and mouth, my heart racing.
‘I love your shabby-chic make-up,’ she says huskily. ‘But it won’t match the look for this show. You hold still and I’ll have you beautiful in no time.’
I smell singed hair and feel another strand being tugged. A damp cloth flaps across my face and I emerge, pink and shiny, blinking like a mole seeing sunlight for the first time. What am I doing
just sitting here? I have to tell her the truth.
‘I’m not Rad—’ Before I can finish, the stick-blonde slaps greasy foundation on my cheeks and works it in. I slam my mouth shut before I swallow Max Factor. The
foundation obliterates my features until I look like a doll.
My wild hair is taking shape. The dumpy woman is working hard to tease the froth into curls.
Stick-blonde picks up a pallet of colours and starts painting me. ‘Open your mouth,’ she orders and starts tinting my lips.
‘Close your eyes.’
I obey and she sticks false eyelashes over mine.
‘Keep them closed.’
I feel a brush working on my eyelids.
‘Don’t open yet. The lashes need to dry.’
She starts work on my cheeks.
I sit still, mind whirling.
I have to escape!
Perhaps I can slip out the way I came when no one’s looking.
Purple Man is suddenly behind me again. ‘
Bellissimo!
’
I open my eyes to see a model in the mirror. She’s beautiful. Her lashes are long and dark, her lips full and shimmering, her cheekbones look as though they’ve been sculpted from
marble. And her hair! Piled high on her head, glossy, it looks like something from a magazine.
I stare in wonder.
It’s me!
‘You look beautiful!’ Purple Man looms behind me. ‘Your dress is ready.’ He eases me to my feet and turns me round.
A gaunt brunette is holding up a dress. It shimmers like liquid gold.
‘It looks like a perfect fit.’ The brunette presses it against me. ‘It may need a few pins in the back.’
Glamorous, red-polished nails are tugging at my school tie. More are unbuttoning my shirt. Before I know it, I’m stripped to my underwear while the brunette holds the gold dress open.
Hypnotized, I step into it and stare wordlessly into the mirror as the brunette zips me up.
It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. The gold cloth drapes my hips, while the embroidered corset hugs me stiffly like armour. It’s strapless and my shoulders look
golden in the glow from the fabric. It lights my face and makes my hair gleam like polished copper.
‘But I’m not Rad—’ I reach for the words, half stunned by my reflection.
‘Shoes!’ The brunette beckons a young woman forward. She’s holding a pair of golden shoes with six-inch heels.
I stare at them, fear flooding me. ‘I can’t! I’m not—’
‘Now, now, dear.’ The brunette turns motherly and starts coaxing.
‘Really I’m not—’
No one’s listening. Models are flooding round me, making last-minute adjustments to their dresses. Hands grab my elbows and steady me while the brunette crouches and grabs my foot. She
shoves it into the gold shoe and I get a flash of what it feels like to be Cinderella’s ugly sister.
‘It’s too small!’ I yelp.
‘Of course it’s not.’ The brunette straps me in and I feel my toes crush at the end. ‘Now the other.’ Like a sadistic shop assistant, she squashes my other foot
into the second shoe. Suddenly I’m balancing, far above the world. I look down at the floor, way below. I’m nearly as tall as the other models. How do they get enough oxygen up
here?
I’m breathing fast, close to hyperventilating. I force myself to slow down and concentrate. I glance back towards the door to the corridor. It seems a hundred miles away, past crowds of
people. I’d never make it in these shoes.
Hands steer me forward. Ahead, models are disappearing past a curtain. Beyond it, cameras flash and music thumps, getting louder as I’m guided onward. I totter in my shoes and hands steady
me.
‘I can’t do this!’ I wail as I’m guided
‘I love your shabby-chic make-up,’ she says huskily. ‘But it won’t match the look for this show. You hold still and I’ll have you beautiful in no time.’
I smell singed hair and feel another strand being tugged. A damp cloth flaps across my face and I emerge, pink and shiny, blinking like a mole seeing sunlight for the first time. What am I doing
just sitting here? I have to tell her the truth.
‘I’m not Rad—’ Before I can finish, the stick-blonde slaps greasy foundation on my cheeks and works it in. I slam my mouth shut before I swallow Max Factor. The
foundation obliterates my features until I look like a doll.
My wild hair is taking shape. The dumpy woman is working hard to tease the froth into curls.
Stick-blonde picks up a pallet of colours and starts painting me. ‘Open your mouth,’ she orders and starts tinting my lips.
‘Close your eyes.’
I obey and she sticks false eyelashes over mine.
‘Keep them closed.’
I feel a brush working on my eyelids.
‘Don’t open yet. The lashes need to dry.’
She starts work on my cheeks.
I sit still, mind whirling.
I have to escape!
Perhaps I can slip out the way I came when no one’s looking.
Purple Man is suddenly behind me again. ‘
Bellissimo!
’
I open my eyes to see a model in the mirror. She’s beautiful. Her lashes are long and dark, her lips full and shimmering, her cheekbones look as though they’ve been sculpted from
marble. And her hair! Piled high on her head, glossy, it looks like something from a magazine.
I stare in wonder.
It’s me!
‘You look beautiful!’ Purple Man looms behind me. ‘Your dress is ready.’ He eases me to my feet and turns me round.
A gaunt brunette is holding up a dress. It shimmers like liquid gold.
‘It looks like a perfect fit.’ The brunette presses it against me. ‘It may need a few pins in the back.’
Glamorous, red-polished nails are tugging at my school tie. More are unbuttoning my shirt. Before I know it, I’m stripped to my underwear while the brunette holds the gold dress open.
Hypnotized, I step into it and stare wordlessly into the mirror as the brunette zips me up.
It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. The gold cloth drapes my hips, while the embroidered corset hugs me stiffly like armour. It’s strapless and my shoulders look
golden in the glow from the fabric. It lights my face and makes my hair gleam like polished copper.
‘But I’m not Rad—’ I reach for the words, half stunned by my reflection.
‘Shoes!’ The brunette beckons a young woman forward. She’s holding a pair of golden shoes with six-inch heels.
I stare at them, fear flooding me. ‘I can’t! I’m not—’
‘Now, now, dear.’ The brunette turns motherly and starts coaxing.
‘Really I’m not—’
No one’s listening. Models are flooding round me, making last-minute adjustments to their dresses. Hands grab my elbows and steady me while the brunette crouches and grabs my foot. She
shoves it into the gold shoe and I get a flash of what it feels like to be Cinderella’s ugly sister.
‘It’s too small!’ I yelp.
‘Of course it’s not.’ The brunette straps me in and I feel my toes crush at the end. ‘Now the other.’ Like a sadistic shop assistant, she squashes my other foot
into the second shoe. Suddenly I’m balancing, far above the world. I look down at the floor, way below. I’m nearly as tall as the other models. How do they get enough oxygen up
here?
I’m breathing fast, close to hyperventilating. I force myself to slow down and concentrate. I glance back towards the door to the corridor. It seems a hundred miles away, past crowds of
people. I’d never make it in these shoes.
Hands steer me forward. Ahead, models are disappearing past a curtain. Beyond it, cameras flash and music thumps, getting louder as I’m guided onward. I totter in my shoes and hands steady
me.
‘I can’t do this!’ I wail as I’m guided
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