"Mom! I don't want to go to the New Years party!"
"Why not? You get to wear a dress," my mom responds sounding hopeful.
"I hate dresses. You know that."
"Well Chloe, I already said yes to them so you don’t have a choice."
"Ugh, why couldn't I've just been a boy so I wouldn't have to wear a dress?" I ask as a rhetorical question.
"Wearing a dress isn't that bad."
"Says the women who looks amazing in dresses. I see all the middle aged men checking you out."
"Well maybe all the fourteen year old boys will check you out if you wear a dress."
"You're talking to the ugly one in the family, so I highly doubt they would," I say with a hint of humor in my voice.
"That's true, but there's no way you're getting out of this party Chloe."
It hurt my feelings a bit that she agrees with me that I am the most ugly in the family. To be completely honest, we have some pretty unappealing people in my family so her comment cuts pretty deep.
“Okay, I’ll go get dressed.”
I must tell the truth about something. Although I despise dresses, the real reason why I don’t want to attend the party is because there is going to be a boy there. His name is Sam. It would be strange if he weren’t participating in the event because his grandparents are hosting the get-together after all. His grandparents are my mom’s boyfriend’s parents. I don’t like him or anything it’s just that my sister, Sasha, was talking to Nathan, Sam’s brother, and he told her that Sam has a crush on me…yuck. Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered that someone likes me but not exactly flattered that it’s him. I’m not exactly sure how to explain it, but I guess awkward and creepy just about sum him up.
I get ready for the party around five o'clock. I undress myself, get in the shower and wash my hair. When I get out, I walk to my closet to get my flats and my dress.
‘Mom, where’s my dress,” I yell to her downstairs. I hear her footstep coming up the stairs as she says, “I have it in my closet because I was afraid you were going to burn it, or rip it to pieces.” We both laugh.
“It’s not my fault I’m a bit of a tomboy.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Okay fine. I suppose it is my fault.”
“I thought so.”
I get my dress from my mom, slip it over my head and tell her I was ready to go. “Are you kidding me right now? You look awful!” I admire my mom for being so blunt, but sometimes it can be a bit hurtful. “You haven’t got any make up on. The black dress against your skin makes you look ghostly and pale. Your light blonde hair doesn’t help either. Why couldn’t you just wear your pink dress?”
“You technically just answered your own question.”
“How?”
“You said, ‘pink dress’. A dress is bad enough, but a pink dress would be complete torture.”
“I miss my little girl. When did you become such a boy?” she says disappointedly.
“That girl never existed. You never listened to that little girl when she asked for a backpack with flames on it when instead got a pink backpack with princesses on it. When all the other little girls wanted to be a vet or a princess when they grew up, I wanted to be a racecar driver,” I say sadly.
“What is that supposed to mean?” My mom says angrily as she put her hands on her hips.
“Never mind.” Sometimes I feel like she doesn’t accept me for who I am.
I walk to the bathroom to put some lip-gloss on my ‘ghostly face’. I open the door and walk in to Sasha blow-drying her hair. I open the top drawer and look for some lip-gloss. She turns the hair-dryer off. “That’s the first,” my sister says surprised.
“Huh?”
“My boyish sister using make up! I’m so happy!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Speaking of make up, can you help me choose? Mom’s making me because she says I look pale.”
“Anything for my sister,” she says smiling.
My mom, Sasha, and I leave around six o’clock to pick up my nana. “My dress is so itchy!” I exclaim.
“It’s not that bad so stop complaining,” my mom scolds. I slouch down in the seat and cross my arms. “Chloe, sit like a lady!”
“Why couldn’t you have just adopted a boy?”
“That’s enough out of you young lady,” my mom says abruptly.
“Are we there yet?” My sister asks impatiently.
“Does it look like we’re there yet?” My mom responds coldly. “I’m sorry for their bad behaviour mom,” she says to my nana.
“Don’t be so hard on them dear. I’ve seen much worse as you know. Being a kindergarten teacher for twenty-three years can really change your perspective on bad behaviour.” I love my nana. She can keep a secret about anything and she always sticks up for Sasha and I.
When we arrive at the party destination, I help my nana get up the stairs while my sister rings the doorbell. It sounds once or twice before it opens to Sam in a poorly fitting tux and his grandparents behind him. “Hello everyone! How are you all doing this evening?” Sam’s grandmother says with a cheery voice.
“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Pecanhogen. How are you doing? This is my grandmother, Theresa,” I say.
“Oh please call me Nancy.”
“And call me John.” I introduce Nancy and John to my nana. We hug one another and each peck the other on the cheek, as women tend to do when greeting one another. Everyone says ‘hi’ except for Sam and I. I stand there awkwardly since he is staring right at me. I can feel it, but I am doing my very best to avoid his gaze. My mom whispers into my ear, “Come on Chloe. Hug the boy.” I hesitate and my mom nudges me forward. He practically lunges at me and I have to take a few steps backwards to regain my balance. I stand there with my hands at my sides like a lifeless corpse while he squeezes the life out of me. His head fits in to the space under my chin perfectly because he is so much shorter than me. At this point, my family and his grandparents step inside. Sam and I stay like that for a couple more uncomfortable seconds before I shove him off me. He fixes his tie as he says, “Come inside.” The party has officially begun.
