Well, needless to say, my mom was right—she wouldn’t let me down. She dragged me up the stairs to her room and squealed for a straight minute before she threw open the doors to her closet, revealing the perfect dress with a ticket to the dance hooked onto the hanger. I stared at it for a straight minute before I slowly looked back at her, uncomprehending, and she just grinned at me and said, “Told you so.”
So that’s how we ended up here—sitting in my mother’s master bathroom that was the size of my entire room, all of my mother’s makeup spilled onto the counter, and I was being poked with a dozen bobby pins, all at once. My mother had them sticking out of her mouth, her hair thrown up in a crooked bun on the top of her head. She was looking down at me like she was a mad scientist and I was the unfortunate rat that she happened to pick for this painful experiment. I was facing away from the mirror, unable to see what my hair looked like, but I had a feeling that it was crooked, crazy, and awesome.
“I’m in a little bit of a rush,” my mother told me unnecessarily through a mouthful of bobby pins, “but I think we’re going to make it in time that you’ll only be an hour late. You just won’t have much time to eat.”
“I’m hungry,” I immediately complained. It was kind of like a reflex—someone says I can’t eat and my tummy starts rumbling. She rolled her eyes at me and continued to wrestle with my hair, not taking her eyes off of it.
“After I put on your makeup, I’ll go downstairs and get you a cream cheese Danish or something,” she told me. “Just as long as you don’t mess up your lipstick.”
“Am I even going to be on time?” I asked her anxiously, fidgeting. “It feels like it took Norma and Kline a million years to get ready.”
She shrugged noncommittally and I made a face. That wasn’t very reassuring.
I drummed on my knees for a couple of minutes before the boredom kicked in once again.
“What made you plan this?” I demanded, trying to look back at her, but she forced my chin down again as she worked. She stuck another pin into my hair and took her time answering, thinking about it first.
“I had a feeling that you wouldn’t want to go a month or so ago, when you started dressing averagely again,” she told me, and I noticed something—people didn’t say I was dressing normal; they said I was dressing averagely. “When you normally make changes like that, you usually chose not to do anything that’s social or fun. I just know you, what can I say. I was shopping one day and I saw the dress and I thought that you would love it, so I bought it. I figured that if you didn’t like it, then I would take it back, and if you don’t want to go this year then you could wear it your senior year.” She shrugged. “It just all kind of happened, I don’t know.”
“What about the ticket, though?” I asked her, frowning. “Did you go to school and buy it or something?”
She smiled a little and said, “That one wasn’t me—that was a certain hunky boy next door.”
It took a couple of seconds, but eventually that piece of information sunk in, and I stared up at her dumbly. “What?” I finally managed. “Quinton got me a ticket?”
“He did,” she told me, still smiling widely. “He came here one day when you were walking home from school looking all nervous and he asked me to take this, and if you wanted to go to prom, then to give it to you. He explained to me that he asked you and you said maybe and he said he just wanted to give you the option if you wanted to go with him. He’s such a sweetheart, Lena—that boy really likes you.”
I didn’t have words for a moment. I just couldn’t believe that things like this happen in real life, and that I would happen to land the boy that did those kinds of adorable things. I knew I cared about him and I was almost a hundred percent sure that I had fallen in love with the kid, but with her telling me this story, explaining the things that he did hoping that I would agree to being his date, it all just made my chest well up and get all hot like my heart had a temperature range. I could feel myself blushing even as a goofy smile spread over my face, because life seriously can’t have gotten this good.
My mother poked my cheek and squealed. “You two are so cute! Totally adorable!”
I made a face and glanced down, looking at my hands in embarrassment. She giggling under her breath so I was obviously still as red as I thought I was, which made me only turn redder. I would have slapped her arm if she wasn’t holding a fistful of my hair, and the movement might have done more harm to me than her.
“Shut up,” I muttered weakly instead, grimacing. “What’s my hair going to look like?”
“You’ll find out,” she sang. “You’re lucky you even saw the dress—I wasn’t going to give you any hints, but I figured that you would concede a little easier if you saw my awesome dress-picking abilities.”
That was a true story.
“Besides,” she said, “if you don’t like the hair style, I want you to find out when it’s too late for me to do anything else with it. That way you’re stuck with it.”
