Tricia is magic with a makeup brush. She orders me into a sweet-smelling bubble bath and hangs around while I shave my legs. We haven't had a date-prep-day in forever, and our positions were always reversed. The last one I can remember was after her breakup with the guy I secretly called Bill Nye. I swear, minus the bowtie, the guy looked just like Mr. Science, if a few decades younger, and Jose agreed with me. Not exactly my idea of hotness, but Tricia said he was decent in bed. Whatever.
Teddy is a spectator in all this. He giggles as I yelp at having my eyebrows tweezed, and looks on longingly as Tricia paints my toenails a rich berry. I hope Carl isn't the type to get upset about boys wearing polish, because Teddy insisted on a nice clearcoat after we talked him out of the pastel pink
