Moving to America

Chapter 9

As I walk into the kitchen I spot a bowl of piping hot oatmeal lying out on the island. A little note lay next to it, 'sorry about the honey :('

I grin, she just can't seem to do even one thing to let me hate her, it's ridiculous. At this rate we may even be... friends by the time I leave. I shudder, no way, never. And with that I put the idea to the back of my mind. I peep through to find my Dad sitting at the table in the dining room, I guess I'll just have to sit on the island instead.

Just as I push myself onto the island Clara comes rushing through in a tizzy.

"We need to go dress shopping right now."

"Why?" I moan.

"Party. Here. Tonight." Clara gushes.

"And I have to go because?"

"It's for your Dad's business and you live here so..." she trailed off looking at me with those puppy dog eyes.

"Fine," I sigh, I seriously don't have the energy to put up a fight, especially this early in the morning.

***

Three hours later and I was regretting saying yes. My legs were weak from standing too long and my feet were killing me from the outrageously high heels Clara was forcing me into. Eventually she picked out a dress for me that wasn't hideous and I was willing to wear. she also found a nice pair of heels that were an acceptable height.

This obviously had to be followed with a trip to the spa, apparently it's very good for reliving stress, then a manicure, girls go too have her nails done! Then we finished off at the hairdressers.

"What do you want honey?" The hairdresser asked me.

Without looking up from my phone I replied, "just a wash, trim and blow dry."

"Nonsense she will have a wash, cut, blow dry and that hair style we were just talking about," Clara winks at me.

I'm going to kill that woman.

***

"Come on, the guests have arrived," Clara calls to me up the stairs.

This was something I hadn't yet practised, trying to get down the spiral staircase in heels, crap. I clambered down the stairs as slowly as humanly possible to avoid injury and looked expectantly at Clara, "so how do I look?"

Clara's mouth opened wide and her eyes watered slightly, my hair was in some ridiculously complicated undo and was supported by a million different bobby pins. My dress was blue, it looked lace and was short at the front and trailed out becoming floor length at the back.

"You look stunning."

I bit my lip, "thanks."

My Dad choses that particular moment to come looking for us, "there you are-" he trailed off as he saw me, "wow, well you certainly look different."

I sigh, "thanks, lets just get this over and done with."