𝙾𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝙴𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜

𝚃𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎

𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝟽𝚝𝚑

I stare into Callie's full-length mirror, at Callie herself. My best friend has always been beautiful. Naturally, she is windswept and wild – her beauty is an earthly kind. Since we were children, her curls have danced unconstrained and her mouth has been of elated expression. Callie's curls are now artfully collected at the nape of her neck. Her face – for once – in serenity, in witness to herself. Callie dusted her eyes with golden flakes complimenting the warmth of her burnt orange dress, itself striking with a triangle top and free-flowing bottom.

"You're beautiful," Callie says, looking at me via the mirror.

"You're more beautiful," I reply.

"You're most beautiful," Callie returns, ever competitive even at being right.

I don't feel how Callie describes me. I'm a breastless pus chicken.

With my hands tucked at my armpits, I dip them beneath the top of my dress. I pull upwards my strapless bra, the one hell-bent on slipping down my torso. My limp breasts hang inside, like deflated balloons not ready to party. Then there's my chin's cystic acne – merely covered by the concealer I've plastered over it. The acne has formed heads and I'll be lucky to make it through the night without it erupting pus.

Cull me now.

"Wow," Cooper says, leaning on the doorframe of Callie's bedroom.

"I could say the same about yourself," I return, taking in the view that is Cooper Collard.

Like his twin, Cooper too has contained his curls within a bun. Cooper wears a burgundy tuxedo with a matching burgundy bowtie. He's striking. Truly handsome.

With Callie having stepped aside, I take my turn before the mirror. I see my eyes are prominently round. My nose is evidently boney. And my mouth is too small to provide any balance. The beading on the front of my navy dress does not distract from the flat, non-existence of my chest. Amid the beading, my dress sinches, but it isn't reflective of my waist inside. I totally lack shape. Dressing in a cloak of invisibility would have the same success at turning heads.

I think of how I would look in the turquoise dress; its sweetheart neckline and skirt of tulle. No, not beautiful. But more like myself. It was the dress of dreams. But in the store, I dared not walk over to it. I kept my hands to the sale rack. And thus, the speed of selection and the price of the garment Mum was untroubled by.

A knock on the front door has Callie sprinting out of the bedroom – the fastest one can run in heels anyway. The rest of the Collard Family and I arrive in the hallway to see Callie open the door to Reef.

Reef wears a light-blue suit of which he has partnered with a paisley orange tie, the same shade as Callie's dress. Reef's choice of boutonniere is pinned to his collar. And Reef's surf hair still sits on his collarbone, ever blonde by the sun salon.

"You look stunning," Reef greets Callie.

"That is stunning," Callie replies, motioning past Reef.

"Hello, Mr and Mrs Collard," Reef waves, then smiles and nods at Cooper and I.

"Is that for me?!" Callie squeals from beyond the house.

"You know to call us John and Maria," the latter says, having reached Reef to hug him. John gives Reef a handshake then brings him in for an embrace.

"Oh my goodness!" Callie bursts.

We all careen our heads out the front door. A blue vintage sports car is parked on the gravel, adorned with bush flowers and eucalyptus leaves across the base of the windscreen.