Sam Cruz's Infallible Guide to Getting Girls Part 6

"I hate you."

"Course if you do wax," he says, "and you ever forget your ID, you can just let them count the rings on your v.a.g.i.n.a. Like a tree." Sam cracks up.

I smack him with a couch cus.h.i.+on. "I don't want to suck at this."

He flings it aside and says to me in a serious tone, "You're overthinking things. As usual. The state of your..."

I want to laugh watching him figure out exactly what to call it.

"Honeypot?" I suggest.

"...is not going to be a deal breaker. If you're doing things right, he shouldn't even be in a heads.p.a.ce to notice."

"Okay." I grab my coat to head home.

"Tomorrow," Sam says. "Don't wuss out."

"Fine, Dr. f.u.c.kenstein," I reply. "I won't."

"That's my good little monster."

All I can think as I head to the bus stop is how I can't fail. I won't fail. I've never failed at anything in my life. I'm the perfect grades girl who dated her first crush for two years, will probably be voted valedictorian, and will definitely get into all the universities of her choosing.

Fine, so I failed at Jeremy. Are guys my Achilles heel? Am I going to self-destruct in a stinking blaze of loserdom?

This may have been the worst idea of my life.

But I won't go back to being the girl who gets left.

Chapter nine.

After two hours in a girly salon without any chicks in my desired age range to distract me, the pink walls, blaring girl power pop, and endless outdated celebrity gossip magazines may have caused me to sprout a vag.

I'm dying to get out of there by the time Ally finally comes out sporting her new *do. For a second I don't even recognize her because I'm so used to that d.a.m.n ponytail and the girl before me is, well, sleek. Her boring brown hair is rich and coppery and makes her green eyes pop. Even with the dumb gla.s.ses.

The makeup I now realize she's wearing doesn't hurt either.

"Waaaay better," I say, throwing her a thumbs up.

She tosses her hair in a flirty way. "I like," she beams.

"Good. This is a very solid first step."

Ally gets a horrified look on her face when she realizes where we're going. "The mall?" she screeches. "No way, Jose."

I stop, cross my arms, and face her with the most patient expression I can. "Who is the veritable master?"

"I'm sorry I ever said that," she grumbles.

"But you admit you did say it?"

Grudgingly, she nods.

I cup my ear. "What's that? *Yes, O great Master.'"

"Don't push it, buddy. You forget that I have a few incriminating photos of you."

True. I hustle her into the mall, enjoying her look of horror as we pa.s.s trendy store after trendy store.

"I thought I said I wouldn't wear-"

"Planet destroying clothing. Yeah. That's why we're going here."

I pull her inside a bright store with electronica playing. "Everything is sustainable and they pay people properly to make it."

Ally fingers a s.h.i.+rt doubtfully. "Really? But it's..."

"Something earthlings wear in this century? Still true, though. Check. That s.h.i.+rt is bamboo."

Taking advantage of the gleam of interest I see in her eyes, I load her up with outfits and send her off to the changing room.

One thing about Al is she's super efficient. Even when trying on clothes.

In no time, she's jumping in front of me with a "ta da" flourish, outfitted in leggings, a short skirt, and a s.h.i.+rt that doesn't look like a box.

"Holy s.h.i.+t. You've got an a.s.s!" I exclaim.

She turns beet red and mutters something that I don't think I can anatomically achieve.

"While I'm thrilled you are really human-shaped and not a hempy lump, the bra has to go." I point at her plain, whitish bra visible under the top.

Ally glances down at herself. "What? It's comfortable. It's the right size."

"The bra is ruining the view. Besides, what do you want guys to think when they see you topless? *That looks comfy?'"

"Of course not. I want them incapable of thought. All the better to lead them with."

"Bossy tendencies aside, that's the right att.i.tude. Lingerie it is. With color. Lace. Pushup. All that underwire goodness."

She fiddles nervously with her hair. "I dunno. That's so half-naked and *bring it on.'"

"Exactly."

