“Oh, I bet you just loved that,” she said, referring to the fact that my aunt lived in the Hamptons and was obsessed with having a very social lifestyle. I didn’t necessarily look down on her, but I didn’t understand the need to live my life on the front of a tabloid. I wanted to have a career, travel, fall in love, live a quiet, happy life surrounded by people I loved.
“I went jogging on the beach every morning. That was nice,” I finally replied.
She laughed. “Yeah, I bet.”
“Well, next year, no Aunt Rhonda’s. My father promised to take me to Tokyo.”
Did I believe he’d actually take me this time? Maybe not, but it was time to start having faith that change was coming.
Mandy gave me a look as if she knew what I was thinking. “All right, let’s try these on.” She held out a pile of multicolored blouses and skirts.
I cringed.
“You promised,” she warned.
That I had. And I’d been stupid enough—likely still suffering from hormonal-bliss overload due to Dax—not to have given Mandy any boundaries like “thou shall not dress me in anything resembling rainbow barf.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m trusting you not to make me look like a clown.”
“Dakota, seriously? Would I ever do that to you? Besides, have you looked in the mirror lately? You’ve officially blossomed since Christmas. I could dress you in an orange muumuu and you’d look hot.”
Or like a pumpkin gone wrong. And I wouldn’t call finally getting boobs and growing an inch—making me a whopping five-five—at the age of eighteen “blossoming.” More like catching up. In any case, I appreciated the pep talk.
“Let’s get this over with. And stop kissing my ass!” I said.
She squealed with delight. “I’ve always wanted to dress you. This is going to be so much fun!”
I didn’t know about that, but at least this would make Mandy happy. That was something.
CHAPTER THREE
Tuesday.
The next morning, I arrived at school a little later than usual due to a recent alarm clock mishap (I’d “accidentally” shoved it off the nightstand and killed the contraption a few weeks ago. Poor thing.) But I digress. The real reason I’d overslept was that my mother had come home around midnight so I’d gotten up to eat a bowl of cereal and show her my new clothes. What always amazed me about her was that no matter how long her day was, she always had energy to talk and smile. Loved her. And she always looked amazing: her blond hair pulled back neatly into a bun, her face flawless and fresh—no makeup—and her blue eyes bright and alive, just like mine. Minus the bright and alive part.
“The secret, my dear, is being happy. Happiness keeps you young,” she always said.
That’s why when I saw Janice’s face light up with evil intent as I walked into homeroom that morning, and found the last seat was situated right between her and Dax, well, I didn’t let it get to me. Janice would be the ugliest troll on the planet by the time b-day number twenty hit; there was clearly no happiness in her life. Too bad for her because I was…
Happy, happy, happy. And ready to stand up for myself.
“Hey, Dakota. Nice skirt,” she said nice and loud for everyone to hear. “Salvation Army’s finest?” She snickered along with a few other Janice fans in the room.
Actually, it was Neiman’s finest, but I wasn’t about to let her belittle my love of thrift. Right Macklemore?
I looked at her and stared with defiance.
Her big blue eyes were caked with way too much mascara—how the heck did she manage to blink?—and she had her blond hair pulled into a high ponytail. I wanted to rip it out.
Wow, this glaring back feels good! I was just warming up.
“You know it,” I finally replied. “In fact, it was hanging right next to that skanky nightmare of a skirt your grandmother donated. She said she never wore it because you bought it for her; she’s not into slutty, apparently. But who am I to judge? Especially when the look works so well for you.”
Okay. My comeback was wordy. Maybe a little lame, too. But it was the best I could do on the fly, given that being mean wasn’t in my box of tricks.
Janice’s face turned a pissy shade of red. She hadn’t been expecting me to fight back since I never had. Not once in almost four years.
Her eye twitched. “You’re pathe—”
“Janice,” Dax cut her off, “don’t you have a hangnail to file or tiny animal to torture?”
“I…I…” Janice opted for shooting hateful thoughts in his general direction. I’m guessing that was because her shock was as big as mine. Dax had defended me. Me!
I flashed a “thank you smile” his way. He gave me a quick nod and turned his attention toward his book.