Finding Olivia

Chapter 19

I knocked lightly on Avery's closed bedroom door. I was supposed to be meeting Trace's family today, but at the rate I was going, it would be the next century before I was ready. I had tried on everything in my suitcase and wasn't happy with any of my clothes. I wanted to look nice, and make a good impression, but everything I owned fell flat.

"Come in," Avery replied to my knock.

I pushed her door open, and found her lying on the floor of her room, flipping through a magazine, while the TV blared in the background.

"What's up?" She asked, turning a page of the magazine.

"I'm supposed to be meeting Trace's mom, brother, and grandparents," I replied, nervously biting on my lower lip.

"Whoa, lover boy is bringing out the big guns. Grandparents, huh?" She smirked, sitting up.

"I know, right? I'm super nervous," I admitted.

"I bet you are," she looked at me sympathetically.

"I was hoping," I kicked a spot on the floor, "that you would help me get ready. I can't find anything to wear."

Avery grinned. "Of course I'll help you," she hopped up from the floor, and opened her closet doors, motioning for me to follow her.

"Geez, Avery," I remarked, looking around her spacious closet, "it looks like a mall in here."

Everything was perfectly organized with shelves, drawers, and racks lining the space. It was exceptionally neat; nothing at all like her closet in our dorm room, which consistently looked like a bomb had went off.

"I have a lot of stuff," she shrugged, rifling through one of the color coded racks of dresses.

"It's very—uh—organized," I mumbled.

Avery glanced at me and rolled her eyes. "My mom is a control freak and makes the maid keep it neat. If it was left up to me..." She drifted off with a small shrug of her shoulders.

"It would be a hot mess?" I supplied.

"Yeah, that about sums it up," she smirked. "What do you think of this?" She held out a flowered print wrap dress.

"I think I'd be cold," I muttered.

She sighed. "Do you want to make a good impression or not?"

"Of course I do," I glared at her.

"Then you'll wear the dress, with black tights—" she rummaged through the drawer, and pulled out a pair, "—and this blazer," she added, pulling it off of its hanger.

I took the clothes from her and mumbled, "I don't want to look too dressed up."

"Trust me, Olivia. You want to make a good impression on them and a dress says that you're a good girl," she explained.

"As per usual," I muttered, "your logic is whack."

"You'll be thanking me later," she placed a hand on her hip. "And stop pouting, you're the one that asked for my help."

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'm really-"

"Nervous," she finished. "I know. Change into that and I'll do your hair and makeup."

My eyes widened.

"I promise not to make you look like hooker," she flounced out of the closet. "I'll keep the red lipstick far away."

I sighed as she closed the closet door.

If I was this nervous now, what would I be like by the time Trace picked me up?