The Girl Who Wore Jordans

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-One

Basketball. That was all my life was, once upon a time. Everything was so uncomplicated when all I had to do was make sure that shots from half court always went in and that I wasn’t failing anything in school. Somehow, I had allowed my sports-driven life to come to an odd halt in my senior year of high school. I hid the most important part of my life from the people I had met here, in New York, and now everything was either about to crumple, proving that all I had done was for nothing, or I was about to accomplish the impossible.

      I took a deep breath, about to open the door of the function hall that the school had rented out for this earth-shattering occasion, but then stopped, mentally processing how I wanted the scene to go in my head. Everything I had worked towards would be over in matter of minutes, and then I could return to the life I once led of basketball and truth. It would all eventually be okay.

      “Oh. My. Gosh! Elizabeth Freaking Turner!” someone squealed from behind me. Slowly, I turned around, knowing that the individual wasn’t the one whom I had been awaiting. No, instead, it was Tara who happened to be latched onto Brendon in a teal dress that was really more blue than turquoise.

      “Hi,” I said calmly.

      “You look ah-maze-ing!” she drawled out, her eyes scouring every inch of my being. “Where did you get your gorgeous dress?”

      I almost gagged at her choice in adjectives, but answered nonetheless. “Kit made it.”

      When I had agreed to let Kit make me a dress a week prior to this particular event, I hadn’t known exactly what she was going to do. Without any sanity, I had recklessly asked to look like a Barbie in whatever garment she generated. Generally, when Kit was given a challenge, she didn’t shy away from it, but rather took it to the farthest extreme, and then went to a limit beyond even that. Thus, I currently looked like a Barbie who had been injected with pink steroids.

      The bottom part of my dress looked like a hot air balloon cut in half, dyed pink, and then coated in sparkles. It was of a light and flowing material that then was contrasted by the top that felt as though it would puncture one of my lungs. Getting into it had been one of the hardest tasks I had ever achieved. It wasn’t the ugliest dress, but it just wasn’t me—which was exactly what I wanted. The color of it was overwhelming to the point where one would probably pass out from merely staring at it, and the whole quality of it being a dress and all was pretty repulsive, as well. Alas, Kit had made it, I had requested it, and it wasn’t actually as bad as the pink rhinestones made it out to be.

      Besides the ball of pure pink shimmer, there was also a sash resting on my shoulder, positioned diagonally that I had received when I was informed of my esteemed “honor” that I was required to wear for the duration of the evening, in addition to the matching tiara. The shiny pink words of “Prom Queen” that I was obliged to sport were about as misleading as they came. Unlike most, this particular prom queen wasn’t wearing a pair of Kit Lawson originals on her feet, but rather Jordans, for she found them to be much more comfortable and better. No offense to Kit, of course.

      Now, I wasn’t exactly sure how, but my mother had managed to convince me to come with her to a salon, only to have me gangbanged by a team of beauticians, a few hours prior to tonight. I hadn’t been bad, so was utterly bewildered as to why she felt the need to inflict punishment on me. My nails were no longer clear and natural, but rather silver and glittery. Also, both my beloved face and hair had to endure the suffering, so that I now actually looked like a Barbie with the amount of makeup put on my face, and how my blonde hair was abnormally curled, and placed into an odd bun of sorts in the back of my head. Honestly, I felt fake…minus the Jordans.