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“Okay. I’ll trust you.”
Hannah smiled. “Great. All right. Let’s start by rummaging through your clothes and seeing what we can come up with.”
The idea of my pizza night in quickly fell away as my best friend practically demolished my side of the room. She tossed clothes at me to try on before shaking her head and making me discard it. I had shirts and jeans and sweatpants crumpled on the floor and hanging off my bed. She started pulling things off hangers, tossing them to me and making me twirl for her. And after almost an hour of this nonsense, I finally had an outfit she approved of.
Where did I keep getting these tight clothes from, though?
Mom must’ve snuck them into my suitcases.
“You. Look. Amazing.”
I tugged at the light blue tank top. “Can I wear something over this?”
She shook her head. “Nope. It’s a warm summer night. Jeans and a tank top with those heels of yours is going to slay the competition tonight.”
“Compet--what competition?”
“Hush. Quit panicking. It’s a figure of speech. Girls always want to bring their best to parties like this. Especially parties in dorms that aren’t theirs. Now it’s my turn to get ready. Give me twenty minutes and we’ll be on our way.”
At least she’s not putting makeup on you this time.
“Oh, and slather on some lip gloss. And use my blush, too. You don’t want the lights at the party to wash you out.”
I sighed. “I can do that.”
While Hannah got ready, I gazed at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of our door. I swear, I’d never seen this tank top in my life. Nor had I seen these heels before. There was no question in my mind that Mom had snuck these into my wardrobe when I wasn’t looking. But wouldn’t I have seen them when I was unpacking?
Unless…
“Are you putting your clothes in my drawers, Hannah?”
She snickered. “Now, why the hell would I do that?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Hannah.”
She clicked her tongue. “Hush, I’m putting on mascara.”
“Are you sticking your clothes in my drawers so you can make me wear them for these parties of yours?”
She sighed. “I mean, you do look hot.”
“Hannah!”
“What!? Dani, you have shit clothes. Baggy jeans, terribly scuffed tennis shoes, and baggy long-sleeve shirts. I don’t think you even own a short-sleeved shirt! I’m not giving you good clothes. Just some basics. T-shirts, a tank top here and there. Heels I know I’m not going to wear.”
“I like how I dress.”
“Yeah, and so does the Catholic Church.”
“Hannah, it’s--”
She jammed her mascara closed. “Look, Dani. I know this makes you uncomfortable. But if you’re going to complain about something? Be prepared to fix it. You want friends? They aren’t coming to you. You have to go out and find them. And finding them means not blending in long enough so they can notice you. This isn’t about vanity anymore, Dani. This is about you feeling comfortable enough in your own skin to show yourself to the world and say, ‘Hey! I’m worth knowing.’ And no one’s going to know you how I know you if they can’t even pick you out from a crowd.”
She had a very good point.
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
She packed up her makeup. “No need to be sorry. Just stop fighting me every step of the damn way and trust the process. I’m not trying to change you. I’m trying to elevate you a little bit. Plus, you’re going to die of sweat in a long-sleeved shirt at something like this. Especially if you’re drinking.”
