by Coco Simon
“Hey, lucky coincidence! Let’s see what they have! Do you have your list, Lexi—Alexis?” she asked.
I nodded and patted my tote bag. I had some of my savings, plus forty dollars from my grandma, and fifty from my parents for new clothes. I was feeling very flush with cash.
Inside there were folding tables with signs above them that said things like GIRLS, SIZE 6–12 or WOMEN’S SHOES. It was kind of depressing from a merchandising perspective, but Mia wasn’t fazed by it in the least. That girl is all about the clothes!
“Come!” she said, gesturing me toward the women’s shoes area. There were a few people in there, and the women’s shoes table backed up to the teen girls’ shoe area, probably because of the size overlap. Mia was like a laser beam, focused on my list (one pair of wedges, one pair of strappy sandals, Keds or similar flat casual shoes). Her shopping on my behalf allowed me to look around and absorb the scene.
“Try these,” she said, turning to me with a pair of copper-colored flat sandals and a pair of wedges in navy.
“Umm, okay!” I said, and I slid off my shoes and tried the wedges. They made me quite a bit taller—the heel was about two inches high—but they were comfy.
“How much?” I asked, feeling price sensitive after watching a teenager and her mom argue about the price of something.
“Fourteen,” said Mia. “But they’re brand-new. The soles aren’t even scuffed. They’re perfect with your capris and also the long dress.”
“I think I’ll get these,” I said of the wedges. I tried the sandals on, but the straps cut into my ankles too much, and I knew I’d have instant blisters.
While I was paying at the checkout, a woman came in laden with shopping bags that looked just like the ones I’d left at home.
“Donations?” asked the clerk. When the lady nodded, he pointed her to a far corner of the store.
“Oh!” I said. “You take donations?”
“Yup. Weekends all day, weekdays after four p.m. Need to be clean and in good condition. We can give you a charity receipt for the write-off.” He handed me my change and put my wedges in a plastic grocery bag.
“Thanks! I think I’ll be back with some donations then, very soon.”
“Great. Thanks for shopping here!”
Katie poked her head into the doorway of the store. “My mom’s here, guys!”
I made a mental note to ask my mom to help me bring my bags here, and then, without time for a final visit to Puff, we left for the mall.
CHAPTER 10
Fashion Equation
At the mall, Mia is like a military general. She can really lead a shopping expedition. There was no time to waste.
Mia’s master plan was that we’d work around a palette of white and navy, with “pops of color” in accessories or secondary pieces. I liked the mathematical simplicity of it all. We took a standard equation: navy and white, and worked in variables, like turquoise and pink. So if the shoes were navy wedges, and the pants were white capris, that meant I could play around with my top, color-wise; it could be any color since the other two were my neutrals. It made perfect sense to me when she explained it like that.
We hit Big Blue first, since we knew they had what I needed. I snapped up two T-shirts (a white and a navy, under Mia’s direction) just like my mom’s turquoise one, on sale just as Mia had said they’d be. At the checkout, we scored a white tank top for eight dollars in a promotional bin, and Mia was thrilled.
“Icon, next,” she said as I paid.
I sighed heavily. Icon is not a store I like.
“Emma and I are going to the bathing suit store,” said Katie. “Want to just meet us there, after?”
“Great,” we agreed, even though I didn’t mean it. I wished I didn’t have to go to Icon. I watched Katie and Emma longingly as they disappeared around the corner.
I cannot stand Icon because the music is loud, the store is dark so you can hardly see anything, and they use so much cologne or something that it reeks. It’s sensory overload. Mia thinks it’s fun because it’s “the ultimate shopping experience.” I guess it’s just not my kind of experience.
She asked a salesperson where the denim miniskirts were, and he pointed us to the far side of the store. Briskly, Mia strode across and snapped hangers across the pole until she reached my size. “I think you should get the dark blue denim rather than the white, but try both!” she yelled over the music as she handed me the hangers. “I’m going to look for a couple of other ideas. I’ll meet you in the fitting room line.”
