I look like I'm about to get married!" I whine as Carrie's manicured nails rake through my just washed and dried hair.

"No, you look like you're about to attend a formal conference." She denies, taking a bobby pin out of her mouth and plunging it into my endless sea of hair.

"I look like the Virgin Mary." I pout.

"You look like an attractive girl who is going to draw attention to herself without even trying." Carrie counters.

"Why do you want to kill your best friend?" I ask, wincing as she brushes the knots in my hair out and sticks curlers in.

"I merely want you to experience being and looking like a woman before you are old and grey." She states. "Now close your eyes, I need to put some make up on."

"I'm going to look like a whore." I warn, though I close my eyes all the same, fearing her icy glare. We both know that only two kinds of people wear make-up. Whores and actors. At least that how it was the last time I checked.

"It's really very modern." She says, brushing something along my eyelashes. "All young, sophisticated women of society wear it when they go out now a days. Plus, I'm only applying a tiny bit!"

I roll my eyes beneath closed lids.

Sometimes, being the best friend of a modernity fanatic can be unhealthy.

"Look, Carrie," I begin beneath closed lids, "I appreciate what you're doing but I don't need all this."

"Of course you don't, Marion. You're beautiful gorgeous everyday, but this is simply amplifying it!"

She then tells me to keep my eyes shut or suffer dire consequences. I feel tugs at my hair and bangs and several pokes. Something smooth and wet touches my lips and it feels like they're being coated with syrup.

"Can I open my eyes NOW?" I plead.

"No, not yet." She says airily.

I wait for what seems like a gazillion more hours, she ceases the tugging and brushing and everything else.

"Okay." She says, sounding as if she's about to explode from excitement. "Open."

Is that me in the mirror?

Oh. My. God.

The skinny, green eyed, tan-faced, black haired girl I knew about two hours ago isn't even there.

I'm wearing this VERY snug and fitting white dress with sleeveless straps that goes down to my ankles, where white heels are protruding from the bottom of the dress. I also have white gloves that go up all the way to my elbows.

But that's not the most surprising part, mind you.

My hair, which we all know is NEVER tamable ever, is hanging down in loose curls around my bare shoulders, but is pinned back slightly to reveal my ears with pearl earrings in them. My face looks like those of the most beautiful maidens in the movies I sometimes see. My eyes look big, green and almost luminescent, framed by longer looking lashes and a splash of silver on my lids. My lips look pink and un-chapped, shining with God-knows-what.

"What did you do?" I ask, barely registering that's me I see in the mirror.

Carrie appears beside me, the biggest of smirks on her face. "I turned you into what you have the potential to be. Now, Indy won't be able to keep his eyes off you."

My eyes widen in horror as I realize who I'm attending the conference with.

"He's not going to notice." I say flatly, not sure who I'm trying to convince.

"If he notices a slutty maid, he'll notice you. How can he not?"

I turn, dumbfounded, to Carrie and then hug the life out of her.

"If I live through tonight, remind me to thank you and then kill you brutally." I whisper in her ear.

"At least give me the details of the conference before you splatter my blood on the walls." She whispers back.

I realize that I won't see her for the rest of the summer because her boat is leaving tomorrow and tears well up in my eyes.

"Marion Ravenwood, don't you dare mess up that make-up that took me hours to do." She threatens, though her eyes are already spilling over.

We embrace again, and I feel her shoulders shake just a little. Hey, we've been best friends since we were in diapers and this is the first summer we aren't together, we deserve some sadness!

She lets go of me with a sad sniff and walks out of the room, before turning and saying with a devilish glare, "Don't have too much fun."

I laugh as she closes the door.

I'm going to miss that crazy girl.

I look at myself in the mirror one more time, not believing that it looks like I have a body. Curves and all. Even breasts!

Not that I'm excited about this addition to my klutzy body.

I take a deep breath, knowing Abner and Indy are already across the street at the museum.

I open my door, grabbing my purse (which contains nothing useful in it. It's for FASHION.) and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

Here goes nothing.

Yes, make-up was worn in the twenties. It became popular among young women during the flapper movement. Just a fun fact!