A boy my age with light brown hair sits on a bench while a girl in cut-off pants with checkered suspenders, a lime-green top that comes well above her navel, and a burgundy bowler hat stands in front of him, talking his ear off.
“What the hell is she wearing?” Holly mutters, moving forward to follow Jacki through the crowd.
I stay near the doors, afraid to step any further into this place. I can barely hear myself think over the noise. My lungs constrict and my legs tremble under my skirt, threatening to give out entirely. People continue to pass me, most of them in groups, chattering away to each other with colorful bags hanging from their arms.
Holly turns back when she’s halfway across the corridor. “Come on,” she says, motioning for me to catch up.
At the same time, Jacki shouts, “Serena!” and the two girls run at each other, squealing.
“For the Lord. For Shiloh,” I whisper to myself, squeezing my eyes shut and balling my fists at my sides. “Give me strength,” I pray.
Opening my eyes, I spot a break in the stream of people and hurry across the corridor to grab Holly’s arm.
She eyes me. “You alright?”
I swallow, though my mouth is dry. “Yes.”
“Come meet Drew and Serena,” she says, moving forward.
I glance up at the girl in strange clothes and the boy speaking to Jacki. “You didn’t say we were meeting boys. Does your mother know?”
Holly laughs. “That’s just Drew. My mom doesn’t care. She knows him. Knows his whole family, actually. We go to church with them sometimes.”
The world stops for a moment and my mouth hangs open. “You go to church?” I eye her tiny shorts and form-fitting top. Does she dress like this when she goes? “Do you worship the Lord there?”
She nods slowly.
I glance over at Jacki, Serena, and Drew. Jacki is indiscreetly gesturing at me, undoubtedly telling her friends about my reluctance to come to the mall.
Serena breaks away from their cluster and zips through the crowd of shoppers, stopping in front of me.
“Oh my god, you’re gorgeous!” Serena says, leaning close to my face. “I am so jealous of people with freckles. They say people with freckles and beauty marks live longer.”
I blink rapidly, unsure of what to make of her comment. No one has ever been jealous of me before. Particularly of my freckles. Naomi called them sin spots. I once asked her if her many skin blemishes were also sin spots and she slapped me.
“Back up. Give her some room,” Holly says, nudging Serena’s shoulder.
I gape at Serena’s hair as a bright pink strand comes loose from under her hat. I’ve never seen anyone with pink hair before. It’s as bright as the shower curtain in Holly’s bathroom. “Your hair,” I breathe.
“I know, right?” Serena laughs. “It was supposed to be purple. I’m so pissed!”
“It’s dye,” Holly whispers to me. “It’s not her real hair color.”
Behind Serena, Drew steps up with Jacki. He has kind, golden brown eyes that remind me of Elder Hanson for a moment. “Nice to meet you,” he says, sticking out his hand. “I’m Drew.”
I lower my eyes on instinct and decide it’s best not to speak to him.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks the other girls.
Holly’s shoulders lift out of the corner of my eye before she says, “Let’s shop already!”
Drew hesitates. “I’m supposed to meet Adam. We’re going to see the new Batman.”
“Oh,” Holly says, disappointment coloring her tone. “Okay. Well, have fun.”
I peek up at him. He offers the group a half-smile before glancing at me again. “Nice to meet you,” he says.
I can’t bring myself to answer.
He shrugs before turning and walking away.
The first shop we visit is loud and crowded and my hands shake too hard to paw through the racks of clothing like Holly, Jacki, and Serena do. On top of that, I have no idea where to start.
“This!” Jacki shouts over the music that threatens to deafen me. She holds up a floral print dress with straps instead of sleeves. Everything about the dress is wrong. It’s too short, it’s not a solid, subdued color, and the back is made of straps that crisscross each other.
Still, of all the people I’ve met, something about Jacki makes me want her to like me.
“Um…Maybe,” I say.
