Intertwined

Kinley

Kinley

He would be here any second. Or should I say they?

My palms were damp, much like how the air felt when I attempted to breathe it in. It seemed pathetic when book character's had to instruct themselves the steps to breathing, but here I was chanting in, out, in my head. My things were all packed for the weekend. In actuality, they'd been packed, re packed, and packed again in hopes that I had chosen appropriate clothing.

"Charlotte and I want to take you out for dinner," he had said. "Dress nice."

I'd spend six hours on my own in my closet, then two and half with Summer at the mall, searching for a dress to wear to this stupid dinner. It couldn't be slutty, but I couldn't look like a rogue nun. Classy was a definite, and we decided to go with black. The dress itself was made of soft material that conformed to my curves, and fell to two inches above my knee. It had a square neckline, 'It reveals skin, but not so much cleavage,' was Summer's explanation. The dress was accompanied by a pair of glossy nude heels.

I continuously tried to find things wrong with me that they'd be sure to point out if I didn't fix. After I found out that this weekend would be the one I'd be forced to spend with the paternal side of my parents, I immediately scheduled a hair and nail appointment. My hair was now filled with a new set of 'honey blonde,' highlights, and 'medium ash brown,' lowlights.' My nails were a classic set of French acrylics and my toes were a subtle shade of baby pink.

You could say I was a little nervous.

My phone buzzed with the alert that they were outside waiting. I wanted to drive myself, but I wasn't going to take the car away from Jude for the whole weekend. It was bad enough I used it almost everyday during lunch; not that he needed it then.

I stepped outside, my duffel bad bouncing on my hip. My dad had stepped out of the car, and stood by Charlotte's open door. They liked to make a big deal of things, obviously. He couldn't actually come to the door, but he could step out of his sleek escalade to show any nosey neighbors how rich he looked in his dress pants and dark maroon dress shirt. His shoes probably cost more than my whole outfit.

That's when Charlotte stepped out of the car. Her heels were the color of my dad's shirt, as well as her lips. The dark color of the lip wax stood in heavy contrast to her pale skin and platinum blonde hair.

But that's not what stood out to me.

What did, was that the dress she was wearing was identical to mine.

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To say that the matching dress situation represented the rest of our evening, would be an excellent metephor.

The destruction of the evening began when Charlotte opened her mouth.

"God, this must be so embarrassing," Charlotte drawled, and my face was already burned scarlet, "for you," she added, sending me a faux sympathetic smile. "It must feel awful for you to be upstaged by your step-mother!"

Well, ouch.

"I guess you had better scurry on back to your house to change," she said smugly. "No point in pretending we don't both know who looks better in this dress," she grinned. I waited for someone, anyone to defend me, but no one did. I wasn't surprised, honestly. The only way I'd get defended tonight was if some magical being appeared from thin air.

I bit back a scowl, and invited them into my house. I had assumed they had gotten Jaime, my four year old half-brother, a babysitter, but halfway up the pathway to my house, Charlotte had gasped like she'd been pushed.