Another thing I hate about Icon is that the line for the fitting rooms takes forever. They only have three rooms, and from a business perspective, I think they do it so that it makes the store seem really popular. (The same way they make you line up outside behind a velvet rope to be let in on days when they get new shipments.) I think the whole thing is kind of phony, but I supposed if you’re not on to them, you might fall for it and think the store is supercool. I just think they need more fitting rooms.
The line moved rather quickly today, and then it stalled. I had snaked into the part of the fitting room where it was still pretty dark but not as loud. I was leaning against a wall, waiting for my turn, when I heard angry voices coming from one of the rooms.
“But I need it! It’s exactly perfect for the barbecue!” whined a girl.
A grown-up’s voice was speaking sternly back, but I couldn’t hear what the person was saying. It must’ve been a girl and her mom fighting. I cringed, imagining how bad things would have to be between me and my mom before we’d fight in public.
“You are so mean!” the girl’s voice cried, and her fitting room door banged open, causing everyone to turn and look.
It was Olivia Allen, being followed out by her visibly angry mother.
I ducked back a little into the shadows so she wouldn’t see me, but I couldn’t help staring as Olivia stepped onto a little podium in front of the three-way mirror. She was wearing a very skimpy, fitted, black tank dress. She primped and posed in front of the mirror while her mother stood behind her, her arms folded across her chest and her mouth firmly pressed into a line.
“It’s inappropriate,” her mother declared.
“I don’t care! I’m getting it!” said Olivia, and she flounced off the podium.
Right then, they called “Next,” and it was me. Quickly, I darted into a fitting room without Olivia noticing me.
“Phew!” I said to myself once I was safely inside. But then I heard Mia.
“Alexis! Alexis!” she was outside calling my name. “Alexis Beck-er!” she singsonged.
Ugh!
“Shh!” I opened my door quickly and grabbed her, dragging her inside.
“What’s up?” Mia laughed. “Is someone after us?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Olivia Allen is in here.”
“Oh,” said Mia in a “who cares?” kind of voice. They were friends for a little while but Olivia treated Mia really badly so now Mia avoids her.
“She and her mom were fighting,” I said darkly.
Mia shrugged. “Well, what else is new? Here, I got these for you to try. I’ll wait outside. Do the denim mini first, though. I know that will be a keeper.”
Mia ducked out since the fitting rooms are tiny. I yanked off my pants and pulled on the mini. Just for fun, I pulled out the wedges from the bag and stuck them on too, then I trotted out to the viewing podium. (Ugh. I hate everyone looking at me.)
Mia whistled. “Woo-hoo! Now those are a pair of legs!”
I blushed, which luckily no one could see in the dark, and turned this way and that kind of quickly, looking but wanting to get it over with.
An older lady leaned over and said to me, “That looks lovely, dear. If I had your legs, it’d be all I’d wear!”
I smiled and thanked her, still feeling a little self-conscious. Like, why would I play up these darn limbs that are giving me so much trouble right now? Growing too long, out of proportion, painful, keeping me up at nigh
t . . .
“Work it, girl!” said Mia. “You are getting that. And with tights and boots, you can wear it all year-round. Next!”
I climbed down from the podium and walked straight into Olivia, who was coming out of her fitting room and measured now a full head shorter than me since I was in heels. She looked up.
“OMG, Alexis, you’re a giant all of a sudden! You’re going to tower over all the boys in those things!” And she turned and walked off while my jaw was still hanging open.
I knew she was just being mean, and as I’ve said, I’ve been through this before with her. As her mother passed by, she said, “I apologize for my daughter. She’s acting like a spoiled brat today.” And she walked on.
Now my jaw was hanging even lower. Imagine my mom having to apologize for my behavior! I continued to my fitting room and saw they’d left theirs a mess, with discarded clothes draped all over everything and in a pile on the bench. Gross. What a pair those two were.
At that point, I’d lost my enthusiasm for shopping, barbecue outfit or not. I halfheartedly tried on a couple of the things Mia had pulled, but I wasn’t that into them. I was happy with the skirt for nineteen dollars, and I wanted to get out of Icon.