She holds it up to me. The dress barely comes to my knees. “What size are you? A three?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t take my measurements before I left.” I should have known better! My size has changed, that much is certain. Since being flogged and then taken away from Shiloh, I’ve noticed my hip bones and ribs protruding more than usual.
Holly reaches around me and grabs the back of the shirt I’m wearing, reading the tag that’s been poking me all day. “This is my mom’s. It’s a medium and it hangs like a garbage bag on her.”
“She’s probably a small,” Serena calls from the other side of a rack of tops.
My eyes land on her exposed navel when she’s not looking. I don’t understand how anyone can walk around with so much showing. I have a hard enough time tolerating my own nakedness when bathing and that was before the big, ugly scars across my back. I can’t imagine showing it off on purpose!
Holly nudges me in the arm. “Look around. Find some stuff so we can get in line for the dressing rooms.”
I notice she’s already carrying a load of clothes over her arm and I wonder if they’re meant for me or if she’s shopping for herself.
Browsing a rack labeled BOHO CHIC, I find several skirts that are suitable. A nice, sensible brown skirt and two green skirts. One of them is ruffled, which would be considered ostentatious, but my choices are limited. It’s long enough, the color isn’t flashy, and it’s light weight.
“Let’s share a room so we can all go at the same time,” Serena suggests.
Holly and Jacki nod as the four of us stand in line with our clothes.
“Share a room for what?” I ask.
“Trying on our clothes,” Serena says, picking through the bundle in her arms.
I blink at her and turn to Holly. “Like, undress in front of each other?”
She smiles. “You make it sound weird. We’re not getting naked. You’re wearing a bra and underwear, right?”
Appalled, I step back. “I am, but that’s beside the point.” In Shiloh, though we shared a bathroom, undressing in front of anyone besides your mate was strictly forbidden.
Holly sighs. “Alright, we’ll share a room and wait on Miss Prudey Pants to try on all her shit separately.”
Jacki pinches Holly’s arm. “Stoppit,” she says, scowling. “She can have her own room if she wants. She don’t know us that well.” She turns to me. “I don’t blame you.”
For a moment, I wish Jacki was my cousin instead of Holly.
After waiting in line, the three of them crowd into one dressing room together and I take one on my own. They finish trying on their clothes before I can bring myself to fully undress in this strange, noisy place.
“Let’s see!” Serena yells through the door at me.
Aside from the skirts and shirts I picked out, they made me try on clothes they picked for me.
“Just for fun. You don’t have to buy them,” Holly told me.
But now, standing here in the floral dress Jacki chose, showing nearly all of my legs and all of my arms and a lot of my chest, this doesn’t seem like fun.
I pull my hair forward in an attempt to cover my chest and shoulders, but end up exposing the crisscross back. I turn in the mirror and gasp at the sight of the raised pink scars that stripe my skin. I avoid looking at them if I can help it. Here, under these harsh, bright lights, it’s all I see.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Holly calls.
“N-nothing,” I stammer. I have to get out of this dress.
I start to pull down one of the straps when the door opens. I shriek and move to
cover myself, not knowing which is worse; bare arms, bare legs, and bare chest, or exposed back.
The three of them stand there, grinning.
“Oh my god, that’s so adorable!” Jacki’s eyes light up. “Turn so we can see the back!”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Look,” Holly says. “It’s a good length, too. Down to your knees so you’re not showing off any thigh meat.”
“Not that she has any,” Serena huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.
Holly reaches out, grabbing my arm. “Turn,” she says, spinning me.
As soon as I turn, Holly hisses, sucking air through her teeth.
“Holy shit,” Serena breathes.
I turn back quickly. “Can I take this off now?” Tears sting my eyes and I blink rapidly to avoid crying in front of them.
“I didn’t know,” Holly blurts, horrified. She steps into the room. Serena and Jacki do the same, pulling the door shut behind them.
Taking one of the long skirts out of the pile, I wrap it around my shoulders like a shawl and slump onto the bench.
“What happened?” Jacki’s face is pained as she kneels in front of me.
