Kathy With A K's Song

29 | Puella Quam Amo Est Pulchra

"...and in this dim light, you look so beautiful" - Puella Quam Amo Est Pulchra

-

   I turned the face to the mirror for the fifth time in the past two minutes, and Marisol's hands tightened where they were fastening the back of my dress.

"Avery Leon." She hummed in a warning. "If you look at that mirror one more time, I am going to break it.

I instantly paled and averted my eyes. My parents got me this mirror as a present during one of their travels years ago. It was a grand piece of work with a frame made of polished birchwood and accents of gold. I've always been quite fond of it, and Marisol knew that. But my insistent worrying must have gotten to be too much.

"I just want to make sure I look good." I sighed, my lips pulling into a pout. Marisol rolled her eyes and smoothed out the front of my dress.

"That's what I'm here for." She reassured me with a smirk and a departing pat on my shoulder before she walking towards my bed.

I gave her a glare after watching her plop down on my bed, but on the inside, I couldn't help but feel grateful for her presence.

It was actually Seth's idea for someone to be here, ensuring that I appropriately got ready for the date. I, of course, volunteered Sophia for the task, but he turned the idea down because apparently, we "can't see each other before the date, or else it will be bad luck".

Everyone tried to remind him that Sophia and I aren't getting married and that it's just a date, but he wasn't having it. Drake and Ethan both offered their services as well, but between both of their closets, they could open up a plaid flannel and graphic t-shirt museum. If either of them tried dressing me, I'd show up looking like a hipster lumberjack.

Marisol was the next option, and honestly the most reasonable one to begin with. Despite her personal affinity for the color black, Marisol quite the fashionista. When her eyes weren't shooting death glares at people, they were usually stuck somewhere between the latest issue of Vogue or a book about the history of fashion. She'd never admit to it, but I've known her long enough to know that it's what she's going to end up studying in college.

Assuming that she gets over her "learning allergy". Her words, not mine.

And hopefully, she does, because she was most definitely talented. She had found this red, knee-length dress with a sweetheart neckline buried somewhere deep in my closet. She passed up a million other dresses looking for this one, but none of them had enough sleeves to cover up the scars on my arms. Marisol knew that I'd never be able to have a good time tonight if I was worried about my scars the entire night, without me having to say a word.

And that's why we're friends.

Also because she's letting me ditch my crutches for the date. She said that she didn't have enough time to decorate it and it clashed with the outfit. All I heard during her rant though was that I was free from my metallic captors for the night.

"Did any of the boys ever get around to telling you where you and Sophia are going?" She asked, backing up to admire her work and I resisted the urge to glare.

"You already know the answer to that question," I stated simply, not wanting to get her any satisfaction, but she ended up laughing regardless.

Everyone, but I got to know where Sophia and I's date was being held. For all, I know this could be apart of an elaborate plan to get rid of me, and the real reason I wasn't bringing my crutches is so that I'd be off-balance.

"You'll be fine, don't worry. It'll be fun." Marisol reassured me when she had finally finished her fit of laughter.

I turned away from Marisol's gaze and shrugged while playing with the ends of my hair. "I'll be happy as long as she shows up."