The Pretty One(10)

I scoot the dress off my shoulders and tug it down. I twist it around and pull up the zipper. I then wrench it back around, hold my breath one more time, and slowly pull it up. I get it up to my boobs and surrender. It’s not even close.

I hear Lucy’s door open. “Megan,” she says, “come out when you’re ready. I want to get your take on this dress.”

I refuse to ask for a bigger size. I’ve accepted the fact that I’m six sizes bigger than my willowy, slightly taller than me sister, but seven is simply one too many. I stick my head out, hiding my body behind the door. I catch a quick glimpse of Lucy in a pink slinky silk dress, holding her golden hair on top of her head and slam the door again. “Love it!” I yell over the door.

“You don’t think it makes my stomach look, well, bloated or something?”

“No.” In truth, I hadn’t had time to notice. I had opened and shut the door so fast my poor overtaxed brain barely had time to register the color of her dress. Still, I found it impossible to believe she could ever look bloated, and even if she did, even if she had a butt that jiggled like two overfilled water balloons, it wouldn’t matter. With her beautiful eyes, her button nose, rosebud mouth, and high-sculpted cheekbones, who cares about a little blubber?

“What about you?” she asks through the crack in the door.

“Any luck?”

“The black one made me look really washed out,” I say, even though the color is not my problem. Neither is the size. The problem is my face.

I glance at the other dress. I appreciate Lucy giving me the benefit of the doubt and assuming a size eleven might have a snowball’s chance in hell of fitting, but I’m not sure it’s even worth the effort. I give a big sigh, yank it off the hanger, and step into it. I manage to pull it up over my belly button before giving up and abandoning ship. I stare at the last dress on its hanger, the fuchsia one with spaghetti straps.

I think about the book with the magical jeans, the ones that look great on every girl in spite of their figure. Maybe, just maybe this is a magical dress. I take the dress off the hanger and right away notice one good thing: no zipper. I feel the material and realize it’s got some rayon in it. Rayon definitely has more give than silk. I suck in and yank it over my head.

The dress is on. I open my eyes and look at myself in the mirror.

Oh my God! It is magical!

“Look at this one,” I yell excitedly, throwing open the door.

My sister inhales deeply at the sight of me and smiles. “Fab-U-Lous!” she agrees.

“I know,” I say. I realize that it might sound a little conceited but I don’t care. This never happens to me. Ever!

I turn to the side, admiring the view. The SPANX is working perfectly, making my stomach look as if I do fifty sit-ups a day. The dress reveals just the right amount of cleavage, making me look sexy but not in a Pamela Anderson sort of way.

“It didn’t look like much on the hanger, but it really looks great,” Lucy says. “If I were you I wouldn’t even bother trying on anything else.”

I grin from ear to ear as I sweep my hair off my shoulders, trying to determine if I would look better with my hair up or down. But when I see how round my cheeks are and how big my nose is, no matter what I do with my hair, I feel my enthusiasm take a sizable blow to the chin.

“Wait till Simon sees you,” Lucy says.

“I’m not really worried about what Simon thinks,” I say, letting my hair back down.

Okay, try focusing on the dress and not your face, I tell myself. This perks me back up a bit.

“Not even a little?” she asks with a smile.

“Ew,” I say through a gigantic laugh. When Simon was in the chorus of The Music Man, he was changing in the dressing room when I accidentally walked in on him in his underwear. It was a big deal for me, since the only guy I had ever seen in his underwear until that moment was my dad. I can still picture Simon’s skinny legs sticking out of his thick white briefs, his scrawny arms, and the sterling silver peace necklace dangling over his hairless chest. “That’s like, incestuous.”

Lucy just shrugs and turns toward the three-way mirror behind her. “So what do you think of this one?” she asks, spinning around.

“It’s perfect,” I say. Unlike before, this time I actually look at her. Lucy is stunning as usual. “You should definitely get it.”

“You like it better than the other one?”

“Yes.”

Lucy grabs my hand. “Isn’t this fun? Dress shopping together?”

“Sure.” The amazing thing is, even though this originally had as much appeal to me as a dentist appointment, I am enjoying this time with my sister.

“Any luck?” Dad asks when we reappear with our chosen dresses in hand.

“Megan found one but I can’t decide,” Lucy says, lining the dresses up on the rack. Lime green, teal blue, hot pink.

“You found a dress?” he asks me.

Is it my imagination or does he sound surprised?

“It’s a size eleven,” I say proudly, showing it to him.

“Great,” he murmurs, as if he could give a crap. He barely looks at it before turning back toward Lucy’s display. “They’re all beautiful,” Dad says. “Don’t you think, Megan?”

My heart drops. “Yeah,” I say. I fight the urge to shove my dress in front of his nose and demand that he show some excitement for my choice.