When Sophie said we were doing a makeover, I thought she meant maybe lip gloss. A cute top. A brush through my hair. You know, something subtle.
I was wrong.
By 7:00 p.m., our dorm room looked like a glam team had exploded. There were makeup palettes everywhere, a pile of clothes on my bed high enough to climb, and Sophie — bless her loud, glittery soul — was practically dancing with excitement.
"This," she said dramatically, holding up a black leather mini-skirt like it was Excalibur, "is your battle armor."
I blinked at it. "Where's the rest of it?"
She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not throwing you into the jungle unprepared. We'll pair it with this top — off-the-shoulder, deep green, brings out your eyes. Trust me."
I didn't. But I let her work her magic anyway.
Sophie's process was somewhere between a spa day and military boot camp. She started with my hair — brushing it until it shone, then curling the ends so they bounced like something out of a shampoo commercial.
"Girl, you've got good hair," she muttered as she worked. "You've just been hiding it under those sad buns like it owes you money."
Then came the makeup.
I'd worn lip balm before. Maybe mascara on special occasions. But this? This was an operation. Primer, foundation, concealer, highlighter — things I didn't even know existed were suddenly being dabbed onto my face with brushes that felt like clouds.
"Keep your eyes closed," she whispered like a surgeon in an operating room. "This eyeliner will change your life."
When she was done, I opened my eyes and gasped.
That girl in the mirror?
She wasn't invisible.
She had soft waves falling around her face, lips painted a rich rose, lashes that fluttered when she blinked — and confidence. Not fake, over-the-top confidence. But the kind that whispered, you deserve to be seen.
I stood there for a moment, stunned. My glasses sat folded on the table, replaced by subtle contacts. Even my posture felt different. Straighter. Taller. Alive.
"I… I don't look like me," I murmured.
Sophie walked up beside me and smirked. "That is you. Just… less hiding."
She handed me a pair of earrings and a small clutch bag. "Now come on. I want to see James's face when he realizes his academic rival turned into a goddess overnight."
I rolled my eyes. "You're exaggerating."
"Am I?" she said. "Charlotte Samson, you've been sleeping on yourself for years. It's time to wake up and let the world see you."
⸻
The next morning, walking to class felt like I was stepping onto a red carpet. People turned their heads — people I'd walked past a hundred times without notice. Girls whispered. Boys stared. Someone even complimented my hair.
But the only reaction I was searching for… was his.
James was already seated when I walked into class. He had one arm draped over the back of the chair, laughing with some guy from the soccer team.
Then he looked up.
Our eyes met — and for a second, just one electric second, he froze.
His smile faltered. His mouth opened like he was about to say something, but didn't. I walked toward him, heart pounding like it wanted to burst through my chest.
"Hey," I said, pretending I hadn't rehearsed that one word in the mirror.
"H-Hey," he said, blinking a few times. "Charlotte?"
"Mmhmm."
"Wow. You look… different."
"Bad different?" I asked.
He shook his head slowly. "No. Just… wow. Like I almost didn't recognize you."
I shrugged, sliding into the seat beside him. "Well, you didn't recognize me for four years in high school. Why start now?"
He burst out laughing. "Okay, that was savage."
I grinned, cheeks warm. For once, I felt in control of the conversation — not clinging to every word, not shrinking in his shadow.
And yet… it didn't take long for the moment to break.
As if on cue, Darby strutted in wearing something short, something expensive, and something that made me feel underdressed in an instant. Her eyes landed on me, narrowed, then slid over to James.
"Jamie," she cooed, pulling up a chair beside him — even though the seat was already occupied. "What's going on? Did I miss something?"
James looked at her, then back at me. "Not really. Just catching up with Charlotte."
Her face twitched. Only slightly. But I saw it.
Victory?
No. Not yet.
But the war had officially begun.
⸻
That afternoon, Sophie tackled me in the hallway the second class ended.
"YOU WIN. You win everything," she squealed. "I saw his face. That boy looked like he got hit by a thunderbolt and forgot how to breathe."
I laughed. "It wasn't that dramatic."
"Yes, it was. You're in your main character era now, babe. Enjoy it."
And I did.
Because for the first time in my life — I wasn't invisible anymore.