Rae’s nostrils flared, and her small hands clenched at her sides. “Middle schoolers don’t magically become nice just because you dress to impress.”
Frankie winced. “Of course, they don’t. A killer outfit just gives them one less thing to target. I’m sorry if I made it sound like it would fix everything.” Her chest ached. She remembered what it felt like to be that girl. The one others chewed up for sport.
Rae planted her hands on her hips. “You made it sound like clothes were the only thing wrong with me.”
A strangled noise slipped from Evelyn. “Darling, you are not the problem. The problem is people who need to tear someone down just to feel tall.” She rounded the counter and stood beside Frankie. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”
Rae’s mouth wobbled. “Half the school made fun of my outfit.”
“How?” Frankie asked, narrowing her eyes.
“For starters, Tiffany recognized the scarf Evelyn gave me. Said it used to be her mom’s favorite before they donated it.” Rae blinked hard, like she could force the sting away.
Frankie stilled. Damn it. She should’ve anticipated that. Should’ve armed Rae with a comeback, or at least a shield of sarcasm.
A memory stirred. Secondhand underwear and a locker room full of laughter. But dragging that out would tear a hole in the polished person she’d worked so hard to build.
“That had to hurt,” she said. Too small a sentence for that kind of betrayal.
Rae snorted, tough-girl reflex in full swing. “I handled it.” She glanced away, but not before Frankie caught the watery glint in her eyes. “Or I thought I did.”
“What did you do?” Evelyn asked softly, handing her a bottle of water.
Rae unscrewed the lid and took a long drink. Then shrugged. “I used that phrase you two wouldn’t shut up about. Chic on a budget.”
“And?” Frankie asked.
“Now my nickname is Budget Barbie,” Rae snapped, hurling the words like she hoped they’d bruise someone. “So thanks for that.”
Frankie’s hands curled into fists. She wanted to charge into that school with a verbal machete. Instead, she inhaled and slowly exhaled. “Tell you what. Let’s go to my place. I’ve got several trunks stuffed with clothes I smuggled out when I ran away. We’ll dig until we find something worthy of your comeback tour.”
“Nope.” Rae lifted her chin. “I’m not backing down. Retro chic is happening. I’m just early to the trend.”
She plucked a battered army jacket from the rack and gave a defiant shrug. “How about this?”
Evelyn raised a pink eyebrow. “I admire your gumption, but…are you sure?”
“A few kids said I looked nice,” Rae muttered. “Other losers like me. Just, you know, with better backpacks.”
“I like them already,” Frankie said. “Give me names. They’re getting exclusive invites to our fashion club. Strictly invite-only.”
“A fashion club?” Rae perked up.
Frankie nodded. “Its official title is Operation Small-Town Chic Club. Evelyn’s in.”
Rae’s mouth curved. “The cool kids are going to lose their minds when they find out you’re hosting fashion meetings they can’t buy their way into.”
“Exactly.” Frankie nodded at the jacket Rae had yanked from the rack. “Let’s find your next look. What drew you to this one?”
“Beth has one like it,” Rae said. “It shouldn’t get me roasted.”
“So, it’s a self-preservation pick?”
Rae frowned. “What?”
“Do you actually likeit, or do you think because Beth owns one, the agitators will let it slide. No GI Jane jokes. No fashion sniper fire.”
“You think they’ll say that?” Rae hastily rehung the jacket.
