Page 16 of The Year I was Almost Prom Queen

Mom brushes me off with a hand.

“Mom, I’ve got a date with a senior girl. I can’t bring along my recluse sister,” Dylan protests.

“Dylan Daniel Carpenter, you are taking your sister with you or you’re not going. She needs to be seen by the kids outside of school, or she’ll never win. Now I didn’t say you need to stay by her side and babysit her. Emma is perfectly capableof socializing with other students her age. She just needs more opportunities to do it.”

I love feeling like I’m not even in the room. “But Mom…”

“No buts, young lady. You’re going and that’s final.”

I hang my head. “Can I at least invite Stephanie?”

“Absolutely not. If you take Stephanie with you, the two of you will sit in a corner all night gabbing and you won’t meet anyone new at all. Now go upstairs and change.”

I glance down. “Change? Why? This is what I wore to school today.”

“Exactly. This is a party, Emma, now go upstairs and dress like it.”

I stomp my way up each step. I know I’m acting like a petulant toddler, but I don’t even care. I wonder if child protective services would respond to a call that my mother treats me like her own personal Barbie doll.

I stand in front of my closet and just stare at the rows of clothes. I don’t have the first idea of what one should wear to a party. I only wear about ten percent of what I own. The other ninety percent are things Mom has seen at the mall or on sale and just had to buy for me. Most of them still have tags. I decide to start there, in the “mom section”. If I come down in the wrong thing, she’ll only make me change again.

I select a pair of high-waisted jeans with rips all the way up the legs. I can’t fathom how much Mom spent on a pair of broken jeans, but I’ve seen plenty of girls wear them at school. I figure it’s a good start. I push the hangers to the side and slide through an array of tops. I finally put on a sort of lacy purple top that sits just off the shoulders. Then I dig in the back of my closet for a pair of shoes Mom bought forever ago and I have yet to wear. I stick with my one and only kicks almost every day. But I remember Mom coming home excited about these brown, ankle-high boots. I couldn’t figure out why footwear was so thrilling.

Pulling out the box, I lift the lid and slide the boots out. I pull off the price sticker and slide my foot in. They are a wedge and cause me to stumble when I first stand. But once I get my balance, I walk downstairs, fairly stable, holding onto the railing, just in case.

Mom claps her hands together when she sees me. Then she covers her mouth with her hands and makes happy noises. “Oh, honey, you look so nice!”

I try and smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Let’s do your makeup,” she says.

I put my hands up in defense. “You already did that today.”

She brushes my comment off. “Honey, makeup doesn’t last all day long. You have to do touch-ups.”

I groan. Seriously? Who has time for this much work? I allow her to pull me into her room anyway. She sits me in front of her vanity and pulls out thirteen billion bottles of stuff. She then plasters all of it on my face. When she’s finished, I look in the mirror, fully expecting to see a clown face laughing back at me. It’s not as dramatic as I feared. I actually look…kinda nice.

Dylan comes in, holding up his phone. “Mom, I’m going to be late. Are you trying to kill my vibe?”

“Just a minute, Dylan, we’re almost done. I just need to do her hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?” I ask.

“Ponytails are fine when you’re studying or working in the yard. They are not fine when you’re trying to make an impression.”

Mom grabs my ponytail holder and slides it out of my hair. Then she pulls out a hot metal stick contraption and holds it up. “I’ve been dying to try this on you,” she says.

“You’re not going to burn me, are you?” I ask, leaning away.

“I didn’t burn you when you were six, I’m not going to burn you now.” Mom looks a little deflated at my hesitation.

I take a deep breath. “Okay, Mom, make me beautiful,” I say, closing my eyes. Her chest puffs out and she stands a little taller.

Ten minutes later, Mom’s voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re finished,” she says with a tone of reverence.

I blink a few times and open my eyes. I haven’t seen my hair in anything other than a ponytail in probably three years. I’m not sure who the girl in the mirror is, but she’s certainly not me.

Mom wipes her glistening eyes. “Oh sweetie, you look beautiful,” she says.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com