Sixteen by Rachelle Emily

Author:Rachelle, Emily [Rachelle, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Geraniums Press
Published: 2014-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

I twirl around in front of the dressing room mirror. "Look at it, Mom!" I gaze in the mirror's reflection before grinning down at the green silky skirt draped over my hips. "It's so soft and... and twirly!" I laugh and spin around again.

Mom catches my shoulder and gently pushes me down onto the tiny bench in the fitting room. "Slow down, Nicole! You'll make yourself sick, spinning like that."

I shake my head to clear the dizziness and smile at my mom, in her red and green Christmas sweatshirt and new blond perm that matches my natural curls - her idea. "We have to get this one, Mom. Please, please, please?"

She frowns. This skirt is perfect for the party! Why is she frowning? "Hm. We'll see. Here, I want you to try this dress on." In her hand, she carries a red velvet dress with puffy sleeves and a Christmas tree pattern on the skirt.

I groan. "Not another one! I told you, everybody's wearing green skirts, Mom. I won't look right in a red dress."

She shakes her head and drops the dress in my lap. "Nicole, three of your friends hardly constitutes everyone at the party. Red is just as festive as green. Besides, it will look lovely with your golden curls." She smiles down at me and runs her fingers softly over a strand of my hair.

I jerk my head away and sigh noisily. "Okay."

I shimmy out of the perfect skirt and tug the dress on over my head. The fabric is thicker and heavier than the skirt, and the top itches.

Mom is beaming at me when I glance over at her. I stick my lower lip out. "I don't like it."

"Oh, Nicole, but look at yourself! It's darling!" With her hands on my shoulders, she turns me toward the mirror. I stare at the glaringly bright red cloth while she drapes my hair around my sleeves. "See, this it the perfect dress! You'll be the most stunning girl at the party. I told you it would match your hair."

I step away from her and my hip collides with the sharp corner of the wooden bench. I gasp in pain and press one hand on my side. "Stop it, Mom! I don't like the dress. I don't want to wear red, I don't want a dress, and I want to pick my own clothes! I don't want to match you. I don't like our hair! And why can’t you call me Nikki, like I said? I just wish you'd leave me alone."

I'm louder than I intended. Mom raises her eyebrows and the glow on her face vanishes. Her eyes stare at me, and I feel unnerved. She just doesn't understand. Why won't she stop looking at me like that? I can't tell if she'd angry or not. Maybe the Nikki-thing was too much. I know she’s set on my using her grandmother’s proper name, but it’s so stuffy.

"Okay." Her voice is quiet and lacks any sign of emotion.

I try to tone down my voice a little.

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