Dust Trap - Novel

Chapter 1

 Mom always reminds me to change the dust trap in the dryer. There's really no need, because if there's anything her childhood "stories" have taught me, it's that the house will burn down if I do otherwise. I looked it up and found no proof of this ever happening, but the fear had been planted too deep to ever forget. I push my fingertips across the mesh and form a chubby ball of lint, tossing it into its designated basket beside the dryer. I start to fold my clothes, silently praying that I didn't shrink anything because I was too lazy to air dry it. My yellow linen dress gets set aside, as it will be making its first appearance at my friend's house tonight. I was so excited when I saw it on the sale rack two months ago. I can really only bring myself to purchase clearance items because, like the dress, anything that's not Walmart sweatpants will collect dust on my shelf. Even though it's just Jenna and I this evening, I might as well wear it once before September welcomes the fall weather.

My moms are sitting in the kitchen, gossiping as they so often do, nursing hot tea in twinning owl mugs. It's definitely their form of bonding, maybe because judging other people helps them ignore the fact that they got married too fast and too early and adopted before they were ready for a kid. Or maybe they just find it fun. Either way, I know I'll be subject to their judgement as I walk by with my laundry basket. As if on cue, raised eyebrows and teasing grins appear in unison. Mams is the first to speak.

"I'm sorry, who is this and what have you done with my daughter?" So predictable. As if I haven't been doing my own laundry for the past two years. Still, I can't help but smile. It's ridiculous how much joy they derive from this ongoing – and arguably unfunny – joke.

"You're quite the comedian." I say the same thing I always do, and both Mom and Mams respond with genuine laughter that warms my heart a little. My eyes roll fondly at their immaturity as I climb the carpeted steps to my room.

I spend the next twenty minutes applying mascara. It's the only makeup I'm skilled enough to put on, and it's an intensive process. First, the small tube with the big brush for volume, followed by the fancy one with the skinny applicator for length. I alternate between the two for a good twelve minutes, then spend the next eight separating my lashes individually with tweezers. I've never wondered why I take this so seriously, but it probably stems from the same place most beauty regiments are born. Insecurity. That doesn't really bother me, though, because I've accepted that I'm only seventeen. Try finding another teenage girl whose sole motivation isn't to mask her insecurities. I'm sure they exist, but not in my orbit. With that said, I don't get to use that excuse for much longer. Eighteen looms close, waiting for its wave of new responsibilities to begin in February of next year. I'm conflicted, because on one hand, I get the tattoo I've wanted for six years now. On the other hand, I'll have to pay full price for admission at the zoo. This, of course, is not my main problem with adulthood, but the others are far too terrifying to address.

With my mascara imperfect but tolerable, I try on my linen dress for the second time ever. Yellow is not usually my colour, but I made an exception because it was one of those dresses you hold up in front of your body and say If only. Jenna had watched me stare wistfully in the store mirror and practically dragged me to the till. It was sweet of her at the time, but looking at myself now, I can see that the dress was "if only"  for a reason. The pale colour brings out all the wrong tones in my face, and the straps are too thin to cover my padded bra. The skirt is also way shorter than I remember, and seems to highlight my unshaved thighs. I consider a quick shave or even changing completely, but my phone goes off with what can only be Jenna's "I'm here!" text. She lives in the neighbourhood next to mine, so we often meet up to walk the scenic route together. The path is beautiful, and makes it easier to accept that neither of us have a car. I glance out the window and see her tiny frame waiting eagerly on the edge of my driveway. Jenna has many wonderful qualities, but patience is not one of them, so I abandon my hope of comfort in exchange for keeping the peace.