I tuck my legs as far under the bench as I can get them. “I sinned,” I say.
“Lordy Jesus,” Serena says. “What’d you do? Kill someone?”
Holly shoots her a dirty look.
The tears leak out of my eyes despite my best efforts. “I brought evil into Shiloh,” I say.
“Like, satanic shit?” Holly asks, eyeing me.
I nod. “I didn’t mean to. I was just curious.”
“About Satan?” Holly squints at me.
Shaking my head, I wipe my eyes with my hands. “No. Just curious about people like…” I look up at them. “People like you. I wanted to know what wicked people read. So during our observation trip, I took a book from the library. It didn’t seem evil. It was about a faery girl named Avryn and her unicorn, Windshadow. And Hayze…” My eyes drop to the carpet when I say, “Mother found it and turned me in.” Sniffling, I peek up at them.
“Over a unicorn book?” Jacki shakes her head.
“That’s fucked up,” Serena says. “I know what book you’re talking about. It’s not evil. Trust me.”
My head snaps up. “You’ve read it?”
“Yeah,” she says, waving her hand. “I’ve read all of them. I have them all at home. Definitely not satanic. A little cheesy, but not satanic.”
I stare at her, letting it sink in. For a moment, no one speaks.
“How’d the rest of these work for you?” Holly finally says, nodding at the mess of skirts and tops beside me.
I glance at them and shrug. “Okay, I guess.” Honestly, they all fit weird. The seams are crooked on the tops and the skirts sit below my belly button, which is odd. All my other skirts covered my navel.
Jacki pats my leg. “I can understand why you might not be ready to wear a tank top or whatever, but you should seriously consider some shorts or capris, or even jeans. It’s okay to have legs. Most humans have them.”
We move on to the next store after I dress and purchase the skirts and tops that fit the best. This new store is not as loud or crowded and I’m grateful.
“Are you going tonight?” Serena asks Holly as we browse.
“Absolutely. If Drew’s going, I’m going.” She grins and holds a small fringed top up to her chest. “I’ll wear this.”
Jacki shakes her head, pushing the top away from Holly. “Easy Pocahontas. You’ll scare him off in that.”
I cock my head. “Do you have romantic intentions with Drew?”
Holly smirks, glancing between Jacki and Serena. “Something like that.”
Smiling, I turn to inspect a table of folded shirts. “If everything goes well, maybe I’ll get to see your wedding before Mother comes for me.”
Serena snorts loudly and I turn in time to see Jacki laugh, falling into a rack of clothes.
“We aren’t getting married, Alaina,” Holly says, her cheeks turning pink.
Frowning, I pick up one pale pink shirt and drape it over my arm to try on. “If you have romantic intentions-”
“Oh!” Jacki says, interrupting me. “I heard about that on the news.” She points at me. “They make you get married really young, don’t they?”
I shake my head. “No. We’re paired when we’re of age.”
Jacki smiles. “And what age is that?”
“Sixteen,” I say.
“Boom. There ya go.”
I glance between Serena and Holly. “Sixteen isn’t young. You’re an adult when you’re sixteen.”
Serena shakes her head and goes back to the rack she was looking at. “Not out here. Eighteen is considered legal adult. And even then, my parents waited ‘til they were done with college.”
Jacki nods. “My dad’s been married twice. The first time he was twenty and it barely lasted two years. Just long enough to have my brother. My mom’s never been married.”
“Mine was, for like ten minutes after she got pregnant with me. Just so her parents wouldn’t freak out,” Holly says, laughing.
I’m not sure what to say. Courting someone without intending to marry them? Waiting until you’re twenty to pair, or sometimes not pairing at all? That means that Jacki and Holly were both conceived in sin. Like me. And yet neither of them is ashamed. Serena doesn’t hold herself above them, either.
For the first time ever, I’m with people who practice what Matthew 7:1 says; they don’t judge each other. They don’t hold each other to standards that they themselves fall short of.
