Aaron wasn’t lying. In a six hour period, I have seen nothing but a more different version of myself every few minutes. They drove Casey and I to a building near the center of town, where we underwent several stages of a makeover. 

The first stage was a bath, to get my “Iron neighborhood slime” off. I scrub myself raw, surprised to see pink skin under the layers of dirt on my hands and feet. I feel too soft, too vulnerable. I need my dirt armor back. I think, looking at my pink skin. 

When Nicki sees that the bath failed to remove the rust stains on my palms, she made me soak my hands in a basin of water and some chemical, until my fingertips sting. Then she scrubs my hands, and dries them off with a soft towel, which is a welcome relief from the severe murder Nicki is committing towards my hands. 

Nicki frowns at my burns, and pulls out a tub of tan rubber-looking material. “We’re putting latex over these. A champion needs to be perfect,” She explains, grabbing my wrist, and putting layers of the paste onto my arm, smoothing it so it covers my burns and still looks like skin. She paints it to be my exact skin tone. “Any other ugly scars?” 

“There’s one on my leg, and then one on my side, but those won’t be showing,” I answer. Nicki stares at me. 

“Yes, they will. What if you wear a bikini?” She says. “Here, we’ll cover those scars too. And this latex will stick for at least a couple weeks, and it’s waterproof,” She explains. 

“If I wear a what?” I ask, gaping. She rolls her eyes, and I pull up my shorts a bit, then my shirt, so Nicki can cover the burns. After the latex is painted and dry, we go over to a table in front of a mirror. 

She pulls out a tiny bottle of clear, viscous liquid. Glue? You’re going to put glue on me? I think, panicking. When she puts it on my nails, making them shiny, I stare at her. She looks up at me. 

“It’s nail polish,” She explains, then holds up her own hand, where the nails are painted pink. “You Irons don’t even have nail polish?” She asks, but I don’t answer, embarrassed.

The next stage, of course, is clothing. I can’t wear my work uniform, or my ratty old jeans and gray shirt. Nicki rolls a rack of clothing out of a closet. I stop feeling the soft fabric of my bathrobe, and look at the dresses. Every single thing has something gold on it, whether it’s gold thread woven in with the rich, dark colors, or just golden swirls and stars at the hem of a cream-colored dress. 

“Where are the pants?” I ask. Nicki stares at me for a moment, her thin painted eyebrows higher than they’ve ever been. 

Well, at least I won’t have to wear the painful corset that’s part of my work uniform any more. I think, then Nicki pulls out a new corset for me to wear. Great. 

“I can dress myself, you know,” I say, as she buttons the back of the dress while humming. 

“Golds don’t do anything by themselves,” She informs me, with a bitter tone, as she straightens the dress, and moves around to my front. “Well, it’s the best I could have done.” She says, then pulls out a pair of gold leather shoes, and hands them to me. I put them on my feet, and look in the mirror. 

The deep purple dress I wear has gold lace at the hem, and at the ends of the sleeves. The skirt is higher in the front, but lower in the back, because Golds can afford the extra fabric. 

As soon as I get a good look, Nicki grabs my arm and whisks me over to a table covered in strange items. No doubt Casey is asking about them now. I read the labels on the little boxes of pastel powder and paste, and immediately get up out of my seat. 

“I’m not going to wear makeup,” I inform Nicki. 

“Do you want to blend in or not?” She asks, pushing me back down in the seat. “I’ll only do a little, okay?” She says, in a kinder voice than what she usually uses. “You’ve changed enough today.” 

She puts a little bit of red coloring on my lips, and applies a black paste to my eyelashes, then calls it done. When I look in the mirror as she styles my new blonde hair, I almost cry. 

“Don’t cry,” She hisses, as soon as she sees the first tear. “I know you want to, but it will ruin the makeup.” I nod, and wipe the tear away carefully, my eyelids heavy with the new weight on the lashes. Once my hair is done, Nicki pulls out a jewelry box filled with gold chains. 

“I don’t think I-” I stare at Nicki, and she nods, putting the box away. 

“I’m assuming you want to keep the iron earrings too?” She asks, pointing to my ears. I nod. This will help me remember who I am. “Then you’re all set. There’s a limousine waiting outside to take you back to your family.” I nod, and stand up, slowly moving towards the door. 

I follow the directions on the building wall down to the lobby of the makeover building, and walk out. 

Two extremely long black cars sit in the parking lot. I guess these are limousines? I think. One of them starts, and Casey waves at me, hanging out the window, her new blonde hair flying behind her in the wind. The other one’s for me, then. I think. The driver, wearing a black uniform, bends down next to the car’s tire, an unfamiliar tool in his hands. 

“Flat tire,” He explains. “It will only take a second to fill, so you could just hang out for a little while,” He says, then ducks his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be giving you orders, miss,” He says, flushing as red as his Copper hair. 

