“Quit it, Tiff!” Whitney snaps.
“You act as if she doesn’t know. She knows. Right? You do, don’t you? You realize that you’re not exactly Christy Turlington or Elle McPherson, right? So what’s the big deal, Whit? It’s not mean at all; it’s just a fact. Duh! You’re not offended, are you?” I give a slight shrug.
“The section you’re looking for is to the back of the shop. Please, follow me,” the attendant says, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
“Yay! We get to play dress up!” Whitney exclaims, giggling while clapping her hands. Her smile fades when we reach the back of the store. The issue? Fashion and plus sizes don’t mix well. Clothes designers expect all overweight woman carry the extra baggage in the same place, as well as be over the age of fifty. Great if you have skinny appendages and are eligible for an AARP membership, but being that I’m seventeen, most of my time is spent in jeans and baggy t-shirts.
Before I can stop her, Whitney rushes over to the rack and begins pulling out dresses. “Seriously? Is this all you have?” The woman’s reply is a confused look. “Will you please check in the back?” Probably relieved to finally have a break, she scurries away without a word. It takes her a while, but she comes back with a rolling rack filled with more dresses. “See? They always hide the good stuff.” Whitney starts thumbing through. “And I use the term ‘good’ very loosely,” Whitney says with disappointment.
Whitney and Tiffany insist I try on damn near every gown with the hopes something will look better on me than on the hanger. I feel as if I’m drowning under a mountain of satin, taffeta, ruffles, tulle, and mammoth bows. Exhausted, I zone out.
“Twirl.” Without hesitation, I do as I’m told because there’s no point in arguing. “That’s it! This is the best of the bunch,” Whitney finally says, looking pleased with herself.
I’d given up looking in the mirror after the first four dresses. They were awful, one of which was bright, sunshine yellow with the biggest shoulder pads I’ve ever seen. If it had been blue, too, I may have been mistaken for a member of the football team. Thankfully, the girls immediately disregarded it earlier.
“You really think this one?” I ask.
Their heads bob in unison. “Radical. So, our work here is done, right? Now we can pick our gowns, Whit.” Arms intertwined, they walk off toward the front of the shop to the beautiful and incredibly expensive designer gowns. For the first time, I’m alone and get the chance to finally breathe. Once I gather the courage to look at my reflection, I’m relieved by what I see. Okay, it’s nothing like the elegant gold and crystal embossed, figure-hugging number Whitney currently struts around in, but she was right when saying this was the best of the bunch. Firstly, I love the baby blue color, as well as the scooped neckline and the way it’s fitted around my generous bust. The waistline is a little higher, so it’s flattering and doesn’t highlight my equally ample bulk. What I’m not too keen on are the ruffles on the sleeves and the frill on the hem, but I can’t afford to be picky, so it’ll have to do. At least I’m not going to look silly. After changing, I signal to the woman who so patiently helped us that I’m ready for her to ring up the dress. I’m joined by Tiffany at the checkout counter.
“You should totally buy these. They will, like, finish the outfit off perfectly.” She hands me some black sheer gloves and a gigantic bow for my hair. I decline the bow, but the gloves are pretty cool, so add them to my pile. She quickly glances to Whitney, who’s looking at some hair accessories, then moves in closer. Her voice is a whisper when she comments, “I’m sorry you have to, like, beg for a date and all, but you shouldn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed. Dances are so super fun. You’ll totally have a blast. You’ve never been to one, right?”
I’m taken back by her callousness. “No, I haven’t.” What else can I say?
My stomach drops when I spot two familiar vehicles outside, and judging by the squeals, so do Whitney and Tiffany. I don’t mind Nate, but Brent is not someone I want to see right now. He’s extra asinine whenever Tiffany is around, and I’m in no mood. Immediately, I’m plotting my escape route, trying to remember if there’s a door leading out back. Before I finish my thought, Whitney pulls on my arm. “Come on! We SO have to tell Nate the good news.”
“No. Honestly, it’s fine. You tell him. I’m just going to…”
For once I’m happy about the extra weight I carry because Whitney and her skinny frame can’t move me. Tiffany grasps my other arm, and I’m reluctantly pulled out the door. “What up, Triple P?”
