"Just... sit still. Stop moving," Maddy chides, one hand holding your chin in place while the other lets the tip of her eyeliner glide over your eye. Her touch is more delicate than one would imagine, and it's not just because she's being a perfectionist about the makeup.

For the record, you hate this. Getting ridiculously dressed up for some high school party where someone has to beg their older brother to buy the alcohol because someone else's parents are out of town for the weekend. But she's nothing if not persistent, and she keeps telling you that you would look so pretty if she did your makeup. It's hard to say no to a girl like Maddy.

When your eyes are done (and sprinkled with some purple shimmer to match hers, obviously), she's moving on to your lips. Her grip tightens on your chin to tilt your head, a soft frown on her lips as she studies your face, silently picturing the hundred different lipstick shades she has on your lips. God, your mouth looks so soft... Her lipstick of choice is a dusty pink, and its glide over your mouth is smooth and soft as her hands slowly work to paint them. She's gentle with the way she moves your head; her touch almost seems affectionate. But no, that's absurd. You're absurd. Maddy doesn't see you like that. You're a girl, never mind her best friend.

Oh, and she's also dating Nate—not that you give a shit about him. You almost ask why she's looking at you like that, subconsciously wetting her own lips as she works, but you know she'll yell at you for moving again while she's trying to paint over the pink with a sheer gloss.

"Pretty," she murmurs, more to herself than you. You're suddenly very glad for the generous amount of blush she'd decided to apply to your cheeks. Ugh, she can't wait to do your hair, and force you into one of her old outfits: short skirts, cute heels, a cropped top... you're going to look good.