"The key rhetoric appeals in the book are ethos, pathos, and logos. They all appeal to different things: for example, ethos appeals to character while logos appeals to logic." Although the teachers voice is cheerful, the class is deadly silent, boredom strewn on the faces of the students. "Molotov uses these devices, successfully expressing Pnin's childlike qualities primarily through the hyperbolic scenarios, like in chapter two," Ms. Hayes eyes light up as she talks, walking around the classroom animatedly. "Does anyone have an example?"
The shrill bell cuts off any answer, and Ms. Hayes looks as disappointed as she does whenever she hears the bell, and frowns at students as they begin to get up. I smile fondly at my teacher; she was a kind woman in her mid-thirties with golden brown hair and a smile constantly adorning her face. She absolutely loved her job and tried to connect with each of the students.
Teachers like Ms. Hayes were the reason why I put so much effort into my schoolwork. Of course, I wanted to do well and go to a good college at the beginning of next year- going to Drexel with Stephanie was the goal- but the teachers who genuinely cared about their students made me want to try harder. Work harder. Make them realize they were making a difference.
Once everyone stopped bustling around me and got out the door, I myself got up from my seat and began packing up my book bag.
"Time flies," Ms. Hayes mutters, but smiles at me mischievously. "I swear the clocks are fast."
I crack a smile. "It felt plenty long to me."
"Yeah, I'm sure. At least you get to go home and relax now; I have to stay for a few more hours." My teacher complains to me lightheartedly, and rounds her desk before sitting down gently in her favorite chair covered in a paisley patterned fabric.
I shake my head and hold up my science binder. "I have to see my Environmental teacher about a grade first. I'm not free yet."
She scrunched her nose in distaste. "I was never good at science. I guess that's why I'm English teacher."
I zipped my backpack up and slung it around my shoulders, running a hand through my blonde hair. "Yeah, well you make a good English teacher. I'll see you Monday, Ms. H."
Ms. Hayes smiles widely at me and waves cheerily. "See you Monday, Lauren."
I walk out of her room while bracing myself for the usually bustling halls, but I let out a breath of relief when I see that the hallway was thinning out fairly quickly. People rarely loitered in the halls after school on a Friday, so by the time I crossed the courtyard and made it to the science wing, there were only a handful of students still around. When I reach my destination, I peer inside the classroom, but don't see my teacher anywhere.
I mutter obscenities under my breath for the wasted time before turning back to head toward my locker instead. When I turn the next corner, I see two people in the otherwise empty hall, making out against the doorway, which only half concealed them. I stop mid-step, ready to turn around and go an alternative route to avoid the couple, but when the guy shifts, I see the side of his face.
That's not a stranger, another student in my large high school. To my horror, I see Thomas standing in front of the girl, devouring her mouth.
Before I can stop myself, I splutter, "Thomas?" and hope that it really isn't him.
His eyes open and he pulls away from the blonde to look at me. Thomas' dark brown eyes hold no emotion; in fact, he seems relaxed as he observes me. My heart thumps faster in my chest as I stare at him with wide eyes. He looks back at the blonde previously in his arms and tells her to go away, which she surprisingly does, and then turns back to me.
"Babe, what're you doing here?" Thomas asks coolly. "I thought you were going home."
My frown deepens as I look at him in awe, the string of obscenities and horrible names getting caught in my throat. Instead I force out, "What are you doing, Thomas? You were just making out with- with- somebody else!"
"L, listen-"
"L?" I ask softly, and then rage finally kicks in and I demand louder, "Don't call me that. My name is Lauren."
Thomas' eyes look bored, but face frowns. He looks at me thoughtfully as I stand in front of him, feeling a mixture of anger, hurt, and sadness wash through me. I don't understand how he can be so relaxed when I had caught him cheating on me. I didn't know Thomas at all. The worst part is, I can't even make out the words to scream at him, tell him how much of an asshole he is- I just stand there.
"Lauren, listen to me," Confidence radiates off him in waves as he speaks. "Whatever we had was fun while it lasted, but you're not worth the trouble."
"You cheated on me, and now you're breaking up with me?" I ask incredulously, needing verbal confirmation of what was going on.
