Chapter 7 CHAPTER 7

I was officially in heaven.

The tension in my back melted as the fancy massage chair worked its magic, rolling and kneading in all the right places. To add to my bliss, Mimi, the pedicurist, scrubbed my feet with delicate precision before gliding her fingers up my calf in gentle circles.

Was this what I'd been missing all these years? If I'd

known I would've given in to my mother's insistence way sooner.

"No wonder you're addicted to this, it's amazing" I said.

At Mimi's tap, I switched my foot. Mom flipped through the polish catalogue, pausing when she found her desired color and showed it to her nail tech.

"You should've listened to me." The smug tilt of her head showed she was quite satisfied I was enjoying myself. "Do you want me to pick a color for your first time?"

"Yes. Ideally something simple."

She pursed her lips, then turned to Mimi with finality. "French for her toes, and soft pink for her nails."

When the service was done, I had to admit-I loved the results. It was pretty, but not too much, exactly the look I was going for.

If I went to school too drastic I'd wither in embarrassment. Better to ease into it. Especially because I didn't want people assuming this was some sort of revenge plot against Kevin.

Unbidden, my mind went to Cross, his calculating eyes and self-assured smirk. I could already hear him tomorrow clapping his hands declaring I'd graduated from "high-average" to cute. I giggled under my breath. That would be nice, to finally have his attention in a positive way instead of the usual teasing.

Walking past the storefronts, my gaze caught our reflection in the glass. My hand rose to brush over my freshly waxed brows. I'd never thought much of them before, but now...now my face looked softer, neater. It's amazing what the smallest adjustment can do.

We stopped in front of Coconuts, a popular clothing store teeming with girls my age. Racks burst with lace, pastels, and crop tops galore. My stomach twisted.

I don't belong here.

My mother caught my hand like she expected me to bolt. With a gentle tug she ushered me past the glass doors, causing the bell above us to chime. From behind a rack a blonde salesgirl popped up, arms full of clothes. She smiled brightly despite the chaos of mis-hanged clothes.

"Welcome to Coconuts! Do you need help finding anything?"

"Don't worry, dear. We're just exploring." Then she steered me straight towards the loungewear section.

"We'll start here," she said brightly. "Some cute sets for the days you want to be comfortable."

Mom was smart. She wisely took me through the path of least resistance. I did like sweatpants, but these were much different from the dull ones in my closet. My fingers grazed the new fabric. Butter.

That's what it felt like.

My mother pulled out a pale yellow set. "What do you think?"

"I wouldn't mind trying it on."

And so it went. She pulled pieces, I nodded or shook my head, and eventually I tried on five sets, settling on three-the ones with longer tops that I could stretch to cover my stomach.

It was strange, seeing myself in soft colors instead of the usual gray and baggy cotton. I lifted the sleeve to my face and breathed it in. New. Just like how I wanted to show up to school tomorrow. My insides fuzzed with anticipation. After that Mom guided me to the true challenge-skirts, blouses, and all girly things.

"I feel completely lost," I admitted. I stared at the racks like they were written in foreign language.

All the items around me were pretty, but I honestly couldn't see myself in any of them.

"Why honey? Just explore and pick out the ones you like. We'll try them and see how it feels-just like before." She held up a denim skirt, eyes hopeful.

It was cute and could match with anything. Not too

short, but…

"I feel like Amy can pull that off. Not me." Her brows rose before drawing together in apprehension. "Where is this coming from? Of course you can wear this," she said, shaking her head.

My voice failed me. How could I explain to her?

These pretty clothes were made for other girls. Not me. If I wear them everyone will see how wrong I looked.

My mother's arms closed around me, halting my spiraling thoughts. Without a word her embrace whispered don't worry. My nose pressed against her shirt, vanilla and peaches wrapping around me like comfort itself.

"In all these years, I've never seen you excited about what you wear," she said softly. "You pull the first thing from your closet and move on. Today is the first timne I saw you smiling at your reflection."

I sighed. "I do like them, I guess I just wish I was pretty without all this." I gestured to our accumulating pile.

"But you already are, honey," she countered gently. "This isn't about you becoming beautiful. This is about caring for yourself, and finding what flatters you. I want you to let your best features shine."

She swept her hand toward the racks. "You are the canvas, these are your colors. What do you want to paint?"

"Who is this for?" I asked quietly. accumulating pile.

"For yourself first," she said firmly, "and then for those around you. You're becoming a young woman now, and how you present yourself sends a message.

Whether you love yourself. Respect yourself. People will read it, and they'll treat you by what they see. You can't always control how they see you, but you can put your best foot forward."

That's what I wanted too. Amy used me to reach the boys she wanted. Boys used me to reach her. Kevin used me to reach someone prettier. Always being used. I don't need them to value me, but I will value myself.

"You're right."

With a steadier heart, I grabbed the jean skirt and then let myself reach for all the clothes I'd always secretly admired but never dared to try.