"How do you feel now, Morgan?" She says, more pointing something out than asking a question. She grabs hold of my wrists and tightens them. If I could see properly I could swear I see them turn purple. "I could beat you to the bone, right here, righ...
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Chapter Twenty-Eight: "I've Been In Poundtown Longer Than The Elderly."
"MMM, NO, too slutty. No, that one screams SlutsVille. . . too red. . . too puffy. . . nope. . . no, Morgan, put the skinny jeans back! . . . yes, that's it! That's the one!" She shrieks as I hold up a short peachy coloured sleeveless cocktail dress. It's a flowy party dress, there's no pop to it, it's like something you would wear to an important event or even out for drinks. It was tight and comfortable up in the top with a sweetheart neckline and the fabric crossed over the chest, and flowed loosely towards the bottom that ended a couple inches above my knees. The bottom had the flow to it, and it was pretty. Too pretty for me.
I scrunch up my nose as I examine it. It's not that it wasn't a gorgeous dress, no matter how bland and boring it looked to me, but it was the fact that it was a dress. I'd seen a lot of seniors just go to parties in sweatpants or comfortable clothes, and this dress was out of my comfort zone, even if it looks casual. "What's your problem?" Lucy teases.
"It's not that I don't like the dress, Luce, it's the fact that it is a dress. This is way out of my league; can't I just settle for some tights and a cute top? Or, even better, a Real Madrid hoodie." I say with interest, wiggling my eyebrows in hint.
"No, you came to me to choose what you were going to wear, and that is exactly what I'm doing. Look, Morgs, I know how to look hot, okay? I've been to plenty of parties before with older kids, and this is exactly what I see seniors wear. Don't give me that look that says that seniors wear track pants and shit, because nowadays, you dress to impress, and I am going to make you look flawless."
"Fine." I give in. I trust Luce's judgement, and she has a really good choice of style, so the worst that can happen is she makes me look like a real girl.
And I really don't want to waste time arguing.
A knock disrupts my thoughts, and Lucy quickly hides herself and the dress in my walk-in closet. I roll my eyes at her panic, and chuckle. "Decent?" He asks on the other side of the frame.