Mia was a little disappointed, but she understood as I handed all my rejects back to the fitting room clerk (all neatly on their hangers, thank you very much!).
I paid for my denim miniskirt, and we headed out to find the other two Cupcakers. Outside, I gasped in relief, even though my ears rang like I’d just been at a loud concert. Turning, we spied Olivia and her mom still fighting. I guess they hadn’t bought anything because they weren’t holding any bags. I tried to feel sorry for Olivia, but I couldn’t. There was no choice but to pass by them. Otherwise, we’d have to do a whole circuit of the upper level to get to the bathing suit store. I was hoping we’d go by unnoticed, but right as we reached them, Olivia’s mom said, “Go on!” and Olivia turned to me.
“Alexis, I’m sorry I was rude to you in there. I was mad at my mom, and I took it out on you. The skirt and the shoes looked very pretty on you.”
Her mother stood, nodding, over her shoulder.
“Uh . . . I . . . ,” I stammered, shocked.
“Thanks, Olivia,” said Mia, and she grabbed my arm to keep my feet moving.
“Thanks,” I sputtered as Mia dragged me away.
“That girl is too much,” said Mia, once we were a few stores away.
“I know. She really knows how to get to me,” I said.
“You do realize that she goes after your best assets, don’t you?” Mia asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, your cute freckles, your superlong legs—those are some of the great things about you. It’s like a joke that she’d even try to be negative, since they’re such obvious pluses!”
“Really?” I was surprised by this analysis.
Mia nodded. “Very typical of mean-girl behavior. I’ve read up on it.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Well, it still hurts. I know my legs are freakishly long.”
“Trust me. There’s nothing freakish about them. They’re an asset,” said Mia. “And I know these things.”
We reached the bathing suit store and found Katie and Emma finishing up. They’d been laughing their heads off, trying on inappropriate bathing suits, and I was sad to have missed it. Plus, I needed a new suit myself.
“I’ll be quick,” I said.
Mia picked a couple of one pieces for me to try, and I quickly settled on a navy suit with white trim.
“Very sharp.” Mia nodded. “You could wear the white tank over it, and the denim skirt.”
“Maybe. Just not to the beach.” I laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be overdressed again.”
“With some beads, you could definitely wear it tomorrow. Let’s try Trudy’s, and then maybe I’ll let you off the hook for the day.”
At Trudy’s, some of the stuff was truly off the wall. Wild prints, tight, short, tacky. Not much I’d wear, though Mia unearthed a navy-and-gold rope belt, as well as a white chiffon scarf that was pretty and a pair of “gold” five-dollar hoop earrings. She made me get them, but I refused to try on anything else.
We decided to go for a smoothie and call Mia’s mom for a ride home. I appreciated all the work Mia had put into my wardrobe, so I insisted she let me treat her to a smoothie.
As we sat waiting for Mia’s mom to text that she was here, everyone talked about what they’d wear tomorrow. The barbecue was a twelve-thirty lunch, so it wouldn’t be too dressy—more of a daytime look, said Mia.
“The boys are just going to wear shorts and polo shirts. They’re so lucky,” said Katie. “It’s so easy for them.”
“You’d be surprised,” said Emma wisely. “There’s a lot of trying on before they’re happy with how they look.”
“Really?” I asked. I couldn’t picture it.
She nodded. “Some shirts pull in the wrong places, some are too tight in the neck, some are bad colors—like if their moms pick them out, they might be pink or purple or something. Sometimes the boys worry that they look fat, or overdressed or underdressed. It’s all kind of the same as us.”
“I simply do not believe it,” I said.
Emma laughed. “Okay! One day, you’ll have sons, and you’ll know I was right.”
“And they’ll be your nephews!” teased Katie.
“I hope so!” said Emma, which was nice.
Since we’d need to be there by noon with the cupcakes, we agreed we’d meet up at my house at ten thirty to do the decorating, and then we’d change, and my mom would drive us over together.