“It’s okay,” I say, and spin around, walking along the sidewalk. This is definitely the safer part of the Island. 

“Olive?” A voice asks. I spin around to face Flint, who stares at me from where he stands on the sidewalk. “They changed you,” He says quietly. 

“I know,” I mumble, my fists clenched. I know that best of anyone. Flint snaps out of his daze. 

“Yeah, I...” He trails off, and sighs. “You’re beautiful,” He assures me, folding his arms. “I was just surprised that it happened so fast.” He reaches for my hands, and leans down. I step away from the possible kiss. He shrugs it off. “Don’t let them change you, Olive,” He says, blinking. I nod, and he hugs me. The driver appears. 

“The limousine is ready, miss,” He says, then looks at Flint. “Is this Iron bothering you?” 

“No!” I say quickly. “He’s my best friend.”

“Are you sure you’re not in danger?” He asks. 

“I’m sure,” I say, then start to move towards the limousine. Flint squeezes my hand one last time before I leave. “Where are we going?” I ask, looking out the tinted windows, five minutes into the drive. 

“Gold neighborhood,” He replies, turning onto a nicer street than the last. 

“Are my parents there already?” I ask. The driver nods. “How long until we get there?” I ask. He stops in front of a huge, cream-colored building. 

“We’re there now,” He says with a smile, getting out of the car. I reach for the door handle to open it, but he gets there first and opens it for me, bowing low. He offers his hand to me, helping me out of the low, long vehicle. I gasp a second time as I see the house closer. The driver smiles at my surprise, and walks me up to the door. 

When I enter the house, Casey is almost in a trance, looking up at the ceiling, walking around. As soon as I look up, I see why. 

The vaulted ceiling in the entryway is pure white stone, accented with gold engravings and pictures of the sun shining. The driver closes the door as he goes back to the car, and I sigh. How am I going to sleep at night in this palace while my friends are living in poverty? Before my mind can answer the question, someone starts leading Casey and I up the marble staircase with gold railings. Well, one of the marble staircases. 

“This is your bedroom,” They say, opening a pair of white double doors for me. The handles of the doors are golden and engraved with the sun too. Casey’s bedroom is just across the hall from mine. I take a deep breath, then look up from the floor at my room. 

A four-poster bed of wood painted white sits in the middle of the room, with a mattress so soft it will swallow me up. A thick white rug sits on the white-and-gold marble floor that my shoes make clicking noises against. Huge windows with heavy golden drapes bring light into the room, and a gold and white sofa sits against the wall. You definitely can’t spill any red juice in here. 

“It’s a lot of gold,” I say, spinning around to get a look at everything. 

“Yes, miss,” Someone says quietly, walking into the room. It’s another Copper, wearing drab black clothing. A white cap with neat lace holds her red hair back. 

“Hi,” I say, waving. “What’s your name?” She looks confused. 

“Skylar, miss,” She says, ducking her head. “And I know it’s not my place to say, but if you want to blend in as a Gold, you shouldn’t speak to servants,” She says, flushing red. 

“Sorry,” I mutter, then continue walking around the room. The colossal closet could hold my entire bedroom back home in it, and is filled to the brim with dresses, shoes, and other items I most likely will never wear. I sigh, and go downstairs to dinner, which was just announced over the loudspeaker. 

“You look very nice, Olive,” Mom remarks, from her end of the extremely long table. “But do you have to wear those old earrings?” I nod, and continue sipping my soup, which warms me more than this cold house ever could. Casey is sitting six feet to my right. This stupid table is too big. I think. Dad sits in his new, better wheelchair that doesn’t creak, and he looks so far away. 

“Dinner isn’t close anymore,” Casey says halfway through the meal, picking at her soft white bread. “I can barely hear you guys,” She seems sad. Mom nods, and pulls a little golden bell out of her pocket. She rings it, and servants appear, taking our bowls to the smaller circular table in the corner. She smiles triumphantly as we stand up and walk over. 

“Mom, we could have moved our own bowls,” I say, as we sit down. “And if you bothered to learn their names, you would think of them as humans, and not dogs whose only purpose is to fetch things,” I say pointedly. 

“Olive, I know it’s a big change, but we’re Golds now,” She lectures. 

“So we should act like stuck-up pigs?” I ask, folding my arms.

“We’re trying to blend in! If people find out that we used to be Iron, they’ll get angry,” She says, sipping her broth. 

“You’re forgetting that Coppers used to be our superiors,” I say. “And now you’re treating them like animals.” 

“It’s only fair. We lived in their shadow, now they need to live in ours.” 

“Mom!” I yell, standing up. I sigh, and put my napkin down on the table next to my empty bowl, then leave the room, my fists clenched. 

How can she be kind one day, and shallow and greedy the next? I think, entering my room.