I sighed.
Somehow, even though some of the things my mom had done to me throughout my entire life had been horrible and embarrassing and irritating, I couldn’t help but to be thankful for her now. I always knew that my mom would be hatching some evil plan behind my back to pick me up when my plans fall through and I know that she’ll always care for my wellbeing and want me to be happy. She’ll always tease me about Quinton but she’ll always be rooting for me, and that’s really all I can ask for from her. I just need someone to believe in me, and that’s what she was there for.
Moms rule.
Until they start tugging ruthlessly at your hair and exclaim, “When was the last time you brushed your hair?!”
Then they just suck.
~*~
“Wow,” I said.
“My girl’s all grown up!” my mom cried, tears rolling down her face. She sniffed loudly and ran a hand over her face, not taking her eyes off of my reflection as I stared at it, dumbfounded. “You look so much like a pretty princess! It’s like you should be in a Disney movie!”
That made me grimace.
“One without the Jonas brothers,” she assured me, patting my shoulder.
I grinned at her through the mirror and reached up, but I couldn’t touch my hair—it was too pretty. My fingers hesitated in the air above it, centimeters from touching it, and it was almost hard to believe it was even real. I just looked so . . .
“Stunning!” my mother cried out, almost sobbing.
I smiled at her dryly, not used to being around people with so many emotions, and I made sure she wasn’t paying any attention at all when I inched a step away from her. “Do I get a break now?” I asked her, narrowing my eyes. “I’m still hungry, and I do believe you promised me a pastry.”
She laughed through her tears and grinned at me. “As you wish, master,” she remarked before she took toward the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “And don’t you dare touch your hair, Lena Alexandra.”
I waited until she was out of sight before I took off for my room, sliding into it and closing the door softly behind me, needing just one moment. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts, not going anywhere near my window seat until I was sure I wasn’t going to start freaking out the moment I did. I steeled myself and crossed the room, slowly pulling the curtains away from my window and my gaze immediately fell on Quinton’s window.
I was shocked to see that not only was the light on but there was a piece of paper taped to the window, easy for me to read:
I’ll wait forever if I have to.
Through my watering eyes, I smiled.
“Lena?” my mother called from the hallway. “Where are you?”
“I’m in here,” I answered back, letting the curtain close behind me. I looked at my closet, the door still open from when Norma and Kline came piling out of it for their big reveal. I crossed the room slowly until I got there, picking up one of the articles of clothing that I never got the chance to wear—a dress designed like a sailor’s uniform, a dress I picked out just for Quinton. When I had first seen it in a secondhand shop I had thought of him immediately, and it would have felt like a crime not to buy it and the matching hat. And now I was holding the fabric in my hands, looking at who I became the moment I got to Boston, and I bit my lip.
For a good part of my life, I had let people call me names and changed myself to fit their needs. I had turned myself into someone like them so they wouldn’t have anything to say about my anymore, but maybe that was my mistake. Maybe, since the very beginning, I should have stood up for what I believed in. Maybe I should have been able to look them in the eye and tell them to shut up, that I liked being who I am and if they had a problem with that, then it wasn’t my problem. I made some mistakes and I changed myself, but I should have realized when I did it all again that it wasn’t the right thing to do.
I might be a freak, but I liked being a freak a lot more than I liked being normal.
“Hey Mom?” I yelled, an evil smile curling onto my lips. “Do you have any shoes picked out for me?”
“No,” she replied from my doorway, gazing in at me curiously. “Why?”
I grinned evilly.
“You’ll see,” I said, and I felt a little bit more like me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
This chapter is dedicated to Elle not because of the content, but because of THE DANISH CHALLENGE!
CHECK OUT THE VIDEO ON THE SIDE!
For those of you who don’t know what the Danish Challenge is (which is everyone but Elle, Cal, and me), basically all you have to do is put the word “Danish” somewhere in your work, in any context. It’s just this little fun thing that we do to be really random. If you want to join, then go right ahead! :P And let us know so we can spam you with a bunch of Danish-related posts.
Anyway lol She’s going to prom! Yay!
ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT. AND AN EPILOGUE. I can’t believe it’s almost over already!! D:
x Riley