The Boy I Hate

Seventeen.

Margie and I were only a couple of steps away from Anastasia's Bridal when I saw Richard and his baseball posse across the mall. Quick on my feet, I yanked Margie's arm to get us into the store as quickly as possible. "You're avoiding him?" Margie questioned, out of breath when we arrived. She began sifting through the dresses on the rack, and mumbled, "I'm never going to get married if I'm expected to wear something like this."

"Well, he is my ex," I lied. "It's kind of awkward." I wished I could tell her the real reasons I was avoiding him. Then again - I couldn't quite keep track of them myself. Was it because I was disgusted that he beat Charlie unconscious? Or was it because I was afraid to tell him I got into NYU?

"I guess," she sighed and slid more dresses across the rack. "I just thought you two would remain friends."

I groaned, dramatically throwing my head to the clothing rack to lay. "It's complicated."

Margie laughed, circling over to stroke my back. "It must be if you've resorted to hanging around Charles Turner. I thought you hated him."

I wondered when she would ask about that. Luckily, I didn't have to answer as we were interrupted by an employee, probably assigned to our appointment. "Abram and Churchill?"

"That's us," Margie nudged me with her elbow, making me stand upright. I forced a smile. 

"Come with me," the woman urged us towards her with her acrylic nails.

We were led into one of many dressing rooms. The walls lined with mirrors; if I didn't know better I might have assumed it was a dance studio. A chandelier hung down the center and the floors were what I thought to be marble. It was obvious why my mother recommended the place. Even though it was more of a demand than recommendation.

We told our stylist what we were looking for in our debutante gowns. Margie specified something strapless, skin tight, and possibly mermaid. I had more trouble making a choice - which annoyed the woman working with us as she had to flip through example books with me to make a decision.

I had no idea how many types of dresses there were, despite having spent my whole life circulating through them. I couldn't even remember which types of dresses I liked wearing. I was struggling, only able to come up with a couple vague requests, "I want straps or sleeves. Not tight, but also not huge. Um... I guess I want it to be simple, but my mother would be mad if I didn't stand out."

Our stylist laid a hand on my shoulder excitedly. "I think I know just the dress for you."

"Oh really? That's gr-" she was gone before I could finish my sentence.

With the stylist off fetching dresses, Margie took the opportunity to carry on our old conversation - much to my dismay. "Seriously though, Mabel. I'm starting to get worried about how much time your spending on the west side. I didn't want to say anything after the fire incident, because you were worried about that, but... what gives? Are you that mad at Richard?"

I catapulted into a waiting chair next to her, groaning and rubbing my hands across my face. "It's hard to explain." She raised a brow, urging me to continue. "When I was with Richard there was so much he didn't want me to do. Hanging out on the west side was one of those things. I guess I'm just enjoying my freedom." I hoped that excuse would suffice. Although, I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't an excuse at all.

She nodded, scrunching up her face in thought. Margie dreamed of being a phycologist, and had a habit of practicing on me. Not that I minded, usually her advice was superb even when it was hard to hear. "That makes sense. Just be careful."

I leaned my head on her shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Just be careful who you trust. These people aren't your friends."