Miss Me Not

"Oh, I was hoping you would be willing to model them for me. Dean won't let me go shopping with him anymore, and when I take the twins, it's all I can do to wrestle them into an actual outfit, let alone take the time to admire them in it," she said, looking at me hopefully. "Really, it would be a treat," she added.

I was trapped. I looked around at the handful of girls my age, mingling through the clearance racks near the dressing room. Coming out for my own mock fashion show seemed as appealing as plucking my eyes out with a spoon.

"I was thinking I could sit here," she said, indicating a chair just inside the dressing area. "Go ahead," she said, excitedly patting her knees.

I finally relented when I realized she unwittingly had given me a chance at some privacy from prying eyes. "Okay," I said, closing the door behind me.

I set the pile of clothes on the long bench that ran the perimeter of the dressing room and slowly stripped down to my bra and panties. Avoiding the mirror, I removed a long plum-colored skirt that felt soft against my skin. Pulling it on, I smoothed out the folds, enjoying the way it felt against my legs. I shrugged into the ivory shirt Sarah had paired the skirt with and fastened the small pearl-like buttons down the front. Finally working up the nerve, I looked in the mirror. My heart beat erratically as I studied my reflection. Sarah definitely had a gift at finding the right size because the clothes fit me to perfection. Too perfectly. Gone was the drab shapeless black clothing that washed out my skin and hid my body from sight. They were replaced by colors that seemed to enhance my complexion and figure. The girl staring back at me wasn't anyone I recognized. Even when I'd worn formfitting clothes before my life went to hell in a hand basket, I'd never looked like this. Of course, my clothing choices at the time had run more toward the provocative, which really translated to slutty. I looked normal, and maybe, just maybe, pretty.

I took a deep breath, realizing the significance of the moment. Once I stepped out of the dressing room, I could never go back to being a shadow. That life would be over. Pushing the lever down, I stepped into the hallway of the dressing area. I watched as Sarah's eyes grew wide as she observed me from her perch at the end of the hall. I could see her approval shining brightly in her eyes. >"Porcelain," he said as the theater lights went down.

"What?" I asked, getting hushed by the overzealous tourist sitting on my other side.

"Your skin is like porcelain," he whispered, earning us another shushing.

Shooting her a glare, I turned back to Dean, only to see he was engrossed in the action of the show.

Fifteen minutes later, we were depositing our glasses in the recycling receptacle. I was getting bumped and pushed by tourists who acted like they were going to spontaneously combust if they didn't put their glasses in the container at the exact moment as us.

Dean led me through the herd, keeping a protective arm over my shoulders as if he was responsible for shielding me.

"Well, that was craptastic," I said, trying to calm my sudden claustrophobia.

"Yeah, the crowds can suck ass, but this is nothing. You should see it during their peak time," he said, shuddering to prove his point. "You up for more rides?" he added.

"Lead the way," I said, taking in his hopeful expression. If I was going to do this whole living thing, I was going to need to start acting normal and less like someone with serious obsessive compulsive issues.

Dean swung our hands slightly as we walked. I was most certain that “friends” didn't hold hands, but his touch was becoming oddly addicting. I could have done without the whole preteen hand swinging, but I tolerated it even though the whole cliché of it made me want to cringe. It could have been worse. He could have insisted we walk with our hands in each other's back pockets. Just the idea made me want to puke a little.

Chapter Thirteen

The week following our trip to Universal Studios was wrought with firsts for me. Dean somehow roped, cajoled, conned, pretty much tricked me into agreeing to have Thanksgiving with his family. I balked at the mere suggestion of it, but over the two days we spent at school the week of Thanksgiving, he made it his personal mission to wear me down until I finally gave up in exasperation. The moment I agreed, I instantly wished I could retract my words. Family dinners were bad enough, but holiday family dinners were equivalent to Chinese water torture as far as I was concerned. Meeting new people, making polite chit-chat and acting like I was normal just seemed way too daunting for me.

As a last-ditch attempt to weasel out of it, I finally confessed two nights before Thanksgiving that I had nothing to wear that was presentable.

"You're always presentable," Dean lied kindly.

"Right," I snorted, glaring at the iPhone in my hand. Even though he couldn't see me, I still rolled my eyes dramatically. Of course, the fact that he couldn't see me made the whole thing lose some of its luster.

"So, I'll take you shopping tomorrow," he said in his typical Mr. Fix-It way.

"No way," I balked. Just the idea of Dean following me around from store to store while I tried on one outfit after another in the whole shopping ritual was enough to make me pray for Armageddon. That's if I was a prayer.

"What about your mom? Can she take you?"

"Um, maybe, if hell has frozen over," I bit out unkindly, not forgetting her rejection from the past weekend.

"Hmmm, we'll figure something out," he finally said vaguely.

I'd done it. My excuse was laid. I knew he wouldn't force me to go if he thought I was self-conscious about my wardrobe. I smiled bitterly. This is what I had wanted.

We talked for a few more minutes when Dean abruptly cut off our conversation, throwing out the excuse that his mom needed him for something. Without even being able to see his face, I knew he was lying to me. Maybe my freakiness was finally too much for him.

I went to bed that night with my guts hanging out. I tried to convince myself I didn't care. Three weeks of a friendship was nothing. I could go back to the way my life had been before he entered it. Several hours later, I was still tossing and turning, and I could no longer tamper down my despair. For the first time ever, I almost felt like a typical girl. I was on the verge of texting him under some false pretense just so I could see if he would respond. I had the message typed out and was about to send it when my actions finally broke through my fog. What was I doing? Clingy, needy, please don't leave me? This wasn't me. I deleted the words one at a time until they were all completely erased and tossed my phone on the far side of the bed, not caring that it slid off the bed and landed on the floor. Out of sight, out of mind. I flipped on my TV and turned the volume down so it was barely audible. I needed something to take my mind off my thoughts so I could drift off to sleep.

The bleeping of a text message woke me from my restless slumber the next morning. I lay there for a moment, deciding if I should ignore it. Who was I kidding? I'd have to turn it off to ignore it. Knowing Dean, he'd just show up here if I did that anyway, so I rolled over to the far side of my bed so I could scoop my phone up off the floor.

The text was short and terse.