“Her name is Mallory, and she’s just bought a dress for homecoming! Tiff and I totally helped her, Nate. She’s going with Howard! Isn’t it great, baby?” Whitney excitedly explains.
Nate’s eyebrows shoot up. “You did? Mallory, that’s awesome. Howard’s pretty cool. I think you two will hit it off.” I give a small smile, my eyes fixed to the floor because I feel Brent’s eyes upon me.
“Nate, we should probably get going,” Whitney remarks.
“Yeah, okay. Mallory, you need a ride?”
“Don’t sweat it, man. I gotta go that way, anyhow,” offers Brent.
“No!” I almost shout. “It’s fine, I’m not ready to go home, yet. I have another shop to visit. Gotta get shoes.”
“You should SO get some heels,” Whitney chirps, before climbing inside Nate’s car. I give a quick wave at no one in particular and hastily make my way down the street.
A couple of hours later, as I walk home, I feel pleased with myself. I have a dress and found a really nice pair of black patent heels on sale. I even have enough money left to book a hair appointment for the morning of the homecoming dance. Everything is coming together nicely. Unfortunately, the feeling doesn’t last long because when turning the corner, I plow right into the hard muscle of Brent. He tightly holds my arms to stop me from falling, but after I steady my feet, his grip doesn’t loosen. I struggle a little, and he finally releases me. I can still feel where his hands have been, and I halt myself from rubbing the tender areas. There are a few moments of awkward silence before Brent breaks it.
“So, you got yourself a date to the dance?”
“So do you,” I say, holding my chin up high.
Brent laughs. “Indeed I do.”
“You followed me home to harass me about the dance? You’re the one who encouraged me to go in the first place, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. I also remember something else you told me. You’re still a virgin, right?”
My cheeks flush. “What does it matter?”
“That’s a yes.” He backs away, laughing. “There’s a good chance this guy will try to get in your pants. Don’t let him if you don’t want it.” Before I can respond, he climbs into the cab of his truck, the sound of his door slamming causing me jump. He soon speeds away, leaving me confused and alone in the deserted parking lot. Feeling disheartened, I carry my packages inside the empty house, then pull a pint of ice cream from the freezer. Why in the hell does Brent care about my virginity so damn much? Everything about him confuses me, so I don’t even try to figure it out. I drown the concerns with another huge bite of ice cream.
FOUR
My date, Howard, and I are dancing to a series of up-tempo songs when a soulful ballad finally plays. My feet stay stuck in place, but Howard gives me a shy, yet encouraging grin.
“Wanna dance?”
He holds out his hand, and I lock my fingers with his, then walk into his embrace so our bodies can sway in time to the music. Suddenly, the entire school surrounds us, pointing and laughing. My eyes franticly search the crowd, and I see Brent front and center leading the chant, “Triple P! Triple P!” Laughter rumbles through the gym, and I look to Howard, who pulls away. His expression is one of disgust as he eyes my body. Following his gaze, I realize the beautiful gown I was wearing is no longer there! I’m naked as the day I was born, except for the black patent heels that remain firmly on my feet. Desperately, I use my hands to shield my most private parts from thei
r view, but it’s no use. I need to get out of here, but I’m surrounded and can’t push my way through the roaring crowd. Finally, I give up all hope, desperately sobbing as the chanting and laughter grow so loud that I can’t concentrate on anything but the humiliation. I’ve never been so degraded and embarrassed in my life.
I sit bolt upright in bed, sweat pouring from me. I pat myself and realize I still have on my nightshirt, and I’m not in fact naked or dancing with Howard. It was just a nightmare, my mind playing a cruel, sick and twisted joke on me. My heart’s still hammering in my chest when I suck in large gulps of air to ease my panic.
“It didn’t really happen,” I repeat over and over again until my nerves begin to calm. Noticing it’s eight in the morning, I’m thankful that it’s not an insanely early hour. I’d never be able to get back to sleep because the traumatic images are still vividly playing on a loop in my messed up brain.
“Mallory?” Mom calls through the door. “Are you awake?”
“Yes, come in.” She joins me on the bed, and I’m surprised to see that she’s still in her nightgown rather than her usual work clothes.
