Whip It by Shauna Cross

Author:Shauna Cross
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9780312535995
Publisher: Square Fish
Published: 2007-01-02T07:00:00+00:00

Frock ’n’Roll

In light of the shame and humiliation Corbi-gate has brought upon my entire family (translation: Brooke and Brooke only), I am forced to do some swift penance to keep my mom from engaging in full freak-out mode. This is why I am currently standing in Clara’s Sewing Stop being fitted for a custom Miss Bluebonnet gown instead of hanging out with Oliver. Talk about torture.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the idea of custom-made clothes. I mean, I would really love it if I were in Paris, Milan, or anything remotely resembling one of the world’s fashion capitals. Bodeen, Texas, however, is hardly the hub of haute couture.

But don’t tell Clara that. When it comes to proms and brides, anyone who’s anyone in Bastrop County goes to Clara’s for her frock. And her pageant gowns? Well, my friends, those are the stuff of legend.

“Pageants are the canvas for my art,” Clara likes to say.

And right now I’m wearing the muslin mock-up of what in six weeks is “guaranteed” to have me waltzing in the winner’s circle. The skirt is so huge you could hide a small car beneath it. Brooke stands behind me, prodding and pulling the muslin into a perfect fit, as Clara pins it in.

“Oh, Clara, the silhouette is just lovely.” Brooke sighs, tilting her head as she watches me in the mirror.

My survival tactic for this moment is to take a little vacation in my head, thinking about Oliver. And that kiss, that crazy-perfect kiss in the car with his hands on my wrists. It hasn’t left my mind—not even for a second—since it happened. In class, when I’m chewing on a pen, I feel him kissing me. Walking through the cafeteria line at school, I see him kissing me. Trying on this pageant dress, I taste him kissing me.

“Now, if we could just nip in this waist here.” Brook pulls the bodice so tight I feel my ribs fighting for their life.

“Mom,” I say, gasping out of my Oliver daydream, “I can’t breathe.”

“Sure you can. Now, just one more thing,” she says, ignoring my plea for oxygen. She whips out a pair of silicone breast enhancers, then stuffs them down the front of the strapless gown.

“Aaarrgh!” I say, mortified. “You’re totally molesting me!”

“It’s for a good cause.” Good cause? What the hell is she talking about, “good cause”? Is she planning on donating my Miss Bluebonnet crown to the victims of natural disasters? Now, bless y’all’s hearts, I know that awful storm destroyed your lives and made you homeless and whatnot, but here you go. Here’s a rhinestone crown to help get you through. Good cause, my ass.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection. The waist is pulled so tight and my boobs suddenly look inflated—I’ve been Barbiefied against my will.

“No,” I declare. “I am not wearing stunt boobs.”

“Oh, honeybunch, I’m not sayin’ your little nuggets aren’t darlin’. They are—in daily life. But this is not daily life. This is Miss Bluebonnet, and we need the ta-da.

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