Stupid Cupid

Just because I'm a dancer doesn't mean I'll dance with you

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Excuse the mistakes

The adorable kid on the side is Thomas

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I glanced at the clock and sighed.

Parker was going to be here in a little under an hour, and the only thing I’d done to get ready for the gala was to take a shower. My mom, however, had spent the past four hours primping. I had no idea how people could take that long to get ready.

After another minute of sitting on my bed and surfing the internet, I bit my lip and groaned. As much as I disliked getting ready for a formal event, it was time. I closed my laptop and climbed off of my bed, and I walked into the bathroom.

With little precision, I dried my hair with a blow-dryer. Then, I plugged in my curling iron, which I hadn’t used since I accidently gave myself a giant burn across the top of my cheek. Carefully, I wrapped sections of my hair around the barrel of the curling iron. After fifteen minutes, my hair hung neatly in loose copper coils.

As I pinned some of the hair back, I heard the door to my bedroom bang open, and suddenly, my mom appeared in my bathroom. “Reed!” she cried, her eyes wide, “We have to leave in twenty-five minutes!”

“I just have to do my makeup and get dressed, Mom,” I said, unzipping my makeup bag, “Don’t worry.”

“I swear, Reed, you’re going to give me a heart attack!” My mom growled, crossing her arms over her chest. With her hair and makeup already done perfectly, all my mom had to do now was change into her dress. That meant she had time to micromanage me, and I really wasn’t in the mood.

“Hey, Mom, I think I heard your phone ringing,” I said as I dabbed on some foundation.

“What?” my mom asked in confusion, “I don’t hear anything.”

“Oh, no, I definitely hear it,” I insisted, willing her to leave me alone so I could focus on getting ready.

“Crap,” my mom muttered, and she started to hurry from my room to get the phone that wasn’t ringing. “Hurry up, Reed!” she called, and then I heard my bedroom door close. I shook my head and chuckled to myself.

I finished applying my makeup, and I padded back into my bedroom. I pulled my black tank top carefully over my head, and then I shimmied out of my leggings. I changed from a sports bra to a strapless black one, and then I pulled my dress out of my closet.

If my mom had had her way, I would be going to the gala in a bright pink, chiffon dress that reached the floor and made me look like a cupcake. We’d literally almost gotten into a screaming match at the store she’d taken me to.

However, I’d won out and my mom had bought the dress I wanted. It was a simple, shimmery gold shift dress that came down to the middle of my thigh. It was simple, my mom hated it, and I would probably be upstaged by all the other girls at the gala.

In simpler words, it was perfect.

I stepped into the dress and slipped my arms through the long sleeves. However, when I reached back to zip the dress up, I could only get it up about an inch. I swore under my breath, but before I could go find someone to finish it for me, the door to my bedroom creaked open.

Assuming it was my mom coming to tell me to hurry up, without looking behind me, I asked, “Hey, can you zip me up really quick?”

Without a response, I sensed my mom walked up behind me, and then I felt her start to zip up my dress. Her fingers brushed my skin, and that’s when I felt the roughness of her skin. That’s when I realized the person zipping up my dress was not, as I’d originally thought, my mother.