As ashamed as I am for thinking it, no one in Shiloh can say that. How is it that a group of sinners have managed to grasp the lesson taught at John 8:7, but an entire community of the Lord’s chosen ones continued to struggle with it?
I try on a pair of pants at a store called Old Navy after being pestered by Jacki and Serena.
“You have to buy those,” Holly says as I stand in front of the mirror. “They were made for you.”
Shaking my head, I start to unbutton them. “I can’t. Women of the Lord do not dress in men’s clothing.”
“Those aren’t men’s pants,” Jacki points out. “They’re made for women.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she has a point. “No,” I say shaking my head again. “You can see my legs. I’m fully exposed.”
Serena rolls her eyes, slumping against the dressing room doorway. “You’re not showing any skin,” she whines. “What’s the big deal?”
“You’re not a box with feet from the waist down. Stop acting like it.” Holly bats my hands away from the button on the pants. “They’re not even that tight. Be glad we didn’t make you put on skinny jeans or something.”
I look at myself in the mirror again. I barely recognize myself in these pants and a tiny part of me wonders if that’s such a bad thing. My brain struggles to justify the fact that I enjoy these pants and the way I look in them.
“You’re buying them.” Her tone tells me it’s not a request. “You’ll change your mind eventually and will be glad you have them.”
I don’t argue.
After a while, Holly announces she’s hungry and we go to the food court to take a break from looking at clothes.
“There’s Adam and Drew,” Serena says, nudging Holly.
“How’s my hair?” Holly asks, running her fingers through the ends.
Jacki pushes past her and bee-lines for a table in the middle of the crowded space. I follow her with my eyes and that’s when I see him. The boy from my paper route. The one with the ring in his lip and the tattoos. The one that calls me Papergirl.
I stop walking abruptly and Serena slams into me.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
“What’s wrong?” She stops with me while Holly and Jacki make themselves comfortable at the table.
“I know that boy.” It comes out as a whisper. “He harasses me during my paper route. He calls me Papergirl.” I pu
rposely deliver his paper last because it takes me the whole route to work up the nerve to walk up to his door. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m afraid of him and his tattoos or because of something equally as terrifying: I like the way he looks at me, even if it is just to call me Papergirl.
Serena scowls. “Who? Adam?” She shakes her head. “Don’t worry about him. He’s harmless. He doesn’t mean anything by it. I mean, you are a papergirl.” She takes my arm, pulling me forward gently. “You should tell him your name if you don’t want him to call you Papergirl.”
Reluctantly I follow them and take a seat at the table, but I make sure it’s as far away from Adam as possible. He watches me sit down, but doesn’t say a word. That’s good. That’s what I wanted. I think.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALAINA
“Wear the jeans,” Holly says for the millionth time since we got home.
I shake my head so hard, a few strands come loose from the braid she gave me. Women of the Lord aren’t supposed to braid their hair. It’s considered showy and in direct violation of the scriptures in First Peter and First Timothy. But, it was the only way to get her to leave me alone about my hair. And, if I’m being honest with myself, I like it. Normally my hair hangs in loose brown waves and sticks to my neck in the heat. I plan to take the braid out before anyone other than Holly sees me, though.
“One time. Just tonight.” She says, applying eye makeup.
I watch her through the mirror from my seat on the edge of the tub. I can’t help but think she’s hiding something about this “church social” that she’s invited me to. She’s pressuring me at every turn to dress in pants and wear braided hair. “It’s immodest,” I say, smoothing my hands over my new green skirt.
“If jeans are immodest, then what does that make my shorts?” She sweeps gold colored powder over an eyelid.
Downright scandalous, I want to say. I don’t. Instead I open and close my mouth a few times, determined not to upset her. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to offend you. I only meant-”
“It’s too late,” she says. “I’m super offended. You think you’re better than me in your long skirts. I see what’s going on.” She leans closer to the mirror and puts more gold powder on her other eye making it difficult to read her expression.
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