I stared at myself in the mirror, frowning at my reflection. I wasn't skinny, nor was I plus-sized. Somewhere in between. Mid-sized, they called it. The fabric of the black dress hugged my chest awkwardly, emphasizing all the wrong places. And the color—black—was so bland. It wasn't the bold, confident pink I always wore.
"Mom, we're going to another shop," Isla groaned beside me, clearly unimpressed.
"I think I know the perfect place," Ms. Caroline said with a knowing smile.
You're probably wondering why I was out shopping with Emmett's mom and sister. Well...
A few days ago, Caroline had walked me to my car after I helped her carry some things to hers. She'd stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm. "Tasha, I know what you're going through. When I was your age, my mom passed away. My dad did his best, but there were some things only a mother could teach."
I'd stared at her, unsure what to say, as she held my hand with a warm smile.
"My godmother stepped in for me," she continued, her voice soft and steady. "I'd like to do the same for you, if you'll let me. Prom is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. You don't want to look back and regret not going. Let me help you look amazing for it."
Her words lingered, and for the first time in a while, I felt seen. It was time to be bold. "Thank you," I'd said, smiling despite the nerves fluttering in my chest.
She'd hugged me tightly. "Good! I'll text you the details of where and when we'll meet."
And that's how I found myself walking down a shopping strip with Caroline and Isla, passing store after store in search of the dress.
"So, based on what we've seen so far, we can officially say white and black aren't your colors," Isla declared, nodding as if she'd solved a great mystery.
"Agreed," Caroline said, leading us to the final shop on the strip.
The store was grand, with large glass windows and an elegant sign above the door. Inside, the decor was pristine—a crisp white color scheme, plush couches, and racks of shimmering dresses.
"Caroline!" a voice called out as a blonde woman approached. She had sharp, dark eyes that softened when she smiled. The two hugged, chatting like old friends.
Isla nudged my shoulder, leaning closer to whisper, "That's Genie. She's Mom's friend from college. This is her shop."
Caroline turned, pulling Genie toward us. "And this is her—Tasha," she said, beaming. "Isn't she beautiful?"
I played with the hem of my sleeve, managing a small smile. I always hated talking to people I didn't know well.
"Hello, Tasha. I'm Genie," the woman said warmly, throwing an arm around my shoulder. She guided me toward a rack of dresses. "Let's see what we can find for you."
She studied me for a moment. "I love your outfit," she said, gesturing to my pink ensemble.
"Thank you. It's my favorite color," I admitted shyly.
"Hmm," Genie said, tapping her chin. "Are we sticking to pink, or are we open to exploring other colors?"
"Definitely other colors," Isla blurted from her perch on one of the couches.
Caroline swatted her lightly on the shoulder. "What my daughter means is, many of your classmates have probably seen you in pink. Let's surprise them with something different."
I nodded hesitantly.
"Great!" Genie clapped her hands, summoning her assistants.
The next hour was a whirlwind. I was ushered into an enormous fitting room, practically the size of my bedroom. Dress after dress was brought in—mermaid styles, princess lines, off-the-shoulder cuts. Colors ranged from lime green to gold to deep purple.
Then, I tried on the one.
The fabric hugged my body perfectly, flowing gracefully in all the right places. I turned to the mirror, studying the way the dress shimmered under the light. It was elegant and bold—a far cry from the safety of my usual pink.
The door burst open, and Isla rushed in. "Oh my gosh! You look amazing! This is definitely the one," she squealed, practically vibrating with excitement.
She came closer, helping with the zipper at the back. I moved my braids over my shoulder, and we stood side by side, staring at the reflection.
For a fleeting moment, I imagined Emmett standing next to me, his hand in mine. The thought filled me with warmth—until I replaced myself with Giana. The image shifted, and suddenly, they looked like the perfect couple.
I bit my lip, the sting of reality settling in.
"If you're thinking about him, stop," Isla said sharply, breaking the silence. "You deserve better than my asshole of a brother."
I turned to her, my mouth agape. "H-how did you—"
"Know?" she finished for me, raising a brow.
I nodded, feeling my cheeks heat with embarrassment.
"You look at him the way my dad looks at my mom. Not like all the other... 'thots' he messes around with."
"We're just friends," I said quickly, hunching my shoulders.
"And you want it to be more," Isla pressed, her gaze unwavering.
I opened my mouth, then closed it, unsure how to respond. "I... I mean, he doesn't like me that way."
"My brother's just slow," she said with a grin. "But trust me, once he sees you in this dress, he won't be able to think about anything else."
She grabbed my hand. "Now, come on. Mom has to see you in this."
After showing Caroline the dress and thanking her for buying it, along with matching shoes, she handed me a gift certificate for hair and makeup on prom day.
When I got home, I carefully hung the dress in my closet and collapsed onto my bed. Normally, the thought of seeing Emmett tomorrow would have made me giddy, but now...
The memory of him kissing Giana in the parking lot twisted painfully in my chest.
"That will never be me," I whispered to the empty room.