My Sweetest Escape (My Favorite Mistake #2)(39)
Author: Chelsea M. Cameron

“Why do you hate shopping so much?” She gave me an icy look that told me she thought it was more than obvious and I should know without having to ask. “I mean, is that it?”

“Is that it? Do you have any idea what it’s like to go into a changing room and have the attendant look at you like a leper? It’s like they’re afraid I’m going to ruin the clothes. And then the other people stare and those horrible lights make you look awful. It’s just an experience that I decided I didn’t want to participate in anymore. Nude modeling is one thing, but shopping is completely different.”

“Then why did you say okay?”

“Because I had hoped that this time would be different. In addition to being really good at sensing people, I’m also an eternal optimist. Deep down inside. But don’t tell anyone. I don’t want that to mess with my image.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you agree to not tell anyone about my blog.” We got out of the car and she started whistling. “Hannah? Did you hear me?”

“Um, yes? The thing is, I kind of already did.” She squinched up her face as if she was preparing for a blow.

“What!” She nearly hit me when she opened the door.

“Uh, yeah. Remember how I said I was going to help you with the job thing? Well, it just so happens that I have a contact, of sorts, at the campus newspaper and I showed him your blog. He’s been looking for someone to start writing a music column, and I gave him your name and your email, so he’ll probably be contacting you.” She said it all in a rush.

I stopped walking and grabbed her arm to make her face me.

“Why did you do that? I told you I wanted it to be a secret.” I could feel the panic building in my chest. I honestly didn’t know why it freaked me out so much, but I was definitely freaking.

“I know, but, like I said, you’re really talented. I don’t think you belong in poli-sci. You belong at a magazine or writing for a newspaper or, since those are all dying out, working for music promotions. I don’t know that much about it, but I know that you are wasting your talent.”

“And you know all that from reading a few blog posts I wrote?” The music industry was vicious, and there were thousands of other blogs out there. I didn’t have thousands of followers, or even close to that. I was one drop in a vast ocean of other people doing the same thing, and a lot of them doing it better than me.

“I know it because I know you. Once again, creepy, but I feel like you don’t even see yourself sometimes. I know you’ve got, like, baggage and shit and that someday you will share it with me, but you don’t have to now. But that baggage is standing in the way of you doing something awesome.”

She started walking toward a Deb shop, which was where we were most likely to find something for her to wear. They already had the prom dresses out, even though prom was months away. I couldn’t explain because she wouldn’t understand, so I just followed her into the store.

* * *

Almost an hour later, Hannah had rejected nearly all of my dress suggestions. I’d tried everything; short, long, in between. Red, green, blue, black, gold, pink. She hated them all and found a reason for every rejection. It was no wonder she hadn’t been shopping in two years. She was so freaking picky.

“What about this?” I’d gotten fed up with trying to help her, so I was picking out ridiculous things. I held up a tube dress that was in a shade of violent fluorescent yellow and looked like something a cheap streetwalker would wear.

“Do I have to list the things that are wrong with that dress?”

I sighed and put it back.

“Jesus, Hannah, you’re harder to shop for than the Queen.”

“The Queen doesn’t do her own shopping. She has people,” she said, walking along a rack and running her hands over the dresses. “Oooh,” she said, pulling one out. It was the first time she’d showed interest in anything, so I was shocked.

It was a one-shouldered red dress with black embroidery along the hem that would probably hit right above her knees. It also had a black belt around the waist with a silver buckle.

“I’m trying this on,” she said, and without any more fuss, she marched toward the dressing room.

I followed in her wake, stunned.

The attendant was absent, so Hannah just walked into the first room that was open.

“Hold my bag?”

“Sure,” I said as she handed her purse under the door. I waited as she shucked her shoes and clothes off and then heard the sound of the zipper on the dress. She turned back and forth.

“Well? Does it fit?” The door slowly opened halfway and she let me in.

“You tell me.” She shrugged and turned in a circle and the skirt flared out.

“You are a knockout, Hannah.” It was true. The belt made her look like the perfect hourglass, and the length made her legs look like they went on forever. The bare shoulder happened to be on the side with her scars, but really, I wasn’t looking at them.

“I think we have a winner,” I said, taking her hand and twirling her under my arm. She crashed into the wall because there really wasn’t enough room for twirling, and we both laughed.

“Okay, now it’s your turn. Go pick something and get back here, bitch.” I had just planned on borrowing the gold number again, but once again, Hannah wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

She shoved me out the door and I went back to the front of the store where the dresses were. I’d seen a few that I thought were cute, but I’d been so focused on Hannah I hadn’t even thought about it. I quickly looked through, trying to find something that wasn’t too short or too long, or a bad color.

I rejected anything red or pink or orange. I also didn’t want black because it tended to wash me out at the same time it made my freckles stand out way too much. I found a drapey gray number that shimmered a little when I held the fabric under the light. It also looked like it would be comfortable and cover everything I needed covered. It wasn’t as conservative as what I would have worn in my old life, but it was a good middle ground kind of dress.

I brought it back and saw that Hannah was back in her other clothes and had the red dress draped over her arm.

“Very pretty. Now get naked and put it on.” I was shoved into the room and she slammed the door behind me. There were only a few other people in the dressing room, and I bet they didn’t know what to make of Hannah.

I stripped down and put the dress on. I got the zipper almost all the way up. Hannah’s foot was tapping impatiently on the other side of the door.