At the end of last summer, the summer between my freshman and sophomore year in high school, I flew home from New York City.

It was not Evan who first recognized me at the airport. I stood with my luggage next to me, by a pillar in the section of the airport where we had agreed to meet two months before. It had been the beginning of the summer when I had left. Claiming I needed to get away I had insisted upon going to camp. I knew I would miss everyone, especially Theresa and Lexi, but a whole month and a half without cooking and cleaning was impossible to resist. Though camp did not seem a particularly appealing alternative, the lure of so long without my obnoxious brothers sealed the deal. So I hugged them, gave them a kiss on the cheek and wished them all the best until I returned.

When I waved goodbye from entrance of the airport I wore unstylish clothes, glasses that had never looked good on me, and 15 pounds of weight I did not need, it came from being unathletic and out of shape. This is not to say I was a reject, I had friends, and I was fairly happy. I wasn't thrilled with my body, I mean, I ran up the stairs and I was practically out of breath, but I liked myself. I'm a loyal friend, and generally even people who didn't really know me at school knew from other people I was nice and polite, and I had a reputation for being smart. So everyone treated me okay, though I suppose they had to, or my brother would have unleashed some major hostility.

At camp I met Suze. Suzette Rogerson was a sarcastic, cynical New Yorker, with a heart of gold, a quirky sense of humor and killer style. Her parents had decided camp would be a valuable "life experience." Each cabin at camp had five cots. I claimed the one in the corner and Suze plopped down on the cot next to me. She was gorgeous. She looked like she had just stepped out of Teen Vogue or Seventeen. She wore short black sleeveless turtle neck dress, on her slim, tan 5'5" body. She had her thick curly shampoo-commercial hair back in a ponytail and she stared at me coolly, almost catlike. She was curious, but she didn't show it, she was too 'sophisticated' for that. She flung off her black heeled flip-flops and reapplied lip-gloss to her lips. I tried to keep from staring as I said hello and shyly introduced myself.

"I'm Suze Rogerson, from New York. Call me Suze." For some reason we became almost instant friends. It seemed I was the only one who got her jokes, and I think she was immediately attracted to me as a potential makeover. In any case, after six weeks and my aversion to the less-than-gourmet camp food, she wasn't the only slim, tan tennis player. She claimed she couldn't bear to part with me and invited me back to New York for the remaining two weeks of vacation before she returned to her exclusive private school, and I returned to my hellish public school.

I was welcomed with open arms by Suze's business tycoon father and former super-model-turned-fashion-designer mother. It was here, among the culture of the rich, glamorous and bored that Suze informed me that she had immediately realized my potential upon my arrival at camp and decided we must together try to reach that potential. She had encouraged me to learn tennis, which she had played with me almost constantly, pushed me to take up fencing and dance. Then she told me matter-of-factly that Starbucks was a gift from God, other colors may be fads, but black was forever. (As were diamonds, that's why they went so well together) And the Hilton family wasn't that great, she had known them for years. Now I was ready for the next step. Clothes, style and so much more.

By the time I left New York I was equipped with a new wardrobe, two pairs of Jimmy Choos and confidence. We agreed to keep in touch, she promised she would love me forever and that was that. Back to the real world.

Now, looking forward to my grand entrance but stranded in the airport- I was starting to get annoyed; I told them what time my plane got in, they should have been here by now. I was wearing one of my new completely coordinated outfits, all the way down to my Prada clutch and prized Jimmy Choos. I was coifed, confident, and completely alone.

"I looked at the chart, her plane's not delayed."

"Then where is she? I don't see her anywhere."

I recognized those voices.

"You're such a shithead, she's right there."

"Shut up, that's not her."

I spun around to see Evan and Jason staring at me.

"Amy?" Evan called out disbelievingly.

"Tis me you obnoxious losers."

"What a shock, I'm right" Jason drawled, grabbing my heaviest suitcase and throwing the strap over his shoulder. He turned away from Ev towards me. "Hey Amy, put some clothes on." He grinned and nodded his head toward my brother. "We all missed you, Ev got so full of himself without you there to put him in his place that I had to step into the job as a substitute. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all." I commented straight-faced, as I grabbed my new leather bag full of New-York make-over clothes. "Did you punch him? I wish you'd punched him."

"Everyone always wishes someone would punch him."

Evan grinned, gave me a playful punch and grabbed my last two bags, leading the way to what we affectionately call the crap-mobile. He stopped grinning when a group of college guys picking up their luggage whistled as I walked by. He actually started toward them, the protective asshole he is. But Jase grabbed his arm deftly and pulled him toward the door. "So, it appears someone had a busy summer."

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