A Stiff Punishment

Pixsee was 12, turning 13 in May.  The last thing she wanted was a family party thrown by her step-Mother.  It would have been much better to just hang with her bestees here at the mall.  But, no.  There had to be a party with her parents.   Right—it’s hardly a party, with no friends and just her parents.  Fine.  Her step-Mother could make the cake and put up the streamers and all that babyish stuff and throw the party that she wanted so badly.   But Pixsee had already decided that she would one-up her oh-so-smart step-Mother.   And oh, would old step-Mama be embarrassed!

***

Pixsee had her eye on the shirt for weeks.   It was the perfect shade of purple; and the boys would LOVE it!  Treesa had already gotten hers a week ago.  Her Dad bought her everything she wanted.  Treesa’s Dad was cool, and her Dad even threw her a party at the bowling alley for her birthday, and she had fourteen friends at her party, plus Treesa didn’t have to wait for her birthday just to get a shirt.   

She was doing her best to act natural, just like Treesa had said.  The whole idea wasn’t exactly natural for her, but it HAD to be done, and she was going to do it.  Treesa had given her the idea, and she wasn’t sure it would work, but Treesa insisted.  And Treesa was one of her besties.   And that had to count for something.

As Pixsee moved past the table of hoodies, she watched the lady at the counter without looking like she was watching.   Or, at least, trying not to look like she was watching.  Her palms were damp.  She wiped them dry over the front of her jeans, and then glanced toward the changing rooms.  All empty. Good.  All was going according to plan. 

She began flipping through the shirts on the table.  XL, L, XXL.  What girl wore an XXL?  She knew a few, she guessed, smirking.   XXL, M, L, L, XL, L, XL, XXL, XXL, XL, M.   There was no S.  Not one.  She began to panic, starting again from the top of the pile, looking closely at each tag.  XL, L, XXL, XXL, M, L, L, XL, L, XL, XXL, XXL, XL, M.  No S’s.

“Can I help you, Dear?”

                Holy cripe, she almost wet her skinny jeans.  How come they always sneak up like that?  “Oh, um, no thanks.  I mean… wait.  Yes, do you have this in a Small?” her voice seemed much higher than normal.  Maybe an octave higher.   Like a squeak.  She wiped her palms on her thighs again and cleared her throat.

                The lady looked at Pixsee over the tops of her glasses, “Oh, I’m sorry, Dear, but that’s the most popular size!  The Smalls were gone a week ago.  The truck comes again on Monday, though, so come back next week and we’ll have another batch of Smalls.  Can I interest you in a hoodie?  We have hoodies in Small.  And they’re on sale fo…”

                Pixsee had already turned on her heel, and was aiming for the door, waving her hand dismissively back toward that annoying lady.   It was just her luck.  Party this weekend, and she wouldn’t have the shirt.  She had put it on her birthday list, right at the top, and then had spent each of the last twelve days at breakfast asking her step-Mother if she could have it for her birthday, and then had gotten tired of asking, so she had just gone and looked in the bags in her parents’ closet, hidden behind the hanging clothes.  The exact one she wanted, size Small, in purple…was not there.   Instead, there was a bunch of other crap she could care less about.  None of it was on her list.   Which is why she needed to get the shirt herself, and to wear it to her party—Surprise, step-Mother!  I got the shirt myself!   Joke’s on you, step- Mama!   Thanks for the non-party and the crappy gifts I didn’t even want!

Only it wasn’t going to work out that way at all. She would just have to put up with the stupid cake, and the stupid streamers, and the crappy gifts, and her stupid par…