Luella

19 | his lady

L U E L L A

Standing in front of the full-length mirror in Kate's bedroom and staring at my own reflection with slightly rounder eyes and flushed cheeks, I try to calm myself before I huff and slip out of the satin white dress. It's too cute, too fancy, too white, too Kate. To add to my misery, I couldn't find the try-to-look-like-a-girl article of clothing yet.

I asked myself, what's an immediate girly article of clothing that doesn't require much effort - if at all?

Dress! A dress is what I need to get Harry off my back. To tell the truth, at first I went through several stages after that comment of his.

1. Self-consciousness took over and I felt embarrassed and flustered. Like, come on, a boy practically just called me a non-girl, like his pal. My feminism plummeted.

2. After that, stubbornness kicked in and I was soon fuming with pure, honest rage -that I had to hold in because Harry was long gone then- and it didn't help. At that moment, I decided to dress with a solid tomboy figure inspiration at the back of my mind, all saggy jeans and too-wide sweatshirts. I would've gone to town with a reversed snapback to top it all off.

3. Then I wasn't too sure I would accept it upon myself for the world -and his poor deluded aunt- to witness that sight. So, I tried to take a positive note out of his rude remark.

Which happened to be: You're not in a closed orphanage anymore, people actually see you and interact with you so you better act like it and at least try to fit in among the other normal human beings. And so the rage was turned upon the myself; I was beyond determined to prove (to myself, before anyone else) that I can look girly like all the other girls, like Kate.

The only problem was that Kate was a munchkin, and even though her Wonderland of a wardrobe had various choices for girlish articles, the length acted to be a huge step in the way. The tallest of her dresses would reach just under my mid-thighs, and don't even let me begin on the skirts.

After a few more minutes of rummaging through my generous friend's hangers with an etched frown and wobbling knees, another dress catches my eye and as I bring it out, I pray to the seven skies that it can work somehow -anyhow.

The fabric is thick and smooth, sliding over my skin easily like silk. The dress fits me and it isn't too clingy, its height bearable of above the knees by a few notches (but I can fairly say it's one of Kate's Wonderland best offers this afternoon) and I'm almost content. Except there's cold and chilled goosebumps arising on my skin all the way from my collarbones to the V-neck across my chest. I physically recoil.

Grabbing the nearest thing close to hand, I slip it on over my head to offer some warmth. Profanities scatter and fill my mind of all the things I'd like to say to Harry for causing this episode. Frowning, I give up and turn around to get my pair of jeans.

I'm just gonna ignore his bluffing; I've met his aunt before and she's seen me in my everyday clothes and had no problem. I, most importantly, certainly have no problem with my clothes and how I dress. Harry can eat his own words later when he asks out Miss Perfect Girl, also known as the official sponsor of our said bet.

In the process of getting my mind around what to say to Harry exactly in order to pick up my self-esteem, my eyes flicker to the mirror and I take a glimpse of myself, eyebrows raising subconsciously. The light peach knitted jumper I've worn over the black floral dress to warm me has unexpectedly complimented the outfit. My mouth dries as I turn to look at myself properly, blinking in thought before a small smile takes over my face.

A light bulb shines over my head and my eyes dart over to the bed where Kate's laptop rests in the sheets. Now a tad more excited and a tad less desperate, I jump on the bed and turn on the little Notebook.