From the Stars, to the Stars

From the Stars, to the Stars: Chapter Six

Boys can make fun all they want of girls wailing about having nothing to wear, despite having rooms stuffed full of dresses, but in my case it's the absolute truth. Jules has tried for years to get me to put on something other than my cycle of jeans and long-sleeved logo tees, but no matter how much she nags, I don't see sense in subjecting myself to the kind of torture involving girlier clothes. Jules says I've somehow traded in a style sense for some as-yet-undiscovered stupid human trick.

The three of us--Bronwyn, Jules, and I-- sit on the edge of my bed, staring into my closet and bemoaning how little with which we have to work.

Jules leans back on both palms, giving my clothes a death glare. "Well, it's not starving kids in Africa, but it's tragic enough I'll refrain from saying 'I told you so'."

"And yet, in the bigger picture of 'Joss versus Jules in the Battle of Fashion Rehab', I still win," I say, then add, "Though it might've been nice to have at least one article of clothing not threatening to wear out right under the left pocket--you know, for the sake of First Date tradition and all."

"I'd suggest borrowing one of my skirts, but I'm afraid you'd have to pull it up to your armpits like a maxi dress to keep from tripping over the hem," Bronwyn says.

I nod. "Yup, that was one of my major defensive maneuvers; keeping so short Jules couldn't use any of her own clothes against me. She almost got me last year." I twist to face Jules. "You remember? When your Gram and Gramps took us on that cruise, and you sniper-shopped behind my back? You bought that pretty rose-colored number with the black Indian print. I really liked that, actually. It wasn't so frou-fou I cringed every time it touched my skin."

"Shame you lost it then, isn't it?" Jules tilts her head back further so she can see Bronwyn behind me. "We were only on the Glory for five days but she managed to forget half a suitcase worth of stuff when we got off."

I pull my brows together and squint one eye like an old captain. "The sea, she be a hard mistress, taking her due from us all."

Jules grimaces. "Yes, I'm sure the third deck cleaning crew threw your belongings into the water in some sort of pagan, post-journey ceremony."

"Hey, whatever floats their boat . . . pun intended."

Bronwyn laughs. "Okay, you two. Why don't you try to figure out how to do Jocelyn's hair while I go powder my nose. Restroom, Joss?" It's the first time she's shortened my name, I realize, and hope it means she's comfortable around Jules and me.

"Last door on the right, toots," I say, and Bronwyn crosses to the hallway.

Jules eyes me like a judge on one of those makeover shows, then pulls out the rubber band holding my hair in its knot. "All right, Rapunzel. I think the time has come to let down your hair," she says, draping all three feet of the stuff over her arm, then twisting it into different shapes.

"You're kidding, right? Do you remember what kind of mobility issues this stuff comes with?"

"Well, I'm one of the five people in Staunton who's seen it free, and I say you leave it loose."

"I think it depends on what she wears," Bronwyn says, coming back into the room and poking her head into my closet. "Do you mind if I rifle through here?"

"No, go ahead."

She disappears completely into my clothes. Several minutes later--during which Jules unknots me--she staggers back out with something clutched in her fists. "Look what I found behind a stack of shoeboxes. I think it fell off the hanger." She beams, holding up my pink dress like a trophy. "How'd you do her hair the last time she wore this?"