The Promposal (COMPLETE)

13- Getting Ready

Edith's POV.

Well it looks like we've made it. Tonight is the prom, and I'm about as ready as I'll ever be.

After school, I go over to Camila's house to get ready, in following with her big pre-prom plan checklist she's prepared for the day. She makes a big deal about my makeup, pushing a bunch of eyeshadow palettes and lipsticks in my face. It's up to me to decide which to use, and I settle on a few neutral shades so it doesn't clash with the purple dress. As for my hair, she digs out a curling iron so I can make it not as straight as spaghetti, but more like an instant ramen.

It's nice of her, trying to style my dress with accessories and such, but my heart isn't really in it. When I look over at Camila getting ready, I realize how in her element she is. It's like she was born to wear ballgowns and spend hours getting dressed everyday. But when I look at myself in the mirror, I just see a girl in a costume.

"I'm not sure I've ever worn a floor length dress before," I tell her. But Camila ignores my complaints and continues to insist that it'll be alright, as long as I didn't trip on anything. I secretly reach over to the bookshelf next to me and knock on it a few times, hoping it'll ensure that I don't take a tumble at the dance.

Once we're done styling everything, I slouch down to check my phone. We still have quite a bit of time, working diligently and getting ready in about two hours. Camila texts some friends on her phone as well, and we hang out in silence for some time.

"Did you see Cynthia's dress?" she asks once. I shake my head, and then Camila hands over her phone. On the screen is a gown with lots of jewels and sparkles. My eyes hurt.

"Wow," is all I can say in response.

That's the end of the conversation for awhile. That is, until I hear Camila scream"Oh no you don't bitch!" at her phone. It comes out of nowhere, and is followed by a bunch of angry typing.

After a few seconds of watching her rage, I ask "what happened?"

She turns toward me, eyes wide. "Some sophomore just posted that she's wearing my dress." She's fuming, and I don't really know how to respond. I've never seen Camila this angry, so close to committing murder.

"But didn't you post that dress on the facebook group months ago?" I ask. I am immediately met with more anger, and realize that was not the correct thing to say to calm her down.

Camila shoots off a few angry texts and calls, I don't know who to, and then sinks down onto the floor. "It's all over, this is embarrassing," she cries. It seems to be that she is moving into the depression stage of grief. It's less intimidating than her anger, but still difficult for me to try and manage.

"I'm sure we won't see her, there's going to be a ton of people there" I reassure Camila. In response, she simply shakes her head and continues to mope.

"That dress is great, and nobody will notice." I try again.

It seems the strategy isn't working. Camila is still sulking in a corner, nearly in tears over the fact that someone else will have the same dress as her. Although it seems dramatic, I give her a bit of a break because of what just happened with her and Justin. This is probably just a misdirect of her anger. Yet another problem piling onto a day that was supposed to be perfect.

After awhile of brainstorming, I suggest "Why don't we just switch dresses? You're a size 6, right?"

Camila turns toward me with a look of complete surprise. "Really?" she asks.

I nod my head. "Yeah, I know how big a deal this is for you. Besides, I like your dress better than mine," I respond.

Camila seems to take my line of reasoning quite well, responding by enveloping me in a big hug. "Thank you Edith!!" she exclaims.

Once we switch dresses, I don't really need to change anything about my hair or makeup, but Camila does. I wait patiently as she fixes everything to match the new purple aesthetic, taking the extra time to reflect on my own plan for the night.

Of course, I'm going to the dance with Jonah as my date. I'm not exactly sure whether or not we'll spend most of our time with the large group. But that would, in a way, be ideal. Although I do wonder what would happen if we slow danced, realistically I'm pretty sure it'd just end up awkward. Either way, there's bound to be a point during the night when our group splits up into couples.

What that means for Camila, I'm not sure. She doesn't seem to be properly facing her heartbreak, instead focusing on little tasks like her makeup and dress. I feel bad for her, and wonder if maybe she'll finally crack when we get to the dance. 

"Ready to go?" Camila asks as she emerges from the bathroom in her new outfit. I can't help myself from comparing what she looks like in the dress to myself, and it ends up lowering my self confidence slightly. But I try my best to ignore it and instead think about the night ahead.

"Ready as I'll ever be."