"I got what I wanted from you on Saturday night." Thomas shrugs, as if he hadn't just admitted that he was using me for sex. "Who cares? You're invisible, anyway."
I stand there frozen in my spot, completely shocked he had the audacity to say these things to me. He used me.
The past month was just Thomas charming his way into my pants. And now that I caught him, I wasn't worth the trouble. Everything was sinking in, and all I could do was stand there dumbly. Thomas just walks past me and down the hall, even whistling as he does so, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. I blink once, twice, three times, and still can't believe what just happened.
You're not worth the trouble. You're invisible, anyway. His words repeated in my head until I could finally move and force myself to walk to the parking lot to find my car. Anger and hurt filled me, and I didn't know which emotion to give into completely. My head was spinning as I tried to think back of my relationship with Thomas, and how easily I given myself up to him. After all, I hardly got attention, and Thomas was what every girl wanted: cool, nice, and made you feel special.
If I was smarter, I would've realized he was just using me for sex. But I guess I was too caught up in someone paying attention to me that I made the mistake of trusting that asshole.
When I reached the parking lot, my phone began buzzing in my pocket, a product of the always-active group message between me, Bailey and Sasha. Once I'm in my car, whom I affectionately named Betsy, I turned my phone off and ignored whatever they were saying. The particular topic of my sex life wasn't one I wanted to discuss with Bailey or Sasha; hence why instead of answering their messages, I was driving straight to my best friends dorm room just across the city.
Quickly, I drive myself to Drexel and prepare myself to go see Steph. Steph is my complete opposite: totally out there and demands her opinion be heard. She was also extremely observant, thanks to her Sociology major, and was going to notice something was wrong the second I see her. Likewise, I was seeking her advice and comfort because I knew there was literally no one better for the job. I parked in student parking and stepped outside into the chilly air, currently a bit nippy thanks to the onslaught of winter.
I followed dormitory procedure- signed myself in, left my I. D. at the front desk- before hurrying into the empty elevator. My confusion and shock had been steadily replaced by frustration and anger, which I wanted nothing more than to make Thomas pay for. By the time I reached Stephanie's dorm room on the third floor, I was so worked up that she took one look at me and asked, "What's wrong?"
So, naturally, I spilled my guts to her while lying on her tiny bed, feeling very much like a patient on a shrinks couch. "Thomas was using me for sex. And I caught him making out with another girl after school in the stairwell." I frown at my own words; I felt so stupid that I had to say them.
"He what?" Steph screeches, face contorting to a vicious scowl. "Where is he? I'm going to castrate him!"
It took a good ten minutes to clam Stephanie down. She really cared about those close to her, and I was no exception: we've been friends for years and gone through a lot together. From friend crisis' to family problems, she's always been there for me. So, when I told her about that the guy I had fallen for so quickly was only using me, she looked like someone had punched her in the gut.
We sit on her bed together after an hour of talking everything out, and I feel immensely better. However, even so, the sting of the betrayal is still present. Stephanie and I sit in silence for the first lull in conversation we've had since she opened the door, where we both melt into our thoughts. I think about telling Bailey and Sasha that I broke up with him because he was affecting my grades, something they've even said to me before. Maybe it'll save the trouble of explaining, and the white lie will go unquestioned.
Stephanie sighed dramatically and shook her head, catching my attention as I look up at her, only to have her frown at me. "I wish you could get back at him, you know? Make him realize what he lost by cheating on you."
"He said I was invisible," I repeat his words through gritted teeth. "He will never regret what he did so long as he's popular Thomas Clark and I'm nobody Lauren Collins."
Stephanie remains silent for a moment before she practically jumps off the bed, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips. She digs through the papers on her desk before returning to stand in front of me, the same mischief glinting in her eyes. I sit up in confusion, surprised by her sudden change in mood, and dangle my legs off the edge of her bed as I watch her with growing fascination.
She grins wider, eyes sparkling as she finally announces, "I have an idea."
I look at her warily. "What?"
Steph stands in front of me with her manic smile and purses her lips. "In my sociology class, we're learning about what someone's reaction to a situation can mean. We have a final project; it's to create a social experiment." She hands me the paper and I look it over to see the directions of her project. "What if..." Stephanie's eyes twinkle again. "What if we make you the social experiment?"
