disappointed, so I scrambled to give her something to work with. "But you're right, I could use a new dress. Meet me at the mall later?"
"Yes ma'am! I plan to stay there until we find you the perfect fit for Mr. Styles!" She looked overjoyed at the thought, and I felt myself grow happy at the thoughts of shopping, driving to LA with Jo, and seeing my favorite band in concert.
"Well, until four o'clock Miss Jones. We don't want to catch too much of the Los Angeles traffic."
"Yeah, yeah. See you later! And congrats, graduate," she said with a small wave, and then she scurried off to find her family and celebrate our new right of passage. I turned and did the same, thinking of only how truly lucky I was.