I pull a dress from the pile and nearly choke. It’s completely sheer and would barely cover my ass, let alone anything else.
“No fucking way!” I shriek, shoving it back at her. “You’ve officially lost your damn mind.”
She rolls her eyes and snatches it from my grasp, replacing it with something slightly less scandalous. “Relax. That one is for me. THIS is for you.”
I squint at it. “Hate to break it to you, but it’s not much better.”
She gives me a look. One that says shut up and try it on.
Sighing, I relent and strip down to my panties before attempting to squeeze into the silky scraps of fabric. It’s tight, but not in a bad way. The slit over my thigh is daring, but not obscene.
I turn towards the mirror, taking in my reflection. “Okay, okay. You might actually be onto something here.”
She grins, gloating already. “Well, duh! Why must you always doubt my expertise?”
“I’ll give you this one.” I admit, turning to see the back. It does, in fact, cover my ass. Barely. “But what in the actual hell are you wearing?!”
We burst into laughter, tears in our eyes from the lack of oxygen. Her dress, if you can even call it that, is lime green and made of a stretchy material that screams ‘80s workout video.
“Yeah, no.” She peels it from her body and tosses it onto the floor before grabbing another. “That one is a crime.”
Ever the rule follower, I pick up the discarded dress and put it back on the hanger. Retail workers don’t get paid enough to deal with our mess.
Sal finally settles on a maroon body con that hugs her slim figure beautifully, and we head to checkout.
The girl behind the counter goes to our school too. She’s one of the popular girls, belonging to a social club for which I’ll never get an invitation. Not that I’d want one. She barely glances in my direction, and I doubt she even knows my name. It’s not surprising, I mostly keep to myself.
Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
I drop Sal at her car, and promise to text her later. Time to head home.
10
SOPHIE
Itug at the hem of my dress, already second-guessing my decision to come. I should’ve brought a sweater. I’m not a prude, but body confidence is not exactly my strong suit. My mirror had confirmed what Sal repeated to me while getting ready. I look good. But looking good and feeling comfortable in my skin are two entirely different things.
The Converse on my feet were my compromise. A small rebellion against the heels Sal had tried to convince me to wear. Sal, in her heels and smoky eye makeup, had fussed over my own hair and makeup like I was her personal project. “Trust me,” she’d said. I’m trying.
The music pulses from inside Jeff’s three-story house, vibrating my bones as we walk up the driveway. It threatens to burst my eardrums, even from the street. The front door hangs open, inviting us inside. His parents must be gone this weekend, and that’s the only excuse he needs.
Inside, the air is thick with bodies, booze, and a lingering scent of weed. Crushed cans and abandoned Solo cups litter every surface. A makeshift beer pong tournament rages on thepool table, protected by a wrinkled sheet. Couples grope and grind around every corner, and I quickly avert my gaze.
Near the keg, a group of guys shove at each other, their movements loose, their grins lazy. A girl stumbles past, her arm slung around her friend’s neck, both of them giggling and clearly beyond trashed. The place hums with reckless energy, the kind that promises bad decisions before midnight.
We are fashionably late. Or maybe just late enough to regret coming.
Sal angles for the kitchen, pouring two cups of cheap liquor and pushing one into my hands. I hadn’t planned to drink, but if I’m going to be here, I might as well have a little liquid courage. I gulp and it burns my throat, tears stinging my eyes as I force it down. Fuck, that was way more than I should’ve had. Especially with no tolerance.
The whole damn school must be here, packed wall to wall. I try to pretend I’m enjoying myself. Fake it till I make it. I follow Sal as she flits from group to group, forever the social butterfly. Eventually, we end up at the beer pong table, and suddenly, I’m playing.
I suck at sports. All sports. But like most things in life, for Sal, I’ll try.
The crowd presses in, eager for a show. Or more likely, eager to see us lose. Across from us, two football players, Jeff’s friends, Thomas and Drew, take their places. This is so unfair.
Thomas smirks, cocky as ever. Arrogance rolling off of him. “Ready to lose, girls?”
Sal and I roll our eyes in tandem. “We’ll see about that,” she taunts back.