"What do you mean?" My brows furrow in confusion, and before I let her answer, I ask, "What does this have to do with Thomas?"
I look up from the paper instructions in my hand, at Stephanie as she explodes with the beginnings of a plan.
"What if we give you a makeover? And not just physical, either. You would act more confident and outgoing for the rest of senior year." As if excited by her own words, she continues quickly, "You'd go back to school on Monday and stand out, be noticed, instead of letting yourself blend in with the crowd. You can show Thomas what he's missing."
Before she finishes, I'm shaking my head, rejecting the idea as I sink deeper into the edge of the bed. "I could never pull that off. You know I'm not confident enough for that."
"Oh come on, Lauren, you can do anything!" Steph encourages. "Remember last year when you taught yourself piano, and could play Hey Jude within a week? You're the smartest girl I know. Just fake it It'll be easy." She takes another step toward me. "Don't you want to make your mark in high school? Be seen? Imagine the look on Thomas' face when he sees you strut into school on Monday a changed women. It will be priceless."
Her words of encouragement remind me of what Thomas said to me as he called me invisible, say that I wasn't worth it, that it didn't matter that he had hurt me. I begin to consider her proposition seriously, thinking about the implications. Bailey and Sasha would be completely against it, considering they preferred flying under the radar and attracting as minimal attention to themselves as possible. They didn't like to drink, to go out, to stay out late, or do anything remotely risky. I used to be okay with that, but if I was going to go through with this, then things were going to change. I would become a completely different person.
But how could I act more confidently if I've always been quiet? Stephanie brought out the more outgoing side of me, but when I was alone or with Sasha and Bailey, I was the same introverted person I usually was. I'm about to say no, reject Stephanie's outrageous plan to save myself the trouble, but instead I think about how Thomas seemed so bored when he broke up with me. Like he hadn't done anything wrong. Like I was a chore, a bother to him. The very mental image my brain conjures up fuels my need for revenge, and my emotions make the decision for me.
"Okay," I breathe, giving my best friend an uneasy smile. "I'm in."
And because I said the magic words, Stephanie immediately began planning. She got out a piece of paper and scribbled down what this entire thing would entail, and I tried my hardest to follow along with her instructions, but my head was spinning. I felt high on the idea that my life was about to flip upside down in a matter of days, all because I agreed to let Stephanie transform me into a new person.
As she scribbled down things about what clothes I would have to wear and which I had to retire (my sweats, she told me, had to go), she gave me the run down of what this would entail. You need to change your wardrobe, your attitude, and your behavior. You can't tell Bailey and Sasha about the project, or they'll potentially ruin the plan. Don't you dare try to back out in the middle of everything, or it will all be for nothing.
The rules were overwhelming, so I just bobbed my head up and down, trying to remember bits and pieces of what she was telling me. Eventually, after she had given me a paper with all of these rules written down, she told me that we would be making a visit to her house so I could upgrade my wardrobe. Within fifteen minutes, we were at her house as Stephanie dug into her closet, tossing the clothes she deemed appropriate at me to shove into a bag.
"You can't give me your entire closet, Steph," My protests are cut off by her rolling her eyes at me, shoving another bag into my hand.
She doesn't accept my attempted rejection, and instead insists, "They're at my house and not in my dorm for a reason. I don't wear these a lot, but now you will."
In the end, I have four full trash bags of tight and skimpy tops, short skirts and shorter shorts, accessories that I would otherwise never buy. She even gives me a few pairs of shoes because, and I quote, "Converse aren't acceptable for every day". Of course, I beg to differ, but I conceded to keep my mouth shut and listen to Stephanie. After all, she knows more about fashion than I ever have. I usually throw on my sweatshirt and leggings and call it a day.
After she gave me an unruly amount of clothes, Stephanie ordered me to my house, where we would go through my own wardrobe. I hopped back into my car after shoving the full bags into my back seat and drove twenty minutes back toward my house on the edge of the city. Half an hour later, I was sitting on my bedroom floor with my back against my bed as Steph threw clothes at me that she thought to be "too boring", "preppy", and "conservative".