“How did you enjoy the game last night?”
Keeping his word, Brent talked Trevor into giving me time off this weekend, but only one night. I picked the Saturday so I can attend the dance, and fortunately, the game on Friday started before my shift, so I managed to watch a few minutes of the first quarter before reporting to work. I didn’t understand much that happened, but I was intrigued while watching Brent play. I remember the way his uniform pants and bulky pads pulled tightly over his rippling muscles.
“Mallory, are you okay? You’re flushed.”
“Yep, just hot.” I throw back my duvet and fan my face with my hand.
“So, the game?” Mom urges.
“It was all right.” I try acting casual. The last thing I want is to discuss my attraction to Brent’s tight body. “Mom, you’re going to be late for work,” I say, trying to change the subject.
“Nope!” My mom’s smile lights up her face. “I have the day off because I swapped my shift, and don’t need to be there until this evening.”
“Really?” I jump up, trying not to get too excited. It’s hard because I really want to spend the day with her.
“Yes, really. I’m coming with you to get your hair done. Plus, I may have called the salon and booked a nail and make-up appointment, too.”
“What? Really?” I quell my excitement. “Mom, we can’t. It’s too much…”
Standing up, she takes my hand. “Stop right there. Let me worry about that. My baby girl is going to her first homecoming dance.” She squeals with delight. “I want this to be memorable in the best way possible. I don’t want to hear another negative word because it’s already scheduled.”
I wrap my arms tightly around her. “Thank you.”
Her hands surround my face. “Baby, I know I’m always working, but please don’t forget you are my world.” She pulls me in close. The day hasn’t even fully started, and it’s already a great one.
***
In the two hours since arriving at the salon, I’ve been tortured with tweezers, my hair has been savagely teased, and I’ve nearly choked to death on the vapors from an entire can of hairspray. Most would be aggravated; I’ve loved every second of it.
“What do you think?” proudly asks the stylist who’s worked a miracle on my transformation. I can’t reply because I’m stunned speechless while taking in my reflection. Through the mirror, I see Mom standing behind me, her hands clasped to her chest with unshed tears welled in her eyes. The hair stylist slaps my hands when I prod at my stylish up-do. “You don’t want to ruin it,” she scolds me.
“Sorry, I look…look,” I stutter, still stunned at my makeover.
Stepping forward, Mom wraps her arms around my shoulders. “Beautiful. You are absolutely beautiful.”
“I am?” I chuckle with amazement after a brief pause. “I actually am.”
“You shouldn’t be so surprised. You’re a very pretty girl.” I open my mouth to argue, but Mom stops me with a shake of her head. “Mallory, I don’t want to hear it. I know you’re self-conscious about your weight, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re a very attractive girl.” Seeing the love, admiration, and pride in her eyes leaves me overwrought with emotion. “No, none of that. You’ll ruin your make-up.” I blink a few times and manage to hold the tears at bay. With a flick of her wrist, she examines her watch. “We better get you home and into your dress. Oh no!” she suddenly hollers startling the crowded salon. “A corsage! You’ll need a corsage! I don’t know if I’ll have time to find one for you.”
I breathe a sigh of relief after calming my nerves from her sudden outburst. The panicked expression on her face makes me smile. “Mom, it’s fine. Nate said that Howard wanted to buy me one. He asked me what color my dress is and everything.”
I watch as the tension leaves her body, then she slaps my arm. “Mallory Rebecca James! Why didn’t you tell me? Your first flowers from a boy. How sweet!”
“Mom, stop. You’re embarrassing me,” I say through the side of my mouth while shooting her a look. Ignoring it, she loops her arm through mine, and we leave so I can finish getting ready.
My nerves have been under control today so far. Maybe it’s because I’ve been spending much needed time with my mom which has preoccupied me from scary thoughts of tonight. It’s not until seeing my overall appearance in my hallway mirror that I can no longer control the trembles. Is it really me? I’ve never felt beautiful a day in my life, until now. Mom’s crying again, telling me how perfect I look, but I’m speechless. My eyes can’t drink in enough of my reflection. My hair and make-up are beautiful, and the dress is gorgeous, even if the skirt is a little full and the shoulder pads huge. The designer might have also gone a little overboard with the frill, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling like a princess. My thoughts drift to Howard. Will he like me? What will I think of him? My first date is going to be around a group of classmates, totally public and on display. Oh god, I’m going to be sick.
