No.18

Forty-five minutes later, I was groomed, painted, and polished to within an inch of my life. We'd paired a chic leather jacket with my clingy dress as well as some heeled ankle boots. She'd rubbed something rose-scented through my hair that made it silky and shiny and gave it a subtle shimmer. Then she gave me something else from her endless beauty supply to rub into my skin, which did the same for my body. All of that had been topped off with more bottles and tubes of makeup than I could count. Though the bold, red lipstick she playfully informed me was named "Don't Stop" and the winged black liner around my eyes were my personal favorites.

"Wow," I breathed when she was finished, barely recognizing myself.

Moira grinned at me. "I won't even say I told you so."

She looked equally amazing in her black leather microskirt and sheer long-sleeved blouse. She'd done her makeup similar to mine, though she'd opted for a glossy black lip instead of red. And I still wasn't sure how she planned to dance, let alone walk, in her thigh-high heeled boots.

"Come on, now we're ready for a night of bad decision-making."

She took my hand and pulled me toward the door. This time I didn't even feign a protest. If I was being honest, I was already feeling better and sort of looking forward to it. I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone out and partied with a friend. Hell, I could barely remember my friends. Being the pack outcast had really put a damper on my social calendar.

"Fuck it. What's the worst that could happen? "