There's something still wrong with the picture. My eyes narrow and I concentrate until it hits me. The gla.s.ses. I take them off. "Contacts too. You don't want to accidentally burst some guy into flame from the reflected rays of the sun. Bad foreplay."

"I'm blind."

"Just that much easier for me to lead you."

I tuck the gla.s.ses carefully into my pocket.

The good thing about the mall is that the lingerie store is right there. So I don't have too far to drag her.

It's a small boutique selling upscale lingerie. I figure the more personalized service will put her at ease. Plus, while it's slightly more expensive, their stuff is made in this country, which I know she'll be happy about.

Since there is no way I'm going to pick out bras for Ally, I send her off with a Barbie doll looking salesgirl, who leads her to the change cubicles for measuring purposes.

It's the kind of place where the cubicles are just at the back, not hidden away or anything, so I can clearly hear her tell Ally she's got the wrong size.

"So much for *right fit,'" I point out.

The selection that salesgirl brings back looks perfect for our needs. I stand outside the cubicle eyeing the large rack of colorful bras, which lines the opposite wall.

I've seen more than a few of them up close and personal. Fondly, I reminisce.

"Sam," Ally hisses.

I turn to her door. "What?"

"I need my gla.s.ses to see properly. Because I'm not sure about this."

Her tone worries me.

"How bad can it be?" I ask, bracing myself for the worst.

Ally opens the door a crack and holds out her hand for the gla.s.ses, which I hand over. It's wide enough for me to peek through and see what this major disaster looks like.

Holy. f.u.c.k.

She's gorgeous. And wearing only a purple pushup bra and matching bikini briefs.

She is about to shut the door when she sees my expression. She glances down at herself. "What do you think?"

Think? Who can think? The blood has rushed away from my head and is pooling in a big throbbing lump. I try to speak but all that comes out is some kind of zombie grunt.

My jeans are now too tight and I don't want to keep looking at her because it's wrong and disgusting to be getting hard from Ally, but I can't seem to move my eyes.

The war between my "flight" brain and my "please Sir may I have some more" d.i.c.k is causing me to rock back and forth slightly.

"You hate it," she accuses.

"Definitely don't hate it," I manage to mumble. My face is starting to hurt from the scrunched-up expression of "what the...?" that it's frozen in.

The salesgirl peers in. "Now that's hot. Gotta adjust the fit though. One sec."

She adjusts Ally's b.r.e.a.s.t.s to fit better.

Her hands jiggling Ally around, and Ally's b.o.o.bs being jiggled, swim ginormously in a warped slow motion in my line of vision.

"Thaaaaat's beeeet-teeeer," she roars in slowed down speed, my hearing tunneling.

I swallow. The sound of it in my head is deafening.

Ally turns to the side to catch her reflection. The motion causes more slo-mo shaking in my general direction.

I stumble back like I've been burned. Make them stop.

"I'm thinking you could rock a thong," the salesgirl says.

With that statement, time snaps back in a rush.

"Thong?" I protest.

"You don't think I could pull it off?" Ally asks, sounding concerned.

"You totally can," the saleswoman rea.s.sures her. "Your bod is awesome."

"Let's not rush things," I stammer.

The salesgirl throws me an annoyed look. "Don't be stupid. I'll get them."

She bustles off.

I keep blatantly checking Ally out against my will. The only bright spot is that she is too oblivious to get it.

"So it's good?" she asks. "I look s.e.xy?"

"Yeah," I reply, trying really hard not to sound disturbed.

"Really?" She is doubtful. "Because that's pretty much the same look John Hurt had before the alien spewed out of his body."

I am spared trying to get myself out of this hard place by a rock. Or in this case, a stump.

"They said they had some organic cotton pjs at the back," I hear Jeremy say.

I turn around slightly and see him stop dead as he spies Ally through her slightly opened door.

Some tough-looking Asian chick joins him. She glowers darkly at Ally then turns her glare on Jeremy, who meekly looks away.

Ally's eyes widen and she pulls me into the changing cubicle with her, slamming the door and trapping me.

There are about two feet between me and her barely clad body. I'm looking everywhere except at her, and counting ceiling tiles as a distraction.