The Star over Arvendon

Chapter 1: Happy Birthday!

This morning.

"AMELIA, Time to get up, dear."

"Okay, I'M GETTING UP NOW. " I yell back, half asleep, still processing why my mother is getting me up so early. The sun was barely up, which meant it was early. During the summertime, I never get up early. Except for today, apparently. I lifted my head to check my phone at 7:30. "Mom, why did you get me up so early?" I asked as she walked into my room. "Because sweetie, we have things we need to do today, and I need your help getting them done. So, get up and get dressed,". she told me as she threw the curtains on my window.

Elizabeth Sinclair was the picture-perfect woman. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, and softer features. Motherly eyes and a button nose, fantastic body, just perfect. Marylyn Monroe type. She always looks put together. There's never a hair out of place, unlike me. My dark brown hair and deep emerald eyes never look put together.

"Okay, Mom, Could you leave? Please," I'm not wearing PJs. I'm not wearing anything. Yes, I sleep nude, well, somewhat naked. I get hot when I sleep. "Sweetie, I'm sorry. Of course, give me a second, and I'll leave," she said, digging into my closer to pull out some of my clothes. "You have exactly ten minutes to get dressed, fed, and in the car so that we can go; please wear this today," she spoke sternly, setting some clothes on the foot of the bed.

"Oh, and happy birthday, sweetie," she said sweetly, closing the door. August 11th, my 18th birthday; what a fun time to be an adult. Not. But who's paying attention? "Thanks, Mom," I giggled

After she left the room, I rolled out of bed. She had picked out a pair of mom jeans, a cute white blouse, and sneakers. After getting dressed, I rushed to the kitchen to see Mom making my favorite breakfast, French toast. I fixed a plate once she had finished. "Eat up quickly; I'm going to finish getting ready. Five more minutes," she shouted over her shoulder. Which made me realize I looked like a hot mess. I am only in some mascara, leftover from yesterday, and my beat-up shoes. But I didn't need make-up or fancy clothes to make myself feel pretty. I knew I wasn't attractive, and I was okay with that. Maybe.

"Darling, are you ready to go?" she says, walking back into the kitchen. "Sure, Mom! Let's get going! What are we doing today anyway?" I asked over my shoulder as I rinsed my plate off in the sink, but she was already in the garage with the car started.

"Did you hear what I said in the kitchen?" I questioned as I got into the car. "No, dear, I didn't. What did you say?" she asked as we pulled out of the driveway. "I asked where we were going," I stated frankly. She hesitated before speaking. "Okay, I need you to keep an open mind today. I know you don't like wearing dresses. But you'll need them in the future, and I would like to get them out of the way today." Today was going to be much weirder than I expected. "Okay, Mom, so what does this mean? Exactly how many dresses am I going to try on today?" I questioned cautiously.

I was not a fan of shopping in general, let alone for dresses. I was more of the mom jeans and online shopping girly. "As many as it takes for you to find the right dress. You'll need to pick out three gowns, one in black or white, one in fall color, and one in whatever color you want," Mom said as we pulled up to the store. "Okay, Mom, but why?" Again, she didn't tell me anything. "Oh, one more thing: Miranda has done this a thousand times and knows what she's talking about. Just hear her out and trust her instincts," she advised as she opened the door to the small shop.

"Hello, welcome to Miranda's. You must be my 8:30, Amelia, right?" She says, bowing to me. This girl was way too bubbly for it being 8:30 in the morning. She looked to be in her early 50s with crazy red hair and so many freckles; she had those Harry Potter glasses that older adults wear when losing their vision up close. She wore a pair of dress slacks and a blue top to complement her curly red hair. "Umm, yeah, that's me. But you didn't have to bow". This day was getting weirder and weirder. "Oh, I'm sorry, I. I ...." She seems dumbfounded. Her glance over to my Mom didn't miss my sight. After finding her composer again, she said, "I'm Miranda, the owner of this shop, and from what your mom tells me, we've got our hands full. What size are you, dear?" She asked as she hurried off to the racks sprawled across the small showroom. " I think I'm a size six, but I could be wrong," I answered. "Okay, perfect," Miranda responded while pulling about 20 dresses for me to try on. I audibly groaned; Mom wasn't too happy about that. "Sweetie, you need to keep a positive attitude today," she says, grinding her teeth at me. "I know you don't like wearing dresses, but you'll understand later why you need these now."