riptide

Chapter 3.

“I like this one,” Mom says, holding up the most hideous floral top known to man.

“Mom, it looks like someone threw up one of your nasty green juice smoothies all over that shirt,” I remark.

“Excuse me, but those are delicious,” Mom counters. “So I guess you don’t want this? I mean it’s –‘’

“Put it down, mother. For the love of God, put it down.” She sighs before hanging the wretched shirt back on the clothing rack.

To sum it up, fashion here in North Carolina sucks.

Big time.

I don’t even consider myself someone who’s into the latest fashion trends, but the clothing here is just appalling. Everything is oversized and colorless.  

Ever since I received my oh-so-charming school letter, I’ve been in full fledged panic mode.

I somehow have to find a decent wardrobe, so I don’t stick out like a sore thumb. The clothes I have now are nice, but I gave most of them to charity because I couldn’t bring much with me.

Normally, I would go shopping with a friend for clothes. But, seeing as how I don’t have any, I’m stuck with my mother. Don’t get me wrong, she’s great to be around, but her sense of style is a bit out the window.

“Kat, just please hurry up and pick some things out. I don’t have all day. I have to go and unpack boxes at home,” Mom sighs.

“Ok, just give me thirty minutes. You stay here, and I’m going to go across the street to another store. I promise if I don’t find anything, we will leave,” I reason. She exhales loudly before nodding.

“Here, take this,” she says, pulling out her credit card and handing it to me. “I’ll be expecting receipts,” she commands, pointing a finger at me. I thank her, and start to head out the store.

I walk down the street for about five minutes, before noticing a store that looks to be aimed towards my age group. I walk through the door, and am greeted by a blonde girl whose nametag reads “Laurel.”

“Hey, welcome! Need help finding something?” She kindly asks. I debate for a minute whether or not I should ask for her help. She looks about 21 or so. Not too far off from my age. But before I can answer, a girl carrying a bundle of clothing approaches Laurel.

“I’m gonna need some help with these,” I hear her say.

“Sorry!”  Laurel says with a smile, before heading off with the other customer.

Ok then. Guess not.

I shuffle through a rack of clothes, and select a few items that catch my eye. I walk to the fitting rooms to try them on. I’m unfortunately forced to wait, because all the rooms are taken.