Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Her words warm me from the inside, the sting of emotion softening into something brighter, something lighter. I nod, blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay.
“You’re right,” I say, a proud smile tugging at my lips. “I did work hard, didn’t I?”
Mom’s smile mirrors mine, her pride shining through. “You did. And tonight is yours, Harper. Don’t waste it wallowing over some boy.”
I take a deep breath, letting her words sink in.
This is my night.
Whether or not it’s perfect, it’s going to be unforgettable—because I am going make it that way.
I’ve been so focused on what’s missing tonight that I’ve forgotten about the things I’ve accomplished, all the hard work put into making this prom happen. I worked my ass off for my friends so they’ll have a good time, dammit! I painted knights! I glittered!
“I know not having a date hurts.” Mom hold my dress in one hand and pushes a strand of hair out of my eyes with the other. “I want you to know it’s okay to feel sad about it. But don’t let that stop you from having the night you deserve. Because you do deserve it.”
I swallow hard, fanning my eyes with my hands.
“Mom, stop or you’ll make me cry.”
But I appreciate that she understands. And while she might be wrapped up in her own shit most of the time, she’s here for me, always.
“I wanted it to be perfect,” I say, voice barely above a whisper. “I had this whole picture in my head of how it was supposed to go.”
“I know, sweetheart,” she says, reaching down to give my hand an affectionate squeeze. “You have no idea how proud I am, watching you grow into such a strong, independent woman.”
“I’m not all that strong,” I mutter, glancing away because look at us getting all sappy.
She smiles, a little misty-eyed. “Let’s get this zipped up, okay?”
I nod, stepping out of my robe and cupping my hands over my chest for privacy as I move to the center of the dress; step in gingerly, so as not to snap the sequins.
Mom lifts it carefully up my torso, the cool fabric sliding with a soft crinkle. Her steady fingers adjust the straps on my shoulders before she zips me in with a gentle whirrr, then steps back to inspect her work.
She smooths the material, making sure every dart and tuck is in place.
The pink fabric suits me perfectly, and despite the nagging doubts swirling in my head, I can’t deny it—I look incredible.
For the first time in days, I feel worthy of a million double taps.
Beautiful.
“You’re gorgeous, Harper. Inside and out. Your dad and I…” Mom swallows a lump emotion. “We’re so proud of you. Not just for tonight but for everything.”
“I know.”
“You shine, Harper.” Her voice is filled with certainty. “You always do.”
“Ugh, Mom! Stop! I just did my makeup!”
“Okay, okay! I’m just saying.” She puts her hands up in surrender. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Don’t take too long. Your dad is pacing with his camera. He’s dying to take pictures before you leave.”
He would be.
Of the two of them, Dad has always been more maternal.
As she leaves, closing the door softly behind her, I take a deep breath and turn to the mirror.
My fingers brush over the earrings I set aside earlier, little pink rhinestone hoops that are part of a necklace set. They’re small and simple, but they make me feel fancy. Like a princess, honestly.
Gingerly, I fasten the first earring, then the second. My shaky hands fumble with the necklace, but after a few attempts, the clasp clicks into place.
The rhinestone pendant rests below my collarbone, catching the light beautifully.
Standing, I turn to the mirror, smoothing my dress over my hips, and adjust the straps one last time. My reflection stares back at me, not the girl I was an hour ago. I’m more confident. Not excited to be attending the dance solo, but confident all the same.
“You’ve got this,” I whisper as a reminder. “It is just a dance. You’ve done harder things.”
Like live with two parents who aren’t getting along. Who ignore each other. Who fight. Also: AP English.
Still, my stomach flutters, and for a show of solidarity I grab my phone from the desk and open the chat with Macy.
My thumbs hover for a moment before I type:
Me: Almost ready. Feeling kind of nervous—like I might vomit. But I’m doing it. No backing out because of fear.
I hit send and wait for a response. It comes almost immediately:
Macy: EFF FEAR! How does your dress look, do you still love it?!
Me: I love it MORE than the day I bought it. Still fits, ha ha. How about you? Send me a selfie.
Waiting for Macy’s selfie to pop up takes forever, so I distract myself by smoothing out the skirt of my dress, running my palms over the delicate fabric. The color really does look perfect on me—soft, shimmery, exactly the shade to make me feel empowered.