“Oh, no you don’t!” She snatched them from my hands. “These are for wearin,’ not for waitin’, so put ‘em on, or you’re not walkin’ out that door tonight!”
Holy crap. She actually expected me to wear that (and I was being generous here) outfit tonight. In public? Daddy would skin me alive! I was beginning a protest when she found my weak chink: “Do you want my mom’s feelin’s to be hurt?”
“No, no, of course not. It’s just that my father . . .”
“Won’t be there.” She arched a waxed brow at me pointedly. “So you are going to look like an actual seventeen-year-old tonight, and not a seventy-year-old!”
Ouch! That one hurt. I snatched the clothes back from her hands and stalked to her bathroom to change in private. Ashley-Leigh was one of those people who always got her way, so I may as well get on it, because she wouldn’t let up till I did. Before I could change my mind, I dropped my skirt, kicked off my boots, and shimmied the shorts up. I turned around. Wow! They were certainly aptly named. I squeezed my eyes shut. How she walked around—and confidently I might add—in these things was beyond me. The shorts barely covered my, own, ahem . . . assets.
A knock interrupted my inspection. “What’s takin’ so long? Come on.” Pound. Pound. “Open up. I wanna see,” she whined.
I cracked the door to reveal what I had on so far. My intention was to finish behind closed doors, but Ashley-Leigh busted on through like she owned the place, which of course she did.
“OMG!” she squealed. “You look so amazing! Put your shirt on.”
Pink-faced, I shrugged out of my yellow tank and attempted to slip on the flowy material. “Um . . . does this come with an instruction manual?” I complained after a bit of fumbling around with it, feeling completely inept.
Exasperated by my total lack of fashion-know-how, she decided to take over, coming at me with what looked like long, silver nails. “Well, first of all, you can not wear a bra with this.”
I backed up, going from pink to red. “Ah, Ash, I’m not sure . . .”
“Now.” She clicked her fingers and beckoned. An exaggerated sigh hissed from her glossy lips when I didn’t instantly obey. “Come on . . . off with it!”
I blew the last of my reserve air before complying. Unhooking my bra, I handed it over. (At least I thought to wear my best one.) Quickly and expertly, she wound the pink straps around my neck and tied them into a bow. Then she reached down to do the same thing with two more straps at the bottom of my back. How many straps does this thing have?
She stepped back to inspect her work. “Hmmm. What are we gonna do about shoes? . . . I don’t even think we wear the same size anymore.”
“I can just wear my boots,” I offered up, but I think she forgot I was even there.
“Mom!” blasted in my ear. Two seconds of quiet passed. “Moooom!” I winced and plugged my ear. She made an impatient sound in the back of her throat. “You!” She froze me with her pointy nail. “Stay put. I’ll be right back,” she threatened, then flew out the door and bounded down the stairs, hollering again.
Since I had nothing else to do, I went ahead and checked myself out through half-closed eyes—I wasn’t used to seeing so much exposed skin. Hmmmm. Except for how short the shorts were, I kinda liked what I saw . . . okay, more than liked what I saw. A little prideful smile lifted my lips. The form fitting shorts showed off my legs, which were toned and tanned from hours of outdoor work. The soft color of the blouse complimented the natural glow in my cheeks. I turned my torso a bit, admiring how the material flowed loosely over my breasts, exposing just enough cleavage to be flattering but not overtly sexy. It was nothing like what spilled out of Ashley-Leigh—she was pouring out of both ends.
Just then she popped her sunny head back in, holding up a pair of nude heels for me to try on. Warmth flooded my face at my unkind thoughts. At least she owned it and flaunted what she had with pride, I mentally defended her as she unabashedly bent over to strap me into pleather stumbling blocks.
“Um, Ash. That’s really sweet, but I don’t think it’s gonna work,” I said at the same time she growled in frustration.
“God, Katie! How tall are you now? . . . And your foot is huge!” she accused me as if I had something to do with it.
“I only look so much taller now cause I’m wearin’ stilts,” I said, feeling like an Amazon.
She caught my face. “No, it’s not that. You look good . . . nice and skinny with long legs. You’re lucky—I have to work out all the time to look like this, and you don’t have to do nothin’,” she grumbled. “’Snot fair!”
My eyebrows lifted at her skewed perspective, but I remained silent.
“Well, you’re just gonna have to wear your boots,” she stated the obvious.
I was secretly relieved—at least my ankles would be covered tonight. I stomped back into my old trustees. “All ready.”
“Wait!” she screeched. A jingling arm barred my exit. “Don’tja wanna wear some make-up?” I made a face. “Aw, come on! It’s your seventeenth birthday for cryin’ out loud!”
The correct answer to her question was obviously heck yeah! But I wasn’t allowed to wear it and really didn’t want to anyway. I looked doubtfully at her rendition of a smoky eye—that looked like a lot of work to do and undo.
“Um, maybe just some mascara?” I compromised. She looked on the verge of a hissy, so I quickly explained, “It’s just . . . Daddy will notice anything else, and I won’t have time to come back and wash it off before curfew.”
To my surprise, she handed over a slick black tube without further comment. As I applied a couple of quick coats, eagle eyes appraised my wand technique. I was so busy watching her watching me that I didn’t really notice the full effect until I stepped back.
“Wow!” her outlined lips mimicked my thoughts exactly.
Are these really all of my lashes? I blushed and looked down at my familiar boots, secretly both shocked and pleased by my appearance.
“Okay. Now for the piece de la resistance,” she butchered the French phrase cheerily, coming at my face with a sticky wand of what felt like strawberry glue. “Just a bit of shine, and we’re all done.”
She took a moment to look me over, admiring her handiwork. That’s when I noticed her face fall, almost imperceptibly. Something flickered in her eyes that she tried to hide. Her smile slipped a bit before she could catch it. I smiled warmly at her, trying to re-fan the flames of our fledgling friendship. Fortunately, Ashley-Leigh was a pro so she snapped out of it, curling her lips back into a bright smile.
“You see, Katie,” she chirped waspishly. “Now you look like you actually belong in high school instead of a commune!”
My own smile slipped away. Another awkward pause ensued while she tried to laugh off the insult. Alrighty then . . . female-bonding time over. Looked like she’d already stepped back into her mean-girl shoes.
“So long as I don’t look like I belong on a street corner,” I said, going for glib but managing to sound like a goob instead. She shot back with a loud “mee-ow” and mock scratched at me with her metallic claws.