Chapter One
Alina
“Alright, honey, we’ll be back later tonight. The circle group doesn’t end until nine-thirty, so your dad and I will be alone after that,” my mom calls out from the counter of the thrift store they own. The meeting they go to every week is the same one, same time, same people, every single week since before I can remember, so I'm not sure why she always reminds me, but I just smile and wave goodbye. At least I’ll have the store to myself.
It's my day off from the diner, but Mom and Dad always need help. My brother is supposed to work full-time but only shows up when he wants money from the cash register. My parents have never been strict with either of us; they are peace-loving people who believe life is an adventure, one you should get to control fully. That's great and all once you learn how to be a respectable person within society. If you're just given free rein to do whatever you want, you end up like my brother—a grown, spoiled brat.
To me, he’s just a bully and always has been. For as long as I can remember, he’s made my life miserable for no reason, but he's smart and only does it when we're alone. I used to try to tell my parents, but all they would say was to show love against adversity. Then Jackson made my life a million times worse for tattling. From a young age, I learned to keep my mouth shut, blend into the background, and become as small as possible. Anything else only causes you pain.
I look at the store and realize I'm the only one here, alone and nearing closing time. No one should be coming in. I look at the back section of the store and make my way back that way. The small section in the back is almost private, surrounded by racks of dresses, scarves, and flowy fabric draping from the ceiling. There's also a full-length mirror wrapped with more scarves and vines falling from it. The total effect creates a peaceful hidden gem in the chaos that is the rest of my parent’s store.
Searching through the used dresses on the rack, I swear I swipe across every decade from current styles back to the fifties dresses, smiling at the memories these probably hold. I stop when I reach a red swing dress with a shorter-than-average skirt, sweetheart neckline, and the perfect amount of white piping around the edges of the halter-style straps to give it the most adorably retro look possible. It's absolutely stunning and definitely something I would never in a million years even think about wearing.
Pulling it from the rack, I step in front of the mirror and place it against my chest. I look at myself in the mirror. There is no way I could ever pull something eye-catching and memorable like this off, but I think I would at least look pretty. Maybe even pretty enough for Riley to finally notice me. I could fix my hair and apply some light makeup. I smile at myself, but it quickly falls from my face when I hear the voice behind me.
“Ohhh, you switching up your style now? Let me guess, from that dress, I would go with hooker or clown. Which is it?” Jackson, my brother, says from behind me. I meet his eyes in the mirror; all I see is hate. I don't know what I ever did to him, but I know he hates me more than anyone else.
“Since you're not answering, that must mean both. I think there's a big red nose at the counter. Let me grab it for you.” I hear his sinister laugh as he walks away. I know he's lying, and I know he's only going to the register to clean it out, still… his words hit their mark. I turn and return to the rack, placing the dress back where it belongs.
“Damn, he’s a dick. You're not going to listen to him, are you?” I hear an unfamiliar voice say from behind me. I gasp and spin, already wanting to run and hide. It's bad enough for me to hear what my brother has to say, but I really don't want anyone else witnessing my humiliation.
“U-Uhh, I'm sorry. Is there something I can help you with? Did you want to try on a dress?” I ask nervously. The small blonde in cutoff shorts with high-top Converse bounces over to me. I notice colorful tattoos all over her and try not to stare. She also has her nose and lip pierced with cute, small studs. She's absolutely gorgeous.
“Hell yeah, you can help me. Let's start with you trying on that bangin’ ass dress. Girl, it was made for you.” She smiles wide at me.
“Oh no, I can't do that. I could never pull something like that off,” I reply, ducking my head.
“Why the hell not? Is it what Skid Mark said? Girl, let me tell you, that little boy knows about as much about dressing as he does about women. My guess is he couldn't find the hole, much less the sweet spot. Don't let him get to you.”
I smile at her words and almost snort at the nickname she gave Jackson. I can just imagine his face getting redder and redder at using the name. He’d hate it.
“I was just being silly, anyway. I should probably get back to watching the register,” I say, trying to get out of embarrassing myself more than I already have.
“Oh, no you don't, girly. I could see it in your eyes. You wanted to rock that dress. You can bury it, but I’ve already seen it, and I'm determined to drag that bitch out kicking and screaming,” she says, causing me to chuckle. I slap my hand over my face, hoping that it wasn't loud enough for my brother to hear. I don't want him to ruin this moment.
“Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?” I ask, letting my insecurities show, but I can't take being the butt of another joke.
“Because I saw the smile on your face before the ass weasel opened his blubber hole,” she says, shooting a glare toward where he walked off. Again, I have to hold in the laughter.
I walk over to the rack and pick up the dress again, feeling the soft fabric and letting it run through my fingers.
“If I wore this out in public, everyone would stare,” I say, already feeling my cheeks heat at the thought. There is no way I would survive the stares.
“So let ‘em,” she shrugs. I bite my lip and duck my head.
“I couldn't handle that. There is no way I could ever go out in public after that dress again,” I tell her.
“Okay, then we give you a whole makeover. Hmm…” she says, tapping her chin with her finger and looking around the store. “We have a lot to work with here. What do you say to a wig? We can make you a whole new person. Go out, see how unscary it is when people see you coming, then come home and turn back into a pumpkin if you want, but you owe it to yourself to at least try.”
“I wouldn't even know how to act.”
“Well, that's what you got me for. What's the deal, anyway?” she asks.
“Jackson? Oh, that's just my brother doing brotherly things. He always makes sure I know the truth about the way I look,” I say flippantly. Brothers are supposed to be mean to their sisters, right?
“Brothers are supposed to pick on you in jest and protect you from all the bad. I would have thought he was your arch-nemesis. But that's not what I meant. I meant the dress? Why don't you want to wear it out? Or heck, try it on? What are you so scared of? Others to see your greatness?” she smiles at me, and I don't know why, but for the first time, I want to tell someone. I’ve been keeping it in my for so long.
“I’m really good at blending in, and that’s how I like it. I don't want attention or people to stare at me. Well, not everyone. There's this one guy that I wish would notice me. That was my first thought when I saw the dress, but now I know it was a stupid idea…” She interrupts me before I can finish.
“Why the heck would that be a stupid idea? Though I will say I don’t approve of changing your appearance for no man. Especially one too ignorant to notice you just the way you are.”
“Oh, no, no, it's not like that. I purposely hide myself, and Rylie doesn't notice anything or anyone around him. His head is always stuck in a book. He barely pays attention to his best friends,” I say, trying to defend him. She raises an eyebrow at me before continuing.
“Well, if you want him to notice you. Let’s give him a reason to,” she says, looking at me with a sort of evil genius smile.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask nervously.
“Oh, don’t you worry! I’m going to take care of everything,” she says, rubbing her hands together.
Maybe it’s crazy to trust a complete stranger to play my fairy godmother, but I’m so tired of blending in. I’m tired of being overlooked and ignored by the one person I can’t seem to get out of my head. I want to be brave. I want to be strong. I want to be confident for once in my life.
So I shrug and reply, “Do your worst.”
Famous last words