A Bad Idea (Spideychelle)

Ch. 8: I'll Take The Pleasure, Take It With Pain

MJ POV

Nothing happened between Peter and I for about a week, due to my dad's presence. He ended up working from home starting Friday night, and either he wouldn't let me go, or May wasn't working that night.

It gave me way too much time to think.

Wednesday at lunch, I went up to Betty's locker.

"What are you doing after school today?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Probably prepping for the competition next weekend."

"Do you think you can take a study break to go to the mall with me?"

"Sure, what for?"

I hesitated. I hadn't thought this far ahead. I couldn't lie about what we were going to the mall for, but I could lie about who it was about.

"Do you remember Miles?" I asked hesitantly.

"Morales? From Brooklyn?"

"Yeah."

Betty eyed me skeptically. "Yeah, why?"

"Well, he and I have been talking again-"

"Please don't tell me you're using that boy to get over Peter-"

"Shhh!" I hushed, slapping a hand over her mouth. "Peter's locker is right down the hall, you might as well announce it on the morning fucking news," I hissed.

She held up her hands in surrender, and I lowered my hand. "You can't use that boy to get over this one."

"Spare me the lecture, okay? I'm fully aware that what I'm doing is a bad idea, can you just support me now and say 'I told you so' later?"

She sighed. "Fine. What are we buying?"

I bit my lip sheepishly. "I need something cute to wear..."

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"Okay, this one has softer lace," Betty said, taking a bodysuit off the rack and holding it up. I felt the lace as I gave it a once over.

"It does, but I don't have nearly big enough boobs to fill out the top."

"Come on, just try it on. I think the orange will suit your skin."

I took it, rolling my eyes, adding it to the growing pile draped over my arm. "Betty, don't you think I have enough?"

"We've only gotten through half of the store!"

"Okay, let me try on this stuff, pare it down, and then we'll get through the rest. Is that acceptable, Ms. Brant?" I added teasingly.

"I suppose," she sighed, pushing me towards a change room already.

I swear, I was trying on lingerie for a lifetime. Two pieces, one pieces, ones with rhinestones, ones with a million straps, ones with fishnet, ones in each colour of the rainbow and then some.

And I didn't like how I looked in any of them.

Up until this point in my life, the shape of my body hadn't really been of consequence, because I'd never been trying to accentuate features or anything. If anything, I'd been trying to play things down.

Looking in the mirror, covered in lace, I realized I didn't have much to accentuate. I was the shape of a smartphone, or a cardboard box, or anything flat and rectangular and unspectacular.

I redressed, and stepped out of the changeroom.

"Okay, I give up. Let's go home."

"What? No! I may not agree with the circumstances regarding the dick you're getting, but goddammit, you're getting dick, and you're gonna feel like a bombshell doing it."