A knock makes my mom squeal then squeeze my shoulders with delight. “He’s here!” she sings while skipping to the door. Nervously, I check my hair and make-up then smooth out my many layers of tulle. Looking up from my skirt, I find myself face to face with a shy smile filled with train track braces. “Mallory, this is Howard,” Mom introduces us, but it doesn’t ease the awkward tension. Howard moves his lanky frame forward and offers an outstretched hand for a shake. Despite his thick-rimmed glasses and mouth full of metal, Howard’s really not all that bad looking. Granted, he’s no Brent, Nate, or any of the other popular athletes at the school, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I find Howard’s rich brown hair and chocolate colored eyes quite appealing. He looks friendly, and most importantly, not remotely appalled by the sight of me.
While shaking hands, he suddenly rips his palm from my grasp and runs outside, swerving just in time before banging his head against the door jamb. I’m absolutely confused, but Mom still wears a smile.
“He’s sweet,” she says, giving me a soft nudge.
“He ran away,” I return.
“He’s coming back,” she says, clearing her throat and pointing towards the sidewalk.
Howard returns with Nate and Whitney in tow. Her designer jeweled gown outshines mine by miles, and I suddenly feel silly in my poufy ensemble. The second Nate spots me, he stops in his tracks; Whitney nearly walks into the back of him.
“Be more careful, Nate!” She whines.
He apologizes, without looking back. “Wow! Mallory, you look great. Howard you’re a lucky guy,” he says with a wink and a point.
“Yesh, I am. Mallowee, you’re bootiful.” I bite my lips together so I don’t laugh at his pronunciation of my name. I had no idea he had a speech impediment, not that anything is wrong with it; it’s just unexpected. “Here.” Carefully, Howard places the beautiful flower around my wrist. He smiles pr
oudly as I openly admire the first gift a boy has ever given me.
“Show bootiful,” he mutters looking directly into my eyes. I flush because I don’t think he’s referring to my flower.
“Well, I have to get to work. Mallory, have a great time.” Mom kisses my head then steps in front of Howard. He’s at least a foot taller than she is, but it doesn’t stop her from beckoning him to lean down. He does as she requests, and she whispers something directly into his ear. His eyes widen, and my mom gently pats the side of his face. “Bye, kids. Be safe.” We watch her leave.
“Howard and Mallory, you guys ready to leave? We don’t want to be late for the reservation,” Nate says as he and Whitney make their way out to the car. Howard waits patiently beside me as I struggle to turn the key to lock up the house.
“Your mom is scare-wee.”
I chuckle. “Really? What did she say to you?”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “She said if I didn’t tweet you wif wespect, she’d hunt me down, and not to twy her because she’s done it before.” Laughter erupts from me. I love my mom.
“She’s only playing with you, Howard.” Despite my assurance, he still looks uncertain. “Relax, you’ve done great so far. Carry on like that, and she won’t need to dust off the rifle.” Our gazes connect briefly, but simultaneously, we shyly look away. “Got it!” I shout a lot louder than expected when successfully turning the key in the lock.
I reach Nate’s cherry-red Acura and curse under my breath. “What’s wrong?” Whitney asks, a devious glint in her eye that only I happen to catch. Her eyes dart to the tiny space in the back. She knows full well it’ll be a struggle for me to get my butt into that tight space on a normal day, much less today while wearing this huge dress. Ah, the reformed social queen has some of her old ways resurfacing. Must be some trouble in paradise with Nate because he despises nastiness.
“It might be kind of a tight squeeze, and I’d totally offer to sit back there, Mallory, but I’d have to hike my dress clean to my waist to crawl in. I hope you understand. You do, don’t you?” Her hands gesture along the contours of her golden figure-hugging dress. “We probably should’ve hired a limo, like I suggested before.” Nate throws me an apologetic smile, and it’s clear from his expression that he never even considered my weight issue before volunteering to drive.
The Broken Road to Forever Page 4