Girls Acting Catty (5 page)

As I got ready for bed, I realized I'd forgotten to ask Rachel not to say anything to our other friends. About the whole Taylor/shaving thing, I mean. I didn't want it to turn into a big deal, nor did I want to advertise that I hadn't started shaving, but it was too late to call her. And by the time I saw her again, she'd already spilled the beans.

At school the next morning I found all my friends huddled around my locker. As soon as I was close enough, Emma said, “I can't believe Taylor said that to you.”

I looked from her to Rachel to Claire to Yumi. “What's going on?” I asked, although I already had a pretty good idea.

“I told them how Terrible T made fun of you for not shaving,” said Rachel.

“She didn't make fun of me exactly,” I said as I worked the combination on my locker. “It was more like, well, more like she just asked me but it was weird.”

“No, she did it on purpose,” said Rachel. “And that's just like her.”

“Rachel's probably right,” said Emma. “But don't worry about it.”

“Yeah, I don't shave my legs yet,” said Claire.

“And neither do I,” said Yumi.

“I just started last summer,” said Emma. “But it's not a big deal.”

I was glad to have everyone on my side— but I still felt self-conscious. I wore jeans to school, and socks with my tennis shoes, even though it was pretty hot out. I told myself I wasn't hiding my legs. But deep down, I knew the truth. Hopefully my friends wouldn't make the connection, though. Of course, it would be even worse if Taylor realized it. But what other choice did I have?

“Does her underwear really stick out of her gym shorts every day?” asked Yumi.

“Not every day.” I glanced at Rachel, who looked away. “I never said every day.”

“Still, it's pretty gross,” said Emma.

“
She's
gross, so it's fitting,” Rachel said with a huff. “Sure she thinks she's all that, but she's really just a giant muffin top wrapped in designer clothes.”

“Oh, so fierce!” said Claire. Claire had been calling lots of things fierce, ever since she heard the word on
Project Runway
, her favorite show. As far as I could tell, it could mean awesome, nasty, or way harsh, depending on the context.

Just then I noticed Hannah and Taylor walking toward us. Yumi saw them too, and told us all to shush, which we did.

As soon as they passed us by, Claire whispered, “Fierce!” and the rest of us exploded into laughter. We just couldn't help ourselves.

I guess we were pretty loud because both Hannah and Taylor glanced over their shoulders. Obviously, they knew something was up, but I figured I was safe. No way could Taylor know we were laughing at her.

Still, our eyes met for a brief second and this look of anger flashed over her face. Like somehow she'd figured it out. The thought gave me the chills.

Later on I tried smiling at Taylor in the hallway, like everything was still cool. She just looked away, as if she didn't even know me.

Then when we had to exchange homework in French, Hannah traded papers with Morgan Greely instead of me. I had to switch with Jeremy Lundy, who marked my mistakes with gigantic red x's, leaving my paper a huge mess even though I'd only gotten two answers wrong.

I felt nervous walking into chorus, but I told myself there wasn't any need to. No way could Taylor and Hannah suddenly not like me just because they assumed my friends and I were laughing at them. Okay, true, we were. But they had no way of knowing that. They couldn't have heard our conversation or anything.

Still, as soon as I headed to my seat, Hannah and Taylor looked at each other and laughed. Then when I glanced at them they grinned, but in this evil “we know something you don't know” kind of way.

An ice-cold, icky feeling spread through me. Obviously Hannah and Taylor had been talking about me. But were they saying something about my legs? Or my friends? Or worse?

Half of me was dying to know.

And the other half was scared to find out.

chapter four
shop till you drop (out of utter humiliation)

M
y mom woke me up early on Saturday morning to ask if I was ready to go dress shopping. It sounded like a trick question. I wasn't ready and didn't know if I ever would be. Then again, I wasn't sure I was the only one. The wedding was in five weeks, and last night I overheard Mom and Dweeble arguing about the guest list. On Thursday, they couldn't agree on the invitations, and on Friday, it was the music. They bickered so much these days I kept waiting for them to call the whole thing off. Then I wouldn't even need a dress.

“Just let me sleep for ten more minutes,” I said, rolling over.

“Okay.” My mom left me alone, but Pepper jumped onto my bed and sniffed my neck, which made it completely impossible for me to go back to sleep.

“Ugh, Pepper. Cut it out.”

He barked in my ear. If he wasn't so adorable, I might have been annoyed. Instead, I threw back the covers and got out of bed.

An hour later, we were on our way to the mall.

“So who did you invite to the wedding?” my mom asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You're allowed to invite one friend, remember?”

“Oh right.” I yawned, still half asleep. “Um, no one yet, but I'll probably ask Rachel.”

My mom nodded. “Is there anywhere you want to go, in particular?” she asked a minute later.

I shrugged and switched stations on the radio, but all I could find were commercials. “It doesn't really matter.”

“We'll try the department stores first, then. Do you have a color in mind? I'm thinking something in purple, or maybe blue.”

“Okay.” I sighed. Normally I don't mind going clothes shopping, but fancy dresses weren't my thing.

Still, once we got to the first store I couldn't help but get excited. There were so many different styles of dresses: long, short, puffy-skirted, and straight. Some were silky smooth and others had beads or lace or both. I picked out a few dresses on my own, but in the end, my mom found the perfect one for me.

It was gorgeous—light blue on top, with a silver skirt. It had a fairy-tale shimmery quality, but not in a little kids' costume kind of way. It was prettier and dressier than anything I'd ever owned.