As she cleared out my closet, I couldn't help but doubt that this experiment would even work. I mean, just because I dress and act differently, doesn't make me any less invisible. If anything, I can already imagine all of the horrible popular kids laughing at my attempt to break out of my shy exterior. But the possibility of the plan, albeit a small one, actually working was too enticing to ignore. So I sat on my floor and watch Steph do what she's always wanted to do: raid my closet.
When she throws my favorite white and blue floral tank top in the 'throw out' pile, I pout at her and whine, "Aw, Steph, I love that top."
"It looks like something my grandma would wear," Stephanie scoffs. "We're going to have to go to the mall... I don't think you have enough clothing to pull this off."
This time, I scoff. "I think we have more than enough."
"We're going to the mall." She says, turning around to give me a stern look, her best impression of her own mom.
"How about we go in a few weeks?" I offer instead, because I'm disturbingly aware of how little money I have at the moment. "When I run out of outfits to wear, we can go."
Reluctantly, Steph agrees, and we continue on with my closet until everything is in mile-high piles around my room. She stuffs the clothes she had vetoed into two trash bags and threw them in my garage, and told me to forget about trying to steal them back when she wasn't paying attention. I laughed because, well, that was exactly what I was planning on doing.
Once again, I conceded to listen to her, because she was even more serious about this entire thing working out than I was. We go back to my room and I fall onto my bed as I watch Stephanie put together different outfits and put my new clothes away for me. I relinquished all control of my closet to my best friend and instead thought about the rules she had laid out for me.
"What am I supposed to say to Bailey and Sasha?" I wonder aloud, imagining how they might react when they see me on Monday.
Steph glances over at me, and then refocuses her attention to folding a shirt into my drawer. "Act like it's not big deal or something. But do not tell either of them anything. They'll gossip about it and ruin everything in a matter of minutes." The contempt in her voice is noticeable; she never liked Bailey and Sasha. They were too judgmental for her taste. "Seriously, Laur. You can't tell anybody what we're doing, or it will ruin the entire experiment."
I nod in understanding as a response, but still feel my shoulders slump in defeat. I didn't want this to result in me hurting anyone, and I had a feeling that despite my reluctance, it would happen anyway. Unfortunately, I was already too mentally invested in the pros that I decided to ignore the cons.
After she's done sorting my clothes, Stephanie falls onto the bed beside me and gives me a mischievous grin. "So, what parties are going on tomorrow night?"
I shrug. "I don't know. I don't go to parties."
"That's going to change," Steph says in a sing song voice, clearly enjoying the change in my behavior she was implementing. "We're going to make your grand social reveal tomorrow night."
My eyes practically bulge out of my head as I stare at her in alarm. "What?!" I shake my head at her. "You said Monday, not tomorrow."
Steph props herself up on her elbows as she looks at me. "All of the popular kids need to see you at a social event this weekend so they know that not only your wardrobe changed, but so did your attitude. If they just see you dressed up at school, they might not think anything of it."
"But," I still protest, shaking my head vehemently. "How am I supposed to act?"
Stephanie looks at me with her lips pursed for a long, agonizing moment, her expression suddenly shifting to seriousness. "Lauren, you've been letting people step all over you for the past eighteen years. You never spoke out when people did bad things to you. You just let them keep doing it because you didn't want to upset anyone. This is your chance to change that. It's your chance to refuse to let someone take advantage of you, or to speak out when someone is being rude. Just be a badass version of yourself."
I let her words sink in until I begin to find solace in them. She was right. In a way, there was a badass version of myself underneath my shy exterior that was waiting to get out. I was outgoing when I was around Steph because she brought it out in me. Now I just had to bring it out in myself.
"Okay," I say slowly, with a small nod. "Okay. But how are you going to find a party?"
Stephanie's serious expression shifts into a smirk once again as she pulls her phone out and begins tapping away effortlessly. While she does this, I keep going over what she said in my head, trying to mentally prepare myself for whatever Stephanie was about to get me into.
"There's a party at Justin Jones' house tomorrow night at ten," She says with a satisfied smirk as she looks up from her phone to me.
Instead of cowering away or telling her that I wasn't ready, I just suck it up and nod. All I had to do was fake confidence, pretend like I knew what I was doing. And because of Stephanie's overwhelming confidence in my acting abilities, I thought that I really could.