Never (EDITING)

Chapter 17

Saturday had arrived sooner than later. Before I knew it, I was standing in my closet and staring blankly at my small amount of clothes. I had absolutely no clue what to wear to this dinner, which was only a few hours away. I wondered if I could use not having a decent wardrobe as an excuse to stay home.

I'd devoted my entire week trying to convince Mom that there was no point in me going. First off, I was grounded. And, second, the Troskys were her friends, not mine. They definitely weren't mine. I was certain that Mabel and I would start bickering at one another as soon as we met again. The entire evening would be destroyed. But, sadly, even that wasn't enough to change my mom's mind. She was determined to drag me along even if it wound up being by force. I'd lost all hope.

Two hours had gone by and I was still indecisive on what to wear. I didn't even have any options laid out on my bed. My closet was mostly made up of graphic tees and pullover sweaters. I'm sure those weren't worthy of an occasion like this one.

I groaned in frustration and began pacing around my room, wishing that time would stop. We'd be standing at the Trosky's doorstep in exactly an hour. Realizing this, I wondered why I'd wasted two hours of my time trying to look decent for these people. It wasn't like I wanted to see them, so why bother? I quickly headed back into my closet and grabbed a heather gray hoodie with a pair of blue jeans. I quickly put them on and walked over to the mirror to examine myself. Besides my hair being a complete mess, I thought I looked okay. Mom didn't. As soon as she saw me walk out of my room, she demanded that I change. The displeased expression on her face as her eyes slowly scrolled up and down to get a better view of me kept my mouth shut. There was so much that I wanted to say right then and there, but I forced myself to keep quiet. I simply let her take the lead, and take the lead she did, straight into the room right across from mine. Her bedroom.

"Wait here," she stopped me at the door and disappeared into her walk-in closet. I saw her again several seconds later, and she was holding something in one hand while she used the other to slide the closet door shut. I couldn't see it clearly until she turned to me and extended her arm forward. "Here," she said.

I was hesitant to take the item from her hand after witnessing the horrid color. Pink. And, worse, tiny white flower prints covered the whole damn thing.

"Come on, Danika, we don't have all night." Mom said, and I could hear the obvious impatience in her voice.

"What is it?" I asked, eyeing the fabric in disgust.

"It's what you're wearing tonight. Now go!" This time, she didn't wait for me to take action. She simply tossed the item at me and led me back to my room. As soon as she walked out and shut the door behind her, I held out what wound up being a dress. A freaking dress. And the more I forced myself to stare at that thing, the more I questioned why Mom even owned it. It looked like something a ten-year-old girl would wear. Not a fully grown woman with three children.

As much as I wanted to grab a lighter and set the dress on fire, I couldn't. Putting it on would create major humiliation for me and possibly some insults from Mabel, but there was no time left to back out. My entire family was all ready and waiting for me downstairs. With a frown on my face, I took off the comfortable clothes that I would have much rather gone with and slipped into the dress. It was a struggle to zip up the back all on my own. A huge struggle. My arms suffered through soreness and getting tangled with one another as they fought to get the zipper to move from its spot. Minutes of letting out frustrated huffs and cursing under my breath later, and I finally managed to get a good grip on it and gently slide it upward. With that out of the way, I ran my hands down the fabric and pulled at the bottom from either side to straighten the dress out. One look in the mirror was all it took for me to immediately run into my closet and grab an oversized zip-up that I would throw on over the dress. It tightly hugged my body in ways that made me uncomfortable, and there was no way I wasn't covering that up. I didn't care how angry the sweater made my mom, it was staying on. And so were my black Chucks.