“What do you think?” I asked, making my way out of the dressing room. The dress felt smooth and silky against my skin. The skirt part ended at my knees, flared at the bottom, and rustled when I walked— in a good way.

Mom only smiled at me.

“It's not too dressy, is it?” I asked, holding the sides and doing a little twirl, just because it was that type of dress—light and floaty.

“Not at all. You're the maid of honor.”

“I like it.” I turned around to stare at myself in the mirror. The dress looked and felt great for the most part, but the top part wasn't exactly comfortable. It felt tight and looked strange.

My mom must've noticed, too, because she stared at my chest. “What?” I hunched my shoulders forward and crossed my arms.

“No, don't do that,” said Mom. “I need to see something.”

I dropped my arms to my sides.

Just then a saleslady in a zebra-striped dress came over and asked if we needed any help. She took one look at me and then glanced at my mom. The two of them shared a smile and I'd no idea why.

“What size is that?” asked the saleswoman.

My mom checked the tag. “It's a twelve.”

“I'll get the fourteen,” she said, walking toward the dresses.

“I've never been a fourteen.” I stared at myself in the full-length mirror.

“Well, you're growing up.” My mom had the strangest expression on her face.

Before I could ask her why, the saleswoman came back with the bigger size. I tried it on and couldn't see much of a difference, but I felt shy all of a sudden.

“It's a little big in the hips,” said my mom, once I walked out of the dressing room.

“But she can't get away with a twelve in the chest anymore,” the saleswoman said. “And that's even without a bra.”

Whoa. Wait a second. What did she just say?

She didn't.

She couldn't have.

No, that did not just happen.

“I think you're right.” My mom nodded.

And my mother actually
agreed
with her?

I couldn't believe this stranger just announced that I needed a bra for everyone in the entire store to hear. Okay, yes, we were the only people in the dressing area, and she didn't exactly scream it, but still. You never know who could be lurking around the corner.

I darted back into the dressing room and changed into my regular clothes. Suddenly, the dress didn't seem so perfect. Suddenly, it seemed like the most hideous dress in the entire store, so I left it in a ball on the floor.

“Where is it?” asked my mom, when I came back outside empty-handed. The salesperson, I was happy to see, had disappeared.

I lifted one shoulder, striking my most convincing, completely casual, and not-at-all mortified pose. “I don't really want it.”

“Don't be silly.” My mom marched into the dressing room and put the dress back on its hanger. “It's a gorgeous dress, and you look beautiful in it.”

I bounced on the balls of my feet, itching to get out of the store. The fluorescent lights seemed too bright, the air too stale. “You're the one who said it was too big in the hips.”

“We'll get it taken in. The tailor is already fixing my gown.”

“You already picked out a dress?” I asked.

“Of course,” my mom said.

“Are you wearing one of those things over your head too?” I asked.

Mom looked at me, puzzled.

“The thing that looks like a mosquito net.”

“Oh, a veil.” She laughed. “No, I'm not. I'll be right back, okay?”

She took my dress to the cash register but I hung back, barely resisting the urge to hide inside the nearest rack of clothes.

“Where's the dress?” I asked when she returned empty-handed.

“They're holding it for us.”

“Great. So can we finally get out of here?”

“Not yet.” My mom put her arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the back of the store. Before I knew it we were smack dab in the center of the bra department. Yikes!

I figured this day would come, eventually. I just didn't think it would happen so soon.

A saleslady approached right away. She was an older woman with red-framed bifocals hanging from her leopard-print blouse. What was it with the salespeople and animal prints? Did my mom drag me to some safari-themed store?

“Let me know if you need anything,” the woman announced loudly, like a robot programmed to embarrass eleven-year-old girls. Or maybe that was a part of her job training.

Before I could say, “No thanks,” my mom announced that we were in the market for some bras.

“For my daughter,” she added, pointing to me.

Thanks, Mom. Thanks a lot! I glanced around the store, fearing I'd see someone I knew, but thankfully, the entire department was empty. We're talking ghost town. Like, I wondered if everyone else knew something we didn't.

The woman had me raise my arms so she could wrap her tape measure around my chest. After she checked the number she asked, “Would you like to try one in pink or white? Or were you thinking beige?”

“Um . . .” I glanced toward my mom, who said I'd try all three.

“I'll be right back,” the saleslady said, and made good on that promise— unfortunately—returning with an armload of bras. “These are just for fit and style. Tell me which ones you like and we'll get the right color for you. There's lots to choose from, and if you don't want a solid, they come in prints too.”

I took them and bolted, and didn't realize my mom had followed me into the dressing room until I tried to close the door behind me.

“I'll just stay a minute and show you how to put it on,” she said.

I looked down at the tangled pile. It did seem somewhat confusing. “Okay.” I handed one of them over.

She showed me how to put the bra on backward around my waist, hook one side to the other, turn it around and then pull up the straps.

Which I did—and then turned around to stare at myself in the mirror. It looked weird, like two slightly (and I mean very slightly) puffy triangles on my chest. “Do I really need this?” I asked.

“You really do,” said my mom.

I sighed. The white was so bright, it looked like I was wearing funny-shaped bandages. I turned to the side, glancing at myself from a different angle. “Maybe the beige one would be better?”

“You'll need more than one,” she said.

“Why? How many times are you going to get married?”

“Oh, honey, you'll be wearing a bra every day now. Not just with the dress.”

Aaargh!

In the end, she bought me three bras: one white, one pale pink, and one lilac.