"No, we're not friends." Suddenly I realized Jessica was right; I was being defensive about Sam.
Which was pretty weird considering our total lack of anything that would resemble a friendship.
"He, like, never talks to me," I admitted.
"Well, don't feel bad," said Jessica. She spotted Madison walking toward us and waved. "Like I said, he's a total freak."
"I don't feel bad," I said. "I don't even care." It was true. I didn't care. I was about to tell Jessica about how rude Sam had been to me that day at the museum when she grabbed my shoulder.
"Oh my god, look!" she said. She was pointing at a red minidress in the window of Zinna, the
store right next to Ralph Lauren.
Before I could respond, Madison came up to where
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we were standing. "Hey," she said. Then she saw the dress. "Wow, that's hot," she said.
"You would look so good in that dress," Jessica said to me.
I pointed at my hair. "Red," I said. Then I pointed at the dress. "No," I said.
"Come on," said Jessica. "Redheads can totally wear red. Try it on."
"Connor would die if you wore that to dinner," said Madison.
"Yeah, so would my dad," I said. Were they serious? The dress was smaller than my cell phone.
"Just try it on," said Jessica.
"Yeah," said Madison. "What do you have to lose?"
I let them pull me into the store and waited while the saleslady found the dress in my size. They
stood on either side of me talking about how sexy the dress was and how great I was going to
look in it, while I pretended to be considering purchasing it.
Once I'd put the dress on, I didn't even need a mirror to confirm what I already knew: there was
no way I was going to buy it. Looking down, I saw that the neckline plunged below my bra, and
I could feel how the tiny skirt barely grazed my thighs. Not to mention the color. I stepped out of
the dressing room.
Jessica and Madison both gasped. "Oh my god," said Madison, jumping up and down. "That is
soooo sexy."
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I turned away from her to see myself in the full-length mirror. For a second I was sure I was
looking at someone else's reflection.
"Lovely," said the saleswoman. "So mature. And it's on sale. Fifty percent off."
"Guys," I said, waving my hand in front of their faces. "I can't buy this dress."
"You have to get it," said Jessica. "You look amazing in it."
"Yeah," said Madison. "If I looked that thin in a dress, I'd totally buy it."
"It's a beautiful dress," said the saleslady.
I looked back at myself in the mirror. It was like I'd been transformed into my incredibly sexy
older sister. Or maybe my incredibly slutty older sister. I turned around. You could see the lines
of my underwear through the tight fabric.
"Come here," said the saleslady, beckoning me over with her finger. When I got to where she
was standing, she spun me around and in one move, unclasped my bra, slipped the straps off my
shoulder, and whipped it off. "There," she said. "Much better." Then she pointed at my butt.
"Also, you need a thong."
"A thong?"
"Yes," she said. "A thong is--"
"I know what it is," I said quickly. "I just don't own one."
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"Oh, we'll go to Lace Escapes," Madison said. Then she started to giggle.
Jessica giggled, too. "Yeah," she said, giggling harder, "they have really nice stuff."
Their laughter was contagious. "Guys, stop," I said, laughing. "I don't know ..."
But I did know.
I was getting it.
Jessica's mom pulled up in her car just as the three of us were stepping out of Lace Escapes. She
honked and waved. "Hi, girls," she called. Then she pointed at Jessica's bag. "What'd you get?"
Jessica waved at her mom. "I got the cutest tank top at Ralph Lauren. You're gonna love it."
"Oh good, honey. I can't wait to see it," said Mrs. Johnson. Then she smiled at me and I smiled
back. A lot of teenagers get stressed out about meeting peoples' parents, but it doesn't bother me.
I do parents really well-- they always tell my dad what a nice girl I am, how I'm so polite and
everything. For a second, though, while Mrs. Johnson was smiling in my direction, I felt a
nervous flutter. I was afraid she was going to ask me what I'd gotten, and I'd have to say, "Oh, you know, just a sexy red dress and a lace thong." -- It wasn't quite the nice-girl impression I was
eager to make.
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Chapter Twelve
Just before seven, Princess One let out a shriek that penetrated the floorboards of the living
room--where she and her sister were sitting by the window waiting for Connor--and reverberated
through the basement-- where I was standing in front of the mirror waiting for Connor.
"He drives a Lexus!"
"That is so cool," Princess Two screamed down to me. "A Lexus is a very cool car."
I didn't care what car Connor was driving; I was just relieved he hadn't stood me up. But I
couldn't take much time to thank my fairy godmother right at that particular moment, as I was in
the midst of negotiating what could only be described as an extremely tricky thong situation.
The lady at Lace Escapes had assured me the thong I'd
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gotten was the most comfortable one on the market. "You won't even feel it," she'd said about ten thousand times.
But how can you not feel something that keeps going up your butt? And not only does it keep
going up your butt, it's supposed to keep going up your butt.
I shimmied, hoping to get the thong to relocate, but it didn't help. Maybe I just needed to take it
off. But then what if we got in a car accident and the paramedics discovered that under my tiny
little red dress I wasn't wearing any underwear? Maybe they'd decide any girl who was that big
of a slut didn't deserve to live.
The bell rang and I heard the Princesses shout, "We'll get it! We'll get it!" I didn't move.
The longer I stood there, the more convinced I became that I needed to start from scratch--just
take off the thong and the dress and wear something normal like ...
But of course that was the problem. Normal like what? Normal like jeans and a T-shirt? Because
if the dress came off, that was pretty much all there was to choose from. I did my little "Thong,
Please Get Out of My Butt" dance again. Something somewhere must have shifted because for a
second I was able to concentrate on something other than my posterior. Unfortunately, that
something was my toes, which were pinched together in a pair of shoes I'd bought for (and hadn't
worn since) my dad and Mara's engagement party--a night on which I'd been in so much
emotional pain my aching feet had barely registered.
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I looked at my reflection. The older girl in the mirror who shrugged back at me didn't look nearly
as uncomfortable as I felt. Actually, she looked kind of cool and sexy. I stood up straighter. As
long as I didn't have to walk more than ten yards, I'd probably be okay. I smiled, checking to see