The Chemistry With My Science Teacher

Lil Shorty

Lil Shorty

"How about these ones? Can I have these ones?" Grace begs, turning around to look at me, her face a perfect picture of absolute want. She's pointing her insistent finger at a pair of shorts that are a neon pink colour, reminiscent of a certain pair of pants.

I shake my head instantly, shuddering a little at the memory of what I had to dispose of, and Grace pouts, her bottom lip calculatedly jutting out enough so I can see it wobble. How do children master the puppy dog face? Maybe they teach them it in schools these days.

"Can we not just go with black? And they're a bit short, Grace," I inform her, reaching out to tug on the pair in question, and she shakes her head huffily.

"They're for pole, they need to be short! Are we sure I can't have the Hollister ones?" Grace asks, her voice now chirpy, and I sigh. This is the millionth time she's asked.

"Grace, they're too big around the waist, and you know I can't take them in, I'm not that good at sewing. We'd have to ask Mum, and then she'd ask questions, and we wouldn't be allowed to pole anymore," I remind her, and she crosses her arms over her chest. I see grouchy Grace has returned.

"Fine, but I want to pick the next shop we look in!" Grace demands, and she begins walking out of the current store before I even have time to agree. Hurriedly, I follow her, wondering how someone with such little legs can maintain such a ferocious speed.

Grace swerves around the crowd with ease, her small frame effortlessly allowing her to bypass people. Reversely, I encounter much more of a struggle trying to manoeuvre around the sea of people that has formed. When I finally re-join her I'm out of breath.

I bend over, my hands resting on my knees as I try and ignore the fact my lungs are on fire. I really need to start hitting the gym again. When I finally manage to stand up straight, I notice the shop Grace is standing outside.

"This is where you want to look?" I ask her sceptically, pointing to the sign. There's a huge neon sign outside, and it looks to be a fancy-dress shop. "I'm not even sure they sell clothes."

"They do, it's a dance shop too," Grace informs me knowingly, linking her arm through mine, which she struggles with because I'm so much taller than her and I'm still practically doubled over.

Regardless, I let her lead me inside. Instantly Grace heads towards the dance gear, which is all sparkly and sequined. Out of curiosity I peek at the price tag, and my eyes almost drop out of my head.

"Grace, this stuff is really expensive," I warn her, and she wafts her hand at me, dismissing me. I don't know where she gets her sassy attitude from, and something tells me I don't want to know.

I worry the whole time she's looking. Our budget is limited, and I have to buy myself some shorts too. All of a sudden, Grace squeals in delight and I anxiously turn around.

"These! I want these!" she gasps, thrusting them towards me. I look down at what she's given me and discover it's a two-piece set.

There are some little purple shorts and matching crop top, zebra-print, with a glittery holographic shimmer over the top. The shorts have a little bedazzled belt, with a large purple chiffon flower on one hip. It's certainly going to make a statement.

"Grace, this is a proper dance outfit, like what they use in competitions. You only need a pair of shorts," I remind her, and she turns to me, her eyes widening to the size of saucers and her bottom lip jutting out again. Immediately, I feel my resolve weakening.

"But Faith they're so pretty. I've never seen anything like it, and Mum would never let us do dancing because of the costumes. Look how lovely they are," Grace whimpers, stroking the material in my hands.