Dear Ben,
Canada is totally dibble. Did you know that they have maple syrup donuts here? We'll have to make a "library date" when I get back to Stoneybrook, and check out a book on donut-making. I'm sorry that I didn't get to see you in between coming back from boarding school and leaving on vacation, but Mom and Dad were pretty insistent that I should have a proper vacation and that I'd be bored sitting around the house.
Your friend, Mallory
P.S. I have a big surprise for you when I see you again!
I did have a big surprise for my almost-boyfriend, Ben Hobart. However, that surprise wasn't something that I could wrap up and send with a postcard, like a box of smoked salmon or a toy moose. The surprise was going to be the All-New Mallory Pike, a Mallory Pike who had mastered the Art of Loving.
I know that I have declared that I would reinvent myself on multiple occasions, but this time was different. I had seen an ad in the back of a newspaper on my first night in Vancouver, and found myself intrigued. "The Art of Loving" it read, in big swirly letters. "Workshop for kinky pony people." I supposed they had left out a word, and had meant to say, "Kinky-haired pony people." (I am a writer, and have an eye for spelling mistakes and editorial blunders. My sister Vanessa sent me a poem last month, and I tore into her for changing verb tense part way through. I would never make a mistake like that in one of my stories about talking mice.) My heart soared at the sight of this ad. I was kinky-haired (my hair is a giant tangle of red curls, and my parents won't let me straighten it), and a pony person. Just a few days ago, Jessi and I had jumped around my backyard, neighing and trotting, and unintentionally frightening Mrs. McGill.
Admittedly, I did need a course in the art of loving. In my year of dating Ben, we had never gone past first base (brushing elbows as we perused the card catalog at Stoneybrook Library). I was hoping to go all the way, and have dreamed many times about a beautiful kiss (with tongue!) under the stars.
The only catch was that the ad said that the workshop was restricted to people over the age of eighteen. I could have just forgotten about it, and asked Stacey for advice. She knows more about LUV than anyone else. However, Stacey doesn't like horses very much. The ad haunted me with its promise of understanding my obsession with horses. Maybe they would teach how to cultivate the type of love that a jockey has for their horse, but between a man and a woman. I had to find a way to attend.
Inspiration struck at dinner that night. I noticed that Janine's friend Caro had hair like mine. As unethical as it was, perhaps I could borrow her photo ID and pretend to be eighteen, like her. I was a bit afraid to ask, because Caro seems totally chilly. (Chilly is a word my friends and I made up, it means that something is awesome. Dibble and acute are synonyms, and stale is the opposite.) She was wearing a really great t-shirt with a rainbow and a purple triangle across the chest. It looked almost like the cover of Dark Side of the Moon. Her obviously acute taste in music intimidated me a little, but I finally approached her with my plan.
"I won't be using it, since I'm up at the university all day" Caro said generously as she handed over the card. "If you think that you can pass for eighteen, go for it."
That was the catch. Even with my clear braces (which are so much more grown up than pink ones, or even glow in the dark), I still look like I am eleven. Some days I look extra mature, like I'm twelve. I can't wait until I'm thirteen, so that I can try and pass for fifteen, like Claudia does.
Claudia! That was the key. I knew that with her stunning fashion sense, we could transform me from a sow's ear to a silk purse. (Seriously, Claudia once made a purse from some pigs' ears that she'd picked up at the pet store, and even though it didn't turn into silk, it still looked fabulous!)
"Eighteen?" Claudia said, tapping her chin with a paintbrush. She was hard at work painting a mountainscape across the knees of a pair of Capri pants. "I don't know, Mal. Even Stacey has a hard time passing for eighteen, and she's got that New York sophistication and a cold sore in the corner of her mouth. She looks like she's been around."
I had never heard Claudia sound so bitter before. Although, I supposed that I'd sound bitter if Stacey had designs on Ben. "We could at least try a makeover" I begged. "And we don't even have to dye my hair this time." What a disaster my last makeover had been! Let's just say that blonde hair and Mallory Pike don't mix.
Claudia's eyes lit up, like I knew they would. She would be the artist, and I her canvas. She stood me in front of a full length mirror, and started to grab handfuls of my hair, trying to find a gorgeous and mature style somewhere in the mess.
My adventure in fake ID was just beginning. "Goodbye, Mallory Pike" I whispered to myself. "Hello, Caroline O'Reilly."
- - - - - - - - - - -
While the others were at the aquarium, Claudia and I went out to find me a stellar new wardrobe. (Claudia told me to stop saying "dibble." "Stellar" sounds much more mature.) We stopped at several second hand stores, and Claudia chose a pair of knee high PVC boots for me, with three inch heels.
"I don't think I'll be able to walk in these" I fretted, eyeing the improbably steep body of the shoe.
Claudia threw them into her basket, along with a sombrero for herself. "If you want to look older, you need to walk the walk."
Our next stop was a bargain basement fabric store on the east side. Claudia stocked up on discounted pompoms, sequins, ribbon, and zippers. "It's all about the embellishment" she said, holding up a sequined horse appliqué. "We'll put this on one of the cowboy shirts I picked up, and you can wear it to your pony meeting. Being fashionably daring is all about having a theme." I took a note of that. It would be my mantra through what I hoped would be a stunning metamorphosis.
There was one place on my list that Claudia hadn't thought of. I wanted new glasses. I carried my prescription with me in hope of getting a new pair. Maybe we could find a stellar pair that would make me appear more mature. My parents would never let me have contacts, but they couldn't object to a new pair of glasses, especially if I paid for them myself. As the oldest of eight kids, I'm responsible like that. I scanned the many pairs available. Even if I had to spend most of my vacation money, I wanted to be beautiful.
"Horn rims" Claudia said. "Horn rims are cool, and they make you look older. Think of Mary Anne's dad. He looks old."
With her help, Claudia and I chose a pair of horn rimmed glasses. I wanted brown frames, but Claudia said that red would be more glam. Claudia knows glam (her black high tops trimmed with red sequins and marabou feathers were causing quite a few stares!), so those were the ones I chose. Lucky for me, they were on sale! We had some doughnuts at a doughnut store called Tim Horton's, which was named after a hockey player. I'd have to remember to tell the triplets about it, they love sports and food. My glasses were ready to be picked up in an hour, and I placed them in my purse. I didn't want to put them on until the makeover was complete.
We went back to Kenzo's chilly apartment, which really was chilly because someone had forgotten to turn off the air conditioner. Claudia set to work, and surrounded herself in a circle of puff paint, thrift store clothes, and glitter. I knew that magic would come from these humble tools. As Lord of the Rings taught us, power could come from the smallest of things. I wouldn't have an elven ring though; I'd have a mini skirt to wear with my horse shirt and sexy boots.
Claudia shepherded me into one of the bedrooms when she was done, and I tried on my new outfit. Claudia flitted around me like a hummingbird, energized from Tootsie rolls. She applied full makeup, including some fake eyelashes. "Cover your eyes" she commanded. I was careful not to smudge the glittery green eyeliner. Claudia led me to a mirror, and moved my hand away from my eyes, and slid my glasses onto my face.
I was shocked. Was that Mallory Pike staring back at me from underneath all of those sequins and that sparkly makeup? I could barely recognize myself. The horse appliqué and tailoring of the cowboy shirt almost gave me the illusion of a bust line. The boots were awkward, but they made my formerly stocky frame look almost statuesque. Claudia looked at me in approval. Look out pony people, here comes Mallory Pike!