Band X

Chapter 12: Casual Stabbing

It's official. I really hate shopping. I feel like I'm being tortured as Isabelle drags me from store to store to look at and try on clothes that make me feel like I'm turning into someone else. I know that sounds dramatic but that's what keeps running through my head, that I'm actually becoming someone else. I usually wear lots of black with some retro t-shirts or sweatshirts and my beloved Converse. Dresses, especially the fancy ones Isabelle keeps tossing over the dressing room door, are just not me. I look down at the latest frilly piece of fluff that landed at my feet and lightly kick it to the side. I chose my jade green Converse for today's shopping trip, black jeans, and a worn Ramones t-shirt. I have over 50 pairs the classic Chuck Taylors and love every single one. From the pair I have on now to the glittery silver ones I got at the outlet mall to my classic black, I would have a very hard time choosing a favorite.

Up until now, I think my shoes might have been the most interesting thing about me. I'm always on the lookout for deals because my parents buy me a pair for every birthday and holiday and I want to save them money. I have a weird relationship with money. I worry about it nearly all the time but really never have any because I don't work. My parents do give me an allowance and I tend to horde the money because, up until now, I never had a social life and give me an allowance to buy.

Yes, I still get an allowance even though I'm a senior in high school. I tried to have a job once. It lasted for about three and a half months. I worked as a hostess in a restaurant. This meant I had to be on my feet a lot, move around quite a bit, and also deal with my co-workers and the general public all the time. This was problematic for several reasons.

First, my ridiculous back issues cause me pain when I'm doing nothing while all snug in my bed so both standing upright and walking around causes major problems. I was in real trouble if I had to work two or more days in a row. I'd then have to lie in bed for two more days and then before I knew it, I'd be back on the schedule and the whole painful process would start all over again.

Second, I truly dislike most people. I find most of them boring and kind of stupid so I avoid them as much as possible. Dealing with angry families who walk in a restaurant without a reservation at the busiest time of the night and expect to be seated immediately at a great table, crying babies with parents who are either frustrated by them or completely ignore their scream, and drunk customers was not my idea of a good time.

I would have stuck it out if the waitresses and owner had been nice to me, but they weren't. The owner in particular was a huge bitch. My mom said she had to be tough to run a business, three restaurants, actually, and that I shouldn't look at her like she was being a bitch to me but that she was just doing what she had to do to keep her employees in line and her restaurant running.

I don't care. She was awful and could have been nicer to everyone in the restaurant. So I quit and my back thanked me once I wasn't on my feet for hours at a time and at least three days in a row every week.

And, if I'm going to be honest, there is a third factor going on here. I'll never say this out loud to anyone, but I have developed an amazing resting bitch face to keep people away from me. I never think anyone will like me and if I manage not to like them first, then my feelings won't be hurt. Not as much, anyways.

This is one of the many reasons I was so surprised when Isabelle came to me on her own and didn't seem at all bothered by my half crabby, half extremely shy attitude.

But here I am. At a mall, surrounded by frilly dresses, none of which I like. None of which even look remotely like me. I know what Isabelle is trying to do. She's really trying to help me turn into a girl that Thomas might like.

As another dress flies over the dressing room door, I step out and hold up my hand. "Enough."

Isabelle's mile starts to fade. "What?"