"You look great!"

"I look ridiculous." Formal wear was not my forte. Though I loved the royal blue color, a floor-length evening gown was not my first choice of comfortable "going out" clothes.

"Andrea, this is the KC annual children's charity ball. Everyone is going to be there, and it's a black tie affair." Laura has always been the girly-girl of our duo. She always had her long blonde hair perfectly done, her nails manicured, her teeth constantly white, and her skin kissed by the sun (or by a tanning bed). Tonight was not different. Her hair was up in a beautiful bun of curls, her nails the same color as her "princess ball gown", her lips a crimson red, and topped off with 4 inch stilettos. I swear she's like a life-sized Barbie minus the unrealistic hourglass figure. "Besides, you have to look like a girl sometimes. Can't wear yoga pants and a hoodie forever!" she said in a "non-judgemental, I can pick on you" tone.

"I still feel like a fish out of water."

"Well, guess what, fish? Time to learn how to walk….in these!" She was holding a pair of silver heels by the straps and dangled them in front of me.

"No."

"Yes."

"No way."

"It's happening."

"You can't be serious." I groaned.

"Shoes. On. Now." She ordered. I grabbed the ankle-breaking hazards from her and went to the bed to sit and put them on. I know she means well, but this country bumpkin isn't made for "fancy livin'" as my dad would say. Moving from Lexington was hard, especially for my dad, but he knew that he raised a strong independent daughter who could take care of herself in the Big Apple. Shortly after my move, I met Laura and instantly became friends through a love of horrible TV shows and cheesecake.

"Those look SO good on you!" She squealed. I rolled my eyes, shook my head, and headed back to the mirror. I don't know where I'd be without her as my best friend/roommate; except probably in a pair of my black yoga pants and UK hoodie, lounging on the couch.

"Damn, girl! You look gorgeous! You clean up so well."

"Thanks." I replied. It was weird, but I had to agree with her. I hardly recognized the tall brunette staring back in the mirror. My hair was in waterfall curls, my make-up making my eyes shimmer, a gorgeous diamond necklace around my neck with matching earrings, and a full set of painted acrylic nails that I kept playing with.

"Stop! You'll ruin them."

"Sorry, nervous habit. At least I'm not biting them anymore."

"True, but I spent a lot of time and money to make you look like a lady, and I'll be damned if they get ruined before anyone else besides me sees them." I chuckled to myself, because if it weren't for her blonde hair and "Georgia peach" accent, she'd be the sister I never had. Dad absolutely loved her the first time she came home with me for break; hell, he considers her his "other daughter". Three years later, I am almost convinced she is my long lost sister.

"How did you even get tickets to this thing? Isn't it like only A-list socialites and CEO's that can get into this?" I questioned.

"Daddy got the invite. He's in Fiji with Momma right now, so he gave them to me. He said to tell them that 'Hank Jones said his daughters are taking his place.' Perks of having a daddy who owns his share of a major insurance company."

Thanks, Hank. Now I'm getting dragged to this. "I guess being the best friend of an unofficial heiress means I have to be just as outgoing as you to social events?"

"For everything, really! Look, you are my sister from another mister, so you HAVE to indulge in my lifestyle. It's sister code."

"Oh, please. I call bull on that." I laughed.

"Fine, but it's my code. We are going to take over the world with class and style. Even if it kills you!" she smirked with her arm around my shoulders. "Now, let's go. The limo is here!"

The drive to the party only took about 45 minutes, which was filled with Laura explaining how our night would be filled with dancing our shoes off, drinking tons of wine, donating her daddy's money to the cause, and "scoring" someone for me to cuddle on. Though she is very pushy, outgoing, often times loud, and has no filter in some cases, I couldn't have asked for a better friend.

"I swear, Andrea, if you aren't locking lips with a hottie by the end of the night, I will have failed as a pseudo-sister/mentor."

"Oh geez, Laura. You are so over dramatic." I laughed.

"Juilliard, darling. It's what we do." She replied in her "attempt" at a regal British accent.

"British accents still aren't your strong suit."

"No kidding! We're seniors, about to graduate in May, and I still can't do a British accent that's convincing."

"It's that twang you got, honey-bun." I mocked in my Georgia-ish accent.

"Oh hush, you!" She giggled as she pushed my head.

"Hey, watch the hair!"

"Oh, my God. You sounded like a girl." She teased. All I could do was stick my tongue out at her as our limo pulled up the driveway.