A Photo Shoot Anonymous

She's untouchable. Unless she gets really upset; that's when tears well up in her eyes. She was born with big eyes. People say that I have big eyes...until they meet her and then they stop saying it to me and start saying it to her. We used to have the same color hair, the same texture, the same type. Then she dyed hers. First it was black then red then purple. It's back to black with something called a "peek-a-boo patch" which I think is platinum blonde; I haven't seen her for a couple weeks so I can't be sure. She's always changing but she's still the same.

When she came home over winter break of course she brought her camera. The routine starts as she grabs mascara and sloppily puts it on me, messes up my hair and keeps it in place with hidden barrettes or bobby pins, then places tons of bright red blush on my cheeks. "It's too much!" I protest. "It's black and white film, it will hardly show up", she replies.

She tosses me my black dress, the one I wore to the semi-formal last year and I slip into it. The curtains are opened; whatever is on the windowsill is tossed on the carpet; the comforter on my bed is thrown on the floor along with the two pillows. The...