Mrs. Velaz texted to say she was outside, and we all went out to meet her for rides home.
I was happy with my purchases and resolved in my mind to not be like Olivia Allen. I hadn’t found the perfect thing to wear, but I had great friends who had tried to help me, and a mom and sister who’d also made a big effort to make me look good. The perfect dress would have only been the icing on the cake.
CHAPTER 11
Party!
Lexi? Honey? We’re home!” my mom called up the stairs. It was four o’clock. “Ugh! I’m tripping over all these bags in the back hall, honey!”
I darted downstairs. “Hi, Mom. Sorry! How was it?”
Dylan followed her in, her arms laden with shopping bags. “Awesome!” she crowed, putting everything on the kitchen table. “Grandma went wild because I hadn’t been there in so long.”
“You lucky duck! Show me everything!”
“Alexis, can we move these bags of old clothes to the basement, maybe?” My mom was looking harassed.
“Oh, Mom! I have a genius plan. You know the animal shelter that we went to this morning? There’s a thrift shop next door, and we can donate the stuff there. They’ll even give us a receipt for your taxes.”
“Wonderful!” said my mom. “How soon can we go?”
“Seriously? We could go now!”
“Okay, let me make a quick cup of coffee, and then I’ll run you over.”
“Thanks!”
Dylan gave me a tour of everything she’d gotten. There was some really pretty stuff, and I was happy for her, especially because she likes clothes way more than I do. She wanted to see what I’d gotten, and I went to get it and explained all about the white-and-navy-palette concept.
“Mia is so chic,” said Dylan, shaking her head admiringly. “It’s genetic.”
Dylan worships Mia’s mom. She wants to be her intern this summer, if possible, even if it’s only a volunteer job.
“Ready?” asked my mom, taking one last quick gulp of coffee. “Let’s go!”
We loaded the car with Dylan’s help and then drove over to the shelter. The bake sale had closed up for the day, and the thrift shop was getting ready to close too. The same guy was there from this morning, and he was happy I’d come back with donations. I put the bags in the corner, and while he made up the receipt with my mom, I looked at the teen girls’ clo
thing table a little.
There was a pretty one-piece romper, believe it or not. I had to laugh, thinking of Dylan’s failed romper experience. This one was a lightweight white linen, with tiny navy blue Xs embroidered onto it. It had short sleeves, and blue buttons all up the front and a little gathered waist. I held it up and turned it this way and that. It would actually be perfect to wear tomorrow with my new espadrilles. The price tag caught my eye: It was four dollars.
“Mom!” I called. She turned, and I held up the romper.
“Cute!” she called “Can you try it on?”
The guy directed me to a makeshift changing area (so different from Icon), and I quickly put on the romper and went out to show my mom.
“Oh, Alexis, it looks so pretty! Very fresh and summery. I bet it’s comfortable, too.”
I nodded. It felt great. “I’m going to get it,” I said.
“My treat,” said my mom, and I thanked her and went to change.
It was funny how quickly I’d gone from feeling weird about thrift shopping to getting kind of into it. I mean, an entire party outfit for under twenty dollars? It gave me a whole new outlook on spending.
We paid, and as we were going out to the car, Dr. Palmer was coming out of the shelter carrying a huge poster board. He waved, recognizing me from this morning. “Thanks for the cupcakes!” he called. “Still don’t want a kitten?” he joked with a grin. He taped the poster board onto the big plate-glass window of the shelter. It said, FREE KITTENS!
“Oh, Mom, they have the cutest kittens ever! We were playing with them all morning. They’re awesome!”
“I remember getting a kitten when I was your age,” she said.
“Buggsy?” I asked. I’d heard about him before. He’d died a year after Dylan was born.
She nodded. “It was so exciting, getting that little guy. I’ll never forget it.” She smiled, remembering. It was weird to think of Mom having a pet. Any time Dylan and I had asked—or begged, really—Mom and Dad had always said no. “We’re not pet people,” Dad always said. Too